A.N.: A burden shared can be overcome. Oh ye of little faith, thinking I couldn’t make a fluffy, sexy, and semi-angsty finale to this series! Hope you like it. Comments welcome and adored. Uber-much thanks to AgentOmega for the beta and the happy ending.

Comes after "Seeing you in a different ... shirt", "That shirt makes you look naked", and "Broken by a name"

WARNING: Rated R/NC-17 for sex.

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Mal was freaking out. He’d been freaking out for the last forty-five minutes and Inara was getting tired of it. She couldn’t quite understand why he was freaking out, because the whole gorram thing was his idea. But it seemed the plan had grown on her a little more than it had on him (literally), and today, he’d just lost it. He was frantically muttering about guns, money, and chicken wire and had commandeered a hammer for one of the projects, though was swinging it about wildly when addressing the others. Inara leaned back in the chair in the galley, slowly slurping through a cup of soup that she balanced on her pregnant belly in between sips. She wore Mal’s blue shirt, buttoned only at the top, letting the bottom hang open around the bare skin of her stomach. She poked critically at the skin, smoothing creams on it to prevent stretch marks, trying desperately to ignore Mal’s momentary break down. Zoë had promised to knock him out if he got too out of control with the hammer, so she tried not to worry. “Hey, baby,” she cooed to the little life hiding under her own skin. “Can you hold this for me?” Inara balanced her cup on her belly and the baby hiccupped in response. “Don’t drink so much,” Inara teased her little one. She pursed her lips as Mal bustled through again, heading toward the cockpit, talking about a table saw, a refrigerator, and the market value of fresh green beans. Zoë trailed him at a distance, rolling her eyes apologetically at Inara. In truth, Inara found the whole thing terrifying. She knew she could handle Mal like this, but she worried about whether she’d be able to do it with a defenseless little baby wriggling in her arms. All the insecurities she had felt – the reason she’d put Mal off for so long – it all swooped in, falling squarely on her shoulders, spiraling toward self doubt. Mal had panicked a couple of times during the first few months of the pregnancy, but this was the first time he’d started tearing around the ship, hollering, and punching walls. She could hear Mal on the bridge, yelling at someone over vid, and it turned her stomach. Not the unsettled, morning sickness kind of turning, but rather something more deeply rooted in fear. The next time Mal stormed through, she grabbed his wrist. “Mal.” He was kneeling beside her in a heartbeat, his eyes intent on hers, his mind racing. “You alright? You sick?” “I’m fine, Mal. Just sit down.” His attention was already gone, his eyes darting around. “Too much to be done, ‘Nara. This place – a kid could die here.” “Mal!” “I’ll take care of it,” he said quickly, then stood and left. “Mal, you’re scaring me,” Inara whispered at his back, but he didn’t hear. Quietly, Inara set down her soup and headed for Shuttle 1 – her refuge. The shuttle, though no longer adorned, was still tastefully decorated with soothing tapestries, her couch, and her altar. (Mal wouldn’t have the altar in their bunk.) Inara placed a hand on her stomach, her breath coming in short gasps. Simon had told her to avoid stress, and here she was hyperventilating. “I’m sorry, baby,” she whimpered, reaching a hand to the wall so she didn’t fall on her way to the couch. She hadn’t come running here since she became pregnant. Where she used to crave the solitude of this place, now she felt isolated from help and her fear compounded. Inara lay down on the couch, trying to get control of her breathing. She could hear a loud clamoring from the cargo bay as Mal dropped the hammer he’d been waving around and Jayne yelled at him from below. Inara fought the fear. It had taken her too long to get control of it. Too long to take this step. Even if she had to steal the shuttle and fly away from here, she’d keep her baby safe. Inara cried as the world went spotted from asphyxia. She couldn’t do this alone. As her vision threatened to turn black, she felt a calloused hand slip into hers and squeeze gently. “Hey, Inara, wake up.” She could tell by the way he said her name that it was Jayne. Inara wanted to obey, but couldn’t. “Breathe in real deep,” Jayne said gently, placing a hand on her face. “Hold it. Now let go.” Inara followed his coaching as he continued telling her how to breathe. The world reassembled itself into light and color, and all Inara had left to add were tears. “Whatcha cryin’ for?” he asked, their joint hands resting on her stomach. Inara looked at him, squatting next to the couch, looking at her with as much concern as Mal or Simon