Work Text:
Title: Last Dance
Disclaimer: Firefly does not belong to me.
Pairing: Mal/Inara
Spoilers: Through Objects in Space.
Words: 579
A/N: Written for 
a_white_rain as a belated birthday gift, who was kind enough to prompt me with Mal/Inara and dancing. Dancing’s sort of taken on a whole new meaning to me since watching Doctor Who, which isn’t entirely inappropriate, given the context. :D
He’s not sure if he’s playing nice because it’s her last night with them or because they’ve had one drink too many.
But when she asks him to dance, he thinks that’s maybe not such a good idea, but says ‘yes’ anyway. Her hand is too soft and he’s not sure he remembers how to move his feet.
The only thing he can think to say is, “Don’t rightly know if the galley’s the best place for dancing, Inara.”
She raises her eyebrows, and he thinks—no, he knows--she takes a step closer to him, close enough so that he can feel breath puffing along his chin. She tilts her eyes up in that way she has. Like she knows what he’s thinking.
He swallows and stares at a point over her shoulder.
“If you don’t want to, we can always—”
“No,” he says. “No. Didn’t say that.”
He didn’t say a lot of things to Inara. And now she’s leaving, and he knows that he’s not going to say a damn thing to try and stop her.
That’s just the way it has to be.
It’s not really dancing. It’s light swaying, with fingers linked, and eyes not-quite-making-contact. She’s close, but she’s barely touching him.
“It’s—I won’t be so far,” she says. “You… you could wave if you needed something.”
“Right.”
“You won’t, though,” she says, quietly, and her fingers tighten around his.
“You’re the one who’s leaving,” he says. And the word tastes bitter. “You and the Shepherd both.”
Inara’s smile is almost wistful. “You’d wave Book.”
He can’t deny it, so he studies that spot over her shoulder again. He can see the outline of one ear, of dark hair tucked behind it.
He doesn’t know if Nandi was a mistake, if he’d go and do the whole thing over again, even knowing how it ended. But something makes him want to be honest. Just tell her—tell her everything. Spill his goddamn soul until she thinks it’s safe to stay. Could be on account of the brew. Could be that the galley is too quiet this time of night; the crew mysteriously scarce. Could be this is the last time she’ll ever dance with him in the galley.
“Mal.”
He makes the mistake of looking into her eyes. He’s not sure what to make of the concern he finds.
“You’ll be careful?”
She makes it sound like a prayer.
“Careful as can be,” he says. He winces at the false cheer in his tone. “Always gonna be criminals, ‘Nara. No denying that. Wouldn’t call this life a safe one. Likely for the best, you getting out of it. Ain’t proper for a lady.”
“For the best,” Inara repeats. “No doubt.”
She holds his eyes, and he wonders if she’d let him kiss her; just this once.
He decides he doesn’t want to know. One kiss isn’t enough.
He releases her hands, and she draws back, arms folding across her chest. She shivers and then presses her lips together.
“Inara…”
Everything sticks and gets caught in his throat.
“Be planetside tomorrow,” he says, instead. It’s easier to talk business. “Be around to help you with your things.”
She nods a few times. “Well—I’d… I’ll appreciate that.” She relaxes her pose and manages a warm smile. “Thank you for the dance, Captain.”
There are so many ways to respond to that, but he only forces a smile and gestures behind him.