Simon walked in and stopped in his tracks. After a moment of utter stillness, his gaze traced over to Mal. “Should I even ask?”

“Stowed away,” said Mal calmly. “Looks to be in pretty rough shape, and there’s the small matter of the dent I put in the side of his head with my gun.”

Simon raised his eyebrows and didn’t bother to hide the slightly disgusted look on his face. “So you just had to beat him up, what, because he was there and so were you?”

Mal looked indignant. “I hit him. I didn’t beat him up, there’s a difference. ‘Sides, he went for my gun. Perfectly normal reaction.”

“Yeah, perfectly normal,” muttered Simon.

“Hey! I didn’t even knock him out!” protested Mal. “But somebody beat the hell out of this kid, and I’m thinkin’ maybe you should be savin’ some of that indignation of yours for whoever done it.”

“So you guys are just going to, what, talk about me all night?” broke in Harper. “Because, just in case you forgot, I am sitting right here, and as much fun as it is listening to your-“

He fell silent as Kaylee ran into the room breathlessly. “You all right, cap-“ Kaylee stopped short as her jaw dropped at the sight of their unexpected passenger. “Did – he – get mailed to us?” she asked.

“Nope,” said Mal. “This here is our resident stowaway.”

A fascinated grin spread across Kaylee’s face. “A stowaway? Shiny! We never had one of those before.”

“Um, well, come to think of it, you’re right,” said Mal, reflecting on the fact that it took a lot for something new to be thrown at this crew.

“Well, there was Saffron,” Simon pointed out.

“Yeah, but that was different. She married me an’ snuck aboard. I kinda doubt-” Mal looked sideways at Harper. “You ain’t married to me, are ya?”

“Absolutely no freakin’ way!

“See?” said Mal, gesturing at Kaylee. “Different. I say we christen him our first official stowaway.”

Simon moved to Harper’s side. “Let’s see that head of yours,” said Simon, reaching out with an antiseptic pad. Harper turned his head to the side sullenly and closed his eyes. Simon cleaned the blood and dirt from the wound and applied an antibiotic ointment with precise care, addressing Harper calmly.

“The injury’s not serious, just a little torn skin and some bruising. Can’t say as much for the rest of you, though. Are you in pain?”

“Are you sure you graduated medical school, there Doc? Or do you just enjoy playing dumb by asking really, mind-bogglingly idiotic questions? I think even mister smash-em on the head now and ask questions later over there figured that out already,” snapped Harper sarcastically, nodding towards Mal. “Of course I’m in pain, dumbass.”

Simon sighed. “Yes, I graduated medical school. I was at the top of my class, and I can easily see that you’re injured. I was trying to start a conversation, not get insulted by someone I’m trying to help. Are you allergic to any pain medications?”

“I dunno. Never tried any,” Harper replied.

Simon raised his eyebrows. “Well, then. You’re going to like this,” he said, preparing a syringe. Harper eyed him with deep suspicion, but reluctantly held still as the doctor slipped the needle into his arm.

“Owww!” Harper howled. “I was supposed to like that?” he asked snarkily.

Mal laughed. “Man after my own heart,” he said. “Might be smart of you not to heckle my doctor so much, though. Could stand to be on his good side, shape you’re in.”

A new voice cut in. “Taking in strays now, sir?” asked Zoe.

“Snuck himself aboard in a crate and proceeded to form a very low opinion of me,” said Mal.

“So what is he?” asked Zoe dryly. “Wife? Undead war buddy? Alliance mole? Or are we goin’ for something new here?”

“Come to think of it, I’m not exactly sure,” said Mal, looking speculatively at Harper. “Are you a thief?” he asked, remembering the rumors around the docks.

Harper shook his head rapidly. “You can tell us if you are,” said Mal with understanding. “Done my own share of thieving, even been bound by law more’n once my own self.”

“I’m not, I swear,” said Harper. “Not this time anyway, they made that up to try’n catch me. I just wanted to get away, and even I have to admit that’s a pretty smart way to get people to be nice and uncharitable towards small and dirty humans.”

“You a fugitive from the law?” asked Mal.

Again, Harper shook his head furiously, and Mal sighed. “Look, I got fugitives aboard too; one more won’t make that much of a difference.”

“Law’s not looking for me,” said Harper with a firm stare.

“Okay, then. How about regular old garden-variety bad-guys with grudges? They’re always fun,” said Mal dryly.

Harper hesitated. “Maybe?” he said, his voice timid.

Mal raised his brows. “Care to elaborate?” he asked, but Harper remained stubbornly silent. “Look, I got some exceedingly cranky folk with grudges out on me, helps to know when and where to expect them. If we’re gonna be dodging yours too, I need to know about it.”

