Mal found the days passing more easily after his little confessional with Wash. It was comforting to have even one person he wasn’t constantly on guard around, who didn’t look at him sideways with unasked questions in his mind. The haunted look he’d noticed flickering across the pilot’s eyes at times had retreated, a zany, hilarious streak emerging in its place.

He still wasn’t sure how he felt about the other aftermath of their discussion; Wash saw him as a friend, and Mal knew it meant a lot to the young man that he’d trusted him enough to take him into his confidence. But Mal still felt shattered when he saw the trust and friendship on Wash’s face, unable to shake the echoes of men lying dead on the floor of Serenity Valley. He wasn’t keen on caring about yet another person who could be killed or snatched away in a second by the Alliance.

It was a warm, lazy afternoon, and a combination of boredom and a large lunch convinced Mal that a nap would be a nearly enjoyable activity. He grinned to himself, recalling Wash’s running commentary in the meal hall. “All you can eat prison buffet, Mal, dig right in. Today, our chef recommends the pink protein mash, featuring subtle undertones of genuine artificial strawberry flavor.”

He yawned and closed his eyes in what approached contentment. That was one pleasant side-effect of being locked up; he was fairly certain he was catching up on every minute of sleep he hadn’t gotten during the war, and he had to admit it felt good. The bunks they provided might lack a certain sense of luxury, but they were mightily comfortable when compared to a rocky, muddy trench with cold, standing rainwater serving as a mattress.

Far too soon, the sound of agitated voices disrupted his slumber, and he reluctantly pried one eye open. Gray was standing in one corner, glaring with resentment at Straaker, who was sitting on the end of an empty bunk with a condescendingly pleasant expression on his face.

“Next time you’re tempted to try to mediate between me and another officer,” snarled Gray, “just stop and walk away. I don’t want your help, your sympathy, or your idiotically high-minded ideas of yourself. I can ta ma duh tyen-shia my own relationships perfectly well without you making things worse.”

“Listen, son-”

“And that can also be the last, the absolute last time you call me son!”

“I recognize that you’re troubled, and as the de facto commanding officer in here, it’s my duty to do what I can to-”

“Piss off everyone in here? Take an already incredibly awkward situation and make it as bad as you possibly can?”

“Son,” said Straaker, nodding in Mal’s direction, “you’re acting undisciplined and unprofessional, and you’re doing it in front of another prisoner. It’s time to start acting like a soldier-”

Gray’s eyes were wide with rage and astonishment. “Chur ni-duh! We’re in prison! We’re prisoners of war, and our military no longer rutting exists! I don’t know what ching-wah tsao duh liou mahng was stupid enough to give you rank in the first place, but you seriously, seriously need to cut it out!”

Straaker jumped to his feet and stood glaring at Gray, his face inches away from the glowering prisoner. “Son, I’m being tolerant here. This kind of disrespect and foul language is simply not acceptable.”

Gray’s mouth dropped open in disbelief, and after several seconds he drew back his arm and punched Straaker squarely in the cheek. Mal sighed and walked up to the two men as Straaker shoved Gray angrily and ineffectively into the wall.

“Sorry to interrupt, but you two are kinda interfering with my nap,” he said in an agreeable tone of voice. “Inconsiderate, waking a guy up in the middle of the afternoon.” Both men glanced at him briefly before Gray drew back his fist again.

“Hold it,” said Mal firmly, giving Gray a steady look as he grabbed Straaker’s arm firmly and shoved him out of range of Gray’s indignant fists. “Not sure what in the name of an infantile Buddha you two are arguing about, but given the fact that you have to live with each other, I’d give some serious thought to keeping your mouths shut and your fists down.”

Straaker turned his commanding glare on Mal, shaking his arm indignantly, as though an annoying insect were clinging to it. Straaker was a tall man, but his strikingly ineffective manner negated any authority he might have imagined that his size conferred upon him. “This isn’t your place. As a matter of fact, I’m going to ask that you leave so that we can continue this discussion privately.”

Mal stood silently in place. “Son, that’s an order,” said Straaker patiently. “Take your leave.” Mal didn’t move during the long, awkward silence that followed. Finally, Straaker burst out angrily at Mal. “I ordered you to leave! What the – what are you playing at here!”

“Following my own advice,” said Mal agreeably. “And, kinda hoping you two go your separate ways soon so I can get back to that nap I mentioned.”

