Work Text:
méiyôu mûqin de xiao gôu: motherless cur
hundan: bastard
banfei: a made-up word, literal Chinese for "half-price" based on the Japanese hangyoku (lit. half-charge, a geisha-in-training), who can be hired to host dinner parties
Inara's brush swept across the scroll in an easy rhythm: left-falling stroke, horizontal, right-falling stroke, new character, left-falling stroke, horizontal, perpendicular, square, new character. She paused to look up the next character and absent-mindedly stroked her lip. With a scowl, she pulled her hand away and returned to her work. It irritated her that she'd developed the habit of tracing her fingers across her lip. She could almost hear the voice of the house priestess in her head. "A companion's only habit is grace." There was nothing to see and nothing to feel. Yet, her fingers returned again and again to the spot that Jubal Early had struck the month before. She had never been hit like that. Didn't he know who she was?
Did she?
No one would dare to hit a companion. To do so would call down the formidable wrath of the entire companion's guild. But that man had hit her, unhesitatingly and without regret. Companions were never hit. Inara had been. What did that make her? Had she done something wrong? A companion knew the correct tone of voice and the correct gestures for every situation. But her voice and gestures, calculated to calm, had brought forth anger. A companion who could not read people was no companion at all.
She felt Serenity shudder as its engines powered up. Mal and Jayne must have returned from their job. She was glad. The ship was headed to Persephone next. At long last, they were going to a planet where she could find clients. It would be good to get back to work, the familiar routine. It would be good to unpack the tea cups and the linens, to sit and chat about things of unimportance. Good to be a companion again, the only thing she'd ever known.
She grimaced when she realized that she'd trailed her sleeve through the wet ink. How sloppy. She'd left House Madrassa to regain her equilibrium, find again her center, but instead she seemed to be spinning even more apart.
As she stood to rinse out her brushes, she heard the distinct boom of gunfire and ran for the cargo bay instead.
The door was open. Zoe and River flanked either side, shooting rapidly. Inara saw Simon rush in as well, and gestured to him to take cover as she had. Through the doorway, she could see Mal and Jayne running toward the ship. She prayed that the cover fire would be sufficient.
It was. The two men hit the ramp at a dead run, gasping for air. Mal pressed the com as Jayne slammed his hand against the button to close the door. "Wash, we're on," Mal puffed. "Go." The ramp began to rise, as did the ship. Inara stumbled as Serenity jerked upwards, and one last bullet slid through the opening at an awkward angle ricocheting around the bay before creasing her arm. She cried out in pain. Mal and Simon were by her side in moments.
"I'm fine," she gritted, trying not to pass out. She'd never realized before how much bullets hurt. "It's just a scratch."
"Then what's all that blood?" Mal accused. His jaw was clenched so tight, Inara was amazed he could talk at all. "Why can't you stay in your shuttle where you belong?"
"It's just a flesh wound," Simon said calmly, holding her arm gently. "But it's a long one, you should have stitches." Inara nodded and tried to stand. A wave of dizziness swamped her and she found herself leaning heavily on Simon for support. Dimly, she heard Mal stalking off.
She turned her head to watch as he snatched the gun from River's hand. He turned the safety back on and waved it under her nose. "How many times have I told you?" he said. "No touching guns. Where did you get this?" River crossed her arms.
"Sir." Zoe's tone was clear.
Mal sighed and cuffed River on the shoulder. "Thanks."
He turned away from her and his eyes met Inara's briefly before lowering to her arm. He lifted his gaze and headed for the stairs leading up to the cockpit. Mal called over his shoulder without looking back, "Get her to the infirmary, doc, before she bleeds all over my ship."
As night became early morning, Inara finally gave up the idea that she was ever going to get to sleep. She bathed and dressed, prayed to the ancestors, and then went to make a cup of tea. The ship was quiet save its usual rattles and hums, and she was thinking that she might sit and read a book in the lounge when she heard a loud thump from the infirmary.
She turned the water off, then walked briskly to the source of the sound. She saw Simon sitting on the floor inside, leaning his head against a bulkhead, his face in his hands. A book lay across the room. He had obviously thrown it. "Simon?" she inquired. "Simon? You haven't been up all night?" Inara said, her gentle voice laced with concern.
