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BLUE SUN ROOM FAN FICTION - GENERAL
Mal and Inara talk. Next in series.
CATEGORY: FICTION TIMES READ: 1501 RATING: 10 SERIES: FIREFLY
The outwardness that she demanded of him, required of him, firstly by her extraordinary physical presence and then by what lay behind it, the challenge that she made to his inwardness – he had known, during the time that they had been apart that were he to see her again, he would be more able than he ever had to respond. More able yes, but more willing? This he had not known, until the moment he saw her on the cortex screen and every atom in his being rang, like the note of a bell chiming through the Verse, with yes.
It had been painful to him, her beauty. He had dreaded it. Downgraded it, in any way he could. Chin on chest, staring downwards, unseeing, in the enclosed, metal tomb of his ship, he had orbited death, the point of ultimate inwardness, for years, until she had come, forcing his gaze up and away.
Now, just the sight of her was a balm to the bitter hurt he had inflicted on her. There she was on the screen: smiling and, he could see, nervous. She greeted him simply – “Mal” – and he said her name in return. He half-turned: the storekeeper’s lad was poking his head around the edge of the booth. But – turning back – what did he care? She was there, on the screen.
He took in her surroundings, vaguely registered that she was wearing something dark, concealing. But all he really saw was her face. She was asking if he was all right, explaining how she had just heard about the destruction of Serenity. Asked then how it happened, said she wished they had more time when he started to explain. Letting him know that in any minute she’d be gone again.
So he stopped talking, just looked, and let her see him looking – from serious to more serious as tenderness and longing stole through him. And she looked back, made no attempt to hide it from him.
She asked him what he was going to do and he replied very simply that he was leaving shortly for the Abbey on Persephone. She nodded, looking straight into his eyes with understanding, approval even. Then she asked after the remaining crew and he told her as briefly as he could without leaving out any of the essentials.
“Send them my love,” she said with the same simple, unguarded gaze, “and ask them to forgive me, that I couldn’t talk to them. So much has happened. I wish I’d been there.”
He wondered, did she mean it?
But it wasn’t any different for Inara. Just the sight of him was a balm to the bitter hurt he had inflicted on her.
A balm; and a shock too. So profoundly, she felt, was each of them moved by the sight of the other that it was weakening, enervating, arousing, all at once. The first time they had met, it had been an echo of this, this – love. The shock. A shock to the soul that had ached like the low notes of a cello beneath a symphony’s melody. He was hers: not a possession, but of her. She was his: not a possession, but ofhim.
She felt pierced by the strength of her response to him. Felt through the words they were exchanging the impulse to touch with her forefinger his tongue, the point that connected directly with his groin, to draw it down, over his lip, his throat, his chest, his belly. Just as he did, to reach out, gather her up, lay her down and smother her with his desire and need.
So important, then, were the words they had just uttered, the expression that accompanied them. Tiny pauses. Listening and looking so as not to miss a single nuance of meaning, intentional or otherwise. There was trepidation, on both sides; they each felt that in the other. But happiness – there was every sign of happiness too. The world, and everything in it and beyond it, rearranged itself around this fact. Sunflowers turning through imperceptible degrees towards the sun. A without-breath sigh, of all being changed and all being well.
Mal was immediately aware when a door opened behind Inara, felt his heart sink at the thought of this unexpected and indescribably precious moment of intimacy being interrupted. He wanted to know how she was.
Expecting it to be Dr Ronson, Inara glanced over her shoulder. How profoundly glad she was now that, in spite of sharing a bed, she and Dr Ronson had not properly become lovers. Since returning to Sihnon she had experienced a succession of emotional upheavals, so much so that at times she could not be sure of her own reactions. Something had warned her, however, against abandoning herself to a relationship with Dr Ronson; and she was reassured that somewhere, beneath the turmoil, her instincts remained in some way sound.
Her instincts. She practised an outward relationship with the world, but it was Mal who had always pushed her towards an inwardness that had nothing to do with being a better Companion. It was there that she was connected to him and she felt that the whole room must be full of it, the power of the connection between them. Perhaps Samuel had known, even before Mal had come on to the screen; perhaps he had felt it in her anticipation, and that was why he had quietly removed himself from the room, saying that he thought he might have heard someone at the door.
She asked him if everything was all right and he murmured that he had found nobody there. The pause that followed demanded that introductions be made.
When Mal thanked Samuel for accompanying Inara to Sihnon she tried to detect any edge to those thanks and found none. He was listening – listening while Samuel sketched out her treatment and the recovery she had made. And then he seemed to – explode with a smile she had never seen; one that had maybe been dormant for years.
“’m just real happy for you, Inara,” he said. And it was just as if he had said ‘I love you’.
She was smiling back at him, she knew, the smile that spoke of unspoken emotions, searching for some way to tell him that she felt the same without compounding any discomfort that Dr Ronson might be feeling.
“That means a lot to me,” was all she said in the end.
There was another knock at the door; Mal saw that Inara turned in such a way as to cover the screen from whoever might enter. He heard a voice: “The High Priestess will see you now.”
The door didn’t close – the messenger was waiting in the doorway. And when Inara turned back to Mal her expression, the one that he would live off for the next few forevers, had changed: there was tension, determination, excitement even, and fear.
“You know where to find me. And I know where to find you,” she managed to whisper hurriedly, before breaking the connection.
Saturday, May 22, 2010 11:57 AM
Saturday, May 22, 2010 12:19 PM
Saturday, May 22, 2010 1:10 PM
Saturday, May 22, 2010 8:50 PM
Saturday, May 22, 2010 11:04 PM
Saturday, May 22, 2010 11:14 PM
Sunday, May 23, 2010 5:46 AM
Sunday, May 23, 2010 6:25 AM
Sunday, May 23, 2010 9:03 AM
Sunday, May 23, 2010 9:27 AM
Sunday, May 23, 2010 11:38 AM
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