Gravity is not Responsible for Your Fall - Firefly Fic (Mal/Inara, NC-17)
Title: Gravity is Not Responsible for your Fall
Fandom: Firefly/Serenity
Spoilers: everything up to and including Serenity and the BDM's extras
Pairing: Mal/Inara
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: All belong to the mighty, mighty Joss. No infringement, harm or disrespect is intended.
Thanks: to the wonderful em_meredith for beta and fandom support, and to erehwesle who is and remains my Alpha Beta. You rock, my friend.
Summary: Where you do land after your safety net gives way?
Dedication: This is for Angstville, who both rocks and rolls.
Later, Inara would find herself obsessing about the strangest things. Small details she knew were insignificant in the grand scheme of all that had transpired, but these small details were the burrs that kept snagging the corners of her mind. Scratching along her suddenly too thin skin.
She would recall that there had been time for three drops of blood to drip from the axe River was holding before the disembodied voice told them it was finished. Over and over she would ask herself what she had been doing counting drops of blood when there were so many other places she could and should have been looking. But it was that bloodied edge that held her attention. Three drops of blood...she kept seeing them fall to the ground. Sometimes she thought she could remember the sound they'd made as they hit the body below, but surely there couldn't have been that kind of silence in the midst of all that carnage?
The small details haunted her - even as she realized there were huge gaps in her memories of that day. That battle.
Companions are trained to proficiency in a wide range of weaponry. It is in some small part practicality - Companions serve in remote and lawless areas of the galaxy - and also simply part of the mystique. Companions know everything, or at least must give a convincing illusion to that effect. So, she knew she would be some small help during what they all assumed would be the last stand of Serenity's crew, but that hadn't stopped her from asking herself, as she steadied her weapon, exactly how it was that she had ended up there. How she had turned from Companion to warrior. Or something like a warrior.
But of course, she knew.
She could recall the look on Zoe's face as she moved toward the first Reaver that had breached the outer door. She could still smell the rotten meat and sulfur stench of the Reaver that had leaped on her, the feel of the strange skin of his coat as she struggled to push him away. There was the heavy wet weight of Zoe's body as they'd pulled her behind their makeshift barricade. She could still feel the sickening wet warmth of Simon's blood welling up under her fingers, but she had no recollection of seeing him hit, couldn't remember seeing him fall. Suddenly he was just there, under her hands, dying. She was beginning to realize that she couldn't remember any of the noise of that day - not really. She knew it must have been hellishly loud - the retort of that cannon Jayne had been carrying alone would have echoed and reverberated in that confined concrete space. But she couldn't remember it. There had been this deep stillness in her mind - panic, she thought. Or maybe the sure knowledge they were going to die.
In her memories, time jumped and skipped. They had arrived, set up, and suddenly there was unutterable chaos and carnage, loss, injury, and they were lost, going, gone, and then somehow Mal was back, and for one moment she had allowed herself to hope, to believe. Then the doors had opened, and all she could see were those drops of blood.
Her Companion training mocked her with the knowledge that there was undoubtedly a metaphor, or at least a haiku contained in those drops of blood, but she decided she would leave that thought alone for now.
She shook herself from her memories and looked down at the cans she'd been sorting. The galley was nearly restored to order. Of all the areas of the devastated Serenity, it had been one of the first and easiest to set to rights. The Operative had offered them nearly unlimited assistance in restoring their ship, and they'd had little choice but to accept at least the basics - food, medical treatment for Simon and Kaylee, and immediate first aid for the rest of them.
Except for her. That was another thing she couldn't let go of. How had she escaped so unscathed? Nothing more than a few scrapes and bruises, and the small cut on her face from the Reaver's teeth. Or had it been his claws? His nails? She would never be able to remember.
Once the poison had been neutralized, Kaylee bounced back quickly, but the others had been significantly wounded; as usual Mal seemed to have borne the brunt of it. Inara was struck anew by the random unfairness of life. The cruel and inscrutable jokes the universe sometimes seemed intent on telling.
There were no words in any of the languages she knew for the desolate wasteland in Zoe's eyes. Nor were there words for the ache in her heart over the loss of Shepherd Book and all the residents at Haven.
She opened the cabinet to put the cans away, and shards of pottery fell out, scattering over the counter and the tops of her feet. She wondered briefly what those fragments had been - a plate? A mug? Like so much else, they were no longer recognizable as the object they had been. It was one more unnumbered loss against so many others. Almost without thinking, she vacuumed up the dust and scraps, consigning them to their own oblivion. The cabinet had other purposes than to serve as a tomb for dead pottery.
She had just finished putting the cans away when Mal wandered in. As had happened so often lately, he stopped on seeing her, an odd confusion swimming briefly in his eyes, as though he hadn't expected to find her there. It was, she thought, an honest confusion. The few times she'd looked in a mirror lately, she wasn't sure she recognized herself anymore.
"You're working late."
She glanced at the chronometer. "I guess so. I hadn't really noticed what time it was." She gestured aimlessly and looked down at her hands. When had she last had a manicure? These were not the hands of a Companion. "It's so easy to lose track these days."
She glanced sideways at him through the veil of her lashes, trying to gauge his mood. The cuts and scrapes were still visible on his face, and she thought his posture was a little too stiff, holding himself upright by sheer will alone. "You, too. Aren't you supposed to be getting some rest?"
"There's always time for rest...later. Besides, I ain't sleeping so..." He shook his head.
"I know." She had always hated those meaningless conversation fillers. But she really did know. Sleeping wasn't easy right now. There were too many dreams.
"Would you like some tea?" She saw his hesitation. Allowed herself the briefest flash of anger that maybe he was hesitating because he knew she served tea to clients.
"Do we have tea?" Gods, she hadn't realized how tired he really was. How tired they all were.
"Yes, we got some yesterday. I was just going to make a cup. Would you join me?"
She wasn't entirely sure she heard his voice say, "Yes," or if she simply heard it some other level entirely as he slumped wearily at the galley table.
They drank their tea in silence. Finally Mal, after staring at the bottom of his empty mug for what seemed a short eon, stood. She restrained herself from reaching out to him as he swayed slightly. "I guess I'd better get back to..." He gestured in the general direction of the bridge. "But thanks. I needed..."
"Good night, Mal." She hadn't learned this smile in her Companion training. She wasn't even sure it was a smile at all.
