A.N. Post-everything, about 10 years after they met. I give it a PG-13 for reference to past sexual violence. Hey, you asked for it. I cannot be held responsible for characters who suffer in sequels you request.

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Mal sat gingerly on the bed, his flesh on fire, begging for mercy. He hurt everywhere the sweat-soaked fabric clung to his skin. Inara tenderly mopped the sweat from his brow and applied aloe to his sunburned face and neck, her fingers dancing skillfully, bringing only cool relief. “I asked you not to go,” she said softly, touching his lips with a balm that soothed him just enough to sip from his water glass without wincing. “I know,” he choked as the water cut a cool stream through his dehydrated system. “But you can’t tease me with this name thing and expect me to do nothing.” “I shouldn’t have said it,” Inara lamented, unbuttoning the blue, sweat-soaked shirt he wore. The sun had been so intense, he’d been burned clean through the material. Whereas his face and neck were tomato red, the skin under the shirt was only a light pink, and Inara could see white lines where the double thickness of the collar and the seams had protected him. Delicately, she cleaned his skin with cool water and smoothed aloe over the burns, causing him to wince at the sting. He shook as much from pain as dehydration, but she kept filling his glass since he refused to go to the Infirmary. “Sure you should’ve,” Mal answered her between gulps of water. “When we have kids, they should know their mother’s name.” “I don’t want children,” Inara said quickly, just like she always did. “In case I convince you…” Mal began wanly. Then he caught that mournful look in her eyes that always accompanied the mention of future children, so he stopped. He sighed as her fingers rubbed soothing lotion over his shoulders and with closed eyes said, “I would like to know your real name.” “Inara is my real name,” she insisted. “I mean the name your momma gave you.” “I –” Inara’s hands stopped moving suddenly, causing Mal’s eyes to fly open. Her voice roared like quiet thunder, filling with anger and tears. “I never want to hear that name on your lips. Never. I died to that name!” Alarmed, Mal turned and pulled her close, ignoring the scream of his sunburned skin as he pressed his wife to him. “Shh, ‘Nara,” he cooed, feeling her shake with rage. “‘Nara, ‘Nara, ‘Nara, yours is the only name I’m sayin’.” “I’m sorry, Mal,” she heaved, reigning in the anger, reapplying the aloe where their skin-to-skin contact had worn it away. “I was a little girl then. I don’t want you thinking that name. I don’t want you saying it when you’re making love to me… A little girl should never hear that.” Mal nodded, overwhelmed, feeling guilty. He’d spent the last several months on a quest for Inara’s real name and now that he’d found it, he wished he had never looked. She had more pain wrapped in the memory of that name than he had in his entire being and the more she said, the more the disjointed puzzle he’d uncovered fell together. He cursed himself for being so single-minded in finding it that he hadn’t noticed the pain it caused her. “‘Nara, I’m sorry. I’ll never speak it,” he promised, watching her carefully. A shroud of horror fell across Inara’s face when she realized his search had not been fruitless. “You know it?” “‘Nara, you are safe with me. Dong ma?” Inara nodded, somewhat too tearfully to be believed. Mal’s hand cradled her face and he kissed her lightly, despite the pain it shot through his sunburned lips. “‘Nara, you are safe with me,” he repeated firmly, his thumb tracing her eyes, catching unfallen tears. “I love you so much. And I only want to know everything about you so I can love you completely.” Inara nodded again, leaning her forehead against his and touching the back of his neck to pull him close. When she felt the heat radiating off his injured skin, she let go, an embarrassed smile rising to her lips. Mal was confounded by the quick lift in her spirits, but mystery was one of the reasons he loved Inara. While Inara took the blue shirt to the sink and rinsed it out, Mal stripped out of his pants, knowing that his legs must be burnt as well. He’d never encountered sun so intense and made a note to contact the local terraformers about the apparent hole in the ozone. There was an amusing white stripe down the side of his leg where the dark brown stripe of the trousers was double-layered. Thankfully, he hadn’t gone commando, so his most favorite parts had been spared the agony. He considered the wonders a cold shower might do him, but then that would require covering up while he walked to the shower… or not really. The crew had seen him naked and sunburned before. “So what name did you find?” Inara asked