Mal remembers Book telling him about the five stages of grief. Though not very well.

Something, something, something, something and acceptance.

Yeah, acceptance. He’s gotten to there, mostly. Save for when he expects to see Wash sitting next to him on the bridge, and it’s his little bird instead. Or when he pauses, just for a second, before every meal to silently honor Book.

Not God, mind, because God had long ago given up on Mal so it only seemed right to return the favor. Anything less would be downright un-neighborly.

He can see Zoe has gotten to there as well. Again, mostly. She still chooses to sleep in Wash’s chair some nights, and Mal knows all he can do for her is drape a blanket over her and leave her the hell alone to mend as she needs to.

Yep, acceptance all around. Even for Kaylee and the doc doing…whatever that was…in his engine room the other night. Not so much for the fact that it was in his engine room, but because it meant there was life aboard his boat. Life, chasing death into the dark corners.

But there is one place where Mal is not such an accepting kinda guy. And it all comes down to Inara. Inara who he originally wished to hell were not here, and now he wishes to hell won’t leave again. So far, there’s been no noise of training houses or clients outta her, and for that he is glad.

Time to accept it, Reynolds. Time to accept how you feel about her. Time to accept how she feels about you. Mal figures if he can learn to accept Jayne holing up in his bunk for three days with Lenore, this should be a breeze.

He waits until it’s just the two of them in the kitchen, on a day planetside after he’s shoo’d everyone else off the boat with orders not to return until tomorrow morning. For all that Mal is a private man about his private needs, he cannot bring himself to go to her shuttle. Other men have done that. Other men have come begging, gifts in hand. Mal’s never been good at begging for scraps, even when he was forced to do so. Yes, Sir. No, Sir. Three bags full