A/N: Here is the sequel to Dancin'. I really hope you like it. This one is a bit angsty, not smutty, although I'll rate it PG-13 for implied adult situations.

Thanks to Kaynara for the beta and the encouragement. Stay tuned for Part 3!

And comment ... or maybe I'll just keep Part 3 to myself! :)

***

Dancin' - Part 2 of 3

***

A week.

One entire gorram week since they’d come together in the cargo bay, and Mal had yet to spend more than a few seconds alone with Inara. He was frustrated, not much of a secret, at her refusal to so as much look him in the eye. Never mind having an actual conversation. A meaningful discussion regarding the mind-blowing sex they’d had and her subsequent cold shoulder.

Mal stalked from his bunk to the bridge, not surprised when he didn’t encounter another soul. It was late, far too late for him to be awake, but he couldn’t sleep, or rather hadn’t for the past seven days. Every time he closed his eyes, all Mal could see was Inara’s face, expressing a look of silent ecstasy; all he could hear were her breathless pants and murmured words of encouragement; all he could smell was the heady aroma of her hair and their combined sweat as they had pushed each other past the point of coherence.

Shaking his head firmly, Mal slumped into his pilot’s seat, sighing. This was ridiculous. Absolutely, ruttin’ ridiculous. Was he not the captain of this here ship? Did that not entitle him to just a modicum of respect? Apparently not in Inara’s eyes.

He threw an unfocused glance at the console, checking to be sure all the necessary lights were blinking green and not red. One in particular caught his eye – shuttle one. Inara was on the cortex. Awful late for a personal call.

With a grunt, Mal sat forward and tapped a few buttons, knowing as he input the sequence he would regret it. Knowing it was a bad idea; knowing that Inara would kill him. And yet, with all that knowing, his hands still commanded a secondary feed from Inara’s screen down to the bridge.

“… Absolutely. We’re schedule to make landfall on Boros in three days. Will that be sufficient?” Inara’s voice was the height of culture and Mal bristled. It was her “companion” tone.

“Of course. The chance to spend an evening with you is well worth a three day wait, Miss Serra.”

Mal’s entire body stiffened at the sound of the insipid male voice coming through the comm. Suddenly very thankful he hadn’t also activated the visual, Mal hunched forward, head in his hands as he heard Inara finish making arrangements to meet with her client. As the link closed, Mal furiously cut his own, rising swiftly and banging the console with a force that rattled the dino toys no one had been able to remove. She was taking clients, she was actually going to fly off this ship in shuttle one and have sex with another man, even after they had –

He was at a loss. For Mal, the idea that Inara would gladly lie down with another cut him to the quick, hurting more fiercely than any wound. How could she? In the back of his mind, he heard a tiny voice trying to reason with his anger, trying to remind him that she was a companion and that obviously her avoidance of him this week had been a result of lack of interest. This is what she did, always had done and always would do: spread for other men; kiss their brows as she had kissed his and whisper the same breathless words of encouragement as they thrust into her over and over again.

With a stifled noise of rage, Mal’s hand swiped along the top of the control board, sending the plastic dinosaurs scattering. Reacting again, Mal took a swing at the lockers behind the pilot’s chair, barely registering the throbbing in his fist as he broke skin, blood smearing the door.

“Captain?”

Mal looked up, his eyes wild, and glared at Simon, a small growl escaping his lips. Unperturbed, the young man’s eyes dropped to his damaged hand, before returning to his face. “Would you like me to put a weave on that?”

“No.” Pushing past him roughly, Mal headed for his bunk, vaguely hearing Kaylee’s concerned tone as she questioned Simon upon his return to her bed. Not bothering to listen to the doctor’s explanation, Mal clanged his hatch shut, spending the rest of the night pacing a furious path in his bunk and trying desperately to erase every memory of Inara Serra he possessed.

***

Somehow he knew. Inara was certain of it. While initially she had been the one actively avoiding Mal, Inara could tell that the tables had turned. He had no desire to be in the same room with her, barely glancing in her direction any time she entered his line of sight. Instead, no matter what he was in the middle of doing or who he was talking to, the sight of her would send him in the opposite direction with a deep scowl on his features.

So, he knew. That’s what she’d wanted, wasn’t it? She wanted Mal to realize she was not his, was not beholden to him, physically or otherwise, just because of their little indiscretion in the cargo bay a week ago. She was taking a client to hurt him – it was true, she could admit it. Inara had just had no idea how much it would hurt her as well.

