Title: What If... Author: hadnuit Disclaimer: The usual disclaimers apply: neither the characters nor the 'verse are mine, I just borrowed them from His Awesome Benevolence, Joss Whedon, to play with for a while.

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“Mal…” She whispered against his shoulder as he held her tightly. “Mal, we shouldn’t—” “Shh…” He whispered back, cradling her against fragile body against his. “It’s gonna be all right. I’ll protect you. I’ll keep you safe.”

No, that wasn’t right. She wasn’t weak. And even if she were, she sure as hell wouldn’t let him know until long after something started between them. If things ever got that far. He sighed and propped one boot up on his bunk. He’d have to be direct if he wanted this to work. He spat on his hand and rubbed a bit of dirt off the side of the sole of his boot. He’d have to be direct.

“Inara, I gotta talk to you.” She turned towards him, that gorgeous playful smile full on her lips. “You didn’t knock,” she accused, pouting so perfectly that he thought he might die. “No, I didn’t knock. There’s something that’s gotta be said—right now.” He shifted back and forth on the balls of his feet, enjoying the expectant look from her, the power that he—for once—held over her. “What is it, Mal?” God he cherished the way his voice sounded in her voice. “You know damn well what it is. I love you. You love me. So let’s damn well do something about it.” “Oh! Mal!” She gushed, promptly pulling him on top of her, miraculously removing his clothes instantly, and straddling him, pushing…yearning…

Wrong again. Mal brought himself back to reality with a jerk and grimaced at the way his pants seemed even tighter than usual. Captain Tightpants, indeed…He debated for a moment stopping there, like so many previous nights, going back to his bunk and finishing the job with efficiency. But no. Not tonight. If he were going to spend one more night without her, it would be because she said so. Not because he was too gorram chicken to ask. He pulled his only completely clean shirt out of his storage unit and pulled it over his head. The fabric was not the nicest, but it didn’t smell like engine or sweat. As he fastened the buttons up, he looked in the mirror. Cocky. That’s what he looked like. A cocky son of a bitch.

“Hey Inara!” Mal stepped around the doorway and ran his gaze over her shuttle, finally picking her out at the other side. “You blend in to those tapestries.” Inara turned to look at him for the first time since he’d entered the shuttle and he saw tears streaking her cheeks. He stared for a moment before recovering. “Trouble with the clients?” He shot her a half smile and arched an eyebrow. “Malcolm Reynolds, how could you?” She approached him until she was a step away, arms raised, poised to hit him. At the last second, she burst into tears. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” over and over, crushed against him, breathing him in…the whole time, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry”

Foolish as well. There was no way he could ask her to apologize for something she hadn’t done. No way she could have known how much it wrenched at him to see her going off with all her clients, every time goading a bit more and more. His footsteps echoed through Serenity. Everyone else was asleep, and he was pacing. Wandering, back and forth, around the ship, and ever closer to Inara’s door. He finally reached it, raised a hand to knock…

She opened the door before his hand could fall on it, and looked at him curiously for a moment. Her gaze pierced through him like a poisoned dart, until he could feel it all through his body. Tingling. Aching. She looked at him, and he looked at her—trapped. They were trapped in time. After a few long moments, she broke the spell, cocked her head to the side, and narrowed her eyes. The brief interruption on her spell over him gave him all the extra motivation he needed to lean forward and capture her perfect lips with his…

Mal shook his head and looked in front of him. His hand was still raised, clenched in a fist so tightly that his fingers were going numb. As far as he could tell, he had not knocked. He stood there for another moment, wondering if this was ludicrous. He could still recover his dignity, continue on to the bridge for a night check, and then head back to his bunk as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Yes, that was what he would do. And then the door opened. Mal stood, fist in the air, and Inara gazed out at him. She looked at him quizzically for a moment, and he leaned forward, arms reaching to gather her close to him. Her hands were on his chest; probing lightly…her lips were so close…it was perfect. No, not perfect. Her hands were on his chest, pushing him away. As soon as the realization struck him, he recovered his ground, posture back to normal, the only thing possibly betraying his currently aching heart a few tears welling up behind his eyelids. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry.” He turned to leave, but stopped as her hand rested on his arm. “Mal, don’t go. Come inside for a moment.” As he turned back to her shuttle, and her hand slipped back into his, the tears finally came. Big, fat tears, pouring down his cheeks and burning the skin in their path. Huge, racking sobs that turned to hysterical laughter when he thought on how foolish he must seem. Inara looked at him for about a half a heartbeat, and then gathered him in her arms, cradling him against her. “It’s going to be all right, Mal. It’s going to be all right.”