An even longer silence ensued until broken by a startling tone from the intercom box mounted on the wall. “Reynolds, report to the gate,” ordered a crisp voice.

Mal headed wordlessly for the door, his relief at the interruption tempered by sudden anxiety. He wondered what they wanted with him, considering and disregarding the possibility that they needed him in the hospital wing. They still hauled him in frequently for checkups and a variety of shots he was convinced were more for the doctor’s benefit than his, but his still-sore arm reminded him he’d already been there once today. He walked out towards the gate, trading an uneasy glance with Wash.

He was slightly relieved to see that Khiloh was one of the two officers awaiting him, but it didn’t do a whole lot to relieve the anxiety twisting in his gut. He would have liked to ask where he was being taken, but it was a habit he’d given up long ago. They never answered; prisoners were expected to go wherever they were ordered, never mind where or why.

Khiloh gave the anxious Mal a quick, reassuring glance. In the last couple of weeks, Mal had grown to genuinely trust the steady, good-hearted guard. Mal could tell that the man was compassionate enough to know the fear he hid every time they went through this routine, and while he was smart enough to avoid attracting any undue attention, he was always patient and kind. It was a strangely enormous relief to find that one of the people he’d viewed as cold, frightening, and associated with some of the most miserable hours of his existence was in all reality one of the most decent human beings in this place.

With the second officer standing watchful guard, Khiloh ordered Mal’s hands behind his head and opened the gate for him to step out. The second officer, a man Mal didn’t recognize, locked the gate behind him. Mal placed his hands on the fence above his head without waiting for the order, standing motionless as Khiloh placed him in handcuffs.

Khiloh accidentally tugged on the chain linking the metal shackles, and Mal flinched involuntarily. His heart and his mind trusted the understanding young officer; his body, on the other hand, was terrified. Khiloh gave his arm a reassuring squeeze, steadying him and propelling him forward. “It’s okay, I’m sorry, I won’t hurt you.” He could see the message plain as day in Khiloh’s every move. It was an odd feeling, being comforted by the very person responsible for scaring him half to death on a regular basis.

Mal relaxed slightly, distracted by the march through an unfamiliar branch of the maze of fences, buildings, and corridors. He often wondered just how long it took the guards to learn their way around the vast complex, and how many times they’d gotten lost with him in tow and never let on, wandering around until they found some clue as to their whereabouts. Probably never, but he found the possibility vastly entertaining.

Finally they arrived at a tall, elaborately designed building that bore little resemblance to the rest, a pretentious sign at the entrance reading “Administration Unit 1.” This was new. And a little unnerving, although he’d been led into far more intimidating places. In his opinion, people drawn to jobs with titles like “Administrator” and “Manager” were possibly the most deranged individuals in the galaxy.

Yep, whatever this was, it was gonna be fun. The wash of air conditioning mirrored the chill in Mal’s gut as he wondered if they knew he’d confided in Wash. He discarded that possibility as a new fear seized him; was he being transferred? He felt lost at the thought of being separated from Wash, just like he’d been separated from Zoe. Guess I like havin’ a friend, he realized, feeling a very familiar flash of resentment at the power this miserable, faceless organization wielded over him.

He also couldn’t help but notice that he was the only one in handcuffs as the unknown guard led him and Khiloh into an immaculate elevator and pushed a button for the top floor. Mal glanced at him and raised his eyebrows humorously. “So I’m gettin’ the behind the scenes tour,” he commented. “Do I have to pay extra?” An amused grin flickered across the guard’s face, and while he didn’t reply, the tension had been broken.

They exited the elevator into a lavishly carpeted hallway, and stopped outside a door guarded by two heavily armed officers. They appeared to have been expecting his arrival, rapping briefly on the door before swinging it open and stepping aside.

Khiloh noticed Mal falter for a split second and placed a firm hand on his back, urging him calmly forward into a large room that Mal recognized instantly with a mixture of relief and nausea. He was standing in Matthew Lee’s office.

The last time he’d been in here, it had been a welcome, comforting refuge for his terribly hurt and frightened self, and Mal felt instantly at ease in the homey room, decorated in warm contrast to the cold, sleek modernity of the rest of the building. At the same time, the memory of lying on that couch reeling from the most horrifying experience of his life was suddenly all too real, and he found himself fighting the urge to turn and run.