“Thanks for staying with me,” said Harper in a softer voice than Wash had yet heard the fast-talking young man use. “I’m sorry I freaked out like that.”

“I understand, kiddo,” said Wash. A flash of anger appeared in Harper’s eyes, and Wash said hurriedly, “Hey, I really do. You’re allowed to be human, here, you know. And that means I’m allowed to feel compassion, like, you know, a human?”

Harper stared back at him for a minute, some of the defiance fading from his expression. He turned and sat down heavily on the bed, kicking at the wall in casual frustration. Looking back at Wash sitting in the corner, he frowned. “There is a chair in here, you know,” he said.

Wash walked over to the chair and sat, surprised at how the room started to swim when he did so. He was looking at his nightmares squared, and just thinking about what Harper had been through was making him queasy. He forced himself to focus, pushing the image of the young man’s mangled back out of his head. Remember? Scared kid? You, supposed to make him feel better? He groaned. Wash as the steady, comforting one. Yeah, that’s gonna work just great. Especially if I pass out in the middle.

He looked at Harper, who was obviously still embarrassed about his display of fear. “I’ve never been through anything like what was done to you, wouldn’t have survived it if I had,” said Wash gently. “But, I was a POW during the war, and I do know what it’s like to not want to be locked up alone in a scary place. They weren’t cruel to us, but I can understand, a bit.”

Harper’s eyes darkened, and he looked away. “Yeah.” He was silent for a long time before he looked back at Wash. “Still feel freakin' stupid, panicking like that.”

Wash remembered all too clearly his own battles against irrational fears after his brief sojourn in Niska’s torture chamber; the way the slightest wrong sound or touch could make his blood run cold. Seeing the shape this kid was in was bringing back every nightmare he thought he’d chased off. He remembered being strapped down helplessly as electricity ripped through his body, the pain and shock overwhelming him completely. Mal's heckling and shouting dragging him back when he tried to surrender consciousness and life. I'm going to die. I want to die, just let me. Wishing he could scream back, Mal, I can't handle this. Let me go, you bastard.

Wash spoke to Harper, his voice coming out shaky. “Don’t be scared of us, okay? Just – just don’t, let us help you.”

“You sound real convinced,” said Harper, slight sarcasm coloring his voice before he took a deep breath, turning serious. "Look, you seem like nice people, you really do, but you'll have to forgive me if I'm not adding you to my Christmas card list just yet. I just came from a place where they torture you for forgetting to polish their shoes, and then just leave you locked up alone for days on end. Oh, they might stop by occasionally, to see if you're still alive. If you aren't, they'll chuck you out into a hole somewhere, and if you are, they'll beat you a bit more for having the nerve to still be breathing their precious air. There was one time I thought I was gonna die in one of their little cells, and-“ he stopped suddenly, squeezing his eyes shut and gulping slightly. “I'm just...well...not really big on trust. And that captain...well...he's..."

Wash closed his own eyes and breathed deeply, trying to quell the nausea in the pit of his stomach. “Harper, Mal will take care of you. He’s scary, and he can be a bastard, but if anyone can help you come through this it’d be him.”

“I’m surprised he let you stay with me,” said Harper. “Don’t think he gives a crap about anything besides himself and his precious crew. Surprised he didn’t think I was gonna pull a knife and slit your throat or something.”

“Ah, in his own way, Mal is very kind,” said Wash with a small smile. “That just – comes out differently in his world. I argue with him a lot, and I think he’s a little insane, but I trust him. Aside from my wife, he’s the most loyal person I know.”

Mal, with his damned instant rebounds, heckling him as he tried desperately to recover and come to his senses after each earth-shattering shock, tried to open his eyes, tried to stand. And every time he managed it, his body was ripped apart by pain again, and he'd be left sick and helpless and disoriented, panicking in the knowledge that it was going to happen all over again in a few seconds.

Wash took a deep breath. Focus. Not going to do him any good if you lose it here. “Even locking you up probably bothers him a lot more than he’ll willingly let on,” said Wash, looking at Harper with a small smile. “Freedom’s a big thing with him.”

“Yeah?” asked Harper.

“Yeah,” said Wash.

“So – he’s really not going to sell me?” Harper asked, and Wash shook his head, his forehead wrinkled in a compassionate frown.

“I – I can’t pay my passage,” admitted Harper nervously.

“Oh, I think stealing you away from slavers is payment enough for him,” said Wash. “Mal’s not above doing a job or two out of sheer spite. I wouldn’t worry.”

“Why do you look so upset?” asked Harper.

Wash looked away, biting his lip. “I’m just wondering how you did it. How you survived, how you could live – I mean – I can’t even imagine what that would be like. I got tortured once and -” he shook his head.