would. “Don’t let that yu ben de sha gua worry your little heart, Inara. He loves you senseless.” “It’s the senseless part I worry about.” “Fang xin, girl. Now I gotta go stop Mal before he breaks somethin’. You alright in here? Want some food or somethin’?” “I’m fine,” Inara assured, sitting up slowly with Jayne’s help. “The Doc? Kaylee?” Inara shook her head. “Just Mal… when he calms down.” Jayne nodded devilishly, picking up the statue of Buddha and handing it to Inara. She looked at him quizzically, but all he offered was a wink before he set off in the general direction of Mal’s rampaging. Inara sat on the couch, holding the statue, looking out the door in confusion. A few minutes later, Mal dashed in. “‘Nara!” he cried, rushing toward her, then darting about the shuttle like a pollinating bumble bee on crack. “Jayne said you were breathing funny. Why are you in here? Where are you going?” Inara looked at the statue in her hands, saying a short prayer, then she swung it around, whacking Mal in the forehead and knocking him unconscious. She looked guiltily from the statue in her hands to her husband’s crumpled form and nearly broke down in tears again. “Buddha strikes another man down,” Jayne smirked, leaning in the doorway. “I ‘spect he’ll be ready to talk calm when he wakes.” Inara dropped the statue, mortified, but Jayne sauntered in, replaced the statue where he’d taken it initially, then scooped Mal off the floor and set him on the couch. She was still too stunned to move when Jayne patted her on the shoulder and quipped, “Nice swing, for a pregnant lady.” Jayne poked her belly once before leaving again, probably in search of food. Inara looked at her blooming stomach, only poorly covered by the blue shirt and loose sweat-pants she wore. It was somewhere in the midst of the weeks of morning sickness that she lost all care as to whether the crew saw her in make-up or not. She knew by the way they suppressed their snickers that Mal had warned them about mentioning her freckles. Mal groaned and rolled, nearly falling off the couch before Inara pushed him onto his back. She was on the fence about how she’d handled the situation – knowing that Mal was accustomed to this method of communication, but not wanting to establish it as a standard between them. “Mal,” she whispered, summoning him back to consciousness. He pressed a hand to the welt on his head and moaned. “‘Nara?” he said groggily. “Who hit me? Zoë? Jayne?” “I did,” she answered firmly, at which he hooted with laughter. Squinting his eyes open, he reached out his free hand, pulling her face to his so he could kiss her. “Woman, you get more amazing every day I know you,” he laughed. Inara situated herself on the couch beside him, guiding his hand to rest on her stomach. “I’d appreciate it if you remained calm,” she told him diplomatically, as his fingers traced lazy circles around her belly button. “I think my head would appreciate if I stayed calm too,” he chuckled wryly. “Did you think to bring ice or just the Buddha?” Inara rummaged around, found an instant cold pack in the first aid kit, and handed it over. “You’ve been asking for a child so long, I really didn’t expect this from you.” “I stopped asking!” Mal protested, sitting up and then regretting it as his head pounded. “You said you were ready for this!” “Don’t put this all on me!” Inara retorted, her freckles darkening. “I said I was ready to try. I didn’t say I could take the full weight of responsibility while you tore about the ship like a madman!” “I seem to recall a certain woman losing calm in a major way last week,” Mal countered, argumentatively. “And didn’t you just conk me over the head?!” “I can’t watch you like this, Mal! It scares me to death!” “‘Nara, we’re having a baby! This is no small thing. I’m going to go off my rocker every now and again.” “Can’t you do it without waving a hammer around and yelling about table saws and toilet paper?” “I ain’t gonna change on this, ‘Nara,” he seethed, coming nose to nose with her. “I ain’t you. I’m can’t sit in front of Buddha muttering prayers for twenty minutes and find inner calm. You just let me run around and do my thing and when my twenty minutes are up, then you tell me to stop.” “Ten minutes,” Inara countered firmly, catching him off guard. He hadn’t realized he was making an offer, but he recovered quickly. “Fifteen.” “Twelve.” “Come on, ‘Nara. I met you half way!” he carped, throwing the spent cold pack in her general direction. “Eleven.” “This ain’t fair!” he whined, turning his back on Inara and punching the wall angrily, not seeing her flinch. “You can’t expect me to become Mr. Sensitive every time you get all weepy. You know the truth of me. You know who I am, that I love you, and that I won’t lift a finger to hurt you. You also know that I go into bars every Alliance holiday and start fist fights. You know that I take jobs that require