Word Count: 1176
Rating: PG 13
Pairing: Mal/Inara
A/N: I don't really know what to say about this. It may not make sense. I think I understand it, but I've no idea if it will come across. As to the hows and whys of the situation, don't ask me. Other than the inspiration of yesterday's thunderstorm, I have no idea where this came from.

Like Thunder Follows Lightning
by 2x2

A deep rumble cracked across the dark sky, thunder rolling around above the small cabin, rattling the windows and pounding deep within Inara's chest as she stood and watched the approaching storm, weather a fitting match to the turmoil of her emotions.

She was stuck here, for the next few hours at the least, if not days. Trapped in a tiny, one-room cabin. Alone. With Mal.

Not that his presence wasn't preferable to being stuck here alone, no comm or cortex access, nor was she ungrateful for the small moonshine cabin they'd been fortunate enough to find and take shelter in, but her emotions were running high and close to the surface, and that was a dangerous thing when she was going to be spending the next God knew how long in very close proximity to Malcolm Reynolds.

He was in there, even now, collapsed on the small cot in the corner – the only bed in the cabin – exhausted. He'd saved her life today, and nearly at the cost of his own. She was not unaware of it, nor of the effect his actions had on her. That she'd very nearly lost him today, really could have lost him, had her trembling.

She'd left him sleeping, retreating outside for some air, hoping the chill in the wind would give her some measure of control over the tumultuous thoughts and feelings swirling within her; cool the heat that had suffused her body when his eyes had met hers before he'd fallen asleep, the open, honest view of his heart visible for far too long for her to chalk it up to her imagination.

Thunder cracked overhead again and the small hesitant patter of raindrops began to stir the trees around her. Inara shivered. Of the few times and scenarios she'd actually allowed herself to fantasize about, this was hardly what she would have chosen for her and Mal. Yet the inevitability of it weighed heavily on her, as if there was no question of the happening of it, just the when of it. Perhaps it had always been that way, except the When was suddenly a whole lot nearer to Now than ever before.

It wasn't that she was afraid of sleeping with Mal. She'd wanted him almost from the first. It was the consequences of such an action, the knowledge that, one way or another, most likely sooner rather than later, she would be forced to leave Serenity if she gave in. Leave him, and never come back. The chance of any other outcome, in the long run, was far too slim to hold out hope for.

It was slow torture, being on Serenity and not being with him, not being able to give in to what they both wanted. But the alternative, to live without him, was far worse. She'd learned that once already, and had no wish to have to experience it again, thus, her hesitation to allow that step between them. Because as much as she may want him, she didn't want to have to leave again.

Fate, it seemed, paid little regard to her wishes, however, for here she was, trapped with him, her control already fragile from their near-miss brush with death. She could feel the impending inevitability of it crackling in the air around her; was powerless against it.

There was a sadness in her that grieved for a more innocent time, weighing heavily on her heart. The rain poured down, heavier now as though under the burden of her grief, and she hated the fact that she could not be happy in this, that she couldn't just give into the gravity that had always drawn them together, give everything of herself to him freely, without regret. But she couldn't, because she knew what would happen.

She didn't jump or even move when his hands came to rest on her shoulders suddenly, having sensed him the moment he joined her on the porch. She said nothing as he drew his hands over her shoulders and along her arms, following them around her body until he was pressed against her back and she was wrapped in his warm embrace, the heat of him suddenly making her aware of just how cold she'd become.

She felt him press his forehead to her hair, heard his sigh as his arms tightened around her and she closed her eyes, heart constricting as she realized he knew, knew everything.

"It doesn't have to," he whispered, lips in her hair, and she wondered which exactly he meant – didn't have to happen? didn't have to mean the end? didn't have to hurt? – because it did, oh, yes, it did. It all had to. There was no other way.

She turned, taking one of his hands in hers, letting her eyes meet his gaze as she cupped his cheek, his skin appearing bright and white in the sudden flash of lightning, and she counted the seconds silently between the heat that flashed in the sky and the inevitable collision of air as it rushed into the space the lightning had created.

When the thunder finally came, her lips were pressed to his, eyes shut, caught in the cradle of his palms.

She'd been counting their seconds for so long.

She felt his thumbs on her cheeks, wiping at the two tears she didn't know had fallen, saw his eyes, blue and stormy with conflicted emotion the moment she opened hers, saw the sadness echoed in them, for her, for them.

"It's all right," she whispered softly, wishing it could be. With every ounce of her being she grasped for the joy she should be feeling, tried to let the growing tide of arousal sweep away the sadness and bathe her in the love she felt for him. And for a time, it worked; she was able to share in his happiness as their bodies joined on the tiny cot, as she clenched around him, as he shuddered within her, and even after, as they lay together, caressing and whispering words that no other soul would ever hear them utter.

It was only later, as she stood on the porch again, the tempest past, that the sadness broke free, harsh and merciless, and she crumbled at the inevitability.

She tried to hide when his arms found her again, didn't want him to replace the happy memory with this, but he only held her more determinedly, soothing with soft, wordless sounds.

"It doesn't have to," he said at last, echoing his words from before, and she heard a promise in them this time, a promise that made her look up from his embrace with a plea for hope in her eyes, for that tiniest chance that things might turn out.

As the clouds broke overhead, his lips were on hers, and Inara clung to what was offered. There was no other way. When they parted, she looked up into his eyes, alive and glowing with love and a light all his own.

In the sky, the sun was shining.