"What does that even mean for people like us, Mal?" she asks, her eyes searching his for answers that aren't there. "We've lived our lives defined and confined by forces so much bigger than we are. Shaped and moulded by what we obey and what we defy."

Inara's thinking out loud -- she's not done that in as long as she can remember -- and she doesn't expect him to have answers for her any more than she has answers for him. As she leans closer, she releases his hand, the fingertips of both hands tracing the lines of his suspenders, not looking away from his gaze.

"Who are we when we don't have that? Who are we when we're alone and there's no one to see, to judge, to disapprove?"