Disclaimer: They're all Whedon's.

Author's Note: God forbid these characters should catch a break every once in a while.

Stupid Hotheaded Hun Dan

by Ariane

"Ben. What are you doing awake?"

"Gonna send me to bed, Mom?" Ben says, teasing. He's perched on the kitchen counter, a bar of real chocolate in his hand. Candy is precious, but no one begrudges him the little indulgences these days.

"You look like you could use a little sleep, honey," Inara says gently. She comes to stand next to him, musses his wild bangs.

"Mom." But for once he doesn't flatten them back down again.

Inara takes a moment just to look at him, to lay claim to the shape of his eyes, the delicacy of his cheekbones, and the twist of his black curls. The rest of his face belongs to Mal, down to the electric blue stare and the wryest mouth in the 'verse. In her head she likes to say sometimes that Ben is the best of both of them. Tonight of all nights she needs to commit him to memory.

"Mom?" His slightly panicky expression cuts short her musings. She realizes her eyes are welling up--hence the panic.

"Sorry, bao bei. I was only thinking."

He says, "What about?" even though he'd really rather avoid all this sentiment. If Dad were here, there'd be no tears and no hair-mussing. They'd pull down some of Kaylee's engine hooch, get good and sloshed, and make fun of each other all night.

Wait, no, they wouldn't. Ben remembers belatedly that he and Dad aren't on speaking terms right now.

"Your father is proud of you, Ben," Inara says. She is no reader, and her life as a Companion is a quarter century behind her, but she remains a very intuitive woman.

"That why he called me a stupid hotheaded hun dan and offered to shoot me himself?"

Inara pauses to consider. "Yes."

Ben glares. "Does it get tiresome, Mom? Constantly translating from Dad to Sane People?"

She smiles with just one side of her mouth. "Sometimes it does. Mostly I'm used to it."

"Crazy old--"

"Ben." And suddenly Inara looks old. Peo