A.N. Post-everything, about 10 years after they met. I give it a PG-13 for reference to past sexual violence. Hey, you asked for it. I cannot be held responsible for characters who suffer in sequels you request.

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Mal sat gingerly on the bed, his flesh on fire, begging for mercy. He hurt everywhere the sweat-soaked fabric clung to his skin. Inara tenderly mopped the sweat from his brow and applied aloe to his sunburned face and neck, her fingers dancing skillfully, bringing only cool relief.

“I asked you not to go,” she said softly, touching his lips with a balm that soothed him just enough to sip from his water glass without wincing.

“I know,” he choked as the water cut a cool stream through his dehydrated system. “But you can’t tease me with this name thing and expect me to do nothing.”

“I shouldn’t have said it,” Inara lamented, unbuttoning the blue, sweat-soaked shirt he wore. The sun had been so intense, he’d been burned clean through the material. Whereas his face and neck were tomato red, the skin under the shirt was only a light pink, and Inara could see white lines where the double thickness of the collar and the seams had protected him. Delicately, she cleaned his skin with cool water and smoothed aloe over the burns, causing him to wince at the sting. He shook as much from pain as dehydration, but she kept filling his glass since he refused to go to the Infirmary.

“Sure you should’ve,” Mal answered her between gulps of water. “When we have kids, they should know their mother’s name.”

“I don’t want children,” Inara said quickly, just like she always did.

“In case I convince you…” Mal began wanly. Then he caught that mournful look in her eyes that always accompanied the mention of future children, so he stopped. He sighed as her fingers rubbed soothing lotion over his shoulders and with closed eyes said, “I would like to know your real name.”

“Inara is my real name,” she insisted.

“I mean the name your momma gave you.”

“I –” Inara’s hands stopped moving suddenly, causi