Gray was lying on one of the now bare metal platforms in the far corner of the darkened building, and Mal approached with Khiloh’s supplies. “How you feelin?” he asked.

Gray didn’t move. “Rutting wonderful,” he said sarcastically, a very slight quiver in his voice belying his tough tone. Mal fetched a cup of water, handing it to Gray along with some of the pills Khiloh had given him. The man accepted it silently and then turned away, and Mal let him be, looking at the other members of the downcast group in the darkness. Nobody spoke, and Mal made his slow and frustrating way over to his bunk.

**

There was a sad, uncomfortable silence in the small building the next morning. Mal had slept easily enough, having spent so much time sleeping under combat conditions that the lack of minor comforts didn’t faze him. The others were awake most of the night, lying unhappily on the cold metal platforms trying to imagine themselves warm and comfortable. Every time one of them would start to drift off, the very awake Gray or the sleeping Mal would shift position and the sound of chains grating on the metal bunk would jerk them awake. When day finally dawned on the seemingly endless night, nobody spoke or moved about much.

Mal’s eyes blinked open sleepily, and he stretched with a yawn, startling at the abruptly loud sound of the shackles attached to his ankles. He rubbed a sore shoulder and glanced around sheepishly to see who he might have awakened. Seeing the others were awake, he laid his head back down and closed his eyes.

Finally Wash couldn’t take it any more and rolled to a sitting position. “Guys? We’re all friends, right? Can we act like it, please? I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m about miserable with this suffering in silence nonsense. We’re having a rough spell, and I reckon we need each other right about now,” said Wash.

Mal opened his eyes and looked at the pilot. He looked cold and unhappy, but his voice was steady and he met Mal’s eyes with an affectionate smile. Mal looked around the room; it was hard and vacant and dark, echoing the mood.

Matty’s head appeared. “Are we?” he asked. “Friends, I mean. Seems most of you are about two seconds away from ripping each other’s throats out, and I’m quite certain I’m not the only one dreaming of beating the ever-living daylights out of Straaker when he gets back. Not exactly the warmest atmosphere in here.”

“That’s ‘cause the power’s off,” said Mal mischievously.

“No distracting from my motivational speech with your witty asides,” protested Wash. “You’re ruining the mood.” The two men exchanged friendly glares, and Mal put his head down again.

“Look,” Wash said, a steady certainty in his voice. “We’re all locked up in here together, and we’re aren’t going to blame each other or beat each other up, ‘cause we’re not going to do the guard’s jobs for them. They want to punish us, make us miserable, well let’s just see if we can’t make that harder than they think, okay? I’ll stay up every night of the week and sing karaoke or play shadow puppets if it means beating them at that game.”

Mal chuckled. “Shadow puppets? Imagine I’d volunteer to get chained up for a week to see that.”

Wash grinned at him. “Not once you see how bad I am at it, you won’t. Just be grateful you didn’t vote for the singing.”

“Hey, singing’s my territory,” protested Mal.

“You can sing?” asked the surprised Zeke.

“Um – yeah,” said Mal with a sheepish look. “Church choir.”

Wash’s eyes flew open wide. “You?” The puzzlement in his eyes made him look like a confused beagle.

Mal nodded. “Ironical, isn’t it?” He swung his feet off the metal platform and sat, leaning down to inspect the pieces of metal fettering his ankles. They were simple enough, and in the growing light Mal could see the short chain linking them which had given him such fits the night before.

“I think they look pretty,” said Wash. “Slimming fit, you know?”

Mal laughed. “Glad they bring ya’ so much joy, you heartless - monster,” he said with a grin. He stood and started to hobble carefully towards the bathroom at the back of the building, harboring no desire to jerk himself about as he had the night before. To his exasperation, it only took a few steps to forget and yank himself to a stop.

The previous night’s unreasonable panic was gone, but Mal still wanted to curse in frustration. Every eye in the room was on him, and while he loathed admitting it to himself, he was acutely embarrassed. He took a deep breath, reminding himself that was probably the whole point of the thing. Remind me to work on my magical vanishing powers, he thought, turning to face the others. And, teleportation. This walking business is getting annoying about now.

