A.N. Rated R for a little bit of sex. Twice warned. No complaining.

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Inara woke up early, feeling Mal’s fingers still interlaced with hers. It was an odd position for them, both lying on their backs in their shared bed, connected only at the hands. He’d tried several times, in a semi-conscious state, to roll on his side and wrap himself around her, but was met with cries from the bullet hole in his side. Each time, she’d woken up to his screams, she helped him lie on his back again, checked the bandages, and hovered near his face until he fell asleep again.

Sliding out of bed carefully, so as not to wake him, Inara padded barefoot across their bunk, pulling her hair away from her face. It was years of practice and training that compelled the move. The need to be clean and refreshed when her client awoke – or as was the case now, her husband. Even after six years of marriage, the habit stuck. Mal had no idea how long it took her to get ready in the mornings, and if he did, he never complained.

She sat in front of the sink, washed the old make-up off her face, and considered herself in the mirror. No new lines since yesterday. No gray hairs. A little puffiness around the eyes from crying so much, but she treated it easily with a cream. She stripped down and sponged herself clean, going easy on the water and soap as they were on a particularly long stint in the black and resources were low. Smoothing her skin with fresh lotion, Inara considered the dress she’d set out for herself today and hesitated. The soft satin and light fabric, though heaven on the skin, seemed as inviting as a prison, and once she put it on, she’d be sitting straight and proper for the rest of the day. Mal couldn’t leave the bed and she wanted nothing more than to lay next to him, cozy and warm.

Inara reached for her robe, but her eyes fell on Mal’s shirt, draped over the back of the chair. Sleeping outside her husband’s arms last night had been like murder, and she started to wonder if wrapping herself in his shirt w