The scars on Malcolm Reynolds body read like a topographical timeline of his life. A childhood fall onto a woodpile, shrapnel from his first tour of duty, Atherton Wing’s sword. All of these scars marked important events that impacted on both his life and his skin.

Inara Serra’s body was perfect. Save for one birthmark on her upper left thigh, her skin was smooth and unmarked.

Then again, the most painful scars are often the ones that can’t be seen.

When Inara saw Mal leaving Nandi’s room in the early morning hours, dressing as he went, her heart cracked. Joy and light poured out, leaving pain and jealousy behind.

“So you’re okay?” He had asked. She had lied to him that day, not that it was anything new but watching how embarrassed and concerned he was for her feelings closed the gash enough to keep her heart from breaking outright.

Later that day, above Serenity’s cargo bay, Inara evened the score.

“I’m leaving.”

Two words split Mal’s already wounded heart clear down the middle. The look of pain and the tears in her eyes cauterized his wound just enough to keep his heart from disappearing entirely, once and for all.

From then on, whenever they were near to each other, their hearts ached with a sensation neither one of them could fully explain, nor knew the other felt.

Two imperfect hearts silently calling for each other, looking for it’s other half.

Two damaged hearts aching to be made whole.