It's night, and the silence of the shuttle haunts him. If he listens hard enough, he can almost hear the sound of her voice, soft and broken over the hum of his ship.

"Please leave. I can't see you like this. It's best I don't see you at all."

He squeezes his eyes tightly, trying to block out the noise he knows is only in his head. Static, broken bits of language, words he wishes he could forget but knows are seared into the darkest depths of his brainpan.

"We're only dancing in circles, Mal. I don't want to hurt like this anymore.

He presses his palms tightly to his face, as if he could rub the weariness away with the sheer will of his force. He tries to forget her. He really does. It's just so damn hard when she dances through his head like a wraith in the middle of the night. She brings him here, everynight, like a damn dog lapping at her shapely heels. Except she's not here anymore. Hasn't been for three months now. But here he is. Haunted. And she ain't got no mercy for him.

Mal?

His eyes snap open. Damned if he ain't positive he really heard her this time.

"Mal?"

He pushes himself up off the ground, away from the wall against which he had been propped. Her shadow enters the shuttle before she does, but he knows her shadow. He's spent too much time studying her frame to not know it's her.

And then there she is, the real thing. Living and breathing and here. She's clad in rust colored gauze, and gold bracelets climb the lengths of her forearms, circling her arms like snakes. The raven of her hair glints in the dim light of the shuttle, as dark as the endlessness of her eyes. She's a glittering, tangible reality, and suddenly his head is swimming.

"Inara? How-?" He stops, unable to comprehend. How can she be here? He moves towards her. He needs to touch her, or else she's a dream. Or a nightmare. Either way, he's sure his mind is hell-bent on torturing him right now.

"Mal? Why are you here in the shuttle? It's the middle of the night." She looks closely