Walking back to her shuttle, now partly restored to living condition, she saw Zoe rewiring a circuit in a corridor control panel ahead of her. Although Inara knew her footsteps had been audible, echoing along the metal hallway, Zoe never looked up. Inara slowed as she neared the first mate, raising her hand, thinking she might rest it on Zoe's shoulder for moment - try to find something new to say. But the too careful concentration that Zoe was giving to the wiring stopped her, and she simply passed by without interrupting.
Ship restoration had been going on for slightly over a week. The Operative had offered the services of the local military engineer battalion, but Mal - with what Inara suspected had been something less than a diplomatically phrased response - turned him down. Almost completely broke, they had needed to accept the raw materials, but Mal and Zoe had insisted that the crew do all the repair work themselves. Given their general profession, it seemed wise to minimize the number of ways the Alliance could implant tracking or other monitoring devices onboard.
Inara's training had included a number of diverse disciplines, but not welding or circuit wiring, so after helping Simon restore and restock the med bay, she had taken on the galley, and then whatever minor restoration was needed to the guest quarters and common areas. She had also taken over meal preparation - a skill she had had little opportunity to exercise in the last years, but one that she quickly remembered the pleasure of. There was no need for a Companion just then, but a cook was necessary, so she could do that for now.
Meals were hurried affairs - many times people grabbing food and taking it back to their quarters or to where they were working. But sometimes two or three of them would find themselves in the galley at the same time, and eat together in companionable silence.
There was almost no laughter on Serenity though, except once or twice, Inara thought she heard quiet happy sounds from Kaylee's bunk.
Everyone moved cautiously around Zoe, directing their conversation to safe, neutral topics. Suddenly breaking off stories that too late they remembered included Wash. Zoe ignored them all; continued to stride through the ship with her quiet confidence. Only if you looked very carefully did you realize that she always walked just to the left of center. With just enough space to her right for someone to walk next to her.
Mal was a like a ghost on his own ship - everywhere, but slightly transparent. Inara wondered how much of himself he'd left in the under-control room of Mr. Universe's complex. Day by day she watched him unraveling, fraying. She wondered what unseen wounds they were all carrying.
She had known he would be coming. Had sensed the storm gathering in him that she had somehow known could only be released here - in her shuttle. In this part of his ship that didn't fully belong to him.
But the knock was a surprise; forces of nature usually don't ask for polite admittance.
"Come in." She barely recognized her own voice anymore. Somewhere between the undercroft of Mr. Universe's complex, and the desert plain where the three memorials stood, her voice had lost all its training and artifice. It had been stripped back to something older - something elemental and unrefined.
Always he entered her cabin with a strange hesitancy. A momentary pause at her door, a diver taking a deep breath before plunging into icy water.
"Inara." Oddly formal. Then he simply stopped, their gazes locked, as he struggled with some nameless emotion.
She was sitting at her new comm screen - she'd turned to greet him, and now they were frozen in this strange moment, her body curving toward him, describing an incomplete arc.
Finally his gaze flickered to the screen. "Drumming up new business?" Some other tone flickering under customary sneer in his voice.
She sighed, a quick shake of her head momentarily breaking their stare. "No. I haven't even turned it on yet. I was just thinking of waving Sheydra to let her know...." And then she dropped her gaze, the pattern of her new carpet blurring. "But then I realized that I didn't know what to let her know..."
Swift intake of breath. "We're working as hard as we can to..."
"Gods, Mal! This isn't about when we can launch. It's about my not knowing what to say about what happened here. About what happened to us." She met his eyes again, clinging to the useful anger. "I just wanted to talk to a friend. But sitting here, I realized I have no idea in the universe who I can tell this to."
She hated it when the corners of his eyes softened. She hated the way it made her want to go to him and lean against him while he told her it would be okay. She hated the way that expression made her need...
Behind their breathing, she thought she heard thunder far off in the distance. She suppressed the shiver that wanted to dance along her skin.
"Some things aren't meant to be shared."
"Didn't we just pretty much take on the Alliance, not to mention a few thousand Reavers, to disprove that theory?"
He took a step toward her. "I ain't saying I got all the answers, ‘Nara, but sometimes when you've seen..." He swallowed convulsively. "Some things are best kept to those who were there."
It occurred to her that she had never heard his full account of what had happened with the Operative. That final battle that had left him bruised and limping, but ultimately victorious. One more battle that he had survived but others, dear to him, had not. She wondered for a moment if he even considered their outcome a victory.
She stood, not at all certain what she was trying to say to him, what she needed him to know. "But I..."
He took a step toward her, now almost close enough to touch her. She could feel the heat of him. Smell the leather and oil scent, underlaid with the faintest traces of the salves Simon had been applying to his cuts.
To her horror, she could feel tears beginning to form. She reached desperately for her earliest lesson - control. It all began with control.
Too late, and he took the final step forward, his thumb wiping away a treacherous tear. Her breath hitched. She hoped he wouldn't notice.
His hand cradled her jaw, thumb smoothing the saltwater into her skin, tracing small circles. She fought with herself for a nanosecond and then felt something giving way. Identity and training and name, all washing away. She turned her head and placed a kiss in his palm.
She felt rather than heard his gasp, and then both his hands were framing her face and his lips, gods his lips finally, finally meeting hers. Claiming her.
For the briefest instant, she could hear the voices of her teachers overlapping and murmuring in her mind - lessons about control, and giving pleasure, and maintaining an objective mind as your body responded to basic instincts - and then the voices were gone, drowned in a flood of raw need.
She wrapped an arm around his waist, some small part of her just conscious enough to remember which side his latest stab wound was on. Her other hand found its way to his hair, her fingers fanning open to sweep through the soft strands.
His mouth moving over hers, hot and confident, as somehow she had known it would be. For how long had she imagined this moment?
She lost herself in the dark, endless sensation of kissing Mal, of being kissed by him. Let herself spiral down into raw, wanton need. Allowing herself to simply feel without detachment, allowing herself to react without trying to be a Companion pleasing a client. Allowing herself to simply exist in this moment, this connection between a man and a woman.
Finally, he tore his mouth from hers and began trailing kisses down her throat, until he rested with his face awkwardly tucked into her neck. Their breathing was harsh, asynchronous.
She felt him draw breath to speak and suddenly it was imperative that he not. She didn't want the apology she was so sure he was about to offer. She wanted nothing but this - this moment, this man. A small voice in the back of her mind said she was going to regret this. She tuned it out. What was one more regret?