He stood up abruptly. "Is there a problem? Do you need something?"
"No, I'm just an early riser this morning. I was getting some tea. Are you all right?"
"Yes," he said, tugging on his earlobe. "I'm just — thinking."
Even someone without companion training would have seen the misery, exhaustion and frustration in the stiff lines of his form. "What is the matter?" she said softly as she tried to take his hand to lead him to the galley. He pulled away from her, and she was hurt until she realized he was simply picking up the book. She turned then and he followed her out.
Simon sat down at the table. Inara turned the water back on and got out two mugs. "Simon?" she said. His gaze was blank, staring at nothing at all, and he gripped a pen and the notebook tightly.
"Huh?" he said, with a jerk. He focused his eyes on hers. "I'm sorry," he said. "Did you say something?"
"I believe you were going to tell me why you appear to have stayed awake all night." Simon looked around in hesitation. "Everyone's asleep," she encouraged.
"It's River," he sighed.
Inara frowned slightly. "She seems better to me," she said cautiously.
Simon fiddled with his pen. "She is better," he said. "But it doesn't matter. I think she's as better as I can make her. And it's not good enough." He stabbed the pen into his notebook. "It's not good enough."
She reached out and firmly took the pen from his hand. "What do you mean?" she said. The teapot whistled and she went to get the two cups. "Sugar?" Simon shook his head.
"There's only so much that drugs can do. They can't unsever the connections in her brain or repair the damage to her amygdala. I think I've helped her as much as I can." He massaged the back of his neck. "I don't know. Maybe if I were a better doctor or if my specialty were neurosurgery I could do more."
"Maybe that's true," Inara said.
"Nice of you to try to cheer me up," Simon said.
"Maybe you're not a good enough doctor. Maybe you don't know enough about neurosurgery." Inara said. "That is a good thing." Simon gave her a quizzical look." It means there are still things that can be done, things to try. Maybe you don't know enough yet. That doesn't mean you never will."
Simon looked blankly at her. She could see the wheels grinding in his head. "I never thought of it that way," he said.
"That's because you're exhausted," she said. "You can't help your sister that way."
"I know you're right," he mumbled. "It's just — I have to do something."
"Not tonight," she said. "Or rather this morning."
"Is it that late?" he yawned. "Maybe I should just take a shower and forget the sleep." He obviously didn't want to lie down.
"Is that —" Inara hesitated. She did not want to overstep her bounds. "Is that all that's bothering you?"
He rubbed his eyes, then wearily shook his stiff fingers, cramped from hours of writing. "What do you mean?"
"Kaylee," she said, taking his hands in hers and massaging the circulation back.
"Kaylee? Why? Has she said something?"
"No, but I've noticed a certain ... awkwardness between the two of you lately."
"Maybe," he said. "I don't — I haven't — I don't know."
Inara laughed. "Oh, it's like that," she said.
Simon smiled as well, a little wearily, but Inara was pleased to see that he seemed more relaxed then he had been a few moments ago.
"Good morning, doc," Mal said, walking into the room.
Simon yanked his hands from Inara's guiltily. She gave a tiny sigh. Simon had a way of always seeming to have been caught doing something wrong. She wished he would relax for once. She turned a polite smile towards Mal. "Good morning, Mal," she said.
"Inara." Mal inclined his head perfunctorily. He gave Simon a sour look that seemed to linger on the other man's disheveled hair and wrinkled clothing. "Busy night?" Mal inquired.
Simon stood hastily. "I should go," he said. "Take a shower."
"Simon," Inara said. She walked over and embraced him. He flinched and then stood stiffly in her arms.
He relaxed suddently and put his own arms around her. "Thank you," he said.
"You look like you needed it," she replied. She pulled back and gave him a wicked smile. "Besides it's what I do."
"How sweet," Mal drawled.
Simon gave him a startled look. "I'm going to go — infirmary." He fled leaving Mal and Inara alone.
"Keeping my crew up all night?" Mal asked.
Inara counted to ten before replying. "I just woke up," she answered. "Same as you."
