Disclaimer thingy: Firefly/Serenity are owned by other folks and not by me, though I appreciate being able to write some stuff purely for fun inspired by the Firefly 'Verse. All constructive comments and feedback from you shiny readers out there much appreciated!

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Once on Serenity, River pulled herself free of Simon’s arm and headed swiftly across the cargo bay. “Mei-mei, where are you going?” Simon called after her. “Away,” she said, not slowing. Her footsteps clattered on the floor as she ran towards her room. Simon sighed and followed after her; but when he turned the corner River’s closed cabin door confronted him. Simon leaned on the wall beside it. “River?” “Go away!” Her muffled shout came through the closed door. “Mei-mei, are you okay?” There was a silence. “Are you feeling bad? What is it?” “Please. Go. Away.” Simon rested his head against the wall, his eyes shutting. “River… I don’t want to leave you alone if you’re feeling bad. Why won’t you talk to me?” The sound of the door opening made him straighten up and open his eyes. River stood in the doorway with her arms folded around herself, her face still pale. She fixed her eyes on him steadily. “I am talking to you. You’re just not listening. I said, Go away.” “Mei-mei…” Simon took a deep breath. “I’ll go away and leave you in peace if that’s what you want. It’s just… you worried me back there. You looked really bad. And you’re not looking much better now.” When she just continued to regard him under lowered brows, he continued. “Is there anything I can do? What’s wrong?” River lifted her shoulders in a reflexively protective gesture. “There’s nothing you can do. And I don’t want to talk about it.” As Simon started to open his mouth, she lifted her hand, as if shutting him off. “You can’t always fix me. Because I’m not always broken.” Her eyes held his, dark and troubled. “I know you want to make me like before. But you can’t. Everything’s changed.” Simon said nothing for a long time. Then he spoke. “I know. I just… want you to be happy. Not afraid.” “Can’t always be happy.” River spoke matter-of-factly. “Good days and bad days. That’s how it is. Sometimes everything works right, sometimes it’s hard.” She looked away. “But it’s harder when you don’t trust me.” Simon’s head came up, his face perturbed; but she went on, “I know. I know when you don’t. Sometimes you think maybe I might lose control, like I did in that bar. Like I did with Jayne. Hurt someone. Kill someone.” Simon said nothing but his face was troubled. River hesitated; then, still looking away, her hand reached out and took his: gripped it tight. “After we went down to Miranda, things changed. In my head. It’s still – everything all at once, no filters, no holding back. But it makes more sense now. It’s wading in the edge of the sea, not being pulled under by the waves. I’ll always hear it but now I can swim.” She still held onto his hand. “Do you understand?” “Yes. I think so.” Simon spoke quietly. “And I’m sorry, mei-mei.” She looked back at him then, her eyes resting on his. “I’m sorry if I didn’t trust you. I should have more faith in you.” “More faith in me?” River gave a small smile. “You gave up everything to come and get me from the academy. Fidelity was adequately demonstrated then.” She gave his hand a squeeze and Simon squeezed it back, smiling in return. Then River let go. “But I want to be quiet and alone now.” She stepped back. “Okay.” Simon watched her. “If you’re sure you don’t need anything.” “No. Just my own space, no-one else around me.” She put a hand to one ear. “Don’t want to talk to the others when they get back, neither.” “Don’t worry. I’ll tell them you’re asleep.” Simon started to go, then paused. “River… Just what was it that upset you?” “Something bad happened.” River’s face momentarily took on a look of pain, then she shook her head as if shaking it away. She looked up at Simon. “Something bad happened.” Then she reached out and closed her cabin door, leaving Simon standing alone in the passageway.

