Sound.

Blip… Blip... Blip…

Hissssss.

Blip.

Whoosh.

Blip… Blip… Blip…

Hissssss.

Blip.

Whoosh.

Blip… Blip… Blip…

The sound was familiar, but he couldn't connect it to a meaning in his mind, his thoughts too cloudy and muddled. Slowly, lashes fluttering, he opened his eyes, squinting at the harsh, blue light that flooded his vision painfully until he blocked it out again.

Whoosh.

Blip… Blip… Blip…

Hissssss.

Blip.

Whoosh.

His throat was dry he gradually realized, and he tried to swallow, wishing for some spit, his tongue thick and scratchy as it scraped along the roof of his mouth. He forced his eyes open again, blinking as they watered in the brightness, making everything blurry and unfocused. Brow furrowing, he tried to sit up, breath expelling in a strained gasp as pain suddenly flared to life in his midsection accompanied by a wave of nausea that had him hovering on the edge of blackness again.

Blip …Hissssss…. Blip…

He lay motionless for several minutes, fighting the rise in his gorge until the feeling finally subsided, the pain like a low, banked fire in his gut. He shivered, body prickled in sweat and swallowed dryly again, growing frustrated as his addled brain continued to refuse to cooperate and make sense of things. And all the while…

Whoosh… Blip… Blip… Blip… Hisssss….

…that sound, over and over again, floating just beyond his understanding. Releasing an angry breath through his nose, he tried opening his eyes for a third time, rewarded when something dark moved into his line of sight, the shape slowly coalescing into a familiar face, the lines of worry easing into a smile that held more emotion than he'd seen on his first mate since her wedding day.

"Zo--?" he rasped, the name and dim comprehension springing up in his mind – the sounds… infirmary.

"Sir," Zoë said, her smile widening impossibly in shaky relief.

Mal stared back, such a reaction from his usually stoic first mate confusing him. "Infirmary?" he asked, his voice rough and harsh. Zoë nodded, visibly drawing her emotions in check. He felt a hand squeeze his arm and only then realized that she'd been resting it there the whole time. His eyebrows drew together in perplexity and he shook his head slightly, asking for an explanation.

"You're on board Serenity," she confirmed, knowing that he'd want to be assured of that, well used to this routine. "'Been out for two days now. Even gave us a scare or two," she chided gently. "Both of you," she added, turning to allow him a view of the operating table where Inara lay beside them.

Mal's chest constricted as his gaze fell on her, so still, her skin so pale it bordered on grey, and for one agonizing second that seemed to stretch on forever he was certain she was dead. But then the beeps and hisses of the respirator penetrated his consciousness again, and his breath left him in a painful wheeze as he realized she was alive. "Inara—" he rasped and he felt Zoë's hand on his arm again.

"She's all right," his friend reassured him. "Lost a lot of blood, and we didn't have as much on board as she coulda used, so she's weak some. Simon says the machines are just to help her out a bit 'till she gets her strength back."

Mal curled his hand into a fist, hindered by the thick padding of his bandaged palm and the sharp stab of pain brought back the memory of the short sword biting him to the bone as he drove the blade into Atherton Wing's unsuspecting leg - his last ditch attempt to save Inara's life. "Wing," he ground out, his eyes never leaving Inara as he trembled in re-awakened anger.

"Dead," Zoë confirmed, following Mal's gaze to where the Companion lay. "Looks like Inara ran him through. Hun dan drowned in his own blood, most like." She turned back to him. "You've had a hell of a last few days, Sir."

Mal nodded weakly, letting his head fall back onto the rest. "Won't argue that," he agreed, eyes drooping. He forced them open again, turning to catch his first mate's gaze. "We sound?" he asked.

"Safe and," she replied, giving him a slight smile. "Expect you can be lazy for a while yet, Sir. We've got things covered."

"That's ghuh…." he started, eyes closing as he nodded, his breaths evening out as sleep claimed him again before he could finish the words.

Zoe smiled and tucked the blanket back around him snuggly, relieved now that she'd finally been able to speak to him, reassured that he'd pull through. She adjusted her seat and leaned back, content to watch him sleep. She could sit a few more hours.

-

Things were clearer the next time he woke, and after a thorough once over, Simon declared him stable enough to move to one of the nearby passenger dorms where he would be more comfortable.

Mal was loathe to leave Inara, but he could feel his body's need for recuperative rest and he knew the dorms were a sight more conducive to sleep than the secondary table in the infirmary. He finally agreed when the doctor promised to notify him the minute there was any change in Inara's condition.

He spent the rest of the day in and out of sleep, waking only when Simon or Zoë – and one time Kaylee – came in to check on him, give him a smoother for the pain.

Finally, in the early pre-dawn hours of the morning, Mal felt awake and cognizant enough to try standing, which, with his broken fingers, stitched palms and punctured midsection, was a great deal more difficult on his own than he'd anticipated, but he wanted to see Inara.

By the time he'd maneuvered his legs off the bed, he was trembling with the effort, his fingers throbbing and his guts on fire, and he had to take a minute to rest, chest heaving as he gulped in air.

When he'd caught his breath, he put his weight on his legs cautiously and stood, letting out a pained breath as his stomach flared again. But his head wasn't spinnin' and he was grateful for that much at least.

With slow and careful steps he made his way from his temporary room to the lounge area, his eyes immediately searching out Inara through the infirmary window – still unconscious.

Last thing he remembered was driving that dagger into Wing's leg; Zoe'd said Inara had killed the hun dan, so what had happened after that to put her here, so bad off, he wanted to know? Simon had put off his questions earlier, but Mal wasn't willing to wait any longer.

"What happened to her?" he asked from the doorway, watching as the doctor took another reading.

