“That’s what you get for sneakin’ into the Captain’s bunk.” Mal laughed when the blush fell across Inara’s cheeks. Of course he knew about her watching him sleep. Knew by the peace on her face that one night they’d stayed up talking until they were both practically drooling with exhaustion. Knew because he’d fallen asleep on the bridge one evening and woke up covered with a blanket and surrounded by her sweet fragrance. Knew because he was the Captain and nothin’ got by him (i.e., Zoë told him). And Mal wanted her to come. The first night, he’d left the door to his bunk open, inviting her in should she want to talk again. In the morning, he’d awoken to the sweet smell of jasmine and though she hadn’t woken him to talk, he knew she’d been there. After that, he just left the door unlocked and let her live with her guilty secret. He reveled in it too. There were nights, he’d retire early and lie awake in his bed for hours hoping to hear the sound of her climbing in. She never wore shoes at night. Even now, as the two sat on the Infirmary bed, her in her blue robe, him in the same brown shirt he’d worn the last two days, her feet dangled in the air, completely bare, her manicured toes painted a delicate purple. The grav boot may as well be shut down for as light as he felt with his arm wrapped around her. The way she smiled and laughed and rested her head on his shoulder. The self-conscious concern on her face as she touched her bruised forehead. The flush of her cheeks when he outed her. He almost regretted it, fearing she would recoil in shame and never come visit him again. But those amazing, brown eyes met his timidly, and she could see that he didn’t mind her stalkish behavior one bit. “I’m sorry, Mal,” she murmured, ducking her head. He couldn’t stop his hand brushing away the locks falling around her face, pulling back the veil that threatened to separate them. Mal never imagined he’d be so close to her in this life time. Never imagined his hand would be resting on that smooth curve of her hip. Never imagined that she wouldn’t pull away. “It’s been a rough couple of weeks,” he offered, by way of excuse, grateful to feel her body resting against his again. This was how they were meant to be. Her and him, sitting inside his boat, enveloped in the peace of eachother and the freedom of the black. He closed his eyes, leaning his cheek against the top of her head, praying that she wasn’t just seeking comfort for the loss of two crewmen. Praying that he wasn’t either. “I didn’t think you were coming back.” Her breath was hot and humid, tickling the exposed skin of his chest where he’d left the top button of his shirt unbuttoned. She slipped both her arms around him and he could feel his old wounds, still tender despite weeks of healing. But he ignored them, determined to sit with her on that Infirmary bed, holding her until the end of time. Every point of contact between her arms and his body tingled with joy and longing. Her embrace was home to him. As much home as Serenity had been all these years. That peace and freedom he felt every time his boat broke atmo, he also felt when sitting and talking to her most nights. Around Inara, he could get as foot-in-mouth as the Doc got around Kaylee – always slipping up and calling her whore at the wrong time. But other times, she’d just talk to him and laugh with him. And he imagined that she saw him as more than a petty thief. The moments when her profession and his never entered the equation. They were just two people longing for escape and finding it on Serenity. She loved this boat as much as he did and it confounded him why she’d left. Confounded him all the more that she was here now, resting on his shoulder, like it was the most normal position for the two to be in. Confounded him because he knew she wasn’t using wiles or trying to extract something from him. Her professional mask had fallen off and worse than usual. But then, so had his. “I had to come back,” he told her, his voice thick with emotion, suavely pretending he had any say over whether he lived or died. “For you.” Inara turned the sweetest, wistful smile to him and his heart melted into liquid, leaked out his boots, and puddled on the floor. He wanted to kiss those beautiful red lips. He just needed to lean in a little. Would she fight him? Would she kiss him back? His arm tightened around her waist, pulling her in. “I should…” she interrupted, then trailed off. Her face scrunched with uncertainty and she slid off the bed, distancing herself. Mal’s insides twisted in anguish, the puddle of his heart struggling to reform so it wouldn’t be injured as she left. He gripped her hand and she stopped, turning to face him. Inara waited for him to speak first, so he stammered about, looking for a way to convey his feelings without opening himself to rejection and heartache. “You know, you don’t have to stay by the