Another Way of Being

by belasera

A vague disclaimer is nobody’s friend: All recognizable characters, etc. belong not to me, but to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and Fox, and no money is being made here. The story, however, is mine.

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“Yes, well as hard as I find it to believe, it would seem that not everyone has had the pleasure of your hand in marriage.”

The deal is sealed. Once he’s joking about our marriage, I’m in. Oh, he does love to joke about it. I think that in some twisted little way, our despicable union is the closest thing he’s had in a long while that even resembles a real life. God, I love this man.

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“Oh, Mal, your little jokes can hurt a girl you know.”

I say it like a sigh, like I mean it and probably I do. He just rubs his eyes and looks away from me for the first time, and I know that grudging sort of trust when I see it.

“Sweetie, we can dance out here on this ramp all night and it’s not gonna change the fact that no matter how you say it ain’t so, you need me.”

He makes a little animal movement and I don’t even flinch as he curls both hands into fists. He doesn’t strike though, merely snarls at me.

“Whore.”

“Ah, husband, you always did have a sweet tongue.”

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An old whore’s diet. That’s what my mother called it, that liver killing blend of uppers and painkillers. I remember seeing girls on the street, grinning like jack-o-lanterns and hitching up their skirts with twitchy fingers. She swore it would be different for me. She wrapped me up like a beautiful present, smoothed my wild hair, though there was nothing she could do to smooth my eyes.

“You can’t hide the sort of girl you are, so just stare ‘em frank as you can, if that’s not what they want, then damn them all to hell.”

I smiled.

The others were nervous. One by one they slipped through their mother’s arms, a long line of prancing ponies all waiting for a wreath around their neck. Judges. Companions. The