* * * * *

Leon had seen the girl and the protective young man with her pause on the ship’s entrance ramp and he had thought for one sickening moment that he had been seen somehow. But then they had gone inside and now the docking bay was empty. Time to go. They’ve gone inside, so get on board the ship after them before anyone else comes along. He looked around the edge of the machinery he was crouching behind, then cautiously raised to his feet. The distance between the ship and where he stood seemed too wide, a threateningly empty space. Sweat prickled on his back and under his arms; his arm nagged at him, a sharp throbbing pulse against the cloth he’d twisted around the wound. C’mon. You move now or you don’t move at all. He stepped out onto the empty floor and ran towards the ramp. As his feet hit the sloping metal he slowed, wary of what might lie inside: but another space empty of people was all that met him. A cargo bay, with a few storage crates neatly stowed; a battered hover mule; a floor much-scuffed and marked by years of use as a working transport. Leon came to a halt a few steps into the space, his eyes taking in the metal stairs leading up into the upper decks and forepart of the ship. Then he looked to the doorway that led to the rear of the ship. Which way did the girl and the man go? He took another step forward. The young man had looked refined and slightly built, unlikely to be a threat; the girl neither. But if anyone finds you on board before they lift from here, that’s the end. So don’t be found. He looked around the cargo bay uncertainly. What was it Jake used to say about these Firefly ships? Don’t look much but that’s their beauty. Manoeuvrable as all git-out, good solid mostly reliable engine, and lots of handy little corners for stowing cargo in you don’t want folks looking at. He walked towards the cargo bay wall and laid his hand on a panel. He knocked on it tentatively, then dug his fingers into the moulding at its edge: pulled hard. The panel creaked away, revealing a small grimy space behind. A grin surfaced briefly on his face. He pulled the panel wider and climbed into the space beyond, then tugged the panel back behind him. For a worrying moment he couldn’t get it to fit; he wrestled with its edge, pulling it towards himself, forcing the metal back into place. At last it clunked shut and he was in sudden darkness. The space was small: he couldn’t quite stand upright. He carefully sat down on the gritty floor, settling his back against the metal bulkhead wall behind him. There might be just enough room to lie down, if he curled up on his side, but he didn’t want to do that yet. He wanted to be sure the ship lifted off first, before he let himself relax. It was only a few minutes before the sounds of footsteps on the cargo bay floor and muffled voices penetrated to his hiding place. He listened tensely, holding himself rigidly still as the footsteps passed close to the panel. A deep rumbling sound told him that the entrance ramp was being closed; the heavy clunking shut of the airlock doors followed. Then more footsteps, then silence. He folded his arms across his pulled-up knees, let his forehead rest on them and waited.

* * * * *

After securing the cargo bay door Mal headed straight to the bridge. Zoë already sat in the pilot’s chair, keying in flight data. She glanced up at him as he entered the cockpit. “We got clearance to lift off, soon as we’re ready.” “We’re ready.” Mal glanced out of the viewscreen. “Get us the hell away from this goddamn place, ma shong.” Zoë took the controls and started undocking procedure. Mal watched as the security facility’s metal flanks began to recede, slowly at first and then with increasing speed. He kept watching until the ugly mass of the prison was far enough away for Zoë to change course: then as the facility slid out of view he let out a long breath. Leaning in to the console, he hit the intercom button. “Kaylee? How many fuel cells we wind up gettin’ presented with?” “Plenty to get us to