They met Mal’s gaze with uncertain sympathy, and a wild thought jumped into his head, making him grin despite himself. He threw his hands up in the air in defeat and laid down on the ground, dragging himself across the floor in an ungainly wiggle. He glanced back and grinned as he heard laughter and saw Wash looking at him with one eyebrow raised in hilarious bemusement.

“What is that, your mermaid impression?” asked Wash as Mal resumed his crawl.

Mal stopped and rolled over on his back, propping himself up with his arms. “I was thinking something more serpentine,” he said. “But if you see me as a beautiful and elusive undersea fantasy, I’ll undertake to see that as complimentary instead of exceptionally creepifying.”

Wash waved his hand dismissively. “It’s only a compliment if you think scaly, smelly things are somehow appealing. And barnacles. Don’t mermaids have barnacles?” He wrinkled his nose in distaste.

Mal feigned a pout. He was relishing playing the fool, making an uncomfortable situation so ridiculous that it was quickly turning into the high point of the day. “Fine,” he grumbled. “Never needed my dignity anyway.” He rolled over and started crawling away.

“Looks more like a fish to me,” commented Zeke. “Grounded, gasping for air……..”

“And yet he thinks he can just sort of magically - wiggle - his way out of this situation!” said Wash. While the others were still watching the normally grim and aloof Mal’s mermaid impression with startled fascination, Wash wasted no time. He gleefully jumped to his feet to chase Mal, who launched himself forward with increasing speed and determination.

Being careful not to hurt his friend, Wash grabbed his ankle and pulled back, halting the hapless Sergeant’s progress. “Nice try, buddy,” he said with a grin.

Mal gasped and flailed, wiggling furiously. “Ya’ know the one that got away? That’s-“

“Not you?” said Wash. “Exactly. You’ll look good mounted on my wall. Don’t you think?” he asked, motioning towards Mal.

Zeke shrugged. “I’m a fan of catch and release, myself. The whole bashing ‘em over the head thing makes me a bit queasy.”

Mal threw himself forward, laughing, and Wash started dragging him ever so slowly backwards, ignoring his theatrical howls of protest.

“Net! I need a net!” said Wash, waving frantically with his free arm.

“What are you, the dog-catcher now?” protested Mal. “Make up your gorram mind!”

Wash grinned and released him, and Mal collapsed on the floor as though exhausted. He laid there for a minute, content, before getting up.

**

Gray spent most of the morning huddled on his bunk, seemingly uninterested in what was happening around him and refusing to join into the conversations. Finally Mal pulled up a chair next to him.

“What’s bothering?” he asked.

Gray glared up at him. “Nothing,” he said.

“The sort of nothing where you do something stupid, and wind up being painfully and humiliatingly subdued by heavily armed men?” asked Mal. Gray’s face relaxed a little, and Mal continued. “Because you might ‘ave deserved it doesn’t mean it wasn’t traumatic, you know.”

Gray gave Mal a helpless look, and finally said, “Traumatic? It’s all these bastards ever do, is traumatic.”

“You messed up,” said Mal. “You gonna face up to that fact, or you blaming that on the Alliance too?”

“Go to hell,” growled Gray in a quiet voice.

“Already been there,” replied Mal, standing and moving away soberly.

**

The changing of the guard never took place in their view, but as the day shift officer walked away with purpose in his stride, Mal and Wash exchanged glances. They were lounging in the thin, warm afternoon sun, and they knew Khiloh would be coming on duty in minutes. Matty and Zeke were out there with them, drifting in and out of sleep, making up for what they’d missed during the long night before. The four men had gravitated to one corner of the yard, unconsciously seeking each other’s company and support. Only Gray chose to remain in the cold, gloomy concrete building.

They all looked up when they heard footsteps crunching in the gravel. It took a moment to register that the figure approaching wasn’t Khiloh. With a feeling of distaste, Mal recognized the man heading for their gate. He was the weekend day shift guard, a man they all loathed. In fact, they all praised assorted deities for the fact that they were only stuck with him two days of the week.

The guard stopped at the gate and glared at them in disgust. “On your feet,” he ordered. He hit the intercom unit and ordered Gray out of the building. The four men stood, Mal bristling as he obeyed. The guard regarded his prisoners with genuine disdain, kicking them in the legs to line them up for meals and more often than not hitting them by way of command. Verbal communication wasn’t one of his skills, and Mal had harbored an intense desire to smash the man’s head into a wall for some time now.

