"Bird on the Wing" (Willow/Inara) - FRT

Entry for the "Willow" round here at femslash_minis!

Written for settiai, who requested Willow/Inara, with Willow as a client, a mention of Tara, and no graphic smut. I hope this bit of whimsy satisfies. *smile*

Warning: Spoilers for "Serenity" (the movie)

Feedback very much appreciated!



Am I dreaming?

We all are.

Don't make faces.

Tonight, Inara is tempted to add opium drops in the cup of tea she always brews herself before bedtime. The ritual, elegant though it might be, had become soothing through years of practice. Warm, fragrant chamomile always tells her body: time to sleep.

She cannot break the habit of needing her tea at a certain time though she wishes, for once, she could have coffee instead and stay awake. Tonight, far too soon after Miranda, she fears the nightmares that may come. Cold, terrifying dreams that have come almost every night since…

Visions of Wash being pried from his chair while Zoe stood watching, stony face hiding every glimmer of pain, sending River into a hysterical, sympathetic fit.

The dead bodies of men, women and children on the dead planet.

Mal's eyes, so very cold, as he laid out his plan. The way he lashed the bodies of those he'd called friends to the hull of his ship, his home, desecrating the last thing he held holy for the sake of what he believed to be the better good…

Inara shivers, nearly dropping her cup from nerveless fingers. These are the images that flood her carefully trained mind if she permits them. They threaten to overwhelm her, reduce her to a crying heap on the cold ship floor. She will not allow herself such a luxury, not since she let herself go in Nandi's house and paid so great a price.

No. Or rather, she decides, yes. She'll add a few precious drops off poppy distillate, more precious than diamonds, to her cup of soothing tea, drink it off, and slip away into fantastical dreamscapes with no dreadful visions.

The trouble is, it doesn't exactly work out that way.

The moment Inara's head nestles into her pillows, she is asleep; the instant she is asleep, she is dreaming, and knows herself to be dreaming. Oddly, it's not frightening. She's surrounded by a sense of comfort and rightness such as she's only felt with the best of her choices as a professional Companion. Somehow, she
has come to be in a place where she is needed. It calms her. Makes her feel useful again.

But where is she?

Curious, she glances around herself. She's never seen a room quite like this before. The walls are made of cheap blocks, painted in thick layers of off-white peeling in places. The furniture is of equally poor quality, a dismaying mix of trash and decorated garbage such as Kaylee loves.

Yet there is a treasure which draws her eye: a lovely amethyst crystal, sparkling in a beam of sunlight that sneaks through thick, closely drawn curtains. It sparkles at her, inviting a reverent caress in homage to its beauty.

Unable to help herself, Inara brushes it with her fingertips. It gives off a sparkle and snap of electricity, making her flinch back. What sort of device…?

"Don't," a muffled voice says behind her. "There's magic. It's a homing signal. I --"

Inara turns gracefully as she can. She seems to be wearing a dress much unlike her usual brocade-and-silk creations. A long, loose garment made of soft cotton, with a vest that laces up like a bodice. Her hair spills down over her shoulders in a careless tumble of ringlets. She isn't wearing makeup.

This is odd, but odder still, it doesn't bother her. She's come to a place where artifice isn't needed. She doesn't know how she knows this -- she just does. Perhaps the woman who just spoke called her there through the power of pure need.

Stranger things have happened.

Inara carefully pads across the cheap beige carpet, her bare feet making no sound. "Hello," she says, keeping her voice low and gentle. She can just make out the figure of a woman huddled in the middle of a tangled bed, sprawled out on her stomach, face buried in her slender arms. She is crying, not bothering to choke back the tears.

The pain in her sobs brings an ache to Inara's heart. "Hello," she repeats, sitting carefully next to the woman. "I'm here to help you…"

She pauses. She doesn't know who she's talking to.

"What is your name?" she asks, sensing the ache to be touched in the woman's stiff shoulders. She caresses them gently, as one would soothe a frightened kitten. "I'm Inara."

The woman sniffles. "Willow," comes the muffled reply. "Am I dreaming?"

"I think so." Inara trails her fingers down Willow's smooth, bare white arm. "Does it matter?"

Willow shakes her head and hiccups. Inara can feel her heartbreak, and yearns to ease it. This is strange to her. She's dealt with many a lonely, miserable man or woman, and while she's been glad to do her job, they haven't moved her half so far as this mysterious mourner. "Tell me how I can help," she encourages. "Just between us, mei-mei."