She shifted her hand, and guided his face back up, kissing him lightly, as her hands moved down to begin unbuttoning his shirt. His hands covered hers and he pulled back, his eyes seeking hers. "Inara? What are you...?"
She had no intention of having a fay hwa discussion about this. She kissed him ruthlessly, recalling every seduction technique she'd ever been taught, and refining them in the fire of their mutual need. "Has it really been that long, Mal?"
"I just...you..." His eyes had lost a little of their focus. She kissed him again. "Shhh. Let go. Just let go." He stilled her hands one more time, focusing just long enough to find whatever answer it was he needed to see in her eyes, and then he pulled her to him and took her mouth again. Her hands tugged his shirt loose and finished unbuttoning it. She started to push it off his shoulders; carefully, mindful of the cuts and bruises that lay beneath. There was a brief moment of tangled silliness as they negotiated his suspenders, and then he was bare from the waist up.
She let her hands roam. His skin was so warm under her touch. He rested his hands on her hips, fingers tracing lazy patterns along the bare skin of her back. She looked up to find him watching her, dark fire in his eyes.
Somewhere she heard a voice say, "Yes." She would never know who said it. She only knew there was yes and yes, and his clever, scarred fingers undoing the fastenings of her top, and she thought maybe one of them was trembling a little.
His hands were gentle but oh so deliberate as they traced her curves. She leaned into his touch, seeking something harder, deeper. She ran the palm of her hand across the line of his shoulder, down his arm to tangle with his fingers. He looked up her, confusion and worry starting to cloud his face as she stopped his exploration.
She shook her head, a seductress's smile on her lips, and led him over to the bed. His hesitated for a second longer, and she leaned up and kissed him, then bent to his chest and let her tongue and teeth gently scrape over his nipple. A groan rumbled in his chest.
He caught her close, wrapping his arms around her until they were melded together from knee to shoulder. She rubbed her cheek against his chest, inhaling the scent of him, marking him as her own.
He drew a deep, shuddering breath. She thought she heard something that might have been Wuh de tyen, ah. His hands moved along her back, up into her hair, cradled her skull. She felt something change in him - giving way, or perhaps locking into place. He moved suddenly, picking her up in his arms, before laying her gently on the bed.
Then all their clothes were gone, and his hands and mouth moved over her in unceasing patterns. A quiet voice in her mind suggested that she should be more in control; this was after all, what she did for a living. But it wasn't. This was something entirely new. This had nothing to do with Companions or Captains or petty thieves.
This wasn't precise and graceful; this was nothing like the classes she had been teaching those girls. Their teeth clicked as their mouths desperately sought each other's. The bed cover was rucked up under her hip, pressing uncomfortably into her skin; she reached down, flailing a little, trying to push it away. This was fast and hot and like nothing she had trained for and like everything that she needed right here, right now. She couldn't remember when, if ever, she had been so caught in a vortex of pure need.
Her hands restlessly learned his skin, the sinews and muscle of his back, the velvet of his arousal, throbbing and hot in her hands. His fingers breached her gently, carefully exploring, testing. "Now, Mal, now." She had thought she had long ago learned patience.
He was hard and heavy over her, in her, thrusting - pushing her past any limits she had previously known or learned. He moved in her with purpose and something that felt like desperation. She heard her own voice, pleading, encouraging. "More, there, oh, oh, gods, Mal, more..."
She opened her eyes when had she closed them? to find him staring down at her intently, watching her as though she might at any moment turn into something or someone else. When she met his gaze, something in him sharpened, and his movements bore down harder, more intent. She met him surge for surge. She could feel her release swimming up to meet her. Felt the tightening and tingling starting low in her belly, amplifying outward. His breathing was changing, too, more erratic, but he never broke their gaze, never lost their connection. She was falling upward, falling into the space behind his eyes. The stars rushed to meet her and then she had to close her eyes, as a sun exploded somewhere inside. From very far away she felt him surrendering his own orgasm, and then she was lost in the far reaches of the black.
She swam back to consciousness to find Mal collapsed across her. His body pressed her into the too hard, too new mattress. She struggled to draw breath, still returning from the far dark corners where her release had flung her, the heavy weight of his torso compressing her lungs. She ran her hands up his arms, intending to push him to the side, but the shiver that ran through him at her touch mesmerized her. She stroked across his shoulders, down his back.
"Inara." She thought she'd heard every variation of her name. This was new.
She tightened her arms around him briefly, wanting to hold on if not forever, than at least a bit longer.
He shifted under her touch, "Can you breathe?"
She smiled. "Almost."
He reluctantly slid a little to the side, but left a possessive arm across her waist, and his leg across her thighs. He had yet to open his eyes. She traced the line of his eyebrow. "Are you..." she let the question trail off unasked. Anyway, she wasn't sure what she was going to ask: Are you going to sleep now? Are you happy? Are you going to regret this when you open your eyes?
He mumbled something and kissed her shoulder. In a little while, his breathing told her he was sleeping. She watched him until sleep took her as well.
She awoke to a bed that was rapidly cooling as half the body heat was dressing somewhat clumsily in the dark.
A stifled curse told her that Mal was trying to bend over to pick up his shirt. Apparently the cursing involved in his getting his pants back on was what had woken her.
"Don't..." She broke off, oddly unsure of whether she had the right to ask him to stay. "Are you okay?"
"I...I'm sorry I woke you."
She stifled the childish but undoubtedly true response. No you're not.
"It's okay." From somewhere, her Companion training had returned, at least enough to partly mask her voice again. She knew they needed to say something to each other, but had no idea for her part what that would be.
"I need to get to the..." Apparently he didn't either.
"Yeah."
"Inara, I..." He was back beside the bed, painfully lowering himself to a knee so that he could take her hand. This was not, could not be good.
"Mal. You don't have to say anything." For once she hoped he could hear the pleading in her voice. That would have been visible in her eyes if it were just a little lighter. This was not the time for endings or irrevocable decisions. They'd had too many of those already.
For a horrible moment, she thought he would stumble through some kind of apology or stilted explanation. He surprised her by leaning forward and kissing her forehead before groaning his way upright again and slipping out of the shuttle.
In the days that followed, she found herself wishing that she'd let him say whatever it was that he'd been trying to tell her.
The next morning she was in the galley fixing breakfast, and he'd walked in, taken one look at her and turned on his heel and walked back out. The coffee she'd been pouring sloshed out of the cup and onto the counter before she noticed what she was doing.
