Finally Wash spoke. “I’m sure the story behind that’s gonna scare me half to death. But by all means go on.”

Mal looked away again. Truth was, he wasn’t sure he even wanted to tell Wash, or anyone, this story. He wanted it locked safely away in his mind where he didn’t have to look at it, but another part of him desperately wanted someone to listen, to tell him it was okay. Problem was, he strongly doubted that person would be Wash.

“Mal?” asked Wash softly.

What the hell. “We – we’d been fighting half the night. Finally what was left of the Alliance troops we’d been fighting fell back, and everything went all quiet. Lieutenant got on the radio, found out it was because the Alliance was sneaking up on our left flank in force. We all went round in circles for a bit, finally got orders to scram ourselves and head up on this big hill to set our own trap. All the different squads broke off an’ headed out, just so happens we were the last to leave.”

Mal swallowed and paused for a long minute. Finally he spoke again. “I was getting the troops together when I seen Zoe, standin’ off to the side and lookin’ grim. She waved me over, quiet.”

“There was an Alliance soldier huddled up behind a rock, been listening to every word we said. She was wounded, got left behind in the retreat. Zoe covered me, I walked up, disarmed her. I – was being pretty – it was a combat zone. She looked at me, and there was such dread on her face. All this time, I was looking for a different way to go about it, but she heard everything we said. We leave her alive, Alliance finds out all about our little plan. I knew it, she knew I knew it. She was hurt too bad to take prisoner, would’ve slowed us down and been hell for her.”

Mal closed his eyes for a minute. “She was shaking,” he said quietly. “Pain, fear, everything that makes you want to reach out to a person. So I did. I was calm and gentle as could be, looked her in the eyes and told her she was okay. Told her we’d fix her up a bit an’ leave her for her own troops.”

Mal looked over at Wash, not wanting to continue, knowing his friend was going to look at him with horror and anger. Almost hesitantly, Mal spoke. “She –trusted me. Saw her relax, felt like she was safe. Still scared, hurt, in shock, but me, she trusted. I looked at where she’d been shot. Don’t ask why I checked, wish I hadn’t. She was hurt bad, would’ve lived though. She kinda pulled herself into my arms, so I – was holding her. Comforting her.”

Mal swallowed and took a very deep breath. “I eased out my pistol, makin’ sure she couldn’t see. I just kept talking, saying it was gonna be okay. Put my gun to the back of her head and blew out her spinal column.” He said it bluntly, matter-of-factly; it was the statement of a man completely familiar with death and killing.

Mal closed his eyes. The mechanics, those were easy to describe. The emotional impact, not so much. “She never saw it coming. I was still holding her when I did it, felt her body jerk, and then just – nothing. I made her trust me, then I killed her, just like that. First time I felt like a murderer, plain and simple.”

“I got up, walked over to Zoe, feeling - shaky. She just looked at me, put her hand on my back an’ told me it was okay. She walked right at my side the rest of the night, just bein’ there like she understood every bit of how horrible I felt. She was there with me, every step. It meant – everything,” said Mal, his voice breaking as he looked at Wash, waiting for the shock and the outrage.

There was deep compassion reflected in Wash’s expression, but not a hint of condemnation. Seeing the pain in Mal’s eyes and the roughness in his voice erased any bit of anger Wash might have wanted to feel.

“I’ve heard a lot worse stories,” said Wash gently. “A lot, lot worse. Sounds like you were put in a horrible position an’ you were every bit as humane and merciful as you could be.”

Mal was surprised. Wash didn’t have much understanding of war, and he’d half expected the pilot to go storming off, repulsed. As kind as he might be, Wash wasn’t one to offer understanding words if he didn’t mean them. The softhearted pilot was the last person he would have expected to understand, to accept something like this.

Mal smiled weakly. “So you’re not even more afraid to be in here with me now?”

“No,” said Wash, his voice still gentle, reassuring. “Not at all, matter of fact.”

“That’s odd, because it still scares me some,” said Mal.

“That shot kill her pretty quick?” Wash asked.

Mal nodded. “Instantly. She never even knew she been shot.”

