Written in response to Goldy’s journal prompt: Inara stumbles across the capture-thingy Mal was looking at in the BDM. How did she get it? What happens next? Word Count: 1387 Rating: PG

Cold Knowledge by 2x2

Inara stood at the top of the cold stone steps of the Training House somberly, her hands held numbly at her sides as she watched the woman climb steadily towards her. It had been years since the Companion had laid eyes on this particular woman, and her presence here now, she knew, could mean only one thing.

She fought the panic she felt rising in her, threatening to overwhelm years of honed skill. She wanted to delay this meeting, more than anything, but the hour had come and there was no time left.

All too soon the woman reached the last of the steps and stood before Inara. Holding a small wooden box between her hands, she regarded the Companion with eyes that spoke of a life the other woman could only imagine. The years had added lines of care and worry to her face; to the woman, Inara looked exactly the same as the last time she’d seen her.

“Inara,” she said, her voice rougher than the Companion remembered, edgier.

“Zoe,” she replied, not able to mask the emotion in her voice completely.

“’Spect you know why I’m here,” Zoe said with a nod.

Inara swallowed, blinking at the threat of moisture she felt in her eyes as her chest tightened. “Yes,” she said softly.

Zoe drew in a deep breath and then stepped forward, holding the box out for Inara. “’Some things for you, thought you might like to have…”

Inara took the box from the woman’s outstretched hands, terrified and full of longing at the same time to learn what was inside. It felt heavier than she expected, yet far too light to adequately represent a man’s life. She let her fingers run over the smooth, well-worn edges of the box, worrying a small chip with her thumb. She trembled.

“… Thank-you,” she whispered, unable to lift her eyes from the box for fear of losing control completely. She felt rather than saw the other woman nod.

“He would’ve…” Zoe started, then cleared her throat and drew herself up, fading behind her soldierly exterior in a technique that was all too familiar to Inara. “I can’t stay,” the woman continued. “’Just wanted to drop that off, let you know.”

Inara nodded. “I… I appreciate that. Thank-you.”

Zoe nodded back and turned, but halted, looking back as Inara called after her.

“Zoe—“ the Companion said, her eyes finally lifting to the other woman. “… How…” she asked, not wanting but needing to know.

Zoe’s eyes slanted away then. “It was bad,” she said, rough with emotion. “Real bad. ‘Got ambushed and… I couldn’t get to him. I couldn’t get to him an’ he...” she trailed off, her voice cracking.

Inara took a step forward, tears spilling from her eyes. “Zoe…”

The other woman shook her head, gathering her control again and gave Inara one last, sorrow filled stare, then turned and headed down the stairs briskly without looking back.

Inside her apartments, Inara sat on her bed, the same bed she’d used on Serenity and all these years in between, surrounded by the darkness of the day’s failing light.

The box sat before her, unopened; she didn’t want to say good-bye, but the longer she put it off the harder she knew it would become, until it might very well destroy her, if it hadn’t already.

Pale and trembling, she slowly lifted the lid, swinging it back on its hinges silently. She closed her eyes and inhaled the scent that drifted to her nose from the box’s contents – the deep smoky flavour of the wood itself, the tang of gun oil, bitter taste of gunpowder, the unmistakable aroma of brown leather - the essence of him.

She let out a slow breath and opened her eyes, reaching into the box to pull out his pistol from where it rested on top of everything else. Inara was surprised to see it in the box; of all his things she’d thought perhaps Zoe would want it and she wondered if maybe it had been a last minute addition. She held it gently in both her hands, feeling the weight of it, ran her fingers over the smooth sandlewood grips that had been polished under his hand’s grasp a thousand times. He had killed men with this gun, saved the lives of his crew. Despite it’s age and years of use, it was clean and well oiled, cared for, and she had an inkling of the quiet ritual looking after it would become for her in the time ahead as she placed it next to the box reverently.

She smiled faintly as her fingers encountered the cotton softness of one of his shirts, and she pulled it out, letting it unfold as she held it by the shoulders and brought it to her nose, burying her face in the collar as she smelled him. Oh, years of separation had done nothing to dull the effect his smell had on her, and she drank it in, letting the scent envelope her in the memory of him. After several long moments she laid the shirt beside his gun, smoothing the fabric that once rested against his chest, lingering over the place that had covered the heart she’d never dared allow herself to touch.

Drawing in a deep breath, she wiped at the tears on her cheeks, swallowing back the doubts she had thought long since conquered.

Next she picked out a triangular shaped patch and two silver ident tags. Embroidered with the Independent Army’s flag, the patch was dirty and stained with war, the edges worn and long since tattered. His name, still clearly engraved on the tags, sent a sharp pang piercing through her heart. Sergeant Malcolm Reynolds. Face crumbling, she traced the letters, her tears blurring the words as this, more than anything, made it real, solidified the fact that he was truly gone.

You lost him a long time ago, she tried to tell herself, appalled to discover there was still hope carried within her after all these years, love she’d been unable to eradicate from her soul. She’d left him for fear of never being able to, and fooled herself into thinking she’d gotten away, but he had always been there, deep inside, her secret kept even from herself. Her head told her she’d been right to leave, because here she was, alone, just as she knew she ultimately would be, but her heart cried out for all the years in between she could have been with him.

Weeping, she took the last thing from the box, a slim rectangular capture, the paint around its edges chipped, the characters on the playback button faded away under countless views. Fingers shaking, she activated the stored image, her breath leaving her in stunned anguish as her own image filled the screen.

Her voice echoed around the room, sounding strange and harsh to her ears, a strangled moan escaping her lips as she realized what this was, what this meant.

“That man doesn’t know what he wants.”

“Oh God, Mal,” she cried, the thought that he had kept this capture of her, for years, even after she’d left him a second time… that all she had left him with was an image of her lying to Kaylee… hurting him every time he watched, but still watching, still watching because… oh God, because it was all he had of her… because he loved her, even after all this time, he had still loved her!

Numb with anguish, she slid from the bed, her knees striking the floor as she clutched the capture desperately, shaking as she begged for this all to be a mistake.

“Please. Oh, please, Mal. Please,” she cried, her face pressed into the bed, body wracked with sobs. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” Weeping in grief-stricken pain, she pulled the blanket and sheets from her bed, clutching them to her, the capture pressed against her breast, filling the emptiness of her arms, hiding her face in their depths as the box and the contents laid beside it fell to the floor.

“Oh, Mal, “ she wept, “Forgive me. I love you… I love you,” she whispered into the darkness, heart shattered by regret and the cold knowledge that there was no one there anymore who could answer.