Mal didn't answer. Inara decided that she'd rather go back to her shuttle then listen to Mal's angry silence, but before she could leave Mal was talking again.
"I'm going to need your shuttle tomorrow," he said as he started making a cup of tea.
"My shuttle? Why?"
"Just let me know when it's available." His voice was flat.
"Well, I don't have any clients in the morning," she said. "I suppose —"
"The morning's fine. Clean it up, if you can." He poured the lukewarm water that she'd heated earlier into a mug. She couldn't imagine why he'd be in such a hurry.
"Why do you need it?" she said.
Mal headed for the doorway, his eyes not coming anywhere near her. "I'd better go check our course," he said. "Wash is still asleep."
He left before she could say anything else. Her eyes searched his retreating figure for a clue, but all she could see was tension. As always.
Dinner that night started out as a quiet affair. Mal seemed to be in a foul mood, and none of the crew wanted to set off an explosion.
"Pass me the mashed protein." Simon's serious eyes met Kaylee's shining ones and he ducked his head a little. "Please," he said. Kaylee beamed as their fingers touched when she passed him the bowl.
Inara looked down at her plate to hide her smile. It was nice to see Kaylee happy. She deserved someone like Simon.
Mal cleared his throat. "Wash figures we'll be touching down on Persephone right on schedule tomorrow. Kaylee, I want you and Wash to check around for good deals on spare parts. Zoe, you and Jayne take Badger his cut."
"You're not coming, sir?"
Mal looked hard into his plate. "I've got to stay here, got someone interested in renting out Inara's shuttle."
Inara dropped her cup. Tea splashed across the table.
Zoe stood up. "Wash, why don't you and I finish dinner in our bunk?"
Simon stood as well. "I've got something — things — to do in the infirmary. River?"
Kaylee and the Shepherd had also stood. "River can play jacks with me," Kaylee said with a wink at the other girl. "I can't beat you if I don't get any practice in."
Wash and Jayne sat fascinated looking back and forth between Mal and Inara.
Zoe bent downward and kissed the back of Wash's neck. "Wash," she whispered.
He tilted his head up to look at her. "You're just offering me sex to get me out of here," he grumbled.
She took his hand and lifted it to her mouth. Placing a small kiss on his palm, she looked into his eyes. "Does that matter?" she asked.
"Strangely, no." He stood up. "We'll be in our bunk." As the crew started to leave, Zoe called warningly over her shoulder. "Jayne."
"Hey, no one's offering me sex," he said. Book lay a hand on his shoulder. "How about a different work out?"
Jayne grunted as he stood. "Never get to hear anything interesting on this ship."
"I could read you a little something from the Bible," Book said. "All kinds of interesting. Arguments aplenty if that's what you have a mind for."
"Ain't exactly the same, now is it," Jayne snorted, but he followed the shepherd out.
Once they were gone, Inara took a deep breath. There was anger underneath the hurt. She could focus on that. Inara glared at Mal, but he kept eating in a great show of nonchalance. She crossed her arms. "Well?" she demanded.
"Well what?" Mal said, his eyes flicking toward hers before darting away.
"What do you mean you're showing my shuttle to somebody?"
Mal shrugged. "You're the one who's always going on about leaving," he said.
"I haven't left yet," she snapped. "I haven't even set a date."
"And what? I'm supposed to wait for one day when you decide it's time to go? I can't afford a gap in rent money."
"I can't believe you," Inara said. "You should've told me first. You should've asked."
Now he did look at her. "It's my shuttle," Mal said.
"My rent is paid."
"Look," he said. "Maybe I should've asked. But I didn't and now I got someone coming."
"I need my shuttle, Mal," Inara said.
"No, you don't," Mal said.
"I don't?" she gritted out. "How am I supposed to do business?"
"Your first client ain't until this afternoon. She'll be coming in the morning."
"She?" Inara's voice was deceptively calm.
Mal ran his hand through his hair. "Yes, she."
"And what business is she in?"
"She's a whore, all right? Just like you."
"You're a méiyôu mûqin de xiao gôu, Malcolm Reynolds." Inara cursed and left the galley, her hands shaking.