"Mal, if - if I ever have be executed on a battlefield by an enemy soldier, I'd want you to be the guy doin' it," said Wash soberly.

Mal's breath caught in his throat. Something in that sincere, gently trusting statement made the memory hurt even more. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting his emotions. He'd lost a part of his soul that night and with it much of his own ability to trust. Wash’s words were the closest thing to absolution he figured he’d ever get.

Wash sat quietly with Mal, somehow very obviously supporting him without words, and once again Mal was struck with what an odd similarity there was between Wash and Zoe. Wash, walking beside his frightened self to meals, with that same silent, friendly manner. It’s okay, I’m right here beside you, it seemed to say.

“You – Zoe – you a couple?” asked Wash.

Mal shook his head. “That isn’t the thing about us.” He smiled. “Zoe – she’ll wind up hitched to some hardboiled soldier type that can give a warrior woman like her a run for her money. Probably bond over high explosives an’ fall in love during a firefight.”

Wash looked oddly fascinated. “Sounds like a very frighteningly special woman,” he said. “She – what’s she look like?”

Mal grinned. “Like a goddess. A lethal, beautiful, athletic goddess.”

Wash raised his eyebrows. “And you’re not worshipping the ground she walks on – why?”

Mal considered his reply. “I – do. Romance just never was a part of it. We slept in trenches together, dug bullets out of each other, dragged each other through nightmares. We could both go our separate ways, get married –“ he shrugged “-maybe she’ll wind up with nine kids or some such. But the bond from out there will always be deeper than love in any sort of traditional sense. We’ll take a part of each other to the grave.”

Wash sighed. “It’s – odd.” He raised his head and looked at Mal intensely. “How do you do it? Fighting, killing, and somehow you still seem – I don’t know, human.”

Mal reflected for a minute before answering. “I had a hard time with killing right at the first, fired at nothing a good bit. That lasted as long as it took to see one of my men, one of the guys I trained with, lived with – die in the trench beside me. Another, screaming with a bullet through his back. Then – I wanted to kill. I was scared and mad, truth be told probably in shock too, and I went from lying there uselessly to firing in a rage. And out of nowhere, Zoe stopped me.”

Mal remembered the rush of anger and adrenaline he’d felt as he positioned his weapon with sudden resolve and a determination to wipe every rutting one of those Alliance bastards off the face of the planet. But even more memorable was his astonishment when Corporal Zoe Allyene grabbed his weapon and pushed it to the ground, shoving him to his side and half pinning his body under hers as she held him down firmly. The astonished Mal had frozen in place, staring at her.

“You want to come out of this thing with your soul in one piece?” she asked, her eyes boring into him. He nodded mutely. “You’re going to kill a whole lot of people, if you’re lucky enough to live that long. But you make very, very sure you’re doing it for the right reasons. Don’t ever kill out of anger, revenge, or when you trick yourself into enjoying it.”

Mal was staring speechlessly at the fierce woman pinning him in place. He’d seen her kill, and he was actually just the slightest bit afraid of what he thought was quite possibly the most unhesitatingly lethal person he’d ever met. She was also one of the most respectful, obeying the orders of her green Sergeant without hesitation or bitterness. He’d expected her to cheer him on, not tackle him in place and read him a lecture on ethics. Her words were cutting into his soul like a whip; this was one conversation he didn’t reckon he would ever forget.

Her unblinking gaze didn’t waver for a second as she continued speaking to him in a lethally deliberate voice. “The people you kill are living, feeling humans who value their lives as much as you do, and the one mercy you can show them is to do them the respect of remembering that. I’m not suggesting you beat yourself up over it, and if you’re smart you’ll learn to move on in a hurry. You kill because you have to, because the situation requires it, because that’s what you do in a war. But you want to come out of this as a human being, you remember every second the gravity of what you’re doing.”

Mal nodded, stunned and sobered. Zoe rolled off him and wrapped his hand firmly around his rifle, giving it a gentle squeeze with hers. “Now, do your job, Sir,” she said in a much gentler tone as she took aim with her own weapon beside him.

