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"Orison"

by HawkMoth

11/12/2005

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Everything is different, yet the same. As are they all--the ones who are left. There are changes great and small, right and wrong, good and bad. One moment Inara feels as if she's been gone for a lifetime, then another as if she'd never left at all.

Her bed is the same, but not, made up with rough cotton sheets, a wool blanket and a somewhat lumpy pillow, all brought up by Kaylee from the passenger dorm. It doesn't matter. The first night out Inara sleeps long and deep, a better night's rest than any she ever had at the Training House. The soft thrums and tiny creaks of Serenity in flight are like a mother's lullaby; the smell of fresh paint, recycled air and the faintest hint of long-ago incense soothe her better than any drug in Simon's medkit.

The second night out she remembers something forgotten in all the furor of escaping, running and fighting. She works her fingers into the space between the bedframe and mattress, and finds what she placed there the night before she left. The folded square of fine rice paper seems undisturbed, unlike some of the items in the trunk she had left behind.

She sits up and carefully unfolds it. The ink hasn't had time to fade. Each character was made with firm and steady strokes, although her hand had trembled from time to time; the words had been softly whispered as she had written them. A prayer for Serenity and her crew.

Goddess of Mercy, keep them from harm. Guide them along safe paths, Enlightened One. Lord of all the heavens, protect them from evil.

Inara repeats the words and they turn to ashes in her mouth. The tears she had held back while writing them fall freely now, a few hitting the paper with a quiet hiss. The ink runs and blurs, the characters turn into meaningless stains.

Her tears are for the dead--for Book, for Wash. She will fetch paper, brush and ink from the trunk and make a new prayer for the living--for Zoe, Simon, Kaylee and River. For Jayne. For Mal, and for herself. And as