Beaumonde, and beyond, cap’n.” Kaylee sounded cheerful. “They give us more than enough.” “Good.” Mal clicked the com off. “Guess all’s well that ended well, then.” His tone wasn’t especially upbeat. Zoë looked across at him: he had his head down and was frowning at the console. She asked quietly, “We got any other problems?” “Huh?” Mal lifted his gaze to her. Zoë repeated her question. “We still got problems, captain?” “No.” He shook his head. “Only the usual one. Makin’ a livin’. I was just figuring the best places to hit on when we touch down on Beaumonde, to find us work.” “Well. There’s likely a few folks who need jobs doing.” Zoë glanced at the console. “We’ll be there in a little under four days. Gives us a while to come up with some ideas.” “Yeah, it does.” Mal straightened up; then he paused. He moved to the co-pilot’s chair and sat down, lifting his gaze to the viewscreen to look out at the darkness. “Guess everyone could use a few days of peace and quiet before we get back to work, anyhow. ‘Specially after where we just been visiting.” “We came out of there okay.” Zoë checked the ship’s course heading, then sat back herself in the pilot’s chair. “Got those fuel cells. Rescued that injured man. Got away with no complications.” “Uh-huh.” Mal still looked out into the universe. “But it wasn’t the kind of place we should have been payin’ social calls at. It was a risk. And I don’t aim to take any more risks with this ship. Or this crew.” “Life’s a risk, sir.” Zoë’s voice was level. “Yeah. But some of it’s avoidable.” There was a beat of silence. When Mal spoke again his tone had changed; become quieter. “If I could go back and change the way some things happened - ” “But you can’t.” Zoë cut him off, still speaking quietly but with force. “You can’t change what happened. Neither can I. Or any of us.” She too was staring forward now, looking out into the stars. “We can’t go back.” “I know.” Mal let out a heavy breath. “But if I could - ” “No.” Zoë’s tone stopped him: he looked at her, to see that she’d turned her head away. After a moment she turned back and met his gaze. “Life goes forwards. Not back.” Mal looked into her dark eyes and saw the grief there. And the rigid control underneath her calm face. His heart failed him and he dropped his head, looking down at his hands. Hell, I can’t do this. Whatever I say is only gonna make things worse. His heart felt heavy with guilt. Wash, dead and gone forever. His friendship with the only person who shared and understood his past broken, something precious smashed to fragments. Trying to pick up the sharp-edged pieces did no good, it only wounded them both. He took a breath, and spoke. “Right.” He rose from the pilot’s chair. Only it ain’t right, nothing about this is alright, but what she said is true: I can’t change what happened. There’s no way that anything I can do or say can fix that. “You want to take first shift up here?” “Yes.” She turned away from him, back to face the console. “I can handle things.” Yeah. And the best thing I can do is to let you do just that. He moved to the doorway. “Okay. I’ll turn in for a few hours, then. Anythin’ comes up, let me know.” She nodded. He turned away and walked off into the ship. Zoë waited until the sound of Mal’s footsteps died away, then she looked over her shoulder at the empty doorway. The ache was there, deep in her chest. She breathed deep, willing it away. No. Get on with living. Got work to do. She twisted back round to the console. The look on Mal’s face after she had stopped him from speaking rose in her mind and for a moment the ache inside intensified, the loneliness growing until the stars in the viewscreen wavered in her vision. She fought the feeling as fiercely as she had ever fought an enemy, forcing it back from where it came. After a few minutes her breathing steadied. The hum of the ship made a steady background and she set her hand to the controls, moving them slowly and deliberately. She kept her eyes on the viewscreen, looking forwards into the black.