Mal had fallen silent as he revisited his memories, and he slowly became aware of Wash still watching him silently, waiting for him to speak. “She read me a lecture, right there in the middle of battle. All about taking it seriously, what we were doing when we killed a person. For someone so – lethal – she had a hell of a respect for human life, and she made sure I didn’t cross the line into losing that. She just pulled me through. Taught me a lot about being a soldier, and – and a human. Got in my face, held my hand, whatever it took to teach me how to fight and stay sane.”

“She sounds – brave,” said Wash. “I guess I was just born without what it takes –“

Mal interrupted firmly. “Killing someone ain’t about guts, Wash. Courage doesn’t even enter into it. It’s about losing your humanity and putting away that part of you that tells you not to hurt another person. It’s taking the part of you that cares and feels compassion, and tricking yourself into turning it off. It’s about knowing deep down inside that you’re a monster, and wondering if there’s any lines you won’t cross, wondering if even your friends are safe from you.”

Wash looked plaintively at Mal. “Then why do I –“ Wash stopped and swallowed hard. “I admire you, I admire all of the soldiers I’ve met in here, so much. You guys are my heroes, and I – how can I see you as monsters? You’re compassionate, I’ve seen it, and I trust you. But you scare me too, especially when you say things like that. What’s the difference, where you can do these things and still be a nice guy, and I don’t think I could ever face myself in the mirror again if I-“

Mal looked down. “Difference is, I can turn it off, Wash. I’m not a nice guy, at all. I do care, an’ I do feel compassion. But I have to live with knowin’ I can look a person in the eye and kill him, and not even feel bad about it after. Or, execute a helpless person who’s put their trust in me. That’s – that changes something in a soul, and it’s not a good thing to know about yourself.”

Mal paused, and proceeded very quietly. “I know the first time I killed. Spotted this kid sneaking up on our position, and I took aim at him. Followed him with my sights, braced myself to pull the trigger. Finally did it, closed my eyes at the last second and missed my head shot. I hit him somewhere in the upper body.”

Mal closed his eyes. “I can still hear him screaming. It took me a few seconds to get my head straight, to realize I needed to keep firing and finish it. Not sure what was worse, knowing I’d killed him, or knowing he suffered because I was too busy wrestling with my conscience to get off a clean shot.”

He looked back up at Wash. “That’s not brave. That’s a very awful reality, and even worse is the fact that you get used to it, that it stops bothering you, but you can still remember a time when you thought it was wrong and you felt for that guy you killed.”

“Nobody talks about this stuff,” said Wash shakily. “Everyone says so casually, you know, ‘I took this guy out,’ or ‘we blew them to hell.’”

“That’s because they don’t want to,” said Mal bluntly. “It hurts, an’ brings up thoughts and questions that are more than uncomfortable. After something like that it’s all about acting like you can be a normal person again, making sure others aren’t somehow condemning you for what you did.”

“Thanks for talking to me,” said Wash in a small, almost hesitant voice. “I’m sorry, but thanks. And – Mal? I know he’s Alliance military, but Khiloh isn’t gonna shoot you.”

Mal smiled. “I know.”

“That’s his greatest fear, you know. Having to shoot one of the prisoners,” said Wash.

“I know, Wash,” reassured Mal. “He’s compassionate and kind, and I care about him too.” He smiled at Wash’s unconscious loyalty; the man couldn’t stand to have Mal even think about not trusting his friend.

The two men sat in silence. It had been a depressing conversation to end a depressing day; the light had fallen as they talked, and darkness seemed to swallow up any desire to move inside, to laugh and smile with the other prisoners. There was a growing chill in the air, signaling fall’s approach and echoing the cold grayness of their surroundings.

The mention of Khiloh had thrust a feeling of grim suspense to the forefront as they were forced to think of what he was going through. The thought that a loving father was facing the possibility of losing his only son lent a grim hopelessness to the atmosphere, as though death were impossible to escape. It didn’t take a war to lay waste to innocent lives and rip families apart; all it took was the normal progress of living and dying. Somehow, that became the most depressing fact of all.