“Don’t just stand there, you rutting defiant little assholes, get over here!” The men obeyed resignedly, Mal and Gray slowed by the uncomfortable shuffle the chains forced them into. It wasn’t overlooked by the unsympathetic figure at the gate, who swore at them with orders to hurry up.

“Stand at attention,” the surly guard snapped. “You lot are being punished for fighting, you think that somehow translates into being allowed to laze around in the sun all day?” Nobody answered him; they simply stood as they were ordered, trying to keep the hatred they all felt hidden. “You think that means you lie around and we wait on you little go se-worshippers hand and foot? Forget about dinner, I hope you starve. Stay here at attention.”

With that, he turned and walked away. “Spreading happiness and joy wherever he goes,” muttered Wash when the guard was out of earshot.

“Fuck,” growled Gray much less eloquently.

The guard proceeded to prowl the yards at the opposite end of the gravel corridor leading from theirs, purposely ignoring the men standing uncomfortably at attention. He was well out of earshot, and quietly Wash voiced the concern that had been haunting both Mal and Wash. “Where’s Khiloh?”

Mal’s eyes darkened. None of the possibilities were good: a dead boy, a sudden transfer, an accident as an exhausted man drove himself to the hospital. He didn’t answer Wash’s question, knowing it was hopeless to guess.

“Mal?” came Wash’s voice again. It held a note Mal rarely heard, deadly serious and filled with genuine worry. Mal raised his head and looked soberly at the pilot. “That boy is Khiloh’s whole world. Well, that and his wife. If his son is dead – I don’t think the Khiloh we know will survive.”

“Time like this, you gotta go all perceptive on us?” asked Mal flippantly. He regretted it instantly, and changed his tone. “I know,” he said softly. “Sort of thing that destroys the best of people.”

**

They stood in the yard for hours, feet aching and spirits low. The petty abuse and insults of the guard outside the fence somehow stung far more than they should, a constant reminder of the good man who should have been there in his place.

The only lightening of their spirits was caused by a small smile on Mal’s face. “You enjoying yourself over there?” Wash asked.

“Yes,” said Mal dryly. “Try the mental image of that guy and The Eyebrow getting chased around a theme park by reavers. It’ll lighten your mood for sure.”

“You are an evil, twisted individual,” said Wash. “Did I ever mention that? I think I mentioned that.” He was smiling, but even joking couldn’t erase the anxiety in his voice. Mal bantered back, knowing the best he could offer was a moment’s distraction from the heartsick worry the pilot was feeling for his friend.

**

The five men sat in the far corner of the dark housing unit, barely able to see each other by the light of the yard lights seeping through the window. They didn’t much want conversation, yet they all gravitated together for company and support. They’d been forced to stand outside and endure the whims of the swing shift guard all afternoon and into the night, shivering and trying to keep themselves distracted. When the graveyard guard had assumed his duties, he’d given them all a questioning look and sent them inside. He wasn’t a warm or friendly individual, but he’d never mistreated them and at that moment he’d looked like a rescuing angel to the cold, tired group of prisoners.

“Wash?” It was Gray, questioning and hesitant, speaking up for the first time. Wash raised his head from his knees and looked at him. “I’m sorry. About Khiloh. And – what I did.” A silence. “He’s a better man than me for damn sure, and I’m worried about him.”

“I’m sure he forgives you,” responded Wash, his voice a shade cooler than normal.

“Do you?” asked Gray.

“Look – yes,” said Wash. “And I felt awful watching what they did to you yesterday. I just kinda wish you’d quit the hiding in a corner moping like you’re the only person ever got beat up, or that you’ve got exclusive license and merchandising rights on hating the Alliance.”

“So you’re telling me to get over myself?” asked Gray dryly.

“Stop with the sulking, more like,” said Mal. “Gets - tiresome.”

Mal’s words stung, and Gray fell silent. Finally he addressed Mal bitterly. “So, what, you’re just going to forgive the Alliance and say everything’s okay?”

