:waves enthusiastically: All righty. With all due fanfare, I give you.....half a chapter! This one has been taking forever to write, and it gets longer every day. But the first half or so is ready, so I figured I'd post it as part one. Sorry this has taken so long :(

The Losing Side, Chapter 22, part 1 of 2

Mal was still distracted, thinking about the two boys and their oddly warm family when the increasingly aggravated guard yanked him roughly to a stop outside a solid metal door. Where’s Khiloh when I need him, he wondered, reminding himself to breathe. He’s a cranky bully, doesn’t mean he’s gonna break you into bitty pieces. He distracted himself by trying to assess his surroundings. The place looked familiar; he was pretty sure it was the outside of one of the interrogation rooms he’d spent so much time in upon his arrival. He looked around down the hallway, and the guard met his shift in position by slamming his elbow into Mal’s ribs.

Mal staggered in pain, and the cover officer who’d been hanging back watchfully stepped forward. Mal drew in a deep breath, the surge of adrenaline in his system making his heart pound with fear and anger. His internal sense of justice was screaming this is wrong, this isn’t fair. I didn’t deserve this. Someone tell me I didn’t deserve this? He tried to argue with himself firmly. It’s just a minute’s pain. That’s all it is. Don’t let him get to you.

His drive to do something overwhelmed him, his pounding heart and the shaky feeling in his stomach driving him to action. He clenched his fists to slam a punch into the offending officer’s face, even knowing in his rational mind that it was impossible. Anger driven by hurt and fear knew no reason. The already painfully tight handcuffs seared his wrists as he momentarily struggled to bring his fist up, and Mal gulped, fighting back his panic and anger with every fiber of his being and losing. But with metal shackles holding his arms tightly in position, all that the two guards saw was a man in pain.

“Hey!” said the cover officer sharply. “Bein’ a bit rough on this guy, aren’t you?”

“Gwai-gwai long duh dong do you care?” snapped the first guard. “Ain’t my fault he thinks he’s all special, gettin’ paraded about like I’m his personal gorram servant. What the gorram hell is this, take your gorram prisoner for a walk in the park day?”

“Someone didn’t get their coffee this morning,” muttered the cover officer. “You’re on cover, I’m taking over. Find someone who deserves it to pick on next time, would ya?”

Mal looked gratefully at his new escort, who met him with a firm stare. “I’m not your friend,” the man said. “Don’t think I’m going to let you step out of line.” Mal nodded, looking away with his heart still pounding. A kind word from the man protecting him wouldn’t have helped much, but the verbal slap in the face added a sense of hurt he hadn’t needed.

A third officer strolled down the hall and swiped an access card on the door in front of them, holding it open. It was one of the interrogation rooms, set up like a small office with a desk and chairs and a plastic replica of a potted plant in the corner beside a small couch. Mal obeyed an order to sit, wincing as the handcuffs bit into his wrists again. The new officer removed them carefully, noticing the pain the move had caused, and they left him sitting alone in the room.

He leaned forward on the desk, his face buried in his hands. He tried to focus, resenting his insecurity and the pack of newfound fears that followed him about. When he’d first arrived, his misery had little to do with the way he was treated. He’d viewed most interactions with his guards and interrogators as a game in a way he could barely imagine now. It was one he’d been good at, too.

In one of his more lucid periods, a soft-spoken doctor had told him that he that he should’ve died of shock long before they’d gotten to him. That most men would never have regained consciousness. Sometimes he wondered if they should have finished the job; if maybe he’d been wrong and the rest of the ‘verse right. Maybe he deserved to be beaten to death for the things he’d done in the name of the losing side of that war. Was his hatred of the Alliance simply a shield to protect him from admitting he’d really been wrong?

This was a prison where Khiloh and many others treated their prisoners with consideration and respect, where interrogation rooms held couches and landscaping that screamed look how civilized we are, and where Lee protected him and treated him kindly. A part of him could still hear a young man’s comforting voice outside his cell, talking to him softly for hours. This place wasn’t operated with malice. These weren’t the actions of monsters bent on universal domination.

The memory of that pleasant voice would always be matched by the casual coldness in the voices of the guards outside another cell he’d occupied. He remembered the faces of two frightened young men. This was also a place that locked up boys, traumatized friendly, goofy pilots, and had guards with no qualms about kicking around a handcuffed prisoner. Who wouldn’t hesitate to do the same to a helpless, scared kid. That can’t be right. Not sure I know what right is any more, but it’s just not.

The door beeped open and Mal spun his head around, beholding a sight that instantly eased his worries. Zoe was being ushered in, her face blank but her eyes lighting up at the sight of Mal. They released her and closed the door, leaving the two alone together.

“Zoe,” said Mal softly, standing and wrapping his arms around her in a gentle hug. Zoe pressed herself close to him and hugged him with her face nestled against his chest as she had so long ago in his cell. The two remained intertwined for what seemed like minutes, relishing each other’s touch. This was something far deeper than any sexual attraction; it was two friends offering and seeking comfort and love with complete trust. Mal tilted his head down and kissed Zoe gently on the top of the head, leaving his face buried in her hair.