Inara did not bother to make an excuse the next morning. She just left, long before the companion was expected to arrive, and stayed away until there was no possibility the woman was still around. When she returned to the ship, she greeted no one, but simply went to her shuttle. She looked around the room in distaste. As far as she could tell, nothing had been disturbed, but she hated the idea of it. A stranger, looking around her home, judging it. Within minutes she was pulling at her things, tossing them into a pile to be cleaned. Her wild hands lit on something small and round, it looked vaguely like a compact. It had probably been dropped by that woman, left behind on accident. Inara opened the shuttle door and threw the thing out into the hallway as hard as she could. She did not feel better.
Serenity left Persephone three days later right on schedule.
Inara woke confused. The proximity alert went on and on, and still no one shut it off. She pulled on her dressing gown and stumbled blearily out of the shuttle. The first thing she noticed was the smell. Serenity smelled funny. There was a sweet smell to the air, and a grimy feeling to the walls. Her eyes blurred slightly. Something was wrong.
She fumbled her way to the cockpit leaning against the wall as she fought a dizzying wave of nausea. Wash was slumped over the panel. She rushed toward him and breathed a deep sigh of relief when she discovered the pulse in his neck. She turned the alarm off.
At first, she could see nothing out of the view screen. She lifted Wash gently off the instrument panel, leaning him back against the chair. His head flopped awkwardly, but she didn't have time to worry about that. The readouts showed something large — a ship — spare meters from the hull. She looked back at the view screen. There it was at the bottom left corner, the edge of something metallic. With a bit of a panic, she realized that whoever it was — pirates, reavers — was probably trying to open a hatch somewhere, and she had no idea how to stop them. She checked the readouts again. None of the hatches seemed to be open now, but whoever it was could already be inside.
Even before she reached the com, she thought it might not only be a wasted effort, but a dangerous one. She just didn't know what else to try. "This is Inara. Serenity is being boarded." There was no response. She hadn't expected one. Any of the crew able to would have already responded to the lengthy proximity alert she was sure. She supposed that everyone else was like Wash. Her heart skipped a beat. Wash was breathing, but maybe the others were not. She was halfway down the catwalk, dashing toward the crew quarters when she tripped on her dress robe.
She clutched at the railing to break her fall, but still lost balance, falling to her knees. The slight burning sensation of the scrape was shock enough to jolt her back into deliberateness. With a quick prayer for wisdom and courage, she started to breathe: in for seven beats, hold for seven beats, out for seven beats, the first meditation she had ever learned. It didn't take but a moment. Companions were trained to remain unfazed in a variety of situations, and Inara was the best. She lifted her chin and stood, the panicky feeling gone. She continued on her way toward the crew quarters. She was no longer looking for injured people; she was looking for weapons.
She did not bother with the weapons locker. She didn't have the combination. Mal was not the type to leave it unlocked. She tried Jayne's room first. She'd known he was paranoid about River lately, but she also knew that he would have a wide variety of guns. Her experience with them was limited, and she knew it would help if she had a choice. Her initial instincts were correct; it was locked. Luckily, Wash and Zoe's quarters were not. Zoe was slumped on the floor, half-undressed. Inara supposed she'd been expecting Wash. She stopped to make sure Zoe was breathing, wishing there was a way to make her more comfortable. Zoe was going to wake up sore, but Inara didn't have time to dwell on it. She looked around. It didn't take her long to spot the gun still in its holster, lying on the bed. She picked it up. The gun was heavier than she'd expected, but not too bad. Inara was used to holding swords, and not just fencing rapiers either. She was pretty sure she could fire Zoe's gun and keep her wrist steady. She'd worry about the kick-back later.
She had a weapon, but what good was it? What could she do against reavers? Inara knew that there was little she really could do, but she might as well do what she could.
She stood by the door in case someone came through it, trying to decide where best to station herself. It was hard not knowing which hatch they would use. It was only when the gun almost slipped through her fingers that she realized her palms were sweaty. She was still nervous. Why? Why was she so unnerved? Why was her training failing her? She looked down at the gun in her hands and her mouth twisted in disgust. It was not her training that had failed. She was doing it again. Thinking like one of them. Like the crew, but she wasn't one of them. Not really. Mal had made that clear.
