PART 4:

The world thundered to the beat of his heart, all light in the ‘verse narrowed to a pinpoint illuminating the path to the hospital. Mal’s skin burned despite the cold, and he ran, singly focused, with Inara in his arms. She wanted to walk, but the blindness slowed her too much for Mal’s liking. She asked him to stay calm; she could feel his pulse racing. Unable to soothe him, she wrapped her arms delicately around his neck, closed her eyes, and tried to be calm enough for the both of them. Bursting into the emergency room, Mal scanned quickly for a doctor, a nurse, anyone who could help. Simon’s words echoed in his head. The room was wide, sterile, bright, and about half full of bored, tired, and infirmed people waiting to be seen. A few cries emerged from distant hallways, and the air smelled of plaster casting. “Mal, put me down,” Inara whispered in his ear. Mal complied reluctantly, keeping one hand on the small of her back to guide her. She clung to his arm, keeping her chin down as she followed his lead. He was glad she couldn’t see herself, hair messed up, wearing a hotel bathrobe over that silly pink shirt. Mal tried, awkwardly, to smooth her hair as they walked. When they got to the desk, a bored receptionist slid a clipboard across the desk. “Ma’am, we need to see a doctor immediately,” Mal told the woman. The woman looked up, considered them briefly, then pointed to the form again. “Fill this out and we’ll call for you.” “I just spoke to a doctor,” Mal explained. “He told me to get my friend here to a hospital immediately. This can’t wait.” “It won’t be long,” the woman answered with forced sympathy. “Please, fill out the form.” “I don’t think –” “Mal,” Inara interrupted, gripping his arm tightly, her breathing labored. “’Nara!” Mal’s heart nearly stopped as she gasped and wheezed, her knees shaking. Mal guided her to sit on the floor, watching helplessly as she struggled for air. A dark-skinned, male nurse rushed to their aid, scooping Inara effortlessly in his arms and leading the two down the hall to the nearest open room. “I’m fine,” Inara insisted as her breathing calmed, but the nurse still placed an oxygen mask over her face. All the while, Mal stayed against the wall, out of the way, and waited for his heart to quit jackhammering against his ribcage. The nurse listened to Inara’s breathing, took a quick medical history, then set out to get her medical records from the Guild. As soon as he left, Inara reclined on the bed and pulled the oxygen mask from her face. “I think you’re supposed to leave that on,” Mal said, pushing off the wall a little. Inara smirked, but being still blind, she directed it to the wall a little to Mal’s left. “This,” she said, indicating the oxygen mask, “is how you get bumped to the front of the line.” Mal’s jaw dropped, incredulously. “Wait, you faked that?” “Shh,” she chastised, waving him to be quiet. Then she whispered defensively, “It worked, didn’t it.” “You nearly gave me a heart attack.” “Well I couldn’t exactly tell you.” “You could’ve given me a look.” “Mal, I can’t see you!” “I – hey, Doctor,” Mal said, dropping the argument as a white-coated man entered. Inara took cue and put the mask loosely by her face. “Hello, Ms. Serra,” the doctor greeted cordially, brandishing a handheld computer pad on which Inara’s entire medical history rested. Inara set the mask on her pillow, sat up straight, and folded her hands in the most companion-y way. “Hello, Doctor. I’d say I’m pleased to see you, but I seem to have lost my sight.” “You woke up blind?” the doctor asked. “I – ” Inara began, then faltered, as though she didn’t remember waking up. “No, she woke up seeing,” Mal jumped in. “She could see, but she didn’t know who she was. Didn’t know anything. No less than five minutes later, she knows my name again, but can’t see a damn thing.” “Really?” the doctor asked, intrigued, looking from Mal to Inara. Mal looked at Inara who appeared genuinely confused. “This was preceded by a low fever?” “It’s … hard to say,” Inara stammered. “Our ship went down… we’ve been walking for two days.” “She wouldn’t eat,” Mal told the doctor, not wanting to leave out any detail that might help. “I thought she was just tired, but she wouldn’t eat.” “The blindness is preceded by amnesia?” the doctor mused, as much to himself as to verify. “She didn’t wake up blind?” “No,” Mal confirmed. The doctor was nodding again, muttering to himself, making notes on his computer. “We’ve never caught the fever at this stage before. Excuse me, I need to call a consult,” the doctor told Mal before disappearing again.