Zoe’s laughter distracted him from his questioning, and he looked up, raising an eyebrow. “It’s nothing, sir,” said Zoe, grinning. “It’s just that, listening to you, I’m thinking we need to rename this ship the ‘been there, done that.’”

For his part, Harper was staring at Mal in fascination. He wasn’t exactly sure what line of work this ship was in, but he was thinking he’d quite possibly met a man the universe hated as much as it did him. He wasn’t sure that was even possible, but this wisecracking space captain looked to be a pretty good candidate.

“I didn’t like them, they didn’t like me,” said Harper shortly. “They wouldn’t be following me out here, I wasn’t that valuable.”

Valuable? Among the possible explanations for that particular choice of word, there was one connotation Mal particularly disliked the notion of. Mal studied the young stowaway more closely, and the hair stood up on the back of his neck as his examination revealed something else he’d failed to pick out earlier. Circling the boy’s wrists, mostly hidden by dirt, were distinct scars. Mal looked down, troubled. Weren’t many ways a man could come by those, and none of them pleasant.

Mal’s pondering was interrupted by Wash’s arrival. The blonde Hawaiian-shirted pilot poked his head in curiously, regarding the smaller blond Hawaiian-shirted stowaway with fascination. “It’s – mini Wash,” he said with playful wonder in his voice.

Wash walked closer and extended a friendly hand to Harper. “My name’s Wash.”

Harper reached out hesitantly to shake his hand in return. “Harper.”

Wash studied Harper with interest and sympathy before glancing in Mal’s direction. “Doesn’t look like you’ve been taking particularly good care of mini-Wash. I’m a little hurt.”

Simon interrupted. “Speaking of which, if I had to guess from the look of those bruises, our esteemed captain’s energetic application of his gun stock isn’t the largest of your worries. Let’s get that shirt off and take a look,” he said.

“No!” said Harper firmly, obviously trying to cover up the nervousness in his voice. “No thanks. Leaving now.” He started to slide himself off the exam table, but Mal stopped him.

“No, you ain’t,” said Mal. “We already had this discussion, remember?”

Harper was silent as he looked stubbornly at Mal, trembling slightly. “Son, I’ll be real blunt with you here,” said Mal. “You think you’ve been around and seen some of the worst of humanity, well so have I. Makes me feel for you considerable. But I don’t trust you any more than you trust me. I’ve been played more’n once before, and the last time I gave someone small and helpless the run of my ship, she almost succeeded in stealing it and killing the lot of us. My sympathy for you doesn’t extend to endangering my crew. It’s gonna take us a couple weeks to reach Greenleaf. If you want any chance of not spendin’ the trip as a prisoner, you will cooperate with me an’ Simon, an’ you’ll be considerable more open about why it is you’re on my ship.”

Harper closed his eyes. “You’re gonna lock me up again?” he asked in a small voice that tugged at Mal’s heart.

“Most likely,” said Mal gently. He was about as enthusiastic about the prospect as Harper. Holding people prisoner went about as far against the grain as it got for him, especially hurt, traumatized ones.

“Please don’t chain me up again,” said Harper in that same small, defeated voice. “Lock me up, I know you’re gonna do it anyway. But-“

Mal took a deep, shaky breath. If this kid wants to rip my heart out, he’s doin’ a masterful job of it. “I won’t, son. I’m sorry about the once, I won’t do it again. Just made sense at the time, I never was goin’ to keep you there.”

Harper’s eyes blinked open and looked at him silently, relief written plainly across his face. It struck Mal how incredibly vulnerable he must feel, injured, exhausted, and at the mercy of people he didn’t trust. “I don’t want to be locked up,” said Harper. “But you don’t trust me; I don’t trust you, fine. Lock me up and get it over with. Why should I even bother with your examinations and your questions?”

“Because you have nothing to lose,” said Mal bluntly. He knew this might be less humiliating if half the crew wasn’t standing around watching, but he wanted Harper to see their reactions, and watch how they acted around him. Behind those scared blue eyes was a keenly observant mind, and seeing the compassion on their faces would go miles further to comfort and reassure him than any words Mal could conjure up.

For the second time that day, Harper gazed directly into Mal’s eyes. This time his expression held a very determined note of resolve beneath his obvious fear. “No. I don’t need your help and I’m not yours to stand around and inspect like a sack of produce. You said you didn’t mean any harm, well, prove it and leave me alone!” he snapped as he tried once again to stand.

