FIC: Misplaced (Firefly-verse)

[jedishampoo]

Title: Misplaced
Author: jedishampoo
Characters: Inara, Jayne
Rating: PG-13 for language, I suppose
Summary: A short vignette-y sort of conversation, post-Serenity.
Author’s Notes: OMG I wrote a Firefly story. Only a casual fan of the series, but sharpeslass begged for a story and I ignored her until one popped into my head. This is for and betaed by her; she begged me to change some of the cursing and I changed some of it for a compromise. I didn’t feel completely comfortable with the vernacular.
Feedback: Pretty Please! Tell me what you think, good or bad, I would be interested to see what people think of my characterization of Inara.



***

She was going to Whitefall.

At least, Serenity and her crew were going to Whitefall. Therefore Inara, by default, was going there as well. She had a destination. A tiny bit of surety in a world which had changed two days ago, over the course of a simple, brutal transmission.

The flow was a difficult thing to go with, for one whose life and profession had been built around structure. Even her place on this ship, though perhaps still temporary, had changed. Physically she was in what had once been Shepherd Book’s room. Her shuttle was no longer really hers, and its sparse walls didn’t feel like home.

Neither does this room, she thought as she sat on Book’s small bed and ran her hand over Book’s old-fashioned coverlet. Patchwork squares, made perhaps on one of the small terraformed moons. Quaint. Homey.

Was she staying home or going home?

“This restlessness is not exciting. It’s not me,” she whispered aloud. “Shepherd?” she asked the still, quiet air. It was simple to speak the question, less simple to banish the thought behind it. It was a crazy thought; that perhaps by sitting in, sleeping in and thinking in this room, she was sharing whatever restless spirit had sent the Shepherd to the docks of Persephone. Inara wished, for a half-crazy moment, that Book was still alive, not only because she’d cared for him, but so that he’d have had a chance to explain his reasons to her. Along this lunatic train of thought, such a resolution to his story would have saturated this room with clarity rather than inquietude.

Mal is a good man, the non-sequitur spun through her thoughts. A brief clarity. Perhaps she had found her home on Serenity, this place imbued with the spirit of family and the spirit of its captain.

There was pain, new pain, here as well. Inara rose from the bed, giving Book’s coverlet one last pat in ironic gratitude. She would find someone to talk to. Speaking with others grounded her. She would go to the kitchen. A destination, a small one, but a decision all her own.

Still, it was an unfamiliar path through familiar territory that she walked, trailing fingers over the steel stair-railings. She would need to take a left here at this intersection of catwalks instead of a right. She wasn’t coming from her not-shuttle anymore.

Crisscrossed pipes and sheet metal eventually gave way to the golden wood paneling of the kitchen. Here sat the true heart of Serenity, where its people shared communion and the rituals of sustenance both physical and immaterial. Here science and technology gave way to organic humanity: the hand-woven cloths on the wall, the ceramic tiles. There was someone else here.

Jayne Cobb.

At first glance his eyes were shuttered, suspicious at seeing her. Inara looked away for a moment, and when she glanced back his gaze was childlike, hopeful. She wished now she hadn’t come.

“Inara.”

“Hello, Jayne.” Inara wondered if she should move to the cupboard to fetch something to drink, and be trapped in here with Jayne, or execute a not-so-graceful exit. She hesitated, hating this newly-discovered streak of indecision.

He was sipping something out of one of his pornographic mugs. “Weird to see you wanderin’ about here again.”

“Yes,” Inara said. He was entrenched. She didn’t like him much. Yet she had to admit that sometimes she envied him. His innate stupidity would never allow him to feel out of place, as she did at this moment, or to worry overmuch about his future. He didn’t go with the flow, he was the flow. She turned away from him, pretending to look for something. His next words were not unexpected.

“Hey,” he began, then paused with uncharacteristically meaningful guile. “Now that you’re not all locked away in that shuttle, I thought maybe--”

She turned back and glared at him, hard. She was not stupid. Had he forgotten? “Please. I know you’re not afraid to embarrass yourself, but I’d prefer to be left out of it--”

“Hey, now!” he sputtered, eyes now wide with surprise, palms raised in mock defense. “I wasn’t askin’--”

“I know what you were asking. Just… don’t.”

“Pffft.” He blew a disgruntled breath from between his teeth. “Your bein’ back sure as hell don’t make you more kindly to someone seekin’ conversation, does it? Fine.”

“What?!” Inara knew she was always kind; it was her job. Such an accusation, even from him, threw her off-balance again. She was growing accustomed to the feeling, but didn’t like it. She crossed her arms in what she knew was protective and defensive body-language. She didn’t care. “What do you want, Jayne?”

“Nothin. I just wanted to ask you a somethin’. But if you’re gonna be a bitch about it…”

“Please don’t call me a bitch.” Inara sat down, and breathed, and willed herself to be calm. To belong here, as much as he did. “What do you want to discuss?”

“Well, uh...” Whatever it was, he was as uncomfortable as she. The thought made her feel slightly better. “Well... women.”

