Status: Completed 4/27/07

Word Count: 1,747

Author's Note: The Chinese translations were taken from a few different Firefly sites. I couldn't find anything saying how long the war lasted, so for the purpose of this fic, I'm going with five years.

*words* is someone's thoughts ________________________

Mal sighed heavily as he waited for his captors to return. "Well now, this is an unexpected twist." He muttered. The manacles held his hands up shoulder length apart; his feet barely touched the floor. He estimated it had been about an hour since they'd, literally, left him hanging there. His shoulders where beginning to get sore, so he stood on his toes to relieve the stress on them. The position did nothing for his throbbing head either.

Mal snorted in disgust as he looked around the room as much as his current position would allow. The Alliance definitely had more than just talking in mind. He estimated the room to be about twelve foot by twelve foot long. The wall in front of him held a rack with instruments that held the promise of a whole lot of pain for the person or persons unlucky enough to have them used on him. *I get the distinct impression I'm gonna be gettin’ personally acquainted with some of those things. Real up close and personal like.*

There was a whip hanging by the handle from a hook. Next to it was what appeared to be a cattle prod. Mal gulped and prayed they'd avoid using that one on him. Not that he _wanted_ them to use any of those things on him, but that one just looked particularly nasty. He remembered hearing stories of them being used on Earth-That-Was to control livestock. His eyes moved onto the next item and he felt his stomach tighten. *What the hell do they use _that_ for?* It appeared to be a very wide blade with a hook-like tip. His eyes glanced over the other items. They didn't look any less scary.

Feeling the bile rise in his throat, Mal looked away from the rack. Other than a hose just to the left of the rack and a plain metal chair in the corner, the rest of the room, or what he could see of it anyway, was empty. The walls were the same dingy gray as a prison cell. Looking down, he noticed what looked like a drain below his feet. He also noticed the, as of yet unused, set of manacles there.

He shivered as a chill ran up and down his spine. Mal wondered if it was caused by what he'd seen or because it was a might bit chilly in the room. He supposed that could, possibly, be due to the fact that he was currently shirtless and shoeless. At least they’d left his trousers on.

Bored, and not really wanting to think on what they were going to do to him (or what they might be doing to his people) he let himself drift into a light sleep.

Several minutes later, he heard them enter, but kept his eyes closed and head bowed. A bucket of ice-cold water to the face surely made for a rude awakening. Mal's eyes flew open as he gasped. He glared at the _Tah mah duh hwoon dahn_ who'd doused him as menacingly as was possible for someone in his position. The offending purple belly simply smiled back at him. Not a friendly smile either. The two men behind him wore equally unpleasant smiles.

*This certainly is more than a routine interrogation*, Mal thought. *And it ain't gonna be pleasant. Not for me, least wise.* "This ain't exactly a normal manor for processing prisoners of a war that's done and over with."

"We know who you are, Sergeant Malcolm Reynolds, 57th Brigade. And you will pay for what you have done."

*Well now. That has an effect on the landscape, don't it?* Mal stared at the other man in confusion, not rightly sure what he'd done to make the Alliance so damn angry with him specifically. Sure, he was the one that had mostly held the Independent forces together at the valley, but that couldn't be the sole reason the man before him looked ready to kill him in the slowest and most painful way possible. He was positive he'd find out soon enough, and in a most unpleasant manor.

"You know my name. Seems to me it's about time you introduced yourselves properly, wouldn't you say? Seeing as how you folks are so civilized and all."

His answer was a fist to the face that rocked his head back and split his lower lip open.

"Bit rude there don't you think? Thought the almighty Alliance was so supposed to have better manners than us border world brigands."

The man's response was the same. Mal blinked away the stars and glared at the _Hwin dan_. He opened his mouth to make another smart-assed reply, but another fist impacted his face with a brain rattling impact. And it didn't end there. The blows continued to fall for what seemed like forever. The Alliance officers were merciless in their attack. Blow after blow connected with his face, chest, and back.