Trying to keep his grip on the battered youngster light, Mal grabbed his shoulder firmly, not releasing when the expected squirming ensued. “Gave up the right to say yes or no when you stowed away on my ship, son.”

The look of hatred and heartbreak on the young man’s face was heart-wrenching, and Mal steeled himself to finish. “If I have to, I will force you. I won’t hurt you, but you will do this,” Mal said gently, releasing Harper before he had time to panic.

Harper looked up, gulped, and turned his head away with his eyes screwed shut, his expression of resignation putting Mal sharply in mind of how he’d felt lying on a table in a dimly lit torture chamber, helplessly watching the approach of a huge man with an oversized leather collar and a pair of dull wire cutters. “Son, it’s okay,” he said. “I’m the last one gonna harm you, and I got a good idea of how hurt you are about now. Just let Simon here help you.”

Harper looked away miserably, his head down as he muttered, “Fine.” He unbuttoned his shirt and threw it aside. “Happy now?” he asked, wrapping his arms defensively around his bare chest as he lay down on his side, scrunched up unhappily.

The network of ugly blue and yellow bruises he’d expected. More disturbing was the collection of untreated cuts, raised welts, and scrapes, evidence of a brutal and very deliberate beating. But more than anything, what turned Mal’s stomach were the scars.

No wonder the poor kid whimpered when I tried to drag him across the deck, Mal thought, resisting the urge to put an empathetic hand on his shoulder. Mal swallowed, biting his lower lip and turning away. He knew that if Harper saw the sincere desire he was feeling to shoot someone right now, the battered young man would draw the wrong conclusions about the target of his wrath.

Taking several deep breaths, Mal turned back and knelt down, looking directly into Harper’s miserable blue eyes. “Listen. There’s nothin’ for you to be ashamed of or feel embarrassed for. Only ones need to be ashamed are those that did it.”

“Freakin’ easy for you to say!” replied Harper.

“Not really,” said Mal gently, fighting his own memories.

“You haven’t been dragged in here and stripped down for all to see after some bastard tied you down and turned you into some bloody freakin’ nightmare! So just cut the ‘Oh, I understand what you’re going through’ crap, okay!” snapped Harper furiously.

Mal smiled calmly, and said in a mild voice, “Yes, son, I have. And unfortunately for me, I do understand exactly what you’re going through.”

“He’s not exaggerating,” said Simon evenly. “This fellow you’re ripping into once died in a torture chamber, so you might want to ease off on the assumptions a bit.”

Mal winced as Kaylee’s eyes flew open in shock and horror. He’d never wanted her to know that little fact, and until this moment she hadn’t. “Cap’n?” whispered Kaylee.

Mal gave a reluctant nod, and Kaylee shoved past Wash to hug Mal worriedly. “Standin’ right here, little one,” he said, standing and wrapping a reassuring arm around her. Wash walked forward and stood close to Mal and Harper, glancing at Mal with an anguished expression. He took Kaylee’s hand soberly as he looked down.

Harper was staring up at Mal as though evaluating him in a slightly new light. It wasn’t trust, it wasn’t understanding. It was – empathy? Recognition? He had seemed to deflate, and was lying limply on the table, defeated and simply waiting for the ordeal to be over. The infirmary fell oddly silent, the humming of ventilation fans making more noise than the collective occupants of the room.

Wash pulled up a chair next to the table and leaned down, putting his head on a level with Harper’s. “Hey, kiddo,” he said gently. “You’re gonna be all right. Doctor here’s going to get you patched up, and then you can get to putting your world back together.” Harper was silent, fixing him with a weakly hostile look that was losing some of its steam.

Simon had been quietly studying the wounds on Harper’s back and made a decision. “I’m going to start an IV. You’re severely dehydrated, and those cuts are dirty and infected. Before I try to treat them, I want you on some heavy pain meds, and you need antibiotics and some immunizations, all right?”

Harper didn’t say anything, didn’t even acknowledge the doctor’s words. The fight had vanished, as though he were a wild animal playing dead when cornered by a predator. Wash talked and joked quietly to Harper as Simon inserted the IV and started trickling medication into his unmoving patient.

Simon hadn’t mentioned the fact that he planned to sedate him at the same time, but Mal noticed approvingly that for the first time the boy was relaxing, his eyes even drifting very slightly closed. Harper didn’t complain as Simon started cleaning his extensive collection of wounds, tribute to the effectiveness of the cocktail. Good man, Simon. Knew I kept this doctor fella around for some reason besides just to give my engineer someone to flirt with.