After two days of him disappearing down the nearest hatch, ventilation shaft or rabbit hole every time he glimpsed her, she'd finally had enough.
Late that night, she put on her softest slippers, and glided, with intent, onto the bridge where she knew she'd find him. River was there as well. The girl glanced at her and back to the control panel she was studying in front of her. A small pause, and then she turned her head sharply to Inara, that small bird tilt to her chin.
"Silence isn't always golden." That strangely sure voice of metaphor and prophecies.
"No, mei-mei, it isn't."
River padded out without looking back.
Mal hadn't so much as twitched during that little exchange, but the set of his shoulders reminded her of a Xanthian Cat she'd once seen during a hunt. The big predator had been cornered in a canyon by the hunting dogs. It had outweighed any one of them by at least 50 kilos, but there were so many of the dogs that it was temporarily trapped. Then she'd watched it set its shoulders and spring toward the center of the pack. It was methodically working its way through the baying dogs when one of the hunting party had casually lifted his gun and dropped the cat. She never accepted another assignment on that planet.
He clearly wasn't going to break the silence. She hadn't really expected him to.
"Mal? Are you ever going to speak to me again?"
"I wasn't aware that I wasn't speaking to you." He hadn't made eye contact with her, still stared at the control panel in front of him, but she saw the wince that crossed his face as though he had realized what a stupid statement that was.
She sighed. Of all the men she'd known, only he had the capacity to reduce her to the level of a 12-year old blushing girl. She thought for a moment of contradicting him, and brushed it aside as she played through the "did - did-not" conversation that was sure to follow.
She moved over the seat that River had vacated and sat down. She was a little surprised that he didn't immediately jump up from his chair and leave. Looking over, she realized he was staring at one Wash's dinosaurs. For a moment it was very hard to breathe.
Very softly she asked. "So, what do we do now?"
He looked up sharply. "What do you mean?" Panic lacing his voice.
"Once we get the ship repaired. What do we do?" She knew when it was time to approach topics obliquely.
"I don't know."
"How can you not know? That's not an answer."
"Of course it is. It means that I don't know. It means that there are possibilities and I want to see what they are. It means that the universe has changed, but I don't understand it yet - not that I ever did, really - and I have to wait and see what it is. Before I know. Anyway, that's my answer, woman. I don't know." There were a thousand answers in his reply.
"So, you don't know." Very gentle teasing.
"No." She saw his shoulders relax infinitesimally. "I don't know."
"Well, it's not much of an answer, but I guess it's what you've got."
"Gorram straight." He was avoiding her eyes again. She decided to let it go.
"Okay then." She left without touching or looking at him again.
Three days later, she hadn't seen Mal more than a handful of times, but at least now he was meeting her eyes before ducking down the nearest corridor. She continued to rummage through the trunk she'd left behind, looking for that indigo...ah, there it was. It was clear to her now that she had always intended to return. Why else would she have left this shawl and her favorite bracelet behind? It wasn't like her to lie to herself, but it seemed in leaving Serenity she hadn't really been truthful to herself or Mal. The question in front of her was what to do with that truth.
She turned and let out a small shriek when she found Mal standing behind her, much closer than she found comfortable.
He smirked. "I told you I can be very graceful."
She rolled her eyes, a habit that had been trained out of her since she was 14 years old. "Captain Reynolds. To what do I owe the honor of your presence?" She was, she had to admit, a little miffed by his seeming, and sudden, nonchalance.
Inexplicably he looked down at that, fascinated by the patterns his boot was tracing on her carpet. With a flash of insight, she realized he wasn't nearly as confident as he seemed.
"Captain?"
He looked at her sideways. "I...uh...just wanted to let you know that we're doing another supply run. Is there anything...er...special that you need? You know, for your....business?"
She wished it were just a little lighter so could verify the blush she was sure was stealing across his face. She waited for a moment, weighing his tone. Finding no sneer, she graced him with a smile. "No, there's nothing I need right now."
"Well, we'll be here another couple days before we launch, there will probably be time for one more supply run."
"Thank you. I'll keep that in mind."
He lingered for a moment. His attention on the objects on her low table. "I forgot you left that..." He broke off, sheepish. "Anyway. Let me know if you need any other supplies."
She nodded, unable to speak for fear that the laughter welling up inside her would be misinterpreted.
After he left, she spent a long time thinking about what she had left behind. What she might be leaving behind.
The work was nearly complete. Zoe had welded the new cabin window into place, after carefully tearing out the shards and old one. Mal - and even Jayne, showing that surprising awareness that sometimes surfaced through the mud of his essential Jayneness - had tried to persuade her to let them do it, but she had insisted on doing it herself.
That afternoon, Inara found herself on a scaffold some 20 feet in the air, repainting their ship's name. The worst of the red paint had been removed, although some traces remained. She found it oddly fitting. She outlined Serenity's name, and then paused before beginning to fill in the letters. On a whim, she wrote the character for peace within the upper curve of the S, and then Shepherd Book's Name in the lower curve. She carefully painted over the characters, sealing them to Serenity. Wash was written into the E along with Zoe's name, and the character for soar. She wrote the Tams into the next E with "luck," and Mal alone in the center N. After a moment's thought, she added the character for "strength" under his name.
Kaylee was next, in the slender I, with the character for happy. She thought they were all overdue for a little happiness. Then Jayne, and "watchful." When she got to the final letter she found herself hesitating, but there really wasn't any decision. She wrote her name, and finally the character for "hope." She wasn't sure what she meant by that, but it was the right word to add. For Serenity. For them.
A voice from below broke her contemplation of her now completed work. "Looks good."
She looked down at Mal, feeling peacefully disconnected, as though she really were floating in the air. "It's nice to have her back."
"Yeah. Thanks for that." He gestured toward the name.
"Of course." She almost asked him if he'd seen her working the characters into the letters. She decided it didn't matter. When she smiled at him, he smiled back without evasion.
Two days later, they launched again.
It wasn't entirely chance that their paths crossed in the corridor.
"Ready to get off this heap and back to civilized life?" Strange, but even hearing Mal call Serenity a "heap" made something twist painfully in her chest. And it was a hard question.
Suddenly she understood. "I...uh...I don't know."
"Good answer."
And there in his smile was the beginning of her real answer.