* * * * *

Time passed slowly and uneventfully for Serenity’s crew, as they journeyed onwards to Beaumonde. River appeared at the dinner table after a night and a day’s seclusion, looking recovered from her unhappy experience on the prison facility. Simon had learned of the fatal accident that had occurred on the prison from the others, and he shared this with his sister. River’s only response had been a silent nod of the head. By shared consensus, none of the rest of the crew made reference to the accident or River’s perception of it again. Mal and Zoë continued to share Serenity’s piloting duties between them, with occasional impromptu assistance from River when things were quiet. Although Mal’s tension had eased since leaving the high security facility behind, Inara’s observant eyes noticed that matters between him and Zoë seemed to have grown even more distant. She noted the way the two spoke to each other: quietly and carefully, as if by raising their voices something dangerous might be unleashed. Both were still working too hard, putting in long hours and mostly arranging things so that they seldom shared a meal at the same table. Inara watched them with a heavy heart and prayed for inspiration for something that might break down the boundaries the two had built between themselves. After a quiet day, she ate supper with Kaylee, Simon and River. Jayne had eaten earlier and retired to his bunk; Zoë had accepted an offer of a dish of food with quiet thanks then disappeared afterwards to the bridge. Mal had passed through the dining area shortly afterwards, shaken his head at the offer of supper and headed off to his cabin. The four crewmates around the table watched him go, then looked at each other, but said nothing. At the end of the meal Inara rose. Something needs to be done. I don’t know what, but this can’t go on. She bid goodnight to Kaylee, Simon and River and walked down the passageway that led to the crew’s quarters. At the door of Mal’s bunk she hesitated; then knocked on the hatch. “Mal? Are you asleep?” She heard movement below, then the hatch opened and Mal looked up at her from the foot of the ladder. He was fully dressed, not roused from sleep. “There a problem?” “Can I come down?” He looked up at her for a long moment, and she half-thought he would refuse. Then he turned away. “Sure. Watch your step.” Carefully she descended into his cabin. Mal was moving across the room to sit on his bunk: he gestured at the chair beside his desk. “Make yourself at home. Sorry I ain’t tidied up, but I wasn’t expectin’ company.” “Well, I invited myself.” She smiled as she sat down on the chair, taking in the signs of interrupted work: a half-closed databook, a sheaf of paper scribbled with notes. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.” “Nothin’ that can’t wait till morning.” He watched her look around his room and half smiled. He’d always liked that about her: the way she studied places, people, situations. “Got somethin’ on your mind, or is this just a social call?” Inara looked at him. “I just wanted to… talk to you.” She took a deep breath. Run-tse de fwo-tzu, this isn’t going to be easy. He was looking at her steadily now, waiting. “Mal, I… know you said you didn’t think there was anything you could say to Zoë - ” His face reacted immediately: she saw the barriers go up. She pressed on, trying not to be deterred from saying what she’d set out to say. “But things are so difficult between the two of you. I see it.” She hesitated, then added, “We all see it.” “That so.” Mal’s voice was flat. Inara held herself still; held his eyes with her own. “Yes. It is.” She swallowed. “It’s hard. I can see just how hard it is for you. And for Zoë. But this isn’t going to go away unless you and she talk about how you’re feeling.” “That your professional opinion?” His tone had a mocking edge. “Takes a Companion to work that one out, don’t it. Should I be payin’ for this friendly visit, seein’ as how you’re givin’ me the benefit of your advice?” His mouth was set. “This isn’t professional advice.” She kept her voice calm, not responding to his jibes. “This is me speaking to you as a friend.” His eyes were still hard, unresponsive. “I almost didn’t come tonight to speak with you like this - ” “Should’ve gone with your instincts.” Mal spoke harshly. “I did. My instincts were to talk to you.” Inara took a deep breath. “I knew you’d be angry. But I thought it was important.” She looked into his eyes, willing him to see the concern she felt for him. “I ain’t angry.” Mal’s tone contradicted his words. “Just don’t need this right now, Inara. Got enough to keep me occupied without you givin’ me a heart to heart about my crew.” “This isn’t about your crew. This is about your friend. Your oldest friend. Whom you now can’t seem to say more than a