Mal took advantage of Harper’s disoriented state to study him more closely as Simon worked. The severe scarring beneath the current and comparatively minor damage was a shocking tribute to inhumanity. Mal hadn’t known it was possible for him to feel any worse about what he’d unwittingly subjected his new prisoner to earlier, but turned out he was wrong. Crisscrossing the young man’s back like some grotesque abstract painting were deep scars that could only have come from the lash of a whip. Mal fought the urge to reach out and touch the boy reassuringly, to apologize for his actions, unintentional as they might have been.

Instead, Mal watched quietly as Simon worked and Wash kept up his soothing commentary. His kind pilot never liked to see people hurt, but even more so than usual Mal could see his compassionate side brought out by this hurt young man who admittedly resembled Wash in so many ways. It hurt Mal to think of how easily it could be Wash lying there, and he had a feeling his friend was thinking the same thing.

God, I’ve had it rough, but at least there’s most usually been someone there after to take care of me, he thought, remembering the many times he’d been dragged back from the brink of death by his crew, or his squad, or what have you, and been surrounded by gentle kindness and affection. This young man clearly had no experience of what it meant to be cared for, or to have kind words and a reassuring touch make your world seem like it was worth living in again.

He remembered waking up in this very room, his memories filled with cold and emptiness, of a dark ship and all-encompassing pain. Remembered the peace and contentment overtaking him as he became aware of warmth and comfort, of the love and caring on the faces of the friends who’d returned to a doomed ship to be with him.

He gripped the silent girl who was still huddled against him a little tighter and touched Wash on the shoulder to quiet him, very grateful for the presence and friendship of these people. Looking at the young man in front of them, he felt the urge to hold his small family close. He wondered at how people could be so incredibly vulnerable, yet capable of so much endurance, and above all, he wanted to protect this fragile little group of his. The image of Wash, or Zoe, or Kaylee lying there in Harper’s condition was haunting him. He realized his hand was still on Wash’s shoulder, his fingers unconsciously gripping him so hard he was surprised at the lack of an indignant protest.

“Harper?” asked Mal softly.

“What?” the boy asked, the toughness in his voice softened by his drugged state.

“What’s your story? How’d you come by this collection, and who is it you’re running from?” Mal asked.

“You gonna send me back?” asked Harper in return.

That’s progress, thought Mal. I was expecting something with a lot more swearing. “No, this ship doesn’t have a return to sender program. I’m gonna make sure you wind up a long ways off,” replied Mal. “That’d be one of the reasons I need to know who’s after you.”

Harper had caved; Mal wished it had been out of trust and not defeat, but that wasn’t the way things were going to work at the moment. Harper took a deep sigh and started talking, not looking at Mal or Wash.

“About two years ago, I was looking for work and this guy hires me, says he wants me to fix his ship. I come waltzing on board, he sticks a gun in my face and marches me into a cage where I stay with about twenty other guys until we land on that Godforsaken garbage heap of a planet. He tries to sell me to the Nietzscheans as a slave with the others. They didn’t think I was worth anything, told the guy no thanks, so he gives me to them as a free gift so he doesn’t have to take me anywhere else.”

Mal felt hatred rising within him. He’d been nurturing a growing suspicion that the boy who’d fled to the tenuous safety of a crate in his cargo bay was a runaway slave, but that didn’t make him any happier to get the confirmation. If there was one group of people he lacked one single shred of tolerance for, it was slavers. Hell, despite its penchant for counting apple cores and destroying the lives of its citizens, even the Alliance had its share of decency and good intentions. Good intentions that ain’t a single gorram bit of help to folks suffering out here with nobody to pay them the least bit of mind.

“Nietzscheans?” asked Mal, setting his jaw hard against the rage he was feeling. Gorram Alliance squashed us all in the name of a more civilized world and this is what we get? Slavery and cruelty while the whole ‘verse turns its back?

Harper nodded. “Genetic supremacists, worship Nietzsche and his works as a God, no qualms about using weak and miserable inferiors as slaves and handy targets to take out frustrations on. I spent two years there, tried to escape twice –“

“Hence the scars?” asked Mal quietly, his fury only noticeable through the dark fire in his eyes. It was a look Zoe recognized instantly, but the other occupants of the room only saw him standing calmly by the bed.

“Yeah.” Harper gulped. “They do some nasty things to people who escape. Whippings, torture, chains, whatever new and exciting bits of barbarity they think of.” He lay silent and shaken, pressing his head against the pillow. “Guess you know a bit about that.”

Mal nodded soberly. “Also know I must’ve brought up a lot of nightmares, locking you up down there the way I did. Wasn’t meaning to be cruel, even though it turned out that way.”

Harper nodded. There was, Mal imagined, a faint hint of understanding and acceptance in that nod. “So you escaped again?” Mal asked.