ladder,” he said. Did his voice sound desperate and uncertain? Were the words too flippant? “Shen me?” “When you come into my bunk at night. You don’t have to stay by the door.” Her eyes were shifting away, and he was speaking too fast to put a governor on his words. He could feel her arm grow taut as she pulled away, but their hands remained connected. “There’s plenty of space in the bed… if you’re tired.” Inara stopped tugging, gazing at the floor, and Mal realized that she was holding onto his hand as much as he was holding hers. She turned toward him, her gaze downcast, taking both his hands in hers, leaning until their foreheads touched. He was waiting for the tearful rejection. Waiting, because he’d seen it before and knew there could be no other way between them. It was because of him and Nandi, he knew it. Something Nandi had told him that caught him off guard those many months ago – about Inara’s feelings for him. But afterwards, Inara had left. She’d left! She feared love with every ounce of her being and there was nothing he could do to change that. Nothing he could do but wait for her to say those hurtful words again. She’d been considering leaving, and now he’d pushed her away again. Mal waited, straining to hear over the violent thumps of his heart, but the words never came. Strangely, like two cogs each propelling the motion of the other, their faces rotated until their lips met in a gentle, uncertain kiss. Sweet taste of Serenity, home, and all the unnamed fragrances she’d left lingering in his bunk those nights she visited. Mal pulled away in surprise, concerned that she wasn’t smiling. Concerned that he wasn’t smiling. But he was in shock, more so than she, especially when she finally spoke. “There’s more space in my bed,” she said softly, more as a statement of fact than seduction. “If you’re tired.” It was strange to feel the invitation from Inara. Mal had always imbued that bed with the negative image of her profession. Always imagined that if ever they shared a bed, it would be his, not hers. But she wasn’t inviting him into her office. Her voice was soft, gentle, and lacked that teasing bit of solicition he always assumed would accompany the invitation to her bed. She was inviting him into her home. Into her sanctuary and her refuge. And there was no place in the 'verse he’d rather be. Their foreheads fell against each other once more, Inara grimacing as he bumped her bruise. With a sympathetic smile, Mal cradled her face and kissed the injury again. He stood and embraced her, knowing he would never be home again without her in his arms. This time, he would ask her not to go. Out loud. And then he’d hog-tie her to a bulkhead if need be. “I am a bit tired,” he said, and meant it. They’d been up half the night and he’d hardly slept all week. Never dropping his hands, sharing only the most casual of small talk, Inara led the way to her shuttle. Mal shed his boots while she considerately changed the sheets on the bed. She found something in a light beige, knowing he wouldn’t associate the color with her profession and he looked appreciatively at the inviting space. As she worked, he reached down to pick up a trinket that had fallen off her nightstand – a small pewter horse with a knight mounted on top that he’d given her ages ago as a joke. He always loved that she kept it by her bed. Her hand danced over his as light as angel dust, brushing the statue out of his fingers and floating it to its proper place on the table before she resumed her turning of the linens. When she’d finished, she looked at him only once, then crawled into the bed, choosing the near side for herself, lying facing the empty pillow. There would be no touching between them tonight. No kisses or passionate embraces. Not when just admitting that they wanted to be in the same room together (while still awake) was a step enough. Chivalrously, he lay in the bed next to her, fully clothed, and for awhile they just stayed there gazing at each other across the pillows. Finally pulled down by exhaustion, Mal’s lids fell shut and he felt Inara roll over and spoon against him. (Okay, maybe a little touching between them.) His hand grazed her side, and he breathed in the scent of her hair. He was glad he’d accidentally awoken her that night. Glad that she hadn’t noticed the shuttle door click shut as he had ducked out. Devilishly, he lifted his head off the soft, cotton pillow case and nibbled her ear. Inara giggled and rolled away, but he snaked his hand around her waist and pulled her close, settling his chin against her shoulder and holding her while they fell asleep. She didn’t know it, but he’d watched her have this dream a half dozen times. If that made him a stalker too, so be it. She’d started it. Besides, they both loved this dream, and he was glad that it was finally coming true.

*~*

By request the story continues with Don't Be Afraid