lunabee34 | Touched, or Eight Fragments

I wrote a Firefly ficlet!

Title: Touched, or Eight Fragments
Pairing: Inara, gen
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Vague ones for the television show; none for the movie
Warnings: None
Thanks to

lisatheobscure and my hubby Josh for the read throughs; also

executrix for inspiration on the narrative construction.

This is the first fic for this fandom, so, Eeeeep!

Touched, or Eight Fragments

Inara runs a brush slowly through Kaylee’s newly trimmed hair. The strands are soft, silky as her own, even though they smell slightly of exhaust under the warm honey of Kaylee’s shampoo. Inara twists the hair into a thick rope and fastens it with bronze clips.

“There we are. All finished, and beautifully so. Take a look.” Inara holds a mirror in front of Kaylee whose eyes widen as she tentatively pats the coil of hair looping across her crown and down behind her left ear.

Then Kaylee smiles. “You made me look so . . . just, so. Thanks, Inara. I feel like I oughta be dancing at a fancy party, instead of spending the night up to my elbows in hydraulics.” Kaylee scrunches her face up thoughtfully. “Well, maybe not. That one the Cap’n took me to wasn’t what I expected. Best part was really the melted cheese.” Kaylee shakes her head and turns to give Inara a quick hug before leaving.

Inara picks up a section of hair from the floor and ties it in the middle with a grosgrain ribbon. Then she sweeps the remainder into a dustpan and empties it down the trash chute.

~ ~ ~

Jayne leans toward Inara, a precious hunk of bread clutched in his hand like a stone he might throw. His feet are bare because River filled his boots with water and hid them in the cargo bay until the leather swelled and warped into an unwearable shape. Underneath the table, one foot slips under the hem of Inara’s embroidered gown. For the briefest instant, Jayne’s big toe traces a cold line along her shin. Then Inara takes the kitten heel of her morning slipper and brings it down on his other foot, hard. Jayne yelps and drops the bread into his soup; the steaming broth stings Inara’s wrist where it splashes.

~ ~ ~

“She’s just insanely hard to buy for. At some point, a man has to move beyond the traditional birthday gift basket of daggers and assorted grenades.” Wash sighs and slouches back in the pilot’s chair. “I just want to get her something different this year.”

“Don’t worry. We’ve got three days on Persephone, and I only have one engagement for this layover. I’ll help you find something perfect before we leave,” Inara says.

The next afternoon in the market, Inara presses the flat of her palm against bolt after bolt of sun-warmed linen. Her fingers skim over the tooling on supple leather saddles and wide gun belts. She ducks as Wash parts the colored streamers that hang from each vendor’s stall and distracts him with plastic figurines when he threatens to give up the search.

When he finds what he wants—a tiny wooden box inlaid with bits of colored glass and stone —Wash grabs Inara’s arm frantically, betraying his excitement and upping the asking price by at least ten percent. Back on Serenity, Inara helps Wash wrap Zoe’s gift, laughing when he manages to tape the fringe of her shawl inside the paper.

~ ~ ~

Inara’s hand is on Simon’s arm. His shirt is stiff under her fingers, the starched fabric unpleasant against her fingernails. She leaves her hand there just long enough so that the cotton begins to warm beneath it. Then she rests her hand in her lap and waits for Simon to speak.

His words will be about River or perhaps Kaylee. They will come haltingly, and he will move his hands as he speaks, his pale fingers making shadows on the dull luster of Serenity’s steel walls.

Sometimes, as now, River will interrupt Simon’s monologue. She slides around the door, balanced impossibly on her toes, then collapses onto the floor. Inara and Simon move to catch her at the same time, and their arms tangle in the emptiness above her body.

~ ~ ~

Sometimes, when Serenity stops on a moon closer to the Core, Inara buys a burlap sack full of onions, a thick slab of strong cheese, and loaves of stale bread. Then she and Shepherd Book slice the onions so thinly she can read the maker’s mark on her knife through their concentric rings.

Inara’s eyes water, and she wipes them on the sleeve of her kimono, or else the finely woven handkerchief the Shepherd tucks beneath her bracelet with gentle fingers. His eyes water as well; they both look as if they are grieving a loss, but the galley is loud with their laughter and the metallic noises of their knives working.

Inara coats the skillet with rendered fat, and the onions’ acrid bite turns rich and sweet in the recycled air.

~ ~ ~

Inara watches as Mal twirls Kaylee around the galley. She’s singing something Inara doesn’t recognize, but it sounds old. Maybe something from Earth-that-was. In any case, the melody is simple, and Kaylee’s voice is high and clear. Mal’s eyes crinkle, the way they always do when he smiles at Kaylee, and he joins in the song. River peeks around the corner, and Kaylee lets her cut in when she and Mal make their second turn around the table.

Inara waits until they pass to leave her seat for another cup of tea, but River runs Mal into her two steps from the counter. Inara turns and waits to be asked to dance, but Mal’s hands drop to his sides, and he stops singing. They look at other for a long moment, then Inara turns her back and pours the tea.

~ ~ ~

Inara manages to draw blood with her blade, but before Zoe and Jayne kill Niska’s henchmen, the tallest knocks her legs out from under her. She lands on her forearms, the metal grillwork of the floor scoring deep lines on the soft flesh. She hears gunfire, then the mechanical whirr of Serenity’s ramp raising. She flexes her arms; they hurt less than she expects, and she struggles to sit.

Inara reaches out for the railing, but instead finds Zoe firmly gripping her hand and dragging her to her feet. Zoe nods once and walks down the stairs to the cargo bay to untie Mal. Later, when Simon is wrapping Inara’s wrists, Zoe mentions to the others that Inara’s attack provided the distraction necessary for their escape. Inara blushes, but she doesn’t contradict. Zoe claps her on the back as she leaves the infirmary, and Inara squares her shoulders at the gesture.

~ ~ ~

Inara strokes River’s brow soothingly, but River flinches away.

“It’s too close. Too near. All their hands superimposed on yours. They moan above you, and they say your name, but they don’t touch you. Not really.” River looks as if she might cry; she backs away on the bed and draws up her knees to her chest. Her hair falls over her face, but Inara can see River’s eyes squinched tight and her lips moving as she rocks back and forth.

Inara tries to take her in her arms, but River shrieks and flails wildly. She catches Inara in the mouth with an elbow, splitting her lip.

At dinner, River hesitantly smiles at Inara and offers her a foil-wrapped square of candy. Inara smiles back, too widely, and her chocolate tastes faintly of blood.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

From:

rayne-y-daze.livejournal.com

I'm among the unfortunates who know next to nothing of this world. You have made me adore Inara with little clue as to who she is. And your writing here - maybe the new verse is making you more careful - is even better than normal, and that's not easy to do. This is incredible stuff - I always expect wonderful fic from you, but I am amazed right now.

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Touched, or Eight Fragments

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