Simon turned and, seeing Mal, he pulled off his gloves and motioned the Captain out of the infirmary with a frown. "You shouldn't be on your feet," he admonished once they were out, but Mal only stared back at him expectantly. He shook his head. "I'm not sure," he confessed, hands going to his hips.

Mal looked at him in surprise.

"She went into cardiac arrest shortly after we sewed you up," the young doctor explained. "I have no idea why. The best I can figure is there was some sort of compound introduced into her system—"

"Whelt stuck her with something," Mal said, nodding. "Said it was adrenaline and such."

"Well, it was more than just adrenaline. It put a great deal of strain on her heart… It was… very close," Simon admitted.

Mal swallowed roughly, digesting that. "She gonna be okay?" he asked at last.

Simon drew himself up with a deep breath. "Yes, I think so. It was impossible to completely counteract the effects of the compound without knowing what she was given, but I'm fairly confident her system has flushed most of it out now. She should wake up within the next day or so, I expect."

Mal nodded, then turned his gaze back to the doctor. "Could use that smoother now abouts," he said.

Simon frowned, knowing that - for Mal to be asking - the pain must be bad. There was only so much he could safely administer in a day, but from the way the Captain was looking at him, Simon suspected the man didn’t much care. But taking his next dose early only meant he'd be going longer in between next time. "It's a bit soon yet," the younger man said, hesitantly.

"Not from where I'm standing, Doc," Mal said, wincing.

"That's because you're not supposed to be standing." Simon relented with a sigh, slipping back into the infirmary for the pain killer.

Mal leaned against the window, pressing his forehead to the glass, his eyes on Inara, lingering on the darkening bruises on her face. She'd almost died. Saved his life…

She'd said she loved him.

He sighed, grimacing as another stab of pain lanced through his stomach. He wouldn't hold her to it. Lot of things got said in life threatening situations, didn't mean she meant it. Didn't mean she didn't, a tiny, hopeful voice pointed out, but he was too cautious to embrace that thought easily. When she woke up, they'd talk. Mal made little protest as Simon came back out with the pain meds, allowing the doctor to help him back to the bunk in the passenger dorm, grateful as the pain-numbing effect of the medicine pulled him back into sleep almost immediately.

-

Simon frowned, brow furrowing as he inspected the captain's bandages; the wrap around Mal's midsection was beginning to show signs of bleeding and he sighed at the stubborn man. The dressing would need changing. At least the captain would be out for a few hours, he reasoned; it would spare him the extra pain.

He turned to head back to the infirmary for fresh bandages, pausing in surprise to find the woman, Gabr'elle, standing at the door, watching him. In all his frantic effort to save the lives of Mal and Inara, he'd completely forgotten the woman was on board.

"How are you feeling?" he asked quietly, feeling slightly guilty. He ushered her out of Mal's room, closing the door behind him.

"About as tired as you look," the woman replied. She nodded over his shoulder. "How's he farin'?"

"He's recovering," said Simon with a nod. "He'd be recovering a lot faster if he weren't so stubborn…" He trailed off, shaking his head.

"And Inara?" Gabr'elle pressed.

Sensing her concern, Simon placed a hand on her shoulder compassionately and led her toward the infirmary. "She's getting better," he said, letting Gabr'elle see for herself through the windows. "She should wake up soon. How's your arm?" he continued, indicating the cast on her forearm.

"Itches like a Lawman's palm," she groused, "but I conjure it'll mend and mend well, thanks to you."

"Well," said Simon, giving her a half smile, "It's all part of the service."

Gabr'elle smiled slightly, her gaze turning back to Inara. "Let him go, didn't you? The boy?" she asked after a moment.

The smile fell from his lips and he nodded cautiously. "Yes."

"Figured as much. Won't be here much longer myself, I expect," she said, nodding to herself.

Simon wasn't sure what to say to that, and found himself waiting awkwardly for inspiration to strike, wishing for nothing more than an end to this night and a bed he could call his own for a few hours. He sighed deeply, letting his chin fall to his chest.

"Look like you could use some sleep yourself," Gabr'elle pointed out.

He nodded, lifting his hands to rub the back of his neck. "It's been an incredibly long couple of days," he admitted, head snapping up as a sudden series of beeps sounded from the infirmary. -

Panic!

The feeling swept over Inara as she fought her way back to consciousness, her throat constricting convulsively around something blocking her airways, eyes flying open, wide and frightened.

"Easy! You've been intubated, try not to fight it," came Simon's voice suddenly as his face swam into focus above her. She relaxed marginally as the respirator filled her lungs with air, the fear of suffocating easing with every mechanical breath the machines took for her.

She was onboard Serenity, she realized as her mind began to clear, in the infirmary. And with the realization came a flare of hope that Mal was there—alive too—and she strained to lift her head, scanning her eyes around the room, searching for evidence of him. But she saw only Simon and the bleak, white sterility of the infirmary.

He would be there, she knew; if he were alive, he would be there…

Inara closed her eyes, feeling her throat tighten again as grief welled up within her. Mal was gone; she'd lost him…

"Try to relax," Simon's voice came again, worried this time, but she wasn't listening. The beeping of the surrounding monitors drowned out everything else as her heart rate sped up and she started to cough around the breathing tube, panic resurfacing as she began to choke. She fought against the restraints that held her hands at her sides, needing to be free of the smothering confinement, eyes pleading as the doctor tried to calm her. She tried to yell, to tell him to get her out, but she couldn't speak, couldn't move, couldn't breathe. Then Simon was standing over her once more, his face pale and tight as he pressed a hypo spray to her neck hastily, and blessed oblivion flowed over her again.

Part 14C