END
Chinese translations (per Firefly wiki)
Fay hwa - stupid
Wuh de tyen, ah - Dear God in heaven
Mei-mei - little sister
Fandom: Firefly/Serenity
Spoilers: everything up to and including Serenity and the BDM's extras
Pairing: Mal/Inara
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: All belong to the mighty, mighty Joss. No infringement, harm or disrespect is intended.
Thanks: to the wonderful em_meredith for beta and fandom support, and to erehwesle who is and remains my Alpha Beta. You rock, my friend.
Summary: Where you do land after your safety net gives way?
Dedication: This is for Angstville, who both rocks and rolls.
Later, Inara would find herself obsessing about the strangest things. Small details she knew were insignificant in the grand scheme of all that had transpired, but these small details were the burrs that kept snagging the corners of her mind. Scratching along her suddenly too thin skin.
She would recall that there had been time for three drops of blood to drip from the axe River was holding before the disembodied voice told them it was finished. Over and over she would ask herself what she had been doing counting drops of blood when there were so many other places she could and should have been looking. But it was that bloodied edge that held her attention. Three drops of blood...she kept seeing them fall to the ground. Sometimes she thought she could remember the sound they'd made as they hit the body below, but surely there couldn't have been that kind of silence in the midst of all that carnage?
The small details haunted her - even as she realized there were huge gaps in her memories of that day. That battle.
Companions are trained to proficiency in a wide range of weaponry. It is in some small part practicality - Companions serve in remote and lawless areas of the galaxy - and also simply part of the mystique. Companions know everything, or at least must give a convincing illusion to that effect. So, she knew she would be some small help during what they all assumed would be the last stand of Serenity's crew, but that hadn't stopped her from asking herself, as she steadied her weapon, exactly how it was that she had ended up there. How she had turned from Companion to warrior. Or something like a warrior.
But of course, she knew.
She could recall the look on Zoe's face as she moved toward the first Reaver that had breached the outer door. She could still smell the rotten meat and sulfur stench of the Reaver that had leaped on her, the feel of the strange skin of his coat as she struggled to push him away. There was the heavy wet weight of Zoe's body as they'd pulled her behind their makeshift barricade. She could still feel the sickening wet warmth of Simon's blood welling up under her fingers, but she had no recollection of seeing him hit, couldn't remember seeing him fall. Suddenly he was just there, under her hands, dying. She was beginning to realize that she couldn't remember any of the noise of that day - not really. She knew it must have been hellishly loud - the retort of that cannon Jayne had been carrying alone would have echoed and reverberated in that confined concrete space. But she couldn't remember it. There had been this deep stillness in her mind - panic, she thought. Or maybe the sure knowledge they were going to die.
In her memories, time jumped and skipped. They had arrived, set up, and suddenly there was unutterable chaos and carnage, loss, injury, and they were lost, going, gone, and then somehow Mal was back, and for one moment she had allowed herself to hope, to believe. Then the doors had opened, and all she could see were those drops of blood.
Her Companion training mocked her with the knowledge that there was undoubtedly a metaphor, or at least a haiku contained in those drops of blood, but she decided she would leave that thought alone for now.
She shook herself from her memories and looked down at the cans she'd been sorting. The galley was nearly restored to order. Of all the areas of the devastated Serenity, it had been one of the first and easiest to set to rights. The Operative had offered them nearly unlimited assistance in restoring their ship, and they'd had little choice but to accept at least the basics - food, medical treatment for Simon and Kaylee, and immediate first aid for the rest of them.
Except for her. That was another thing she couldn't let go of. How had she escaped so unscathed? Nothing more than a few scrapes and bruises, and the small cut on her face from the Reaver's teeth. Or had it been his claws? His nails? She would never be able to remember.
Once the poison had been neutralized, Kaylee bounced back quickly, but the others had been significantly wounded; as usual Mal seemed to have borne the brunt of it. Inara was struck anew by the random unfairness of life. The cruel and inscrutable jokes the universe sometimes seemed intent on telling.
There were no words in any of the languages she knew for the desolate wasteland in Zoe's eyes. Nor were there words for the ache in her heart over the loss of Shepherd Book and all the residents at Haven.
She opened the cabinet to put the cans away, and shards of pottery fell out, scattering over the counter and the tops of her feet. She wondered briefly what those fragments had been - a plate? A mug? Like so much else, they were no longer recognizable as the object they had been. It was one more unnumbered loss against so many others. Almost without thinking, she vacuumed up the dust and scraps, consigning them to their own oblivion. The cabinet had other purposes than to serve as a tomb for dead pottery.
She had just finished putting the cans away when Mal wandered in. As had happened so often lately, he stopped on seeing her, an odd confusion swimming briefly in his eyes, as though he hadn't expected to find her there. It was, she thought, an honest confusion. The few times she'd looked in a mirror lately, she wasn't sure she recognized herself anymore.
"You're working late."
She glanced at the chronometer. "I guess so. I hadn't really noticed what time it was." She gestured aimlessly and looked down at her hands. When had she last had a manicure? These were not the hands of a Companion. "It's so easy to lose track these days."
She glanced sideways at him through the veil of her lashes, trying to gauge his mood. The cuts and scrapes were still visible on his face, and she thought his posture was a little too stiff, holding himself upright by sheer will alone. "You, too. Aren't you supposed to be getting some rest?"
"There's always time for rest...later. Besides, I ain't sleeping so..." He shook his head.
"I know." She had always hated those meaningless conversation fillers. But she really did know. Sleeping wasn't easy right now. There were too many dreams.
"Would you like some tea?" She saw his hesitation. Allowed herself the briefest flash of anger that maybe he was hesitating because he knew she served tea to clients.
"Do we have tea?" Gods, she hadn't realized how tired he really was. How tired they all were.
"Yes, we got some yesterday. I was just going to make a cup. Would you join me?"
She wasn't entirely sure she heard his voice say, "Yes," or if she simply heard it some other level entirely as he slumped wearily at the galley table.
They drank their tea in silence. Finally Mal, after staring at the bottom of his empty mug for what seemed a short eon, stood. She restrained herself from reaching out to him as he swayed slightly. "I guess I'd better get back to..." He gestured in the general direction of the bridge. "But thanks. I needed..."
"Good night, Mal." She hadn't learned this smile in her Companion training. She wasn't even sure it was a smile at all.
