DISCLAIMER: I do not own Firefly, or the Firefly IP/universe/characters. While the words are mine they are based in an IP I do not own. I do not make money from this, it's all in good fun.

Author's note: I am sorry for the long delay for the continuation of my previous work. Unfortunately writing Inara ties me up in knots. So far this one is progressing VERY slowly. Apologies all around. Also real life has been intervening more than usual, I am still working on this, it just might take a while for updates to happen.

"All hands report to damage control stations." The loudspeakers blared as Mal and Jayne rushed down a dim hallway lit only by red emergency light strips on the floor. Reaching an ornate set of doors Mal wrenched them open, Jayne covering two of them, revealing Inara looking the picture of elegance. Mal gestured to her frantically.

"I'm not going anywhere." Inara said haughtily. She was decked in a deep red gown, and perfectly coiffed and poised, acting as though nothing was out of the ordinary, even as the ship lurched under their feet.

"What do ya mean yer not goin' anywhere?" Mal said lowering his pistol in confusion as klaxons blared around them.

"You shouldn't have come Mal. This is where I belong." Inara's voice was hard as she spoke, as if she were biting each word as it left her lips.

"Mal, we gotta go." Jayne interrupted, covering the hallway behind them with his gun.

"Bi jweh!" Mal yelled at Jayne, continuing to stare at Inara. She lowered her gaze as another voice spoke, "Bao bei."

"All hands report to damage control stations." The loudspeakers blared as an aristocratic man entered stepped through a doorway on the far side of the room, a pistol in one hand.

"Inara." Mal said, the word barely leaving his mouth before the sound of a gunshot reverberated in the confined space.