couple of words to in passing.” Inara kept her voice calm, but tried to make what she said hit home. “You and Zoë are hardly ever in the same place for more than a minute at a time. And when you are, you don’t talk.” “Well, you been mighty observant.” Mal’s expression had now set into one she knew all too well. “Woulda thought you’d have better things to do than watchin’ me. Ain’t you got Companion business you ought to be busy at, instead of messin’ with my doings?” Tyen ah, he’s so angry. I should just go away now, leave him be. What will it help if he stops talking to me, too? Inara summoned all her courage. “I can find time for things that are important. And I know that this is important. To you, and to Zoë. You two have shared this friendship for many years. It’s at the heart of both your lives. When it isn’t working, both of you suffer. And those around you suffer, too.” She held his gaze. “I know you care about this crew. By talking to Zoë, you wouldn’t just be making things better for her and yourself. You’d be making things better for everyone on Serenity. However difficult it is to talk, however hard you and she find it, you have to do it.” “Have to?” Mal’s tone was dangerous. “Since when did you get in the position of handin’ out orders on this ship?” “It’s not an order. “ Inara kept her voice steady. “I wouldn’t presume to waste my energy in ordering you to do anything. Not least because I’ve a strong suspicion that it would have the effect of making you do the precise opposite.” The corner of his mouth twitched upwards briefly; she took heart at this. “Mal, I’m not saying all this to make you angry. I’m saying it because I care about you.” His head lifted slightly, his eyes focussing intently on her. “As a friend. As someone I’ve shared too much with to keep silent when I see there’s something wrong. Friends don’t keep silent; they talk, even when talking is the hardest thing to do. A true friendship can survive pain, can survive anger, can survive quarrels. What it can’t survive is silence.” There was a long moment of quiet in the cabin after her words. Mal looked at her without saying anything; then he turned his head to one side. When he spoke again his voice was low. “I tried to talk to Zoë, right after we left the prison facility.” Inara held still. “I wanted to try to tell her… how I was sorry. How goddamn sorry I was, for what happened to Wash. How bad I feel about it.” He took a deep breath. “Tried to talk about it… But I could tell she didn’t want me to.” He looked down at his hands. “And I when saw how what I was tryin’ to say was makin’ things worse for her, I quit.” He shook his head helplessly. “Just… couldn’t put her through that. She’s been hurt enough.” Inara let a beat of silence fall. Then she spoke. “Was it just that you didn’t want to hurt her further… Or was it also that you found it hard to look at her pain?” Mal’s brows drew down into a frown and he looked up at her. “What d’you mean by that?” “When you tried to talk to Zoë, you felt that you were reviving her grief, making it harder for her to bear: so you decided to stop. I can understand that.” Inara spoke carefully. “But did you also feel that you didn’t want to go on because seeing her grief was painful for you?” At Mal’s continuing to gaze at her in silence, she added, “When we see someone we care about in pain, that’s hard enough to bear. But when we see their pain and also feel ourselves to be responsible for it, it can become unendurable.” Her eyes took on a slightly haunted quality; for a moment a shadow of memory seemed to hang about her face. “As human beings our instinct is often to turn away from such pain. To retreat from it and hope that it will fade, or that we will forget how it made us feel. But I don’t think we ever do. The pain may fade, in time… But how we felt never does. The guilt always stays with us. And the knowledge that when we most should have had courage, should have helped the one we loved bear their pain, instead we let our guilt and our fear keep us away. So we build a wall inside ourselves to block those feelings away.” “Sometimes you gotta keep feelings down,” Mal said. He was watching her, seeing the changes in her face, hearing the note of memory in her voice. “Decisions gotta be made, action has to be taken; you let feelings get in the way and it makes things – complicated.” His mouth tightened. “When things get complicated, things oftentimes go wrong.” “Things go wrong anyway, Mal. That’s just life.” Inara lifted her head and with a visible effort, pushed the sadness in her expression away. “Things go right, too.” “Yeah?” Mal let a half-bitter smile cross his face. “I musta missed that.” “No. It’s just, to feel the good things when they happen, we have to let ourselves feel the bad things too. If we build walls within