*~*

It was near fifteen minutes before the doctor returned, this time with an older, blue-coated woman holding a pristine folder with fresh, gleaming pages – someone has printed out Inara’s medical file. Mal couldn’t really understand their jibberish, but was unsettled by the frequency of the words “remarkable” and “never seen this.” They were speaking to Inara in quick and excited voices. She listened patiently, nodding her head slowly as if she understood, answering occasionally. It was when the blue coated doctor shoved a pen in her hand and held a form under her blind eyes that Mal jumped in. “She ain’t signing nothing,” Mal said curtly, taking the pen. Inara didn’t resist and didn’t protest. She simply found Mal’s hand and squeezed it gratefully. “Now explain in plain terms what it is you’re planning on doing,” Mal demanded evenly, crossing his arms. The two doctors looked a little affronted, but the younger started explaining. He hadn’t gone more than two words before Mal was completely lost. Looking from Inara to the two eager doctors going on about a new treatment for her disease, Mal knew time was of the essence. The urgency in Simon’s voice said that much… Simon … “I need to send a wave?” Mal interrupted. A few minutes and five switchboards later, Mal managed to connect to the hotel room and get Simon on the line. He handed the audio handset over to the blue-coated doctor and she blubbered animatedly to Simon. Mal watched the conversation unfold, confident in his chosen ambassador. Inara smoothed her clothes, but Mal could tell she was just trying to stay calm. After ten minutes, the phone conversation seemed to degrade into the medical version of mud-slinging, and the blue-coated doctor handed the phone back to Mal. “Recommendations, Doc?” Mal asked. “They want to put her in a medical study.” “You don’t sound like you like that.” “They’ll give you a form with five places to sign. Only sign the first box where it agrees to Phase One of the study.” “Phase One,” Mal repeated. “This is an untested treatment, but it’s our best hope. They’ll give her an injection right away that will make her groggy. Don’t let them do anything else until I arrive,” Simon said urgently. Mal pulled the handset away from his ear and looked at the receiver in surprise. “You’re coming in?” “Mal, listen to me. The treatment is called plasmapheresis.” Mal was about to ask what that meant, but Simon was already translating it to Captain-dummy-talk. Simon was good like that. “They’ll stick two needles in her arms and hook her up to a machine. Do not let them turn on the machine.” “Simon –” “No matter what, Captain,” Simon insisted. “No matter what.” “Don’t let them turn on the machine,” Mal repeated. “I’ll be there soon.”

*~*

Mal thought he’d feel better once Simon arrived, but in truth, he felt worse. The shot that was supposed to make Inara groggy had completely knocked her out and she hadn’t so much as stirred since. Simon stood next to her bed, talking to the medical monitor screens as if they were people, making quick notes to himself. Inara was hooked up to a machine that filtered her blood, mixed it with something else, and then sent it back into her body. Mal had found himself a chair in the corner and sat, elbows on his thighs, fingers steepled and tapping his lips. Occasionally, he’d run his fingers through his hair, attempting to milk the exhaustion out through the roots rather than succumb to sleep. Making a few last notes, Simon tipped the chart closed and tapped his fingers lightly against the bed frame. “I should go check on River,” he said distantly. Mal looked up in surprise. “You brought her here?” “Her medication was part of the deal,” Simon nodded. “Inara is in the study, we get 100 platinum straight up, and River gets medicine no questions asked.” Mal shifted in his chair, uncomfortable with the notion of trading Inara’s health for money or medicine. Simon must have sensed his doubt. “The treatment will work,” Simon assured. “I know that.” “Just milking the fact that they don’t?” Mal clarified, still unsettled. “I have learned from the master,” Simon smiled sardonically, giving the monitors one last look before heading out. Mal brushed his hands across his face, wincing at the uneven feel of two-day stubble. “Mal?” Inara called weakly, finally stirring from her sleep. “I’m here.” Mal wanted to move, but his legs were lead until she summoned him with outstretched hands. He took both her hands, clasping one and holding it to his heart, guiding the other to his face so she, too, could feel his unkempt pre-beard. “Stop trying to see me,” Mal said softly as her eyes roved darkly. “You know how I look. Just close your eyes.” Inara closed her eyes, her hand relaxing against his jaw line. Soothed by her tenderness, Mal turned his head and kissed her palm. She retracted sharply, as she always did to his touch. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to mess up your image,” he laughed, retrieving her hand and encasing it with both of his. “I’m a little foggy on protocol here, because I’m not accustomed to waking up with you in my arms.” Inara blushed a little. “Professional habit, I suppose. I feel a warm body and –” “I don’t need the thought train, Inara.” She nodded and they spent a moment in silence as Mal studied their joint hands. She wasn’t pulling away from that. “It was the middle of the night,” Inara spoke up. “Why did you wake me?” “River had me all riled. And I know how sick you get when you don’t eat.” “What do you mean?” “When the food arrived,” Mal explained, wondering if she’d forgotten that as well. He hoped to God she didn’t know they found her naked on the bed. But then, knowing her, she wouldn’t admit to being embarrassed about it. “You were too tired to eat. But I figured since you had a few hours, you … are you mad?” “Why do you think I get sick when I don’t eat?” “You do, don’t you? I mean, you hide it and play like you’re a dainty eater, but you have your five mini-meals a day.” “What? Are you policing the kitchen?” Inara carped. “Monitoring, not policing,” Mal corrected. “I stock the food cabinets and I can’t afford to buy things people won’t eat.” She huffed and pulled her hands free from Mal’s. He hadn’t honestly expected to hold on that long. “No need to get tetchy.” “I’m not tetchy,” she scoffed, searching for a retort, but coming up empty. “I’m just … cold.” With a sigh, Mal let the conversation drop and found her a blanket.

