InsaneJournal

Who: Arthur and Mal.
What: Meeting someone he thought was dead.
When: After this
Where: The bus terminal and then the apartments.
Rating: TBD.
Status: Incomplete.

Mal was alive.

Somehow, and Arthur had no idea how it was even possible, she was alive. Two years spent thinking she was dead, and now she was back. Arthur wasn't sure what to think about that, torn between disbelief and happiness. No anger though. He could never be angry at Mal, no matter how much he had wanted to be when she had killed herself. There had been bone-deep grief, but no anger. Now, the grief and weariness faded somewhat. It was still there though, because as much as she was alive she wasn't quite Mal. She didn't have the memories or the experiences that had shaped the woman he had known.

The woman he'd loved, if he was honest. Mal was the sort of person you couldn't help but love, and Arthur had been helpless to resist her. He'd been seventeen the first time he met her, and she had been beautiful and brilliant even then. He hadn't stood a chance. Over the years, he became closer to Dom and their friendship became a central part of his life, but there was always Mal there in the background. An unspoken divide between them. He knew it was wrong, the way he felt about his best friend's girlfriend, later his fiance and even later his wife, the mother of his children. But he consoled himself with the fact that he hadn't been the only one feeling these things.

He and Mal had been together right up until that trip to Limbo. It broke off after that, and then Mal had died. Or seemed to. Arthur shook his head as he reached the bus depot. He had put on his waistcoat and his tie, concerned about Mal's impression of him. He wanted her to notice him. It was utterly pathetic and he knew it, and he didn't give a damn. He saw her, just a few feet away, and he froze on the spot. She was beautiful as ever. Exactly like he remembered. He wanted to be selfish, to not mention Dom and let her draw her own conclusions. But he couldn't do that.

"Mal," he said, walking up to her. Words failed him in a way they rarely did and he just stared at her, captivated. He wanted to touch her, brush his fingers over her skin and reassure himself that she was real. "It's really you."