t h e . o t h e r . f o o t . o b l i q u e l y. r u n

The other foot, obliquely run
[by victoria p.]

Rating: PG-13

Summary: "Such wilt thou be to me, who must, / Like th' other foot, obliquely run; / Thy firmness makes my circles just, / And makes me end where I begun."

Notes: Title and summary from John Donne's "A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning." MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE MOVIE.

Date: June 25, 2005

Zoe does her job, same as she ever did. Mal can't find no fault there. But she don't smile often and she don't laugh anymore. She avoids the bridge when she can, so she don't have to see where Mal and River arranged all Wash's dinosaurs, and though Mal don't believe in ghosts, sometimes it feels like Wash is still there, haunting Serenity, not letting Zoe go.

Life goes on, and it does get a mite easier with the Alliance mostly keeping out of their way, but Mal knows that ain't gonna last long, that River is too dangerous, too valuable, and even with the Parliament weakened, it's still strong enough to make his life miserable.

Zoe argues with him more than she used to, and he knows it's more about the empty place at the table, the empty space in her bed, than anything he's done -- she's respecting Wash, remembering his dislike of killing when it wasn't necessary -- but there's no spark in her eyes and no snap in her voice when she does it.

She don't sleep much anymore, and he can hear her rattling around at night, 'cause he can't sleep neither. Part of him wants to go to her, put his arms around her and stroke her hair, the way he'd do with Kaylee, or even River. But he can't. She'd shoot him if he tried, and he wouldn't blame her. But with her walking around like the living dead, Mal can't help but feel part of him is dead as well, and he don't like that Wash has taken part of Zoe -- part of him -- to the grave with him.

He needs Zoe back, whole and strong, and he ain't sure time is gonna be enough to get her there.

The idea don't come all at once. He thinks of it first when River scuttles into the kitchen late one night, her face flushed and her mouth curved in a secret smile.

"Simon and Kaylee are doing it again," she says, rolling her eyes, and Mal laughs, a little uncomfortable. He knows Kaylee likes sex, but he tries to not ever think about it, the way he tries not to think about Inara and her clients, or Zoe and Wash.

Now he tries not to think of Zoe alone in her bed, and he remembers nights, so many nights during the war, when they curled up together in some cave or ditch, never for sex, only for warmth and comfort, and he wonders if maybe he should--

But he doesn't.

He pushes it to the back of his mind until the night Zoe snaps at Jayne and stalks off. Jayne mutters something about ruttin' bitches who need a good hard fuck.

"Shut up," Mal says, smacking him in the head. "Show some gorram respect." Jayne snarls at him, but he don't really mean it.

And now Mal has got to thinking, can't get the idea out of his head, but he don't think he can be the one to do it.

But he knows someone who can.

He's uncomfortable, unsure. He thinks he ought to be used to the way Inara throws him off-balance, but he never is, and he don't like it, don't like anything that takes away his control.

"A favor?" she asks, and if anybody ever lived up to the name "Serenity," it's Inara right now, with her green silk dress and her delicate, hand-painted china cups that make Mal feel clumsy and out of place in his own damn shuttle.

"A woman likes to be touched," he says, looking down into the steaming cup of tea she hands him, careful not to let their fingers brush. He thinks he may unsettle her a mite too, and that makes him feel a bit better. "A woman needs to be touched. To remember she is a woman."

"Yes," she says, and sips her tea, red lips bold and bright against the white porcelain.

"Zoe is a woman." Mal still can't look her in the eye. He can't admit he can't help Zoe, that he wants to touch her and is afraid to at the same time.

"Yes," Inara says again.

"It's too soon for another man, maybe," Mal says, turning the tea cup in his hands, rubbing his thumb along the smooth rim, and damn, he wishes his voice didn't get rough and broke when he talks about Zoe. When he don't talk about Wash. "You can -- help her. And it won't have no strings attached. Not like--"

"Not like if you did it?"

He looks up finally. "It'd complicate things if I did. Zoe and I never -- It's not like I never thought about it, but-- Not to mention she'd probably shoot me if I tried. But you--"

"I don't know, Mal. I--" She reaches out a hand

"I can pay for it," he says quickly, rising and backing away. "If it makes you feel better."

Inara blinks and her smile falters for a second before she rises gracefully, pulling her shawl around her shoulders; Mal realizes he's said the wrong thing, as usual. He moves toward the door, feeling young and awkward, like he used to when he did something to disappoint his momma.

Inara stops him with a hand, small, perfectly manicured -- dainty, he thinks -- on his arm. "No, that's not necessary. Zoe is a friend, and she may be ready to talk. I'll go to her. I tried, but I should have tried again..." she trails off, shakes her head. "You're not the only one who cares, Mal."

He covers her hand with his, breathes in the scent of jasmine and tea and rice powder. "Good. Good." His voice is still hoarse and he clears his throat. "Xièxie nî, Inara. Thank you."

He's just finished washing his face when the door opens and Zoe climbs down into his room.

Her eyes are bright with anger and something that may be tears, he don't have time tell because she pushes him against the wall, her hands warm and tight on his shoulders, and presses her mouth against his.

The kiss is desperate, hot, and angry. Helpless. He can taste salt, and his hands come up automatically to brush away her tears, hot against the rough skin of his thumbs, the silky smooth skin of her cheeks. He breathes her in, wants to swallow the pain she's feeling, take it inside himself and let her be free of it.

"Let me," he says against her mouth. "I can--"

"It don't work like that, " she says, pulling away. "You can't take it from me." Her voice is low and raw, a wound with the scab half picked off. "Not Inara, not River, not even you."

He rests his forehead against hers, stares into her eyes. "I just want to help."

"I know, Cap'n. I know."

She pushes him down on the bed, and heat flares in him for a brief moment before she curls up next to him, resting her head on his chest. He wraps an arm around her and strokes the soft, wild fall of her hair awkwardly, a little embarrassed at his reaction.

"Thought you were gonna get lucky, huh?" she teases, rubbing her cheek against his shirt.

"I already did," he says. "I already did."

She smiles, and he thinks maybe someday, everything might be okay.

end

***

Xièxie nî = thank you

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