Walking back to her shuttle, now partly restored to living condition, she saw Zoe rewiring a circuit in a corridor control panel ahead of her. Although Inara knew her footsteps had been audible, echoing along the metal hallway, Zoe never looked up. Inara slowed as she neared the first mate, raising her hand, thinking she might rest it on Zoe's shoulder for moment - try to find something new to say. But the too careful concentration that Zoe was giving to the wiring stopped her, and she simply passed by without interrupting.
Ship restoration had been going on for slightly over a week. The Operative had offered the services of the local military engineer battalion, but Mal - with what Inara suspected had been something less than a diplomatically phrased response - turned him down. Almost completely broke, they had needed to accept the raw materials, but Mal and Zoe had insisted that the crew do all the repair work themselves. Given their general profession, it seemed wise to minimize the number of ways the Alliance could implant tracking or other monitoring devices onboard.
Inara's training had included a number of diverse disciplines, but not welding or circuit wiring, so after helping Simon restore and restock the med bay, she had taken on the galley, and then whatever minor restoration was needed to the guest quarters and common areas. She had also taken over meal preparation - a skill she had had little opportunity to exercise in the last years, but one that she quickly remembered the pleasure of. There was no need for a Companion just then, but a cook was necessary, so she could do that for now.
Meals were hurried affairs - many times people grabbing food and taking it back to their quarters or to where they were working. But sometimes two or three of them would find themselves in the galley at the same time, and eat together in companionable silence.
There was almost no laughter on Serenity though, except once or twice, Inara thought she heard quiet happy sounds from Kaylee's bunk.
Everyone moved cautiously around Zoe, directing their conversation to safe, neutral topics. Suddenly breaking off stories that too late they remembered included Wash. Zoe ignored them all; continued to stride through the ship with her quiet confidence. Only if you looked very carefully did you realize that she always walked just to the left of center. With just enough space to her right for someone to walk next to her.
Mal was a like a ghost on his own ship - everywhere, but slightly transparent. Inara wondered how much of himself he'd left in the under-control room of Mr. Universe's complex. Day by day she watched him unraveling, fraying. She wondered what unseen wounds they were all carrying.
She had known he would be coming. Had sensed the storm gathering in him that she had somehow known could only be released here - in her shuttle. In this part of his ship that didn't fully belong to him.
But the knock was a surprise; forces of nature usually don't ask for polite admittance.
"Come in." She barely recognized her own voice anymore. Somewhere between the undercroft of Mr. Universe's complex, and the desert plain where the three memorials stood, her voice had lost all its training and artifice. It had been stripped back to something older - something elemental and unrefined.
Always he entered her cabin with a strange hesitancy. A momentary pause at her door, a diver taking a deep breath before plunging into icy water.
"Inara." Oddly formal. Then he simply stopped, their gazes locked, as he struggled with some nameless emotion.
She was sitting at her new comm screen - she'd turned to greet him, and now they were frozen in this strange moment, her body curving toward him, describing an incomplete arc.
Finally his gaze flickered to the screen. "Drumming up new business?" Some other tone flickering under customary sneer in his voice.
She sighed, a quick shake of her head momentarily breaking their stare. "No. I haven't even turned it on yet. I was just thinking of waving Sheydra to let her know...." And then she dropped her gaze, the pattern of her new carpet blurring. "But then I realized that I didn't know what to let her know..."
Swift intake of breath. "We're working as hard as we can to..."
"Gods, Mal! This isn't about when we can launch. It's about my not knowing what to say about what happened here. About what happened to us." She met his eyes again, clinging to the useful anger. "I just wanted to talk to a friend. But sitting here, I realized I have no idea in the universe who I can tell this to."
She hated it when the corners of his eyes softened. She hated the way it made her want to go to him and lean against him while he told her it would be okay. She hated the way that expression made her need...
Behind their breathing, she thought she heard thunder far off in the distance. She suppressed the shiver that wanted to dance along her skin.
"Some things aren't meant to be shared."
"Didn't we just pretty much take on the Alliance, not to mention a few thousand Reavers, to disprove that theory?"
He took a step toward her. "I ain't saying I got all the answers, ‘Nara, but sometimes when you've seen..." He swallowed convulsively. "Some things are best kept to those who were there."
It occurred to her that she had never heard his full account of what had happened with the Operative. That final battle that had left him bruised and limping, but ultimately victorious. One more battle that he had survived but others, dear to him, had not. She wondered for a moment if he even considered their outcome a victory.
She stood, not at all certain what she was trying to say to him, what she needed him to know. "But I..."
He took a step toward her, now almost close enough to touch her. She could feel the heat of him. Smell the leather and oil scent, underlaid with the faintest traces of the salves Simon had been applying to his cuts.
To her horror, she could feel tears beginning to form. She reached desperately for her earliest lesson - control. It all began with control.
Too late, and he took the final step forward, his thumb wiping away a treacherous tear. Her breath hitched. She hoped he wouldn't notice.
His hand cradled her jaw, thumb smoothing the saltwater into her skin, tracing small circles. She fought with herself for a nanosecond and then felt something giving way. Identity and training and name, all washing away. She turned her head and placed a kiss in his palm.
She felt rather than heard his gasp, and then both his hands were framing her face and his lips, gods his lips finally, finally meeting hers. Claiming her.
For the briefest instant, she could hear the voices of her teachers overlapping and murmuring in her mind - lessons about control, and giving pleasure, and maintaining an objective mind as your body responded to basic instincts - and then the voices were gone, drowned in a flood of raw need.
She wrapped an arm around his waist, some small part of her just conscious enough to remember which side his latest stab wound was on. Her other hand found its way to his hair, her fingers fanning open to sweep through the soft strands.
His mouth moving over hers, hot and confident, as somehow she had known it would be. For how long had she imagined this moment?
She lost herself in the dark, endless sensation of kissing Mal, of being kissed by him. Let herself spiral down into raw, wanton need. Allowing herself to simply feel without detachment, allowing herself to react without trying to be a Companion pleasing a client. Allowing herself to simply exist in this moment, this connection between a man and a woman.
Finally, he tore his mouth from hers and began trailing kisses down her throat, until he rested with his face awkwardly tucked into her neck. Their breathing was harsh, asynchronous.
She felt him draw breath to speak and suddenly it was imperative that he not. She didn't want the apology she was so sure he was about to offer. She wanted nothing but this - this moment, this man. A small voice in the back of her mind said she was going to regret this. She tuned it out. What was one more regret?
