Come to my window

Crawl inside, wait by the light

Of the moon

Come to my window

I’ll be home soon

Inara didn’t know how any of them were still alive. Images ran constantly through her mind, flashes of an injured Kaylee on the floor, Simon shot, River standing like some sort of warrior goddess amongst the corpses of dead Reavers. And the one that always cause her breath to catch, Malcolm Reynolds, bloody and broken, stumbling back up from the bowels of the compound.

It had been two long weeks since the order to stand down stopped the alliance paratroopers from killing them all. Two weeks that felt like years of sitting by bedsides, helping change bandages, taking care of Kaylee or Simon, Zoe, or often, Mal. Watching River ghost from one bed to another in the nights, sitting quietly be the person’s side and seeming to keep vigil.

It had been Inara who had slipped away and found the man who had taken her hostage less than a month before, and asked for men. It had been Inara and Jayne who had directed the removal of Sheppard Book’s bones from the front of Serenity and had them carefully packed into one of her old trunks, wrapped into silk torn from her old robes. It had been Inara, with two corpsmen from the Alliance medical team, who removed Wash’s body from its seat, and brought it into a tent quite apart, where she had undressed the shell of the funniest man she ever knew, washed it, and then shrouded him decently for burial. And it had been Inara who took rags and water and tears and scrubbed the bridge free of blood stains and gore.

In the quiet hours, when she had no company but her own mind, she found herself back in her mostly empty shuttle, covered in a sheen of sweat, her body tangled with Mal’s as they finally gave in to the unspoken desire that had lain like wall between them for so long. That one hour, fire and tragedy, abandon and need, had been born out of the desperate belief that it was all they had left to live. Now, she didn’t know what to think. She didn’t regret it, woul