It happens in the middle of an argument. They’re fighting about something stupidly mundane, too caught up in the screaming match to notice that the space between them – meters a moment ago – is now merely inches. Suddenly they’re almost touching, and then they are touching and he grabs her round her waist and she lets him pull her those few centimetres closer. Whatever they were squabbling about is forgotten because now it’s all angry, feverish kisses and hands roaming everywhere and clothes irredeemably crumpled. They stumble backwards against the wall, a bronze coffeepot tumbling to the floor unheeded and unheard above their moans and all he can think through the fog is Damn the crumples - if she doesn’t get that sari off then he’s going to rip the gorram thing for her …..

***

It happens completely by accident. It really isn’t his fault. Just a little lurch, well, quite big lurch really, of her shuttle and their hands are going everywhere trying to keep themselves upright. He’s thrown sideways and against her, grabbing for anything stable, and against all the odds he actually does fall onto her lips. It’s a total mistake. A lip-accident. One that would be easily fixed if it wasn’t for the other pair of lips, and in fact the other set of arms which seem to have wound themselves around his neck. All at once it’s not so much an accident, as a series of them, and the flight isn’t getting any less turbulent.

***

It’s so unprofessional. In all her years as a companion – training and practicing – she’s never forgotten anything during a session with a client, but now, slipping away from the sleeping man, Inara is kicking herself for leaving the little bottle of scented oil on the cockpit console. Self-castigation quickly turns to horror though when she ducks behind the cockpit curtain to find Mal hunched over in the pilot seat, eyes screwed up and fingers in his ears. Arguments are so much harder in mime, and there’s no time to decode his wild gestures, but when he mouths I’m Sorry she knows he truly means it. She can see the hurt behind his eyes and that little part of her that isn’t livid or panicking wonders sadly how much he’s heard. He pushes the scent bottle into her palm but then he grips her hand so tightly that she can’t pull away and she knows he’s begging her, Don’t Go. Inara hesitates. She desperately wants to explain to him, to make him understand. Any second her client may come and sweep aside the curtain to find out what’s keeping her, but she just stands, looking at Mal. Suddenly it’s easy. She leans in and quietly presses her lips against his. His eyes flutter closed and she feels his pulse quicken against her palm. For a moment they are still, barely breathing, squashed close in the tiny cockpit. And then she pulls away, resolved, and her hand falls easily from his. Communication with Mal is usually almost impossible, even with a thousand words. Inara is amazed to discover how simple it is with none at all.

***

It’s casual. It’s all business. Mal strides down the ramp out of Serenity, browncoat swinging, gun in its holster. They’re on their way to a job and for once things are looking up. He nods briskly to Jayne who falls in behind him, followed by Zoë, strapping her gun to her waist as she goes. Quick pat on the shoulder for Wash as he passes him. Quick peck on the cheek for Inara. He walks on a few more paces before it hits him. Turns around, the confusion evident on his face ….. What just happened? Her mouth hangs open in surprise - She’s as mystified as he is. Zoë and Jayne march past them, oblivious.

***

It’s Kaylee’s birthday. They’re sitting together on the sofa, knees almost touching, while Kaylee rips the paper off her present and squeals with joy. Mal grins at her excitement and leans back in satisfaction on the couch. They feel like mummy and daddy, presiding over the little party. No one is interested in them though. Now Kaylee is too busy hugging Jayne, and Book and Simon are grinning at her. Zoë and Wash are enmeshed in their own little world. River is making cranes and planes out of the discarded wrapping paper. Inara rests her head on Mal’s shoulder and he absent-mindedly kisses the top of it. She curls her feet up onto the cushions and responds with one in the crook of his neck. It tingles nicely and he glances down in surprise before cautiously placing one on the tip of her nose. It’s a game and Inara is caught up in it. Smiling she looks up at him, eyes glinting mischievously. He has a tiny piece of icing sugar caught on the corner of his mouth.

***

It’s the last thing. Her boxes and bags are packed. The larger stuff has even gone ahead a few days ago. All that’s left are a few suitcases and the infusive scent of her incense. He lands the shuttle right outside the train station and heads through to the back. She’s there, sitting stiffly on the last of her trunks. She ducks her head as he moves to lift it up - can’t meet his eyes, too afraid that she’ll find nothing there. Once they’re on the platform, cases loaded onto the waiting train, there’s nothing more to do. Inara looks over at him, staring grimly into thin air. She has to go. Her bridges are burned and it’s too late now for anything else. Softly she steps forward and places a kiss on the edge of his mouth. Her fingers cup his cheek. Her breath comes in shudders. Moving back she searches his face, looking for any reaction, but he stares past her, barely seeming to register her turning away and boarding the train. She gathers her skirts neatly when she steps up off the ground, in control again. He doesn’t wait on the platform until the train pulls out. Doesn’t wave at her through the glass. He doesn’t run alongside as it carries her away. He leaves. He leaves the station before she does. Climbs into the shuttle, heads back to Serenity.