*~*

Something was wrong! The bed rattled. Inara shivered and sweat. Mal had pressed the emergency call button and four people had run in, spewing medical jargon in raised voices. Mal tried to keep up with their diagnosis, but could barely hear over the blaring of the medical alarms. One of the nurses had a needle poised at Inara’s arm when Simon stormed in. “Don’t give her that!” “Who are you?” the nurse demanded. “I’m her doctor. She can’t have that,” Simon said simply, taking the needle. He appeared far too calm for all the alarms sounding, but he strode confidently to the cart, selected a different medicine, and injected that instead. The world calmed and reassociated almost immediately in response. Inara’s eyes fluttered open, roved the room once, then closed, unseeing. Simon turned off the machined filtering her blood and disconnected the tubes. “Inara,” Simon called gently. “How’re you feeling?” “Vibrant,” she murmured, chuckling weakly at her own joke. “There’s no mention of medicinal allergies in the chart we received from the Guild,” the nurse protested, scrutinizing Inara’s chart. “There’s no mention of any allergy.” “Let me see that,” Simon carped, snatching the chart harshly. He turned to the later pages, making incredulous squeaks as he went. “How does the Guild not know you’re allergic to tuna?” “How do you know I am?” Inara countered, clearly startled. Simon thought for a moment. “The Captain told me.” Inara shot Mal a look, but he missed the brunt of it since she didn’t quite know where to aim. “Second week you were on board,” Mal shrugged. “Never mind.” “It’s not like I’m stalking you! I watch everyone,” Mal insisted defensively, then started counting off. “Kaylee eats almonds, but not walnuts. She has some specialized walnut radar and always leaves a pile of ‘em whenever she eats a Fruity Oaty Bar. Zoë, once a month, gets an inexplicable craving for powdered cheese. River will eat protein in any color but blue –” “I didn’t know that,” Simon interrupted, looking up from his work, both concerned and perplexed. Mal shrugged off the look, but lost momentum for his defense. “I stopped stocking it, so there’s not much opportunity to notice.” “I suppose Jayne eats anything,” Inara continued, relaxing a little. Mal considered a moment, the softness in his voice mirroring hers. “Jayne won’t eat spinach. He’s got some superstition about it.” Inara raised an amused eyebrow and Mal relaxed and smiled. “Simon here’ll eat anything so long as it can be stacked monochromatically on the fork.” “Okay, that observation crosses the line of food stocking,” Simon warned, holding up a finger to stop whatever came next. Mal laughed and clapped Simon on the back. “Little River told me that one, but you do eat anything I set in front of you… even if you do turn your nose up first.” Inara’s face softened a little more, garnering peace from the familiar banter. “What about you?” “Excepting the powdered cheese, I don’t stock anything on Serenity I wouldn’t eat myself.” Simon stopped working a third time and looked squarely at Mal. “Is that why River never gets her plantain chips?”

*~*

Part 5