No archiving, please, and the usual disclaimers apply for both pieces.

#1--Inpired partly by a song title, partly by a friend, and partly by my longing for the movie. It reflects events that could be extrapolated purely from the series itself, but which could also be slightly spoilery, in a speculative sense, for "Serenity."

****** "The Smoke From a Distant Fire" (c) 8/14/2004 HawkMoth ******

"Your attention seems to be elsewhere," the Mistress of Advanced Studies says to Inara, in a tone more suited for a recent Initiate rather than a celebrated member of the Guild. "You have forgotten how to concentrate."

Inara responds to the rebuke with the enigmatic smile she perfected years ago. "I am easily distracted," she admits calmly, waving a languid hand in the direction of the Second Years who are still having difficulty mastering the intricacies of the Welcoming Tea Ceremony. She cannot help but wince with genuine dismay, and neither can the Mistress, when Tierza pours with a complete lack of grace, allowing the steaming liquid to cascade down the outside of the cup and onto the lacquered table.

"Who sets the standards for admittance these days?" she adds, with a slight hint of disapproval. "These girls may have outward beauty--" Tierza is stunning to look at--"but there seems little to appreciate on the inside."

The Mistress lowers her eyes demurely, accepting the slight criticism, but then sends Inara a sidelong glance which cuts through the air of ritualistic formality that pervades the schoolroom. "Too true--they have no style. Some days I'm so fed up with them I could scream."

"I know the feeling," Inara agrees, though she knows she's not thinking of the Companions-in-training who are now fussing over the right way to handle Tierza's faux pas if it had happened in front of a client. She remembers too well what it feels like to have her patience stretched to the limit, and before she knows it, she's let out a soft sigh laden with much too much emotion.

At a signal from the Mistress, another instructor steps in to disclipine the girls. Then she takes Inara by the arm and leads her out into the garden. "We were so pleased to accept you here," she begins as they seat themselves on a marble bench beneath the flowering cherry trees.

Inara stays very still as her colleague continues. "You have wisdom and experience many of us lack, which have been invaluable with our students. Sharing such gifts should bring you much contentment. But that is not what I have seen in your eyes, dear sister."

The words are meant kindly, but Inara hears the voice of one who last called her such, and her heart constricts. No one's fault, not even the one who wanted--needed--to shoulder all the blame. She hears his voice, saying the words that should have made everything right.

Feels the gentle touch of his fingers on her lips, sees the look of anguish on his face that mirrors her own.

Everything she has tried to help her forget--distance, time, meditation, prayer, work--has failed. The refuge she sought within the Guild still eludes her. Those she calls sister or brother are no substitute for the family she left behind.

Deserted. Abandoned.

She has forgotten how to be a Companion, when all she can do is remember them.

Remember him.

She doesn't recall standing, but she is suddenly aware of the Mistress gazing up at her with sad, deep regret. "Oh, my dear," she says in a voice full of pity, and perhaps just a touch of envy, "they teach us how to burn with the devotion to our calling, but you burn with something that can never be found within these walls or the strictures of our Guild."

Voices from the schoolroom call for her attention before she can say more, and Inara is left alone in the garden. It doesn't matter. She has been alone since the day she left Serenity.

She walks falteringly along the path to the koi pond and looks into the water, knowing that she will see, even in that blurred reflection, what the Mistress saw. The longing for what she cannot have, for what she ran away from. Despair burns in her eyes, along with guilt, and the one thing that should never consume a Companion's heart.

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#2--Something that could certainly take place in-between, but it's also a moment I desperately want in the Big Damn Movie.

Or something like it.

Spoilery? Maybe. Wishful thinking, for sure.

****** "Astray" (c) 10/15/2004 HawkMoth ******

He wants it to be just another part of the ship. Idle for now, useful when they need it to be. Stripped down to the bare essentials, with that familiar smell of old metal and the recycled breaths of his crew. Just another piece of Serenity, like it was before.

There's no reason to be walkin' up here at odd hours, nothing to check on, no transmitted words to be casually overheard. No excuses for not knocking, for barging in, for starting a fight. Nobody to look at, no emotions to hide anymore.

It's easy to lie to himself, that he hasn't been counting the weeks, the days, the hours or the minutes since she left. Easy to act like he don't care, like he can't see how much her going upset anybody else.

They got by just fine without an "Ambassador," back in the day; they can do it again. It'll just take a little more caution, a bit more cleverness, what with the doc and his sister on board. Nothin' they can't handle.

Having two shuttles at their disposal again could be a definite advantage. Not that they've used it as such, not yet. The time will come.

He hasn't yet realized how careful the others are, even Jayne, to call it Shuttle One in his presence. He's not aware that deep in his head he still considers it Inara's shuttle.

He keeps thinking that one day he's gonna take it on a test flight, make sure everything's working okay. All he winds up doing is breathing the air, sure he can catch the faintest hint of incense and candle smoke, jasmine and lilyflower.

Today he's in the pilot's chair, cracked and faded leather against his back instead of fussy, fuzzy pinkness. He turns his head and catches a glimpse of something he's missed every other time he's wandered up here since the day she left.

It's a wispy little scrap of nothing, a narrow silk scarf he remembers seeing tied in her hair one time, when they were all taking a day's leave on Greenleaf. Somehow forgotten when she packed up, hidden in the shadows under the console. He picks it up and it's soft in his hands, like he remembers her skin from the few times he touched her.

The scent of jasmine seems to burst out of it, like a bullet to the brain, making his mind go numb and his heart turn to ice, so cold it burns in his chest. He doesn't hear footsteps approaching; he doesn't know anyone else is there till he looks up what feels like forever later and sees Zoe watching him.

She's wearing her calm, stoic first mate's face, but when she speaks her voice lashes him like a whip spiked with iron.

"You were a gorram fool to let her go."

His hands twist themselves up in the scarf as she strides away, and he can't tell himself she's wrong.

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