Archive of Our Own

She makes him feel uneasy with her perfumes and her smiles, her voice as smooth as the silk she's prone to wearin'. Makes him think that settlin' down ain't such a harebrained idea after all. Makes him think settlin' down with her might even be plausible or, God forbid, enjoyable. But he shakes his head—usually—of these thoughts, 'cause he knows he'd be a bad husband. Knows he's broken, inside and out. Has been since the war, since Serenity Valley. And he knows Inara—besides all her flaws, if she even has any, 'sides bein' stubborn as all hell, he amends—doesn't deserve somethin' broke. Deserves somethin' better. An' although that thought causes him mild discomfort, he nods—though no one's watchin'—knowin' that's truth if he'd ever heard it.

Some might call that stubborn, such as the preacher, but he knows better. He ain't playin' hero; no flowin' capes or fancy armor or nothin'. He's not tryin' to protect her virtue or such, 'cause he's pretty sure she'd hit him if he even tried. He's just bein' honest. Last time he checked, 's nothin' wrong with that.

'Cept maybe the part where it hurts a mite worse than he ever expected.