casually as Mal rinsed his skin and smoothed aloe over his legs. “You know, I have other shirts you can wear,” he quipped, avoiding the topic. “Don’t always have to be that one.” “I like this one,” Inara piped, wringing it out and hanging it up to dry. Playfully, Mal came up behind her with a burgundy shirt and wrapped it around her shoulders, tackling her with kisses. “You’ve always looked good in this color,” he groaned in her ear, hissing as she leaned back on his sunkissed torso. Inara shrugged out of Mal’s grasp, turning to face him, batting his tender skin until he backed off. “What name did you find?” Mal fell disappointedly to the bed, searching for a sitting position of minimal skin contact, then held up his right hand as if in oath. “I promised I’d never speak it.” “Emily?” Mal’s brow quirked, confused. “Emily Mareau… yes,” he answered cautiously. Inara’s shoulders relaxed a little and she sat next to him on the bed, smiling apologetically. “‘Emily Mareau’ is like ‘Jane Doe’ in the Guild. All of the girls recruited in my year shared that name.” “So callin’ you ‘Emily’ won’t bother you?” Inara’s head tilted, her eyes gleaming reminiscently. “It would be like calling me a novice.” “Ah, like an insult,” Mal countered wickedly, rolling onto his knees and reaching for her face. He wondered how much kissing it might take to get that rouge off her lips. After six years of marriage, he knew it did not come off easily and he wasn’t sure his sunburned lips were up to the challenge. “You can’t insult me, husband. You’re the one who has trouble keeping up,” she teased. Given her professional background, stamina was part of the territory. Mal took it as a personal challenge to outlast her every time, and was only occasionally successful. Impishly excited, Mal sprang to straddle Inara’s lap, feeling the fire on his skin intensifying from the inside out. Obligingly, Inara laid back on the bed, tracing the white lines between the sunburn. As Mal ravaged her face with kisses, Inara giggled and reached for the lip balm on the bed stand. “Hold on,” she laughed, applying a fresh coat to his chapped lips. He nipped playfully at her fingers. “Does this stuff really help?” “Well, you’re going to hurt a lot after, but I should get a smoother kiss.” “Yeah,” Mal agreed, cringing as her fingers ghosted over his skin. “I can’t see this workin’ toward my favor.” Carefully, he backed off, leaving Inara covered with kisses of raspberry lip balm, stripped off the last of his clothes, sponged himself clean, and donned a fresh pair of shorts. “I can’t believe you’re so sunburned,” Inara mused, tracing the stripes on his skin, worried his face might blister from the severity. “Yeah,” Mal ducked his head. “Well it weren’t just breakin’ into the Guild computer.” “What do you mean?” Mal stood, taking both her hands in his, looking guiltily into her pleading, brown eyes. He loved her too much not to tell her the truth. “Emily Mareau ain’t the last name I found,” he confessed. “Oh,” Inara answered, sinking a little. Mal held tight to her hands, keeping her face close. “I did notice fifty girls entering the Guild with the same name, so I went deeper.” Inara pulled away, turning her back to him, but he grabbed her shoulders and held her close, despite the sting against his skin. Mal closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of her hair, knowing that if she cried, he would likely cry too. “What name did you find?” she asked, clutching his forearm, shooting fire through his skin. “I promised I’d never speak it.” “Just once,” she whispered, sounding every bit like she wished she hadn’t. “So I know if you found the right one.” Cautiously, carefully, as though she might break, Mal turned her to face him and lifted her quivering chin until her eyes met his. He felt his own resolve wavering, not wanting to speak pain into her life, but bound by her request. “Lecia Tan,” he choked, catching her as her knees buckled and they both knelt to the floor. Mal gather her in his arms, not knowing enough yet to understand the hurt in her, but wishing with all his might that he could take it away. “You’re safe now,” he assured, rocking her, never wanting to let go. “You’re safe, ‘Nara.” She squeezed him tight and he tried hard not to shudder. “I …” Inara whispered. “She died.” “I’m sorry,” he told her. Despite the make-up on her face, he could see a mask falling off. “My dad,” she began, shifting softly on his shoulder, her finger tracing circles on his chest, trying to keep Mal’s face separate from her past. “He hurt you?” “No, he died,” Inara wept. “And my mother remarried and my stepfather…” “He killed your mom,” Mal finished, remembering the police report he’d come across, the pieces falling into place. “She sent me to the Academy so I’d be safe.” “You’re