She shifted her hand, and guided his face back up, kissing him lightly, as her hands moved down to begin unbuttoning his shirt. His hands covered hers and he pulled back, his eyes seeking hers. "Inara? What are you...?"
She had no intention of having a fay hwa discussion about this. She kissed him ruthlessly, recalling every seduction technique she'd ever been taught, and refining them in the fire of their mutual need. "Has it really been that long, Mal?"
"I just...you..." His eyes had lost a little of their focus. She kissed him again. "Shhh. Let go. Just let go." He stilled her hands one more time, focusing just long enough to find whatever answer it was he needed to see in her eyes, and then he pulled her to him and took her mouth again. Her hands tugged his shirt loose and finished unbuttoning it. She started to push it off his shoulders; carefully, mindful of the cuts and bruises that lay beneath. There was a brief moment of tangled silliness as they negotiated his suspenders, and then he was bare from the waist up.
She let her hands roam. His skin was so warm under her touch. He rested his hands on her hips, fingers tracing lazy patterns along the bare skin of her back. She looked up to find him watching her, dark fire in his eyes.
Somewhere she heard a voice say, "Yes." She would never know who said it. She only knew there was yes and yes, and his clever, scarred fingers undoing the fastenings of her top, and she thought maybe one of them was trembling a little.
His hands were gentle but oh so deliberate as they traced her curves. She leaned into his touch, seeking something harder, deeper. She ran the palm of her hand across the line of his shoulder, down his arm to tangle with his fingers. He looked up her, confusion and worry starting to cloud his face as she stopped his exploration.
She shook her head, a seductress's smile on her lips, and led him over to the bed. His hesitated for a second longer, and she leaned up and kissed him, then bent to his chest and let her tongue and teeth gently scrape over his nipple. A groan rumbled in his chest.
He caught her close, wrapping his arms around her until they were melded together from knee to shoulder. She rubbed her cheek against his chest, inhaling the scent of him, marking him as her own.
He drew a deep, shuddering breath. She thought she heard something that might have been Wuh de tyen, ah. His hands moved along her back, up into her hair, cradled her skull. She felt something change in him - giving way, or perhaps locking into place. He moved suddenly, picking her up in his arms, before laying her gently on the bed.
Then all their clothes were gone, and his hands and mouth moved over her in unceasing patterns. A quiet voice in her mind suggested that she should be more in control; this was after all, what she did for a living. But it wasn't. This was something entirely new. This had nothing to do with Companions or Captains or petty thieves.
This wasn't precise and graceful; this was nothing like the classes she had been teaching those girls. Their teeth clicked as their mouths desperately sought each other's. The bed cover was rucked up under her hip, pressing uncomfortably into her skin; she reached down, flailing a little, trying to push it away. This was fast and hot and like nothing she had trained for and like everything that she needed right here, right now. She couldn't remember when, if ever, she had been so caught in a vortex of pure need.
Her hands restlessly learned his skin, the sinews and muscle of his back, the velvet of his arousal, throbbing and hot in her hands. His fingers breached her gently, carefully exploring, testing. "Now, Mal, now." She had thought she had long ago learned patience.
He was hard and heavy over her, in her, thrusting - pushing her past any limits she had previously known or learned. He moved in her with purpose and something that felt like desperation. She heard her own voice, pleading, encouraging. "More, there, oh, oh, gods, Mal, more..."
She opened her eyes when had she closed them? to find him staring down at her intently, watching her as though she might at any moment turn into something or someone else. When she met his gaze, something in him sharpened, and his movements bore down harder, more intent. She met him surge for surge. She could feel her release swimming up to meet her. Felt the tightening and tingling starting low in her belly, amplifying outward. His breathing was changing, too, more erratic, but he never broke their gaze, never lost their connection. She was falling upward, falling into the space behind his eyes. The stars rushed to meet her and then she had to close her eyes, as a sun exploded somewhere inside. From very far away she felt him surrendering his own orgasm, and then she was lost in the far reaches of the black.
She swam back to consciousness to find Mal collapsed across her. His body pressed her into the too hard, too new mattress. She struggled to draw breath, still returning from the far dark corners where her release had flung her, the heavy weight of his torso compressing her lungs. She ran her hands up his arms, intending to push him to the side, but the shiver that ran through him at her touch mesmerized her. She stroked across his shoulders, down his back.
"Inara." She thought she'd heard every variation of her name. This was new.
She tightened her arms around him briefly, wanting to hold on if not forever, than at least a bit longer.
He shifted under her touch, "Can you breathe?"
She smiled. "Almost."
He reluctantly slid a little to the side, but left a possessive arm across her waist, and his leg across her thighs. He had yet to open his eyes. She traced the line of his eyebrow. "Are you..." she let the question trail off unasked. Anyway, she wasn't sure what she was going to ask: Are you going to sleep now? Are you happy? Are you going to regret this when you open your eyes?
He mumbled something and kissed her shoulder. In a little while, his breathing told her he was sleeping. She watched him until sleep took her as well.
She awoke to a bed that was rapidly cooling as half the body heat was dressing somewhat clumsily in the dark.
A stifled curse told her that Mal was trying to bend over to pick up his shirt. Apparently the cursing involved in his getting his pants back on was what had woken her.
"Don't..." She broke off, oddly unsure of whether she had the right to ask him to stay. "Are you okay?"
"I...I'm sorry I woke you."
She stifled the childish but undoubtedly true response. No you're not.
"It's okay." From somewhere, her Companion training had returned, at least enough to partly mask her voice again. She knew they needed to say something to each other, but had no idea for her part what that would be.
"I need to get to the..." Apparently he didn't either.
"Yeah."
"Inara, I..." He was back beside the bed, painfully lowering himself to a knee so that he could take her hand. This was not, could not be good.
"Mal. You don't have to say anything." For once she hoped he could hear the pleading in her voice. That would have been visible in her eyes if it were just a little lighter. This was not the time for endings or irrevocable decisions. They'd had too many of those already.
For a horrible moment, she thought he would stumble through some kind of apology or stilted explanation. He surprised her by leaning forward and kissing her forehead before groaning his way upright again and slipping out of the shuttle.
In the days that followed, she found herself wishing that she'd let him say whatever it was that he'd been trying to tell her.
The next morning she was in the galley fixing breakfast, and he'd walked in, taken one look at her and turned on his heel and walked back out. The coffee she'd been pouring sloshed out of the cup and onto the counter before she noticed what she was doing.