He hated him. Hated him for his brutal words and insults lashing into him as though the pain wasn't enough, Mal had to rip heartlessly into his deepest fears and insecurities. Wash remembered thinking I'm going to die, and my last memory is going to be of my friend screaming at me, telling me I'm not good enough. You unbelievable bastard.

“- it about killed me,” said Wash. “Not even close to what you been through, and-” It was all Wash could do to keep from crying, and his stomach was in a tight, nauseated knot.

Not realizing until after it was over that that anger and hatred had given him the fight and the margin of distraction that had kept him alive, kept him from breaking completely. Mal hadn't let him pass out, hadn't let him cry, and hadn’t let him focus on when the next shock was coming.

Harper shrugged almost dismissively. “I – it wasn’t like that all the time. Problem was every so often I’d come up with some genius plan to escape, and by some dumb luck some stupid idiot caught me both times before this. That’s when they’d really torture you, stop just short of killing so they’d have their useful little tool around still. Note to world, being whipped really hurts.”

Wash simply stared at Harper, chilled at the matter-of-fact bluntness of his words. There wasn’t any particular emotion behind them, just a bitter coolness. “I’m – I’m sure it does,” he said quietly, remembering the horrible scars on the young man’s back. “I’m having a hard time imagining how you could work after that, agonizing pain and hard labor not - typically being a good mix.”

“Oh, I couldn’t,” replied Harper matter-of-factly. “It made for a great excuse for them to hurt me even more. And the chains. Any time you couldn’t work, they’d chain you up until you could. Always make it so you couldn't lie down or anything. One night I just sat there and screamed half the night until they beat me so bad I passed out again, it was the only way I could get a bit to not be in agony."

And Mal just kept hammering at him, taunting him. Daring him to die in the middle of an argument, giving him something to fight that he was capable of, something to distract him from the overwhelming pain. And he walked out. Looking at Harper and remembering the screams of the man who'd kept him alive, the man he'd left to face hell, Wash couldn't control his emotions any longer.

He was shaking, his head down and his eyes closed. I had it easy. I got off so easy, and it almost destroyed me. Mal had to stay. Wash’s head was spinning, threatening to make him pass out, and his eyes flooded with tears. He looked away from Harper, biting his lip and trying to hide it. He breathed deeply, after a minute feeling a timid hand on his. He forced his eyes open and looked back around at Harper.

Harper was looking at him with a certain amount of concern. “Hey, I didn’t mean to upset you or anything. I’m better now. I’m sorry I said anything.”

“It’s not your fault,” said Wash gently. “I just can’t imagine living like that for two years, and – and having the nerve to escape again. I can’t imagine nobody helping you, I wish I could have helped.”

Ironically enough, it was the horror of hearing those screams that had given him the determination to pick himself up, the strength to fight instead of passing out in a heap in his wife’s arms. A new kind of rage and fearlessness that Wash had never felt came over him. Mal was not going to die in agony, because he was going to walk in there and get him out. Wash had found something he would risk everything for, something and somebody he would kill for. For the first and only time in his life, Wash had taken up a gun and killed without hesitation or remorse. It was also the closest he’d ever come to understanding Mal’s often bewildering blend of savagery and protectiveness.

It had given him the briefest of glimpses into Mal and Zoe’s world, of the intensity and violence and clarity of it. The incredible strength of the small family he’d somehow become a part of had never been clearer; coming back to that home, being greeted and surrounded by comforting, good-humored acceptance and caring had made his world seem more whole than he could have imagined. He bit his lip, torn between smiles and tears remembering Mal’s constant earless captain jokes, and the running gag that had developed among the crew.

“Maybe you guys are helping me?” asked Harper timidly. “I mean, if you take me away from there, they’ll never find me again.”

The experience itself had nearly shattered him, to be sure, but the recovering from it had made him someone stronger and more whole than he’d thought possible. A calm certainty not unlike the one he’d felt when he’d decided to go to Mal’s rescue came over Wash as he studied the young man with a smile growing on his face. “You’re on the right ship,” he said firmly. “And they’ll never get their dirty little paws on you again, we’ll make sure of that.”

Mal was sitting alone at the dining table, unaware of Wash’s approach. He was hunched over slightly, his forehead wrinkled in pain as his fingers carefully explored his formerly severed ear. It was a sight that tugged at Wash’s heart, and he was silent for a minute before shuffling his feet enough to catch his friend’s attention.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you pirate captains were supposed to wear eye patches, not ear patches?” teased Wash.

Mal chuckled as he lowered his hand in embarrassment, folding it deliberately in front of him as Kaylee walked in. She flashed a bright smile, hopping up and sitting on the table next to Mal. “You’d look cute in an eye patch, cap’n,” she said, studying him fondly.

Mal raised an eyebrow in misgiving. “Would I, now.”

“It would be rakish,” agreed Wash. “Rakish suits you. The parrot, maybe not so much.”

