Mal remembers Book telling him about the five stages of grief. Though not very well.

Something, something, something, something and acceptance.

Yeah, acceptance. He’s gotten to there, mostly. Save for when he expects to see Wash sitting next to him on the bridge, and it’s his little bird instead. Or when he pauses, just for a second, before every meal to silently honor Book.

Not God, mind, because God had long ago given up on Mal so it only seemed right to return the favor. Anything less would be downright un-neighborly.

He can see Zoe has gotten to there as well. Again, mostly. She still chooses to sleep in Wash’s chair some nights, and Mal knows all he can do for her is drape a blanket over her and leave her the hell alone to mend as she needs to.

Yep, acceptance all around. Even for Kaylee and the doc doing…whatever that was…in his engine room the other night. Not so much for the fact that it was in his engine room, but because it meant there was life aboard his boat. Life, chasing death into the dark corners.

But there is one place where Mal is not such an accepting kinda guy. And it all comes down to Inara. Inara who he originally wished to hell were not here, and now he wishes to hell won’t leave again. So far, there’s been no noise of training houses or clients outta her, and for that he is glad.

Time to accept it, Reynolds. Time to accept how you feel about her. Time to accept how she feels about you. Mal figures if he can learn to accept Jayne holing up in his bunk for three days with Lenore, this should be a breeze.

He waits until it’s just the two of them in the kitchen, on a day planetside after he’s shoo’d everyone else off the boat with orders not to return until tomorrow morning. For all that Mal is a private man about his private needs, he cannot bring himself to go to her shuttle. Other men have done that. Other men have come begging, gifts in hand. Mal’s never been good at begging for scraps, even when he was forced to do so. Yes, Sir. No, Sir. Three bags full. He had to do a bellyfull of that right after the war and he’ll be humped in hell before he will do it again.

There is also the fact that he does not wish to be interrupted at an inopportune moment. Should things reach a point where an interruption short of Serenity blowing up might go amiss.

Inara is in the mess, busy preparing the tea kettle. Mal stares at those dark wisps of hair escaping down the nape of her neck from the loose bun – curls of just the right spring and twist to make a man want to wind his fingers in them. He vaguely wonders if there is a special sorta hair implement to make ‘em do that, or if she just sprouted ‘em that way.

He fights the urge to come up and wrap his arms around her from behind, as he imagines they would if they were comfortable lovers. But they are not yet either comfortable or loving toward each other, so he tamps that one down, on top of so many other desires that have already been suppressed. Layer upon compressed layer.

He opts instead to clear his throat.

“Hey, mind sharing? Heard tell from Kaylee you got some Dragon Flower tea.”

He holds out his mug with what he hopes is a boyish grin of anticipation. Problem being it’s been a lifetime since he was a boy.

Inara arches an eyebrow as she tosses another handful of the fragrant tea into the pot.

“I didn’t think your taste in teas ran to such refinement.”

He’s about to retort, when he checks himself because there’s a larger mission at hand.

“Got it once in a great while when I was a kid.”

“Really? I sense a story there, Captain.”

He’s not sure he wants to tell it, actually. He stopped telling tales about his father long ago. On the other hand, this might be the opening he needs.

“Ever tell ya about my Pa?”

Inara glances up from pouring the tea into mugs and adding one small cube of sugar to each. Sugar cubes – another Core decadence.

“No. I know your mother was a rancher.”

Mal takes the tea she offers and blows on it just a bit to cool it. Sips and sighs with the knowledge that it was not just faded childhood memories that made Dragon Flower taste so good.

“My Pa was the one second son of some Londinium toff.”

He’s made both Inara’s brows go upward at the mention of where he father came from. Good.

“His old man left all his money to the older brother, so my Pa bounced around the Rim and the outer planets seeking his fortune. Came to Shadow and decided the ranching life was for him. Bought a herd, married the prettiest gal on Shadow and put a baby in her belly in short order.”

“Until?”

Mal smiles. She knew there would be an “until.”

“Until the first winter. Hardest one for 50 years, the old-timers said. He lost almost all the herd. First thaw, he decides that mebbeso ranching just a bit too rustic for his tastes and hightailed it back to Londinium. I was born later that spring.”

He glances up at Inara from lowered eyes, expecting to see…what? Pity? Disdain? Instead, all he gets is genuine curiosity, so he figgurs it’s OK to go on with it.

“He musta made his fortune somehow, ‘cos I’d get care packages twice a year like clockwork. Birthdays and Christmases. Fancy chocolates, hardbound books and…uhhmmm…Dragon Flower tea.”

“That’s very sweet.”

He shakes his head, more sad than bitter.

“Real sweet, until the packages stopped comin’. Yanno, ain’t right to just hold out a piece of your affection, stringin’ somebody along, if you got no intention of followin’ through with it. ‘s what I been doin’ to you, Inara. And that ain’t right neither.”

Her mouth opens in surprise, and he takes the advantage to kiss her gently. She tastes of Dragon Flower tea and things much more exotic and dangerous. She finally pulls back.

“Mal, what your father did…”

“Hell, got over that a long time ago. Was sad at first, then I refused to believe he’d forgotten about me. Which got me to downright angry and then trying to strike a bargin with the Almighty for him to just come back. Finally, I just accepted he was a heartless bastard who I didn’t need anyway.”

She smiles as she pulls him down for another kiss.

“The five stages of grief.”

“Yeah. Something, something, something, something and acceptance.”