Finally Zoe stepped back slightly and moved to his side, wrapping her arm tightly around his back. She’d felt the slight quiver in Mal’s body and the pounding of his heart, and she knew her friend was still suffering, even though outwardly he appeared strong and calm. He’d hold it together in the face of the devil himself if it meant keeping his soldiers on the line, and that was a quality he clearly hadn’t lost.

He placed his arm around her shoulders and they clung to each other as they walked wordlessly to the couch and sat, still holding each other and relishing the contact. “Don’t hardly recognize you without the dirt and blood an’ all,” said Mal. In all honesty, she looked amazing; her face held a healthy glow, and her slim figure looked completely different unburdened with heavy gear and weapons.

Zoe raised her eyebrows. “Sorry, sir, I forgot to put on my makeup this morning. Won’t happen again.” She kept her arm wrapped firmly around Mal, as though if she held him tightly enough she could hold him together and fix the pain inside him. For his part, Mal was clinging to her as though she were a raft lost in a raging ocean, one that could be lost forever with a momentary loosening of his grip.

“Good, ‘cause I might mistake you for a goddess or somethin’” said Mal with a grin.

Zoe’s eyes opened comically wide. “Flattery? Was that flattery I heard? From you? You didn’t tell me you’d been brainwashed.” She marveled, not for the first time, at Mal’s ability to call forth strength and humor.

“I am a man of many talents,” responded Mal. “For all you know I sing musical numbers and play with floppy dolls in my spare time, so don’t you go-”

Zoe cut him off by grabbing him in a fierce hug, planting a kiss on his forehead. “It’s good to have you back, sir.” She leaned back, studying him fondly. “You scared me, you know. You really, really scared me.”

Mal looked at her, thinking how much he truly adored this woman. “Very sorry, ma’am. Won’t happen again.”

“They ever let you out of that cage, sir?” she asked.

“Wh-at?”

“That suicide watch cell. Did Lee ever get you out of there?”

Mal nodded and looked at her, understanding taking hold. “You – never heard?”

Zoe shook her head, a somber expression on her face. “Last I heard you were dying, sir.” She looked away. “They never told me,” she said, her voice betraying the emotion she was trying to control. “-If you were dead, or if they were keeping you alive-“

“I wasn’t dying!” protested Mal.

Zoe ignored Mal’s protest. “Never one to do things half way, are you, sir? Never seen you mope before, but I have to say you do it with as much zeal as you do most everything else.”

Mal chuckled. “Mope? Couldn’t you think of somethin’ a mite more manly and dignified?”

“And since when has bein’ dignified entered into your thoughts? Or is this new, to go along with starvin’ yourself to death?”

“No,” said Mal, hugging her tighter as he realized why Zoe was feelin such a need to harp on the matter. “I already promised you, won’t happen again. Not that it wasn’t fun an’ all, but a guy’s gotta move on, try new things.”

Zoe silently gripped him back, laying her head against him. “I promise,” repeated Mal softly. He felt her nod in return, and relaxed back against the couch. They sat in silence for some time, not feeling the need for words.

An uninformed observer might have mistaken them for lovers; in truth their bond had never been encumbered by such matters. Theirs was a friendship forged by countless nights huddled in foxholes as weapons of war clashed all around them, by helping one another maintain the struggle for life and sanity in circumstances more miserably desperate than most people could comprehend. For each of them, the other was quite literally the only person left in the world that they could trust without reservation, and sheer human contact was a salve on battered souls.

After a long silence, Mal asked the question he could barely bring himself to voice. “How are you, Zoe?”

“Down five to six in battleship.” Mal blinked in puzzlement, and she elaborated, “Doing just fine, sir. If the Alliance has a word for pampering in their language, it would pretty much describe how they’re treating us.”

Mal breathed a deep sigh of relief, and Zoe could feel some of the tension melt from his body. “Good,” he said simply.

“How’s life treating you?” Zoe asked.

There was a torn look in Mal’s eyes. “Made a couple of friends, one of the guards is an amazingly decent guy. An’ there’s this pilot fellow named Wash.” Zoe saw affection cross Mal’s face. “Been stuck here six years, but he’s still a gentle-natured sort for all that. Gorram funny, too.”

“Sounds like the sort of friend you could use about now,” said Zoe. Her heart ached for Mal, knowing he was struggling so hard to cope, and wishing desperately that she could be there to help him through it. It seemed supremely unfair that she found her time here relaxing while Mal, who cherished his freedom and independence so deeply, was being torn apart by it.

Mal nodded. “He’s been a good friend,” he said thoughtfully. “Tried to run ‘im off a time or two, but he’s just naïve and pigheaded enough to ignore it.”

Zoe shook her head in frustration at Mal, a tolerant gleam in her eyes. “Pigheaded. No, that doesn’t remind me of anyone.”

Mal raised his eyebrows in protest. “Hey! I-“

“Fought an impossible battle with a tiny handful of troops against overwhelming odds for two weeks after our side had officially lost? Refused to listen to a single person who tried to tell you it was impossible?”

Mal blinked repeatedly. “Uh – well – um, not_” he sighed in defeat. “Pigheaded it is, then. But he tried to feed me a dead spider.”

“And you roped your Lieutenant!”

“Hey! I missed the ranch, is all,” said Mal, laughing at the memory. They fell silent, Mal tilting his head over and resting it against the side of hers as they sat.

To be continued....