ourselves, eventually we cut ourselves off from feeling anything. And if we let that happen…” Inara shook her head. “There’s nothing left. Nothing that makes life worth living, anyway.” “You really believe that?” Mal leaned forward, his arms resting on his knees. “Yes.” Inara met his gaze. “As a Companion, I’ve met people like that. People who’ve built walls within themselves and never let them be broken down. They go through life doing all the things that other people do: working, eating, doing business… But they’re not really alive. Something inside them has been walled up for so long it’s died. They can’t love. They can’t feel for their fellow human beings. That part of themselves has atrophied. And many of them have even managed to convince themselves that they’re better people because of this. That they’re stronger. Cleverer. Fitter to survive.” She swallowed. “I pity the day the universe would ever be under the control of such people.” “Not feelin’ anythin’…” Mal spoke musingly. “Y’know, little River, she ain’t got that problem. Feels everything. Can’t not, or so the doc says. All her own feelings, and other folks’. And it don’t seem to make her too happy. In fact, times it just about drives her crazy.” He paused for a moment, then continued. “Maybe sometimes folks choose not to feel because they figure they need a wall between that pain and themselves or they’ll go crazy. And maybe they’ve got other folks dependin’ on them to keep things together.” Inara looked at him: for a long time the two sat motionless and silent in the small cabin. Around them the low hum of Serenity’s engines sounded, the ever-present reassuring sound of their progress through the black airlessness of space. Inara saw them: a fragile metal box carrying its even more fragile human passengers, burning through vacuum to an uncertain future. A handful of people come together by luck and happenstance, somehow still held together by the most random and undefinable of forces. Respect. Mutual benefit. Even adversity. And something stronger: a shared history. A small everyday miracle; something rare and precious and easily broken. He named this ship Serenity not knowing what it would become for all of us. A place of nightmares for him, and he choose to make it his home. Zoë said, Once you’ve been in Serenity, you never really leave. I left, once. But I came back. We could all leave, if we chose to. All except Mal. He will never leave. Just like when we left him here when the ship’s engines failed, he will always stay. And those who stay with him, he will always do his best to look after. Whatever the cost. She felt the fear of what she was about to do, and that alone was enough to make her do it. Taking a breath, she reached her hand out and laid it on his. His eyes turned to hers, his face still. Carefully Inara curled her fingers around Mal’s hand, until she was holding it tightly. His own fingers lay motionless in her grip. She spoke. “Mal. If you felt as if you would go crazy; if the pain ever got so bad that that’s the only way it felt like you could escape it… That wouldn’t drive us away. It won’t drive me away. I promise.” His eyes searched hers. She kept her grip tight on his hand. “We all have walls within ourselves. The trick is to have the courage to break them down, piece by piece, instead of building them higher. To keep those parts of ourselves alive that make us truly human. You stood up to the Alliance because you knew people should be free to live the best way they could. You understood that no force in the universe can reshape the way we are made… except ourselves. That is where the power should be… and that is where it is.” After a long pause, she felt his hand move in hers. Slowly his grip strengthened, until he was holding her hand as tightly as she was holding his. He said nothing but his eyes stayed steady on hers, searching her face. They were still for long moments in the quiet cabin, linked by their hands; holding on. Then Mal shut his eyes, breaking their contact. His hand still held hers: he lowered his head briefly and she heard him let out a breath. Then his head came up and he looked back at her, his familiar wry smile lifting one corner of his mouth. “Well.” His smile grew warmer, lighting his eyes as he rested them on her. “Reckon I could use a drink. How ‘bout you?” She smiled back. “That would be lovely.” Mal nodded, letting go of her hand. He got to his feet and turned away to a locker high on the opposite wall. As he faced away she saw him lift one hand to rub tiredly across his eyes. Then he was reaching into the locker, bringing out a bottle and two glasses. He set them on his desk and poured each glass full of clear spirit; recapped the bottle, then picked up the glasses and sat back down on the bunk. Mock-ceremoniously he held