She couldn’t ever just come out and tell Mal why she was reacting this way. Why she was doing everything in her power to avoid him, to forget him, to erase the image of his strong hands holding her tight, to wipe out the sense memory associated with the feel of his naked body pressed against hers. Shuddering slightly, Inara forced the thought from her mind as her skin prickled with heat at the memory. Continuing to ready the tea, she tried to focus on the mundane task of preparing to receive a client. It had been almost six months since she had contracted with anyone. Did Mal even know that? Did he even care? Did he know that when she’d left, after Early’s intrusion, she had taken a leave of absence?

What did it matter? The fact was Inara knew she was in trouble. She was in far too deep with Mal – far too in love with the infuriating man. The cargo bay had been a weakness and one Inara could not afford to repeat. If she did, she knew the next time Mal asked her to quit her job, she would. And then she would be nothing, have nothing and Mal would never understand the depth of that loss.

A knock on her shuttle door interrupted her reverie. Straightening, she threw back her shoulders, giving herself a cursory glance in the mirror before heading for the door. She was a professional, this was her job. Mal had simply been an aberration, something she could not afford. Not then, not now – never again.

Smiling wide, she swung open the hatch. “Ambassador Wu, it’s a pleasure.”

***

“She’s ba-ack.”

Mal grimaced involuntarily at River’s sing-songy voice. Turning to her, he growled, “Best be on your way, lil’ one. I ain’t good company for little girls like you.”

“Not little,” River disagreed petulantly, jutting her chin out as she straightened herself to her full height. “And you shouldn’t be alone.”

“Yeah, I should,” Mal muttered, raising the almost empty mug to his lips and downing the rest of the brandy he’d managed to find in his bunk. He wasn’t a man for hard liquor, not like Jayne, and that bottle had lasted him a good long while. Drinking the rest over Inara seemed oddly appropriate.

Sitting herself easily beside him, River cocked her head to the side. She regarded him with those damn huge eyes, the ones that seemed to carry the weight of the world in one breath and then shine with the idealism of youth the next. How did she manage that?

Reaching over, she gingerly took the cup from his hand, lifting it by pinching her fingertips around the rim. Sniffing the now empty container, she made a face. “Yuck. That’s disgusting.” When he didn’t comment, she added, “Did it help?”

“Not in the least,” Mal admitted, slumping back in his chair. “River, honestly darlin’, can’t you just leave your Captain in peace?”

“There is no peace,” River explained. Rising, she pressed a cool hand to his forehead and then placed the other over his heart. “In here or in here. Only thoughts of her, feelings: betrayal, lust, attraction, pain, love.”

Snapping his eyes open, Mal rose swiftly, tipping his chair back. Invading her personal space, Mal dipped his head until they were only inches apart. “You shouldn’t be talkin’ ‘bout things you don’t understand, lil’ one,” he whispered vehemently. If he hadn’t been so full of anger and hurt at Inara’s behavior, he probably would have recognized the fear in her eyes. He probably would have backed away almost instantly and apologized profusely for his behavior.

But instead, so heartsick was he over Inara, it took Simon, inserting himself bodily between Mal and his sister for Mal to back off. Gathering the whimpering girl to his chest, Simon shot Mal a look full of anger over River’s head. “Did that make you feel better, Captain? Intimidating a young girl?”

“Stay outta my head,” Mal scolded, wagging a finger in River’s direction. Not bothering to answer the doc, he stormed from the room more than surprised when he found himself at Inara’s shuttle door.

***

The warm, lavender-scented water filled Inara’s nostrils. Inhaling deeply, she did her best to relax, giving the calming scent a chance to work and ease her frayed nerves. Reaching into the bowl at her side, she lifted the sponge, wringing it of the excess water, before she gently swabbed her skin.

Starting with first her right arm, she ran the sponge down it, taking care not to drip any on the gown she had pooled at her waist. She needn’t have worried; this cleansing ritual was as familiar to her as brushing her hair – Inara had performed it often enough.

With a sigh, she dipped the sponge again and switched hands, running the warm, soft material up her left arm, wincing as she reached her shoulder and the dark bruises there. Dragging the sponge across her chest, she hissed sharply again as she pressed a bit too hard on another bruise. Completing the ritual by washing down her entire upper body, Inara set the sponge back in the basin and reached for the ointment she’d ferreted out of her bathroom before she’d begun.

With ginger hands, she squeezed a bit onto the tips of her fingers and reached up to her neck, ignoring the sting she felt as she rubbed the healing balm into the bite marks there. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, before placing more ointment on a few other nasty scratches, doing her best to focus on the healing and not the situation that had given them to her in the first place.