After two days of him disappearing down the nearest hatch, ventilation shaft or rabbit hole every time he glimpsed her, she'd finally had enough.
Late that night, she put on her softest slippers, and glided, with intent, onto the bridge where she knew she'd find him. River was there as well. The girl glanced at her and back to the control panel she was studying in front of her. A small pause, and then she turned her head sharply to Inara, that small bird tilt to her chin.
"Silence isn't always golden." That strangely sure voice of metaphor and prophecies.
"No, mei-mei, it isn't."
River padded out without looking back.
Mal hadn't so much as twitched during that little exchange, but the set of his shoulders reminded her of a Xanthian Cat she'd once seen during a hunt. The big predator had been cornered in a canyon by the hunting dogs. It had outweighed any one of them by at least 50 kilos, but there were so many of the dogs that it was temporarily trapped. Then she'd watched it set its shoulders and spring toward the center of the pack. It was methodically working its way through the baying dogs when one of the hunting party had casually lifted his gun and dropped the cat. She never accepted another assignment on that planet.
He clearly wasn't going to break the silence. She hadn't really expected him to.
"Mal? Are you ever going to speak to me again?"
"I wasn't aware that I wasn't speaking to you." He hadn't made eye contact with her, still stared at the control panel in front of him, but she saw the wince that crossed his face as though he had realized what a stupid statement that was.
She sighed. Of all the men she'd known, only he had the capacity to reduce her to the level of a 12-year old blushing girl. She thought for a moment of contradicting him, and brushed it aside as she played through the "did - did-not" conversation that was sure to follow.
She moved over the seat that River had vacated and sat down. She was a little surprised that he didn't immediately jump up from his chair and leave. Looking over, she realized he was staring at one Wash's dinosaurs. For a moment it was very hard to breathe.
Very softly she asked. "So, what do we do now?"
He looked up sharply. "What do you mean?" Panic lacing his voice.
"Once we get the ship repaired. What do we do?" She knew when it was time to approach topics obliquely.
"I don't know."
"How can you not know? That's not an answer."
"Of course it is. It means that I don't know. It means that there are possibilities and I want to see what they are. It means that the universe has changed, but I don't understand it yet - not that I ever did, really - and I have to wait and see what it is. Before I know. Anyway, that's my answer, woman. I don't know." There were a thousand answers in his reply.
"So, you don't know." Very gentle teasing.
"No." She saw his shoulders relax infinitesimally. "I don't know."
"Well, it's not much of an answer, but I guess it's what you've got."
"Gorram straight." He was avoiding her eyes again. She decided to let it go.
"Okay then." She left without touching or looking at him again.
Three days later, she hadn't seen Mal more than a handful of times, but at least now he was meeting her eyes before ducking down the nearest corridor. She continued to rummage through the trunk she'd left behind, looking for that indigo...ah, there it was. It was clear to her now that she had always intended to return. Why else would she have left this shawl and her favorite bracelet behind? It wasn't like her to lie to herself, but it seemed in leaving Serenity she hadn't really been truthful to herself or Mal. The question in front of her was what to do with that truth.
She turned and let out a small shriek when she found Mal standing behind her, much closer than she found comfortable.
He smirked. "I told you I can be very graceful."
She rolled her eyes, a habit that had been trained out of her since she was 14 years old. "Captain Reynolds. To what do I owe the honor of your presence?" She was, she had to admit, a little miffed by his seeming, and sudden, nonchalance.
Inexplicably he looked down at that, fascinated by the patterns his boot was tracing on her carpet. With a flash of insight, she realized he wasn't nearly as confident as he seemed.
"Captain?"
He looked at her sideways. "I...uh...just wanted to let you know that we're doing another supply run. Is there anything...er...special that you need? You know, for your....business?"
She wished it were just a little lighter so could verify the blush she was sure was stealing across his face. She waited for a moment, weighing his tone. Finding no sneer, she graced him with a smile. "No, there's nothing I need right now."
"Well, we'll be here another couple days before we launch, there will probably be time for one more supply run."
"Thank you. I'll keep that in mind."
He lingered for a moment. His attention on the objects on her low table. "I forgot you left that..." He broke off, sheepish. "Anyway. Let me know if you need any other supplies."
She nodded, unable to speak for fear that the laughter welling up inside her would be misinterpreted.
After he left, she spent a long time thinking about what she had left behind. What she might be leaving behind.
The work was nearly complete. Zoe had welded the new cabin window into place, after carefully tearing out the shards and old one. Mal - and even Jayne, showing that surprising awareness that sometimes surfaced through the mud of his essential Jayneness - had tried to persuade her to let them do it, but she had insisted on doing it herself.
That afternoon, Inara found herself on a scaffold some 20 feet in the air, repainting their ship's name. The worst of the red paint had been removed, although some traces remained. She found it oddly fitting. She outlined Serenity's name, and then paused before beginning to fill in the letters. On a whim, she wrote the character for peace within the upper curve of the S, and then Shepherd Book's Name in the lower curve. She carefully painted over the characters, sealing them to Serenity. Wash was written into the E along with Zoe's name, and the character for soar. She wrote the Tams into the next E with "luck," and Mal alone in the center N. After a moment's thought, she added the character for "strength" under his name.
Kaylee was next, in the slender I, with the character for happy. She thought they were all overdue for a little happiness. Then Jayne, and "watchful." When she got to the final letter she found herself hesitating, but there really wasn't any decision. She wrote her name, and finally the character for "hope." She wasn't sure what she meant by that, but it was the right word to add. For Serenity. For them.
A voice from below broke her contemplation of her now completed work. "Looks good."
She looked down at Mal, feeling peacefully disconnected, as though she really were floating in the air. "It's nice to have her back."
"Yeah. Thanks for that." He gestured toward the name.
"Of course." She almost asked him if he'd seen her working the characters into the letters. She decided it didn't matter. When she smiled at him, he smiled back without evasion.
Two days later, they launched again.
It wasn't entirely chance that their paths crossed in the corridor.
"Ready to get off this heap and back to civilized life?" Strange, but even hearing Mal call Serenity a "heap" made something twist painfully in her chest. And it was a hard question.
Suddenly she understood. "I...uh...I don't know."
"Good answer."
And there in his smile was the beginning of her real answer.
END
Chinese translations (per Firefly wiki)
Fay hwa - stupid
Wuh de tyen, ah - Dear God in heaven
Mei-mei - little sister