one out to her, smiling again. She took it and they both raised their glasses. Mal spoke. “Ain’t sure what the proper Companion ceremony is for servin’ up Maotai jiu, so apologies for any lapses in etiquette.” “Oh, it’s very civilised. And very interesting.” Inara smiled mischievously. “Maybe I’ll show you, one day.” She raised her glass. “In the meantime, let’s just drink it.” They clinked glasses, then tipped the liquor back. Both were momentarily silenced by the fiery burn of the strong spirit: Mal was the first to recover his breath. He cleared his throat and said hoarsely, “Damn. Is it supposed to do that, or did I get sold some hooch?” “No.” Inara swallowed and blinked. “Actually, that’s very good baijiu. You don’t often get it as strong as that, as a rule. Very… authentic.” Mal laughed. “Good. I’d hate to think I’d got the worst of a bargain.” “Why, what did you pay for it?” “Matter of fact, didn’t pay for it. Traded for it with a barkeep on Paquin.” “Then what did you trade for it?” “I told him if he gave me the bottle I’d let him keep all of his teeth.” “That sounds reasonable.” Inara spoke dryly. “Oh, it was. Considerin’.” Mal tapped his finger on his empty glass. “He’d been skinnin’ his customers with a rigged roulette game, so after I got took I watched him until I figured it out. And then I reckoned he owed me a little free cheer. He begged to differ, but after I offered to enlighten the local folk on his gamin’ tactics he come around. Got me a mighty nice selection of vintage cheer out of the deal.” He stood again. “Care for a little more authenticity?” “Please.” She held up her glass as he refilled it. “But no more after this one. It’s good, but it’s strong.” “Best appreciated in moderation,” agreed Mal, replacing the bottle in the overhead locker. He sat back down on the bed and took a sip at his drink. Inara did the same, savouring the pungent alcohol more carefully with her second glassful. There was a brief silence between them, but it was a more comfortable silence than those that had gone before. Inara was the first to break it. “I should go and let you get some sleep. You’ve been working hard.” Mal smiled at his glass. “Does seem like all work and no play right now, don’t it. Ain’t been the best trip we ever made.” He took another sip of Maotai jiu. “But we’ll find work on Beaumonde, and things’ll ease up some.” “That would be good.” “Yeah.” Mal drained his glass. “Reckon we’re due a change in luck.” His eyes lifted to hers, then glanced away. Inara watched him for a moment, then finished her own drink. She stood up, setting her glass down softly on the desk. “Well… Good night, Mal. Sleep peacefully.” “Thanks.” She smiled at him, then turned away to the cabin ladder. As she laid her hand on it he spoke again from behind her. “Inara?” She stopped and turned back. He was still sitting on his bunk, holding his empty glass: as she watched he looked up at her. “Thanks for comin’ down here to talk. I appreciate it.” He hesitated, then continued, “Wasn’t the same on Serenity when you weren’t here. It’s real good to have you back.” His eyes said more than his words. Inara paused, then she let go of the ladder and moved back towards him. He looked up at her, saying nothing. Before she could think too much about what she was doing, she bent down and kissed him on his forehead, her lips softly touching his skin. Then she straightened up. “Thank you. It’s good to be back.” Her voice was quiet. For a long moment neither of them spoke. Then Inara turned and climbed the ladder and was gone. Mal sat unmoving for long minutes on his bunk, staring unseeing at the cabin wall. Goddamn. What just happened there? The Maotai jiu had left a fuzziness in his brain and a warmth in his stomach: but there was another warmth inside him that had nothing to do with the drink. It was as if something that had been frozen hard inside him had felt the touch of the sun. He could still feel the slight warm pressure of her lips on his forehead; smell the subtle spicy scent of her. Complications. She came back here. Don’t do nothing that might make her leave again. He slowly set down his empty glass on the desk, next to hers. Sleep peacefully. Right. His mind seemed overflowing with all that she had said. - To feel the good things that happen, we have to let ourselves feel the bad things too. Zoë’s face came into his mind, the pain in her eyes. - We all have walls within ourselves. The trick is to have the courage to break them down, piece by piece. Slowly he undressed, hanging his clothes up, then lay down on his bunk and switched off the light. He could still taste the Maotai jiu, a lingering spiciness in his mouth. He saw his glass and Inara’s clink together, their shared smile as they held up their drinks. Here’s to breaking down walls. Whatever it takes.