Willow makes the 'no' gesture again, but then speaks all the same. "Tara. She's gone. He, Oz, he came back, and he found us together, and he was so mad, so mad, and she got scared and ran away, and I don't know if I'll ever see her again…" Her voice trails off in a sob.

Tara. An unusual name. No matter; the tone in which the name is spoken tells Inara all she needs to know. "You love her very much," she murmurs, stroking Willow's shoulders. So tense, so full of anxiety and fear.

"She loves -- loved -- me, too. I know she did. She said so. But then he came back, and I loved him so much, once, and I'm all tangled up." Willow raises her head. Inara catches a glimpse of eyes that must be a lovely green shade when not swollen red and puffy with crying. "What do I do? I have to get her back."

Inara keeps her hands moving, calming Willow even though Willow doesn't seem to understand what she's doing. She smiles her best, sweet smile. "Do you know the story of the bird that a wise man caught, and what he decided to do with it?"

Willow frowns at her, confused.

"It's an old story." Inara deliberately makes use of the cadence of her voice, soft and soothing, as a mother would a lullaby. "The legend says he loved the bird's beauty passionately as the sun and stars, but saw it pining in its cage of bamboo twigs. The bird was fond of him, taking seeds from his fingers, but all the same it wasn't meant to be kept a captive."

Willow's tears are drying as she listens. Inara lets her eyelids half-close in a gesture of sisterly friendship. "Do you know what he decided?"

Willow shakes her head.

"He took the cage out beneath the warm light of a summer's day, and opened up the door. The bird saw its chance at freedom. It paused for the briefest moment, and then -- it flew away."

Inara places a finger on Willow's surprised moue of dismay. "Wait, there's more. The same night, as the sun set, the man sat lonely in his rooms, with no bird song to cheer his heart. But as it happened, he had left his window open. And through that window, his pet bird flew. It landed on his knee, trilled its music, and took the seeds that the man offered in thanks."

Willow looks bemused for a moment… then smiles. "If you love something, set it free," she says. "If it loves you, it'll come back. If it doesn't, it was never yours to begin with."

Inara considers the summary. "You could put it that way. Is Tara your bird-on-the-wing, Willow?"

Willow nods, the last of her tears drying up.

"Then wait for her. Leave your window open, your doors unlocked. If she comes back -- and I believe she will -- you'll know for sure she loves you just as much in return."

There; those words earn her a tremulous smile. Inara sees now how young this Willow is, barely older than River. Any half-formed notion of comforting Willow with her Companion bed-arts disappear completely. Willow's heart belongs to another, and Inara is not one to trespass.

But comfort, she can still give. "She'll be back," Inara repeats. "Perhaps even in the morning, or by the next setting of your sun."

"You really think so?"

Inara glances around the room and spies a photograph, oddly motionless, of young Willow entwined in the arms of a strikingly lovely woman ripe as Kaylee, innocent as Simon, with eyes as old as Mal's. More importantly, though, she sees the love, pure love, in the way the two hold each other.

"I'm positive," she says, with no need for forced caring.

Willow smiles again, turning her face into a thing of rare beauty. "Thanks. You know, you're one of the weirdest dreams I've ever had, but… I needed you."

"I believe that's why I'm here." Inara reaches up to run her hand through Willow's silky hair. "Lie down, and let me massage your back. Perhaps we'll take a brush to these tangles."

"You don't need to go?"

"Not until morning," Inara says, and knows it to be true. "Let me be what you need tonight, until your Tara returns to your arms."

Willow ducks her head, sweet and girlish. Obedient, she lies down, waiting for Inara to do as she pleases.

Inara resists the urge to drop a light kiss on the creamy nape of Willow's neck. This Tara, whoever she is, is a very, very lucky woman. Perhaps she'll be lucky enough to find someone whose whole heart belongs to her, someday. Perhaps Mal will…

But no, she'll save those thoughts for waking hours. Right now, she has her duty to perform, and for once in far too long, it's both joy and pleasure. Humming under her breath, she begins to rub the knots out of Willow's slender back.

And in that moment, she feels a sort of perfect happiness.

And in her bed, safe on Serenity, five hundred years in the future, Inara smiles in her sleep. The beautiful smile of a woman deeply contented.

A woman who has found peace at last. A bird on the wing, returned to her nest.