Inara peeked into the corridor, and moved out. She still saw nothing, could hear no one. She moved swiftly to her shuttle. Companions didn't use guns. They had other weapons. Inara was a companion.
Inara didn't take long. Within minutes she had opened up the special box and pocketed the vial, and its accompanying needle. She knew there were rumors. There was no shortage of vids on the cortex that featured companion characters trained as assassins or spies and given vials of poison to take should they be discovered. There were artsy vids too with companions killing themselves to keep from losing their honor at the hands of reavers. Companions to whom the right to choose a client was sacred, who killed themselves to be spared the dishonor. The vids had got one thing right. The freedom to choose was almost a religion in the companion's guild. That's why the guild made sure every companion had a vial ... but it didn't tell them what to use it for.
When Inara came out of the shuttle she heard movement down below. There were people moving through the cargo bay. Inara froze. A companion's first duty was to listen. Sometimes that's all a client wanted or needed. If a client wanted more, then a companion who has listened will know and know how to give it to them. She listened.
"Move them all into the cargo bay. I want them all in one place so that we can keep an eye on them if they start waking up before we dump them. How long until we make planetfall?"
"Why not just kill them? Why go to all this trouble to steal a ship you could buy a million times over?"
"Malcolm Reynolds took something from me. Now I'm going to take everything he has. Unfortunately the hundan doesn't have anything. Except this ship. That's enough, though. Let him be the one to lose everything. Let him be the one humiliated in front of everyone. In front of her," the man spat.
Inara's teachers had been correct. All a companion really needed to do was listen. Now Inara knew what the enemy wanted and who the enemy was.
Atherton.
Maybe the gun would be useful after all.
There was no place to hide. The moment she took a step she would be heard, and there was little to be gained by locking herself in her shuttle. She did not bother. Anyway, now that she knew what she was dealing with she knew exactly what she had to do. Inara stepped boldly out and called to Atherton in a loud voice.
"Inara," he said. With a smile, he gestured her down toward his level. He wanted to play it charming. She could do that.
"Atherton," she said, greeting him as if he had never threatened her.
"I'm surprised to see you. Emily assured me that she had been quite thorough in spreading the gas disks around the ship during her little tour."
"I am sure she was," Inara said. "I simply happened to discover the one in my shuttle. I didn't know what it was, of course, but I moved it."
"Ah, you always did have an unaccountable luck. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid my men will have to take that little gun you're carrying."
Inara put up a token struggle. Because she had a gun and tried to keep it, they did not bother searching her. Clients always saw what they wanted. They never saw all the things that a companion kept back, hidden up their sleeves. Things like vials of poison.
Atherton walked toward her, and his hand reached to stroke one of her curls. "You were a beautiful woman, Inara. I would have given you everything."
"There are some things, Atherton, that you don't have it in you to give." Closer, she thought. Let me get closer. She turned her face into his hand, kissing his palm.
"Damn you," he muttered. His hand twisted painfully in her hair, tilting her head. She damped down the revulsion. Yes, she thought. Kiss me. Touch me. Just let me get close to you.
His other hand was on her shoulder now, his fingers digging in tightly in a sham of a caress. She bit back a cry of pain, letting him yank her toward him. "I was going to let you live," he murmured into her ear, lover-like. "But you always have to interfere." His hands moved to twine about her neck, cutting off her air supply. "You stupid whore, did you think I'd trust you again? Let you seduce me?" It was too late. Her arms had already snaked around him. She tilted her wrist. The vial slid into her hand. With a nail she poked the top, popping the seal that allowed the needle to spring forth. Atherton had 1.8 seconds between feeling the needle bite through his skin and his heart stopping.
She gasped for air, letting his body drop to the floor with a thud. Poor Atherton, always thinking every game was his to win, expecting everyone to play by his rules.
She heard the click of five guns being cocked. Five guns trained on her. She looked at them, and when she spoke it was with a frightening confidence. "You could shoot a companion," she whispered. "Maybe the guild would let you live. Maybe you'd only go to jail. You could shoot a companion ... or you could leave."