The sharp clang of her hatch being opened and the pounding of Mal’s heavy boots against the floor startled her. Placing the tube of ointment behind her, Inara was working to gather her robe about her, as Mal stumbled into view, his eyes narrowed in what she assumed to be anger.

“I see knocking is still a concept that is beyond you, Captain.” She greeted him coldly, not at all interested in soothing his feelings. Moving with a deliberate slowness, she tied her robe back up around her neck, eyeing him coolly the entire time.

Mal’s eyes adjusted quickly to the dim light in the shuttle. He registered her insult about the knocking, but ignored it quickly as he watched her cover her breasts and mid-section. Ignored it even more ardently when he caught sight of the deep, bluish purple bruises marring her left arm, shoulder and side of her face. Taking a step forward, he reached out a hand to touch her and stopped himself before he actually rested his fingers to her skin. “Wo de ma, ‘Nara, what happened?”

“Nothing happened.” She would not explain this to Mal. He already denigrated her profession at every turn, and truthfully she just didn’t need a lecture – not from him. Rising stiffly and forcing her face not to show the stiffness she felt, she gathered the basin and ointment and strode towards her table, placing them down. She could feel his eyes on her, feel them roving across her bare back, no doubt taking in more of the scratches the ambassador had left behind. Giving him a few more seconds to get an eyeful, Inara finally turned back around, her expression impassive.

“Don’t tell me nothin’,” he finally bit out, doing his best to ignore the sight of her marred skin. “I can see plain as day it ain’t nothin’.” Taking a step forward, he lowered his voice, his anger at her forgotten as his protectiveness towards her surged. “What’d he do to you?”

Shrugging, Inara told him, “What he wanted. That is the job of whore after all, isn’t it?” She knew the words would cut him and took a small amount of pleasure in the flash of hurt that passed through his eyes.

“Damn it, ‘Nara, would you stop pretendin’ this is nothin’.” Striding towards her, he’d crossed the small space in three large steps, anger blazing in his eyes. But when he reached out and took her hand, lifting her left arm to get a better look, his touch was deceptively gentle. “He hurt you.”

Pulling her hand forcefully from his grasp, Inara stepped around him and said, “I’m fine.”

“I’m thinkin’ we should let Simon be the judge o’ that,” Mal retorted. “Let’s go.”

“I don’t need to see Simon, Captain.” Her voice was still ice cold and Mal shivered in spite of himself. As his eyes narrowed and she noted the tell-tale sign of another argument brewing, she added quickly, “I have dealt with worse on my own before. I’ll be fine.”

Gaping, Mal stared at her. So, other clients had roughed her up before and this fact was supposed to make him feel better? How in the nine hells did she think that was going to make him feel better? “How many times before?” he demanded.

Tilting her chin up in an act of defiance, Inara’s mind churned with a million scathing retorts. She knew she shouldn’t even dignify his question with a response, Companions did not “kiss and tell,” but it entire demeanor, the way he’d simply strode into her shuttle as if he owned her loosed her tongue. Eyes glinting with anger, Inara bit out, “I’ve lost count.”

Mal stared in shock once more, before releasing a defeated sigh. Hanging his head, he murmured, “Gorramit, Inara. I don’t understand this.”

“You never have,” she answered, refusing to give him even an inch.

“Maybe I don’t wanna.” Mal’s tone was incredulous. Throwing up his hands, he turned and paced away from her, his shoulders heaving as he fought to control the anger that was welling in his heart. “He hurt you,” Mal repeated, this time uttering the words as if their true meaning had finally sunk in.

No more than you have. The difference between him and you is your choice of weapon. “Did you ever think maybe I wanted him to?” It was as though a demon had possessed her, speaking the most biting statements she could think of, knowing just how to hurt him. The minute the words were out, she knew she should take them back, but that was impossible. So instead, Inara stood steely-eyed and resolute as Mal turned to face her, pain and hurt in his eyes.

“You asked him to beat on you?” Mal asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Sighing heavily, Inara told him bitterly, “No, Mal, of course not. Some clients do like to play a bit rough,” she added, again amazed and ashamed at her ability to hurt him. “However, the Ambassador was a little put out that my attention seemed to be drifting.” Taking a step towards him, Inara accused, “Maybe if I hadn’t been thinking about you my client wouldn’t have had to remind me of how to do my job.”

