In the beginning, seems like he believed in every damn thing. Now he's not sure he believes in anything. It's all been a series of rearguard actions and steady attrition. He'd lost lots of things. Lots of folk, too. And somewhere in the middle of it, he was starting to fear he'd lost himself.
And now this.
He and Inara had been fencing a long time. So long he must of just gone kind of numb and stupid; the kind of battle where you forget what you're fighting for and you just end up going and going because you're too cuss-headed stubborn to lay down and die. Now, when he'd finally got a moment and a breath to see where he was and think on what they were doing, the crazy woman wanted to go and leave.
He understood that she'd be upset about Nandi; that was natural, especially given the bond between them...but he thought for one brief, shiny moment that he'd might be able to get her to see that Nandi didn't have a damned thing to do with what was between them. He just hadn't known there was a between to be had.
All that fighting, and dancing... It had been fun, and frustrating, and occasionally crazy-making, but he'd never thought about it before in terms of time wasted. It seemed like there would just always be time; time to sit a spell in that prissified shuttle of hers and talk over the particulars of their latest job, or to smile at her over the dinner table and make fun of the flowers she wore in her hair. Time to walk in the world, and watch the sunlight shine no brighter than her dark eyes.
Now wasn't no more time left. She'd made her mind to go, and nothing he could say would matter a damn to her. All that sparring had taught him that, at least. He didn't want to believe it so, didn't want to believe she could just walk away from him, easy as you please. He wanted to believe that little flare of shock in her eyes when he'd come slinking out of Nandi's room had meant something. Something more than his imagination. Wanted to believe that there'd been more said in that little conversation than the words that had come out of their mouths. But she was leaving, still leaving.
And where did that leave him?
What was that word that Zoe had used? Sanguine. Yeah. Hopeful, she'd said, but also bloody.
Yeah, that about covered it.