They left. She supposed they told themselves it was because there was no one to pay them now, but she knew the real reason they left. Everyone knew the rumors. Everyone watched the vids. Assassins and spies. From their vantage point, Inara had hugged Atherton, and he had died. They didn't see the needle.
When she was alone with only her passed-out crewmates, Inara allowed herself to fall to the ground, to draw her knees to her chest and wait. Someone else could deal with Atherton's body. Companions didn't dirty their hands with such things.
Mal was the last to wake. Inara and Simon kept vigil together. It was in those long moments, waiting, that Inara knew what she had to do. If she had acted as a companion should, none of this would have happened. Mal and Atherton would have had no reason to be jealous of each other. The long chain of events that led to one man's death and another man's danger never would have happened.
When Mal awoke, he was groggy, but remarkably clear-headed. His eyes were deadly when he heard about Atherton. "But you're all right?" he said.
"Yes," Inara answered.
"Good." His hand reached up to cup her jaw. "I was so stupid," he said. "I never should have invited that woman—"
She couldn't bear it. She removed his hand. "No," she said. "You were right."
Mal's face contorted in confusion for a moment.
"Nothing's changed," Inara said gently.
His mouth hardened. "No, I suppose not," he said. She wanted to reassure him, but it was better this way. Mere rejection he could survive.
He sat up, ignoring Simon's blustery protests and left the room without a word.
Simon's arms went around her. She started to pull away in surprise, but he whispered in her ear, "You looked like you needed it."
She shuddered, overcome. "I — yes, I do," she said in a shaking voice. Simon put his arms around her, and she leaned on him a bit.
"I'm leaving," she said.
"I know," he answered.
"Do you think it's wrong?"
"I think that only you know what's best for you."
"And for you? Would you go?"
"I wouldn't ever have chosen this life. It's hard. It's mean. It's unfair. But if anyone ever offered me the chance to go back, I wouldn't take it."
"I've never been anything but a companion. I became a banfei when I was ten, you know. I never thought of doing anything else. Never thought I could do anything else."
"And now?"
"Now? I don't know, but I think it is time I found out. Either I'm a companion, or I'm not. I can't do halfways."
She laid her head upon his shoulder. He held her gently, imperceptibly rocking their backs as she cried.
The next morning her eyes were dry. She did not allow herself to cry again. She simply went on about the business of finding some place to go.
"Inara's ride is here," Wash announced over the intercom. "Can they dock?"
Mal got up from the table and walked over to the com. "Permission granted," he said.
Inara stood. A strange calm permeated her body. She felt more centered than she had in a long while. The rest of the crew got up as well, and began to file into the cargo bay. Mal remained standing by the com, his gaze fixed to the wall.
"Captain," Kaylee said. He looked up blankly. "You should say goodbye." He opened his mouth to protest. "Please," she implored. His mouth closed; he nodded.
Inara's bags were already in the cargo bay. She directed the other crew to load them onto the other ship. She walked over to the crew, hugging them good-bye in turn. By unspoken agreement they stepped back when she got to Mal, offering the two of them a relative measure of privacy.
He wasn't able to hold the bitter words in, but then she'd always appreciated his bluntness. "Should have known you'd run away," he said.
"I'm not," she insisted. "I'm walking." She meant it, but it felt like a lie.
He shrugged. "You're leaving," he said.
"M—" she stopped. She wasn't sure she had the right to use his name any longer. "Don't," she pleaded. "Don't."
He lowered his head. His hands were clenched fists. When he looked up, his eyes glinted. "I'm not man enough to make this easy for you," he said. "If that's what you're asking, I can't."
She nodded. She hadn't had the right to ask. "If you ever, " her voice broke. She took a deep breath. "Call me if you ever need help," she said. "I have —"
"I won't, " he interrupted. "Not from you."
She bent her head. When she looked up her eyes were bright, but her face was expressionless. "I know," she whispered. "Goodbye, Malcolm Reynolds."
Her things had been loaded. She turned and left Serenity. The doors slid shut behind her. Inara did not look back. She kept walking.
The End