Life on Serenity afforded little in the way of luxuries. Everyday seemed a continuous battle to find enough decent food in the galley, have the fragile part hold for one more day or to keep even the lights running. Most days, Inara didn’t mind. In fact, she welcomed the challenge, something so different from her home of Sihnon.

But there was one thing she didn’t realise she would miss. They were just there, always. She didn’t think on them much, more of an obstruction than anything else. Until she left.

In the beginning, she had wondered if Captain Reynolds would afford her the privacy she demanded during her haggling over renting the shuttle. His assurances were quickly tossed out the airlock as he still felt the right to barge into the shuttle as though it were still a piece of the ship he reigned over. She had protested vehemently on the first such occasion, but he had worn her down to nothing more than pointed verbal jabs that he ignored anyway. Despite this, she didn’t lock the door.

Inara had also wondered if she could leave her fellow Companions behind and venture out on her own. Her excuse of wanting to see more of the ‘verse had been valid enough for the crew to not question her further. For that, she was grateful. Personal questions were to be avoided, something her instructors had drilled into her head.

With this particular crew, however, Inara had felt a bond growing, notably with the young mechanic. By the time the Doctor and his sister arrived, she had felt a kinship to the crew, even Jayne (though she would never say a word of this to anyone). Serenity was home, more of a home than the Companion had ever really remembered. On this ship, she was never truly alone.

Not until they had visited Persephone and the entire Atherton Wing affair did Inara realise what she had missed. The impact of it threatened to bowl her over. Something so simple, but so vitally important for her chi and inner balance. Each time they arrived on a half-way developed world, she searched out her lost luxury, recognising it for just that. Each time was an exercise in futility or frustration in either not finding her desire or finding it only to have to leave it too quickly.

Sitting at her writing desk, Inara fingered the capture of her heart’s malcontent and sighed. The early morning sun cast its orange streams of light onto it, making it glow. She could hear the rustle, the chattering of birds; the aroma of the freshness of it all assaulted her. She lowered the image and closed her eyes.

The obstruction was now the desire. All she could see, all she desired, were the trees.