“Gorramit, what?” growled Mal, blinking as he sat up, irritated with Wash for interrupting a perfectly good nap. “Is the sky fallin’ in about itself, because that’s about the-“

“Khiloh’s back,” interrupted Wash. He extended his hand and helped Mal to his feet, and the five men made their way out to the broad, barred gate and looked out with silent, questioning greeting. Khiloh returned their gazes with equal silence, a friendly smile in his eyes. They’d lost the expression of tortured exhaustion from the days before, but there was something off about his manner.

Khiloh greeted them with a forced smile. “Hey, you guys.” He didn’t step forward and lean companionably on the gate as he so often did, and the men maintained a respectful distance of their own. They all recognized that the mutual trust had been perhaps not shattered, but bruised. “You been doing okay?”

“Fine,” said Wash. He was perhaps the only man in the group who didn’t misread Khiloh’s behavior as caution. “How is he? Your son?”

Khiloh’s eyes sparkled with joy and relief as he looked at Wash appreciatively. “He’s good. Out of danger, and actually getting better really fast.”

“We were worried,” said Mal. “About the both of you.” The wind had been picking up as the clouds darkened, and as he spoke they heard thunder grumbling an ominous underscore to his words.

Wash’s jaw dropped as he pointed at Mal. “That – I thought that was only supposed to happen in bad movies!” Mal grinned, glaring in misgiving at the approaching storm.

Khiloh bit his lip and looked down, ignoring the exchange. “Thank you.” There was something wrong; the clenched fists, the hesitation before every word, the conflict on his face. He raised his head, his eyes seeking out Mal and Wash. “I don’t think I’d have been able to cope without you guys. Your being there –“ he stopped and stood quietly, not quite looking at anyone in the group.

“Where were you, sir?” asked Wash. Mal glanced at him. It wasn’t often Wash called his friend ‘sir’ when there weren’t any other guards around, and the question held a deeply caring tone.

A mischievous grin flashed across Khiloh’s face, and he glanced around as though making sure nobody else was within earshot. “In the hospital. After I got there the other night, I passed out in the hallway from just plain exhaustion. The doctors felt sorry for me, and got pretty mad when they heard my Sergeant wouldn’t let me off duty. So, well, they hospitalized me. Just so happened they put me in the same room with my son.”

“Nicely done,” said Wash with a grin.

Khiloh caught his meaning and grinned back. “I didn’t fake it, you little bastard. My esteemed superior couldn’t do a thing aside from splutter a lot. It was delightful.” The tension had been broken, but it still lurked in the background every time he looked at the five men on the other side of the gate. He took a deep breath, and studied them for the answer to his next question.

Wash looked simply tired and sad, while Mal stood at his side with his stance just a little too confident and his chin set too firmly. Matty and Zeke both looked at him dully, resigned to whatever might happen next. Gray stood behind the others, hesitating to look him in the eye. The light rain that was starting to fall added to the effect, the shadow of the steel gray stormy sky bleakly dampening the gray of the gravel, the housing unit, and even the prisoner’s jumpsuits.

“How have they been treating you guys?” Khiloh asked finally.

“Like prisoners are supposed to be treated, I guess,” said Wash. “Lots of insults, a meal once a day or so, and a nice cold dungeon to retreat to when your guard gets tired of playing ‘a hundred and one ways to torture your prisoners without touching them.’ On the plus side, it’s great for male bonding and cultivating our grim expressions.”

Khiloh forced a smile, choking back his anger. “Well, I’ll gorram well feed you, at least. I’m sorry.”

“We’re big boys, we can put up with it,” said Zeke reassuringly. “But it’s mighty nice to see you back.”

The rain was starting to fall in earnest, and Mal shook his head indignantly. Khiloh shivered. “You guys best head inside. With no heat in that building, you’ll have a pretty miserable night of it if you get wet. I’ll make sure you get a nice hot dinner.”

Zeke, Matty, and Gray thanked him and beat a hasty retreat. Wash made no move to leave, nor did Mal. As the footsteps of the other three prisoners crunched away in the gravel, Wash took a deep breath and walked forward, leaning on the gate with a direct stare at his friend.

“Wash,” said Khiloh firmly, “go inside. You lot already look like a study in misery, no need to make it worse.”

“No,” replied Wash flatly. The two men spent a long moment glaring at each other before Khiloh looked away in defeat, trying his luck with Mal. Mal raised an eyebrow at him. Ain’t gonna happen.

“Spill,” Wash asked gently. “What’s wrong?

Khiloh hung his head. “I’m in trouble,” he said, angry and intimidated. He looked back up at them and impulsively kicked the gate. Taking a deep breath, he said, “This is really the last thing I should talk to prisoners about. I’m going to because I’ve already broken every unwritten rule in this gorram place