safe now, ‘Nara,” Mal promised her, feeling his heart break into a million flaming pieces, molding around hers to convey his love. Inara’s fingernails scratched his skin. “He used to scream my name,” Inara sobbed and Mal pressed his hands over her ears to block the sound of the memory. “It ain’t your name, ‘Nara,” he insisted, not sure if she heard anything he said. He’d never seen her fall apart so completely, and it killed him. All the could think to do was say her name over and over again. “‘Nara, ‘Nara, ‘Nara, I love you.” They stayed together on the floor, her sobbing on his shoulder, him holding her close, until she was too exhausted to feel pain. Then she sniffled numbly as his fingers danced through the waves of her hair. He could feel those long, damp eyelashes blink on his hypersensitive skin. But he’d willingly endure a thousand lashes to hold his wife through this moment – a little sunburn wasn’t going to stop him. Finally, Inara lifted her head, examining the shoulder she’d been resting on and the imprint her hair clips left on his skin. Mal took the opportunity to shift his left leg which had fallen asleep. “Your skin is burning up,” she commented, lifting off him until her touch was light as a butterfly. “I’ll live,” he answered, accepting the fresh glass of water she handed and drinking deeply. His bright pink skin sent mixed signals of burning and cooling as the ship’s air hit. Inara backed away timidly and Mal stood before she could find that professional mask he knew she was looking for. “‘Nara?” “I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” she said firmly, straightening some knick-knacks on top of the bureau. “Just one more,” he pressed throatily, and she paused, casting him a stern glance. “Is this why you don’t want kids?” Mal could feel the tense heartbeats pass between them as Inara’s face clouded with tears of denial, her eyes darting anywhere in the room away from his. “I could never, ‘Nara,” he began, then choked. “I would never do that to a kid.” Inara nodded, accepting his word, crinkling her face to reign in the tears as her fingers went back to puttering. Finally, her voice surfaced, barely audible over the hum of Serenity’s engine. “I know, Mal. I just … can’t.” Swallowing hard, his heart breaking with understanding, Mal stilled her body with a single hand on the shoulder. “It’s alright,” he said softly. “I won’t ask you again.” She looked sadly at him, her hand brushing over his, their fingers interlacing. A grateful smile lifted her tired eyes. “I’m sorry, Mal,” she whispered, squeezing his hand. With a relaxed smile, he twirled his wife and pulled her into a slow dance, swaying to unheard music. “Weren’t your fault, ‘Nara,” he consoled, feeling her melt at the sound of her own name. “It’s just… you’ve been talking about starting a family for so long.” “And now I know why you don’t.” “I just wish –” “Don’t, ‘Nara. Don’t wish,” Mal interrupted firmly, pressing a finger to her lips. “I know it weren’t some frilly, fancy, bed of roses you crossed to get here. You’re cut deep and you’re hurt in ways you’ll never forget. But no other broken, beat up, gou shi path could get you to me and no man in the ‘verse could love you more. I don’t need anything but you.” “I’m sorry,” she whispered. Her chin dropped, but Mal caught it, unwilling to let her feel shame for anything. “You are my beautiful wife. I want you. Only you. And all of you.” He found her tear-filled eyes looking so much like a frightened little girl that it scared him. Despite opening the old wound, he was glad to know. He finally understood that strange, mournful look in her eyes every time he brought up their future children, and he never wanted to see that look again. He understood now why she always fought for control, dominance, and power in their relationship. He appreciated ten-fold that she trusted him enough to be weak. And he loved the peace that fell in the room as they danced together, facing her past with defiance. “I love you, Malcolm Reynolds.” “You do?” he teased, dancing her in a circle, stirring up laughter within her. “I do.” “Then can you do me a favor?” He dipped her letting her hair cascade to the ground, craning his neck to connect a kiss to her nose. “No pretending,” she said simply. “I’m not wearing one of your shirts today.” Mal sighed disappointedly, lifting her up and twirling her again, causing her skirt to flare. “Neither am I,” he quipped, dancing goofily in a circle, showing off all sides of his uneven sunburn. “Then what’s the favor?” Mal took both her hands again, kissing her fingers as he continued to dance playfully. “Put some more lotion on me. Because I’m dying’ and these hands are heaven.”

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The final part: Lovestruck by Buddha