shootin’ people. Chisels and chicken wire is how I handle stress!” Inara waited a beat, taking a deep breath to find her own composure. “Why are you stressed, Mal?” “I don’t want to talk about this, ‘Nara. I want to fix my ship.” “Stop!” she cried, grabbing his wrist and pulling him back into the shuttle before he could stalk out. Closing the door, she led him to the center of the room, massaging his shoulders as she went, knowing that she’d have to be the calm one here. Drawing on her years of companion training, she found control of the situation and said soothingly, “I can help you with stress.” “‘Nara, this ain’t back-rub kind of stress. This is bar brawl kind of stress.” “You want it rough?” she silked, giving him a tantalizing push. He raised his eyebrows, noticing the seduction in her voice. His mouth flapping in confusion, he turned to face her. “You haven’t wanted sex for four and a half months. You can’t honestly tell me you’re in the mood now?!” “You are saying all the wrong things today,” Inara goaded, pushing him roughly down on the couch and undoing the top buttons of the blue shirt, letting it fall open. Mal huffed in disbelief, laughing as much at himself as at her, pulling her onto his lap. He wasn’t much in the mood, but between the forty-seven freckles and sexy, blue shirt, he couldn’t argue with such a time-honored form of stress relief. The shirt fell from her shoulders, but Mal caught it before it hit the floor. “I thought we established that this shirt stays on,” he grinned, taking a moment to soak in her breasts with both hands and mouth, while they were still exposed. Slowly, they freed themselves of all clothing except the blue shirt, which hung loosely on Inara’s shoulders. After a fair bit of finagling and foreplay they found a position on the couch that was not entirely disagreeable given the size of Inara’s stomach. Mal slid gently inside, watching her squirm with discomfort as she adjusted to the position. He sighed, frustrated at the care this would take, but knowing confidently his wife would not disappoint. “You know, I just don’t see this turning rough,” he commented, not caring one bit as his heart and his hands molded around his treasured wife. “Just try to keep up,” she challenged devilishly, shifting again until they tumbled to the floor. Laughing and rolling, trying to keep the weight off her belly, they made love over every square inch of the shuttle except for the narrow seat of the couch. With kisses and caressing words, Inara brought Mal to satisfying release, and he was not about to leave her behind. It was harder with her pregnant. It required more creativity on his part, but after four months, two weeks, three days, and seventeen hours of not touching her, he was more than up for the challenge. Oh, how he’d longed to hear her crying his name like that for far too long. And he was not remiss in showering her with the very same pleasure. Her name fell from his lips like honey, pouring over her, intensifying her climax as she came slowly and trembled with joy. When their bodies were spent, he carried her onto the soft, welcoming cushions of the couch, and knelt next to her so they were face to face. “I didn’t hurt you, did I, ‘Nara?” he asked, concerned at the way her hand was hovering over her stomach. She shook her head, a smile spilling across her lips as they changed shade from dark red to soft pink. The flush of her cheeks faded, and she bubbled with mirthful giggles. Mal stroked his fingers gently and soothingly down the centerline of her body, unable to stop grinning as he traced her belly down and back up. Starting at the earlobes, he kissed tenderly around her jaw line until he found her lips, and she opened her mouth to the kiss, drinking him deeply, moaning with pleasure. Her fingers briefly grazed the welt Buddha had left on his forehead and they shared a laugh. Mal climbed on top of her, seeking balance as she continued to kiss away his pent-up lust for those peach, freckled cheeks. He stopped her wandering hands, knowing he didn’t have the strength to come again just yet, but waiting for her permission before he backed away. Her soft, brown eyes meeting his, Inara's thumb grazed his lips compassionately and he leaned away from her, lying back on the couch, resting until he could find strength to show her he loved her again. “I think we should move a bed back in here,” Mal remarked, knocking his knees back and forth against hers where they crossed at the center of the red sofa. “This couch is just a little narrow.” Inara slid one leg beside him and he shifted as much as possible to give her room. “Mal get over here.” “No room over there, ‘Nara. That’s what I’m sayin’.” “No, Mal. Come feel this.” Mal chuckled, stroking her leg. “I’ve heard that line before. I need rest, woman. Even pregnant, you’re outshinin’ me.” “Will you shut-up and come here. The baby is kicking!”