Mal did his best to ignore how close she was. Her scent enveloped him and he almost groaned aloud at the sweetness of the smell. He kept his eyes locked on hers, trying to forget that her breasts were heaving with anger as she glared at him. Swallowing thickly, he murmured, “Your job?”

“Yes, Mal, my job. A concept you’ve just never quite gotten your head around.” Eyeing him coldly for another minute, Inara purposefully took a step back, more than surprised when Mal’s hands circled her upper arms. She cried out softly as he squeezed her already bruised arm and he retracted his grip almost immediately, regret written clearly all over his features.

“’Nara, it ain’t a job,” he muttered, his gaze dropping to the floor. “It’s an act. A shiny lie you tell to all the men an’ women who can pay.”

“Don’t get all high and mighty with me,” she responded hotly. “You lie for a living too.”

“At least I ain’t buryin’ myself or my true feelin’s because of it.” Mal let the words fly without thinking, watching as they hit against Inara’s hard exterior. Her eyes flickered for a moment and he thought for a brief second he might actually have gotten through the barrier she had so carefully and concretely constructed around herself. But in a second, the walls were back in place.

“This is who I am, Mal. I’ve never made any secret about what I do for a living, and you’ve never made any secret of your disdain for it.” Waiting a beat, she added, “I don’t believe we have anything more to discuss.”

“Oh yes we do,” he told her sharply. “What’s his name?”

“Shen me?”

“His name, ‘Nara. This high-falutin’ client o’ yours who decided to hit ya few times to be sure you was payin’ attention.” Mal’s eyes continued to blaze with anger. “Give me his name.”

Sighing heavily, Inara felt a good bit of her anger escape in the breath, replaced instead with an overwhelming weariness. “I’m not Kaylee, Mal. And I’m not River. It is not your job to protect me.”

“I don’t consider it a job,” he admitted, his own voice dropping to a soft tone and matching hers. “But I sure as hell don’t want some hun dan thinkin’ he can get away with hittin’ you.”

“Mal, my client’s sexual proclivities are none of your concern.” As Mal opened his mouth to protest, she added, “I’m not the damsel, Mal. Not the fair maiden who needs to be rescued. You may be the knight in shining armor, but I’m not your princess.”

“Like hell you ain’t,” Mal murmured, striding forward again. As Inara stared up at him, her face flushing at the intensity of his gaze, Mal dipped his head, while gently lifting her chin, bringing their lips together in a gentle kiss. As they parted, Inara resisted the urge to kiss him again, to wrap her arms around him and apologize until she was out of breath.

“So maybe I got a bit of a swoop-in-and-save complex,” Mal admitted softly, his hand still resting against her cheek, his fingers gently tracing the outline of her lips. “I know that’s not what you need from me, ‘Nara.”

Doing her best to maintain her rationality as Mal’s caress made her knees weak, she whispered, “Oh really? And what do I need from you, Mal?”

“A safe haven, maybe. A place where you don’t gotta be Inara Serra, the companion. Somewhere you can jus’ be.”

Her eyes flying open, Inara glared at him, taking a step back. “You still think I need rescuing,” she told him incredulously, unable to believe he could be so dense. “You still think it’s your job to protect me.”

“It ain’t a job, ‘Nara,” Mal told her exasperated. “I protect what’s mine.”

“Yours?” Inara’s eyebrow cocked in a look of pure annoyance. “So now I belong to you, is that it?”

“Ai ya, woman, you know that ain’t what I meant,” Mal shouted, unable to keep his frustration in check.

“I think it’s exactly what you meant,” she shot back. Pointing towards the hatch, she ordered firmly, “Get out.”

“’Nara-"

“Go, Mal, I mean it or so help me God-"

Raising his hands in a gesture of surrender, Mal took a couple steps backwards. “All right, I’m goin’.” As he reached the door, his eyes never leaving her face, Mal paused and said, “You do need somethin’ from me, ‘Nara. Jus’ like I need somethin’ from you. When you figure that out, you come an’ find me.” He stared at her for a moment more and when he next spoke his voice was barely more than a whisper. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

Inara was caught off guard by the tenderness in his tone and she felt her heart thud against her rib cage. Swallowing thickly, she told him, “Yes, Mal, I’m fine. Really.”

Nodding once, Mal slipped out, his anger still there, covered now in layers of hurt and despair.

Inara watched him go, waiting to hear the hatch shut behind him before she turned away. Clenching her fists at her sides and throwing her head back, she screamed loud and long, giving her frustration up to the heavens.

***

Part 3 - coming soon ... as long as I get some of those nice, shiny comments!

Dancin' - 3/3