“Yeah. Actually made it into town this time, got cornered, decided I was just as good off maybe getting killed on your ship as getting caught by them again.” Harper was clearly still questioning the wisdom of his choice.

“Won’t kill you,” said Mal. “Don’t take kindly to the idea of folks stowing away on my ship, but you’re safe enough here. I can’t fix what’s been done, but I can offer you care and safe passage. Slavers rank among my least favorite people, and it’ll be my pleasure to deprive them of one of their victims.”

Mal pointed to the frightening-looking device implanted in Harper’s neck. “What’s that do? Should I have Simon take it out?”

“No!” said Harper vehemently. “It’s mine, leave it alone.”

“Okay, just checkin,’” said Mal soothingly. “Thought it might be something they did to you. You relax now, let Simon here finish his work.” Harper was lying quietly enough, subdued and unhappy as the doctor tended to his collection of wounds. Mal was pleased to see that the process didn't seem to be overly painful, but that didn't keep the resigned fear from showing on the young man's face. Suddenly he cried out, startling the painfully tense occupants of the room.

He was staring in terror at an admittedly intimidating sight; a very large and decidedly unfriendly-looking man holding a considerably larger and even unfriendlier gun.

"Why is there a Nietzschean here? You didn't tell me you had Ubers on the ship!" howled Harper in frightened protest, sitting up on the table and throwing himself as far away as possible.

"Nietziwahts?" asked Jayne in puzzlement, beginning to level his weapon at the intruder suspiciously. Harper did the previously unthinkable as the barrel of the gun swung in his direction; he threw himself into a very startled Mal's arms in stark terror, leaving the momentarily perplexed captain juggling Kaylee, Harper, and Wash while struggling to keep his footing.

Mal gave Jayne an irritated glare. "Put the gorram gun away," he said in a voice that invited not one second's argument.

A crestfallen Jayne slung the beloved weapon across his back and looked curiously at the new arrival. "I found Vera," he said helpfully.

"That's just - I can't tell you how overjoyed I am to hear that," said Mal sarcastically. "No, actually I think I actually mean that, on second thought. Howsabout you go polish it or some such, instead of terrifying folks at random?"

Mal set Harper back on the table where he'd originated, managing to slip in the briefest of reassuring pats on the arm. "Harper, meet Jayne. He's hardly the product of brilliant genetic selection, as evidenced by his fondness for large firearms named Vera. Jayne, meet Harper."

"That's - Vera?" asked Harper incredulously. He looked at Mal. "He named his gun Vera?"

Mal threw his hands in the air. "Don't ask me. Closest thing that man's ever gonna get to a long -term relationship, so might be it's creepifyinly appropriate. Where'd you finally find her, anyway?"

Jayne looked away sheepishly. “I – mighta been drinkin last night.” Mal raised his eyebrows. “And I mighta maybe misplaced her afore I passed out.”

Mal buried his face in his hands momentarily, releasing tension and trying unsuccessfully to hide an unbidden snicker. “Ah, well. Reckon you could situate her elsewhere before the good Doc winds up with a heart attack to treat?”

“Uh – okay,” said Jayne, walking away without having shown the slightest bit of curiosity as to how an extra passenger might have materialized on the ship. Zoe arched one brow and shook her head incredulously as he departed.

Mal looked up at Zoe. "Think you might be able to track down some fresh clothes for this young man? These look overdue for an appointment with the scrap heap."

Zoe nodded, and Harper tensed as she reached for the tattered shirt that lay discarded on the counter. "Don't throw it out!" he protested in worry. "It's mine. I - want to keep it, please?"

Zoe fingered it in distaste. "You got a sentimental attachment to the dirt as well, or can we wash it first?"

Harper nodded hesitantly. "Just - promise you won't throw it out?"

The Hawaiian-shirted pilot smiled at him reassuringly. "I'll make sure of that myself," he said, giving Zoe a teasingly warning look. "You'll get it back safe and sound - well, as sound as reasonably possible, given the shape it's in. Tell you what - might look a little odd considering the size difference, but how'd you like to borrow one of mine in the meantime?"

Harper gave Wash the tiniest hint of a smile as he nodded. “Yes – please. I’d like that.”

Zoe put her hand on Wash’s shoulder, giving it an affectionate rub. “I’ll see to the change of clothing.”

Wash looked up at her with a shaky smile. “Thanks, baby.”

Simon finished his work just as Zoe returned with a change of clothes, and they escorted Harper up the stairs to take a shower. After the young stowaway retreated into the shower, Mal drew a deep breath and faced his crew.