“Women.” Jayne’s favorite subject, outside of weaponry and booze. With him, all three were usually intertwined. Machismo at its most basic level. Inara stared at him.

“Don’t look at me like that. I meant… nice women.”

“Nice women,” she parroted again.

“Yeah. Like how to get ‘em.” A look of frustration crossed his features. “But I ain’t gonna be all queer about it, like that gorram doctor, now.”

“No, I don’t suppose so,” Inara equivocated. Was he actually serious?

“You know.” Jayne was warming to his subject, waving his hands in the air. “How to swoop in and snatch one clean away, except makin’ her like it and all, and liking me better n’ another man. And I kinda have to know pretty quick, before we get to Whitefall.”

“Your swooping mentality is your first obstacle,” Inara quipped. Then she remembered that she wasn’t talking to Mal. This whole conversation was out of place. “Why are you asking me, by the way?”

He shrugged. “Well, even though you were a whore and all, you are high-class and educated. I figured you’d know about nice women.”

“Thank you,” Inara told him with dry and wasted irony. She began to wonder whom he meant. She could hardly picture him knowing any nice women except those on board Serenity, and those were all taken. Or had been, she thought with fresh pain. Or perhaps would be, if... Maybe it was some female on Whitefall? “Is your intended target also an educated woman?”

“Nah. But I want her to feel like one.”

“Why. That’s actually sort of... sweet.”

“Yeah, I know.” Jayne grinned, and for a moment, he almost looked as sweet as he pretended to be. Inara felt her heart melt just a bit, and felt afraid.

“Talking is good,” she began with businesslike aplomb. “Talk to women about what they like.”

“Huh.” He swirled his mug and watched the contents for a moment while the wheels in his brain appeared to turn, slowly.

“Don’t call them whores, or bitches,” Inara continued, thinking of men who did such things, as much as they shouldn’t. Thinking of why some men could get away with such behavior. Because while what came out of their mouths might be go se, their hearts were gold...

“I think I can do that.”

“Good.” Inara willed herself to think about Jayne and this conversation, despite the pleasantness of the alternative. “And if you want to woo her away from another man, you have to be a better man than he is. Be direct, and sure of yourself.” There had been a duel, and a man who was not perfect and would prove it time and again, but was still a better man than the one he’d faced...

“Oof. That might take some tryin’.”

“Is she worth it?” Inara asked him. Was she, Inara, worth it?

“Yeah,” Jayne said. The wheels turned some more. “When you said talk on something they like. You mean like engines or ships or something?”

“Perhaps. The important thing is to listen to them, and think about what they are saying, and not stare at...their...breasts.” Inara trailed off as something clicked in her own brain, a hateful thought that banished her subconscious fantasies. God no, she thought. Kaylee was finally happy. “Who is this woman?”

“That is none of your.”

“Does she have another man?” Inara figured Jayne had to know. Hwoon Dahn.

“I’m not exactly sure, yet.”

That was somewhat promising, at least. Inara melted her icy glare a bit. “Did you know her on Whitefall?

Jayne looked down at his cup again and shrugged. “Yeah, I knew her there.”

Inara sighed with relief. But still, she felt finished with this little conversation. “Well, good luck, anyway.”

“Thanks.” Jayne glanced up and gave her a hint of the former endearing grin. Then he stood and strode to the door, where he paused for an instant to speak before leaving. “Thanks, Inara.”

“You’re welcome,” she whispered to the sound of his boots stomping off down the hall. An innocent, purposeful stomp. She took a moment to envy the sound, the clarity given to such a man, one whom she wasn’t sure deserved it.

And now she was alone once more, perhaps fortuitously considering the alternative, but still alone when she’d wanted company. She decided to fix herself a drink. Hot chocolate, perhaps, a small, comforting indulgence in these uncertain times.

She was just closing the can of chocolate powder when she heard the scream, muted from its travel through the metal and wood and vacuum. “Get out get out get OUT!” It was Kaylee.

Inara half-turned to run and see what was the matter, when she heard Jayne’s angry voice roar over the other. “Goddammit! You gorram whore!” He didn’t. He couldn’t, she thought.

But apparently he had, because Simon’s voice was next to join the vocal melee. “Now, I don’t think that was necessary--”

“Aw, I don’t care. I didn’t mean—never mind. Go se.” The sound of boots, stomping on grille and sheet metal.

The uncertain sound of an uncertain step, one Inara recognized. That, he deserved every minute of. Hwoon dahn. He’d meant what he’d said earlier, every word about Kaylee no matter how obliquely uttered. He’d meant it. Inara knew it hurt.

Muttered curses, the slamming of a metal door. Was he going to mope or to jerk off? Inara laughed out loud, feeling a little better already. Justice, restless justice.

She stirred her chocolate and decided to go and talk to Mal. Just talk. Perhaps she would be kind. And enjoy the ride to Whitefall, enjoy the trip and not anticipate the destination.

The End

(Hwoon Dahn = bastard)
(go se = shit, crap)



Thanks for reading! Oh-- does anyone know where I could post this other than here? Don’t know the Firefly web locations so well.