“You must be a shade confused,” said Mal. “I haven’t forgiven the Alliance, and I got no plan to. But forgiving and accepting a reality are two mighty different things, and there’s no percentage in letting a grudge blind you, in particular when it comes to a good man happened to choose the wrong side. So you wanna talk forgiveness, pick another guy.”

“How about what we don’t talk about,” said Gray, glaring at Mal in the darkness. “You, skinny and weak and with more scars than I could count. You, waking up screaming at night. And yet you got no problem making friends with these bastards. How does a guy who’s been tortured as badly as you were wind up-“

“I’m not makin’ the very slippery mistake of blamin’ these individual folks for all the amalgamated evils of the Alliance,” interrupted Mal. “Let’s move on from me very rapidly, and ask what it is the Alliance did ta’ you, what it is you clearly can’t let go of.”

“What it is I can’t let go of?” asked Gray softly, his voice faltering for a split second. Finally he sighed and told his story bluntly. “I was the medevac coordinator for the orbiting hospital ship Cordova. I was the guy who managed taking the distress calls and arranging pickups of wounded soldiers. When the battle of Serenity Valley began, we were positioned in range for transports, we were the primary hospital ship for the quadrant. The Alliance attacked us – attacked a hospital ship – and commandeered us. They forced us to start picking up their men instead.”

Gray shifted position uncomfortably. “And when I say forced, I mean forced. I tried to refuse, and the first thing they did, before I could even blink, they shot my radio operator. They – they shot out his knees, then while he was screaming in agony they killed him. He was – he was my best friend, the guy who meant more to me than any person I’ve ever known, and they slaughtered him without even thinking about it. I was hysterical, enraged, didn’t even care about living, and so they sat me down and beat me until I did.”

There was a sobered silence in the room, the silence of men who’d heard and seen too many such stories to feel shock, just quiet horror and understanding. Gray took a moment to steady himself before he continued, sensing the wordless compassion of his companions.

“Gracious bastards that they were, they allowed us to continue treating the Independent soldiers already on board. But after that they – started using the ship for their own wounded, but we still had all the Independent comm. channels open. Weeks of hearing the calls come in, knowing about the soldiers that were dying on the ground because we weren’t allowed to pick them up. When the Alliance started using that information to target strikes, we disabled them. But even when we couldn’t hear the calls we still knew.”

Gray looked hopelessly at Mal. “He was a special guy – just a wonderful human being. I just – I can’t even fathom how they could be so blind to that, how they could kill him so –awfully without even considering what – who he was.” It was the most sincere and unguarded thing any of them had heard him say.

“People become special because we love ‘em,” said Mal gently. “He wasn’t anybody to those men, maybe, but you made him special.”

Gray nodded, looking away as his eyes clouded with emotion. His shoulders shook, and he buried his face in his hands. Nobody heard him sob, but the grief was plain to see. “Never told anyone,” he said after a few minutes. “Afraid to.”

“No need for that,” Mal said, his voice reassuring.

“You could have told us,” said Zeke. “We are your allies, you know.”

“Thanks,” said Gray, his voice softer than Mal had ever heard it.

“Look – it’s what happens in a war,” said Mal. “Death and ruin and the people you care about destroyed. It’s why we don’t in general do them for fun. We’re all looking at the ruins of what it is we loved.”

“So, we’re back to the telling me to get over it,” said Gray.

“No,” said Mal bluntly, remembering Zoe’s words to him as he’d fought his own overwhelming grief and anger. “I for one don’t ever intend on it. But don’t go hiding away in a corner thinkin’ you’re somehow apart from the world because of it. You want to betray what it was you fought for, you spend the rest of your life in surrender, hiding in a corner because this massacre touched you and yours.”

Gray jerked his head around to look at Mal in hurt and anger. He deflated when he felt Mal’s grip, holding his shoulder in steady reassurance. “I know it hurts,” said Mal, the soberness in his voice leaving no doubt in anyone’s mind as to its sincerity. “I know it hurts,” he repeated softly. Gray nodded quietly, relaxing.

The five men were silent in shared sadness, Mal’s words resonating in their minds as they each bit back painful memories. There was something oddly companionable about it, a warmth that came from simply understanding that none of them were alone in this experience. Nobody wanted to move or speak, and one by one they simply lay down on the floor in their sheltering corner, seeing no point in moving to equally uncomfortable bunks.