As the attack finally ended, Mal sagged against his restraints. His full weight pulled on his shoulders. He didn't have the energy to try to stand. Blood trickled from several small cuts on his face and splattered on the floor. His breathing was ragged. His head throbbed. His entire upper body hurt. _Breathing_ hurt. Bruises were already starting to form, but he was fairly sure nothing was broken.

Yet.

Somehow, he mustered the strength to lift his head and speak. "I take it you boys are a might pissed that it took ya's six weeks to take Serenity Valley from us when you figured you'd take it in a day?"

A muscle twitched in the man's face, but Mal plowed on. "'Course, it's only 'cause _The Powers That Be_ backed down 'stead of givin' us our _gorram_ air support. Otherwise we'd still be there kicking the hell outta your purple belly butts."

He knew it was not a wise decision to antagonize the man being in his current position as he was, but Mal had never claimed to be exceptionally bright.

Besides, it was fun. Until he got to the hitting part.

The muscle twitched again. Without a word, and faster than Mal had expected, yet another fist lashed out and connected with his already battered face. This one sent him blissfully into unconsciousness.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Zoë paced across the limited confines of her cell. There were at least two-dozen people in a cell not designed to hold that many at once. She ignored the glares of her cellmates as they quickly moved their feet to avoid being stepped on.

Zoë took note of their surroundings as she continued to pace. *The walls could do with some paint.* There were several spots where large areas of paint had been chipped away leaving exposed concrete. What paint was left was the ugly, faded gray one would usually associate with a prison cell.

There was an odor to it too. She couldn’t rightly tell if it was coming from the cell itself, or from the current occupants who had been packed into it. None of which had bathed properly in nearly a month. Not one of ‘em had a clean spot on their entire body. Their cloths were filthy and, for most of them, torn in several places.

Something wasn't right. Mal'd been gone to long. It'd been several hours since he'd been taken. The war was over. There weren't no need to question him that long, especially since any intelligence he did have would be useless anyway. They'd spent two long, grueling weeks after the end of the war just waiting to be picked up. Or to die. Whichever came first. By the time they had been picked up, death had started looking pretty damn appealing.

She was worried about him. He was more than just her sergeant. He was her best friend. Had been since the real fighting had started. It still amused her a bit when she thought on that. They hadn't seemed to have much in common at first. She'd been in the military for two years before the war had officially started. He had volunteered a few weeks after. All young and innocent and cocky like. He lost the innocence far to soon. The cockiness, however, had stuck around.

He'd proven himself to be fiercely loyal, charismatic, brave, and more than just a bit daring, all traits that had helped him move up through the ranks quickly. It also helped that he was a damn fine strategist. His plans didn't always go as they should have, but they nearly always worked out at the end. Even when a plan did go to hell, Mal always had a backup at the ready. He did his damnedest to make sure everyone came back safe, even at his own expense, which was also maybe why the new recruits tended to stick real close to him. And why many a higher-ranking officer had often differed to him.

For five long years she and Mal had fought together, saving each other’s lives and helping with the healing when one of them got hurt. Never once, in all that time, did Mal let anyone believe the Independents would not be victorious. After the last lieutenant had fallen and the order to surrender had been given, he’d been their heart. Mal had held them together, kept them (mostly) sane while waiting to be picked up.

"Corporal?"

Pulled from her thoughts, Zoë stopped pacing and looked down into the eyes of a frightened young man she didn't recognize.

"You figure they're gonna let us go home? Or they gonna kill us?"

Sighing, she knelt beside the private. He weren't much more than a boy, really. Barely old enough to be on his own no less getting’ shot at and killin’.

"They ain't like to kill us now, Private, what with the war bein' won by them and all. Most likely they'll just keep us here for a bit, just to rattle us some, then send us on our way."

The private considered that for a moment. As Zoë got up to leave, he spoke again. "What about the Sarge? He's been gone an awful long while. "

Zoë hesitated. She really didn't want to think on what they might be doing to her friend right about now.

"No use frettin' on what we can't know."

Not exactly the most motivational thing to say, but that was Mal's department. It was on her to cover his back.

And she had failed.

TBC

Chinese translation:

Tah mah duh hwoon dahn = Mother humping son of a bitch

Hwin dan - Asshole