Mal’s eyebrows arched even higher, and Kaylee put a hand over one of his eyes to study the look. Mal flinched back involuntarily, reaching up quickly and grabbing Kaylee’s wrist. He relaxed with a self-conscious smile and pulled her hand away from his face gently, him and Kaylee exchanging looks of silent apology.

“No parrots,” said Mal firmly, his eyes sparkling with affection. “I’ll submit to the eye patch, but absolutely no parrots or anything else with beaks.”

“Not even my canary?” asked Wash morosely.

Kaylee swiveled around to face Wash with a laugh, she and Mal both looking at him fondly. “A canary?” asked Kaylee. “I don’t see you with a canary.” She tilted her head to the side. “Or an eye patch. But a hook and a peg-leg might-“

“Arrgh, matey,” interrupted Mal, trying his pirate accent on for size. “I be the only amputee on this here ship, an’ shiver me timbers, I’ll remain as – like – such.” He stood and pushed his chair back. “Avast!”

Harper met his eyes frankly, his expression unguarded and sincere for the first time. “Thanks,” he said, his shoulders relaxing.

“Mind if I leave you for just a minute?” asked Wash. “I’ll be back.” A puzzled Harper nodded, and Wash slipped out, locking the door quietly behind him. He returned shortly with a plastic palm tree and a dinosaur clutched in his hand.

“Got these not long after I got out of the POW camp,” said Wash. “I never quite got to finish being a kid, and I decided to make up for lost time. Every time things get a bit too serious, I play with these babies and remember to take the time to have a little fun.”

Harper fell silent for a long time, watching Wash as though evaluating him. Finally he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, very dirty rabbit’s foot. “Kept it with me the whole time, just about. Had to hide it a few times, but…….” His voice trailed off.

Wash smiled at Harper, touched that the boy would trust him with this. There was a small chain attached to it, and Wash suggested, “You need to wear that, now. Maybe be a reminder you’re safe, don’t have so much to hide from any more.”

Harper looked at him hopefully. “Some stupid jerk isn’t gonna try and take it, are they?”

“That’s kind of the point,” said Wash. “No, nobody’s going to take it.”

Harper’s fingers fumbled as he worked quickly to attach the chain to a loop on the belt of his borrowed pants. Wash saw the weariness in his movements, and sat back in his chair. “Think you might feel a little more relaxed in here if I was to leave Steggy in here with you tonight?”

Harper chuckled and patted his rabbit’s foot. “Not to be rude or anything, but I think this is a better companion than an extinct but still very carnivorous monster. Thanks though.”

Wash laughed, retrieving the plastic toys. “I’ll tell Mal to add carnivorous monsters to his list of things Harper doesn’t like.”

“That’s gonna be a pretty long list if he keeps it up,” said Harper.

“Hey, trip’s only going to last a couple weeks, how long can it really get?” bantered Wash.

“Oh, a lot longer than you might think,” said Harper. He was quiet for a second. “Thanks for the ride,” he said soberly. “I’m not gonna really believe I’m free until I walk away from this ship, but thanks. A lot.”

Wash nodded, speaking quietly. “You want to do a good thing? Another day when you trust him enough, thank Mal too, okay?”

“Okay,” said Harper. His voice was still guarded, but Wash could see that he’d relaxed visibly over the course of their conversation, and the mention of Mal no longer caused flashes of anxiety to cross his eyes.

“Want to try the whole getting some sleep thing again?” asked Wash. Harper nodded drowsily, and Wash stood. “Have a good night, okay?” He moved to the exit, and Harper stayed relaxed on the bunk. “See you at breakfast,” said Wash cheerfully as he eased the door shut.

The expression on Mal’s face when Kaylee had presented him with a hand-stitched ear patch had been priceless. While Wash and Zoe were still laughing, Kaylee ran to Wash and pulled down on his shoulder, attaching a rather dusty fake canary to it and releasing him with a pat. Wash straightened and went into a snickering fit as Mal struck a dashing pose with his ear patch affixed at a rakish angle.

“It – just makes me want to say ‘aye aye, Sir,’” said Zoe. “It’s dashing. Really.”

“Hey!” protested Wash. “Doesn’t my canary get any attention from my own beloved wife? I’m hurt.”

Zoe pivoted and kissed him squarely on the lips, deliberately drawing it out until Mal tapped him on the shoulder, interrupting. Mal pointed to the canary. “Mind if I borrow that for a sec?” he asked. “Like to see if she’ll kiss me if I’m wearing a canary.”

Wash glared at him sideways. “Takes a lot more than a dusty bird to satisfy my Zoe.”

Mal looked down, feigning an expression of hurt as he dusted his coat carefully. He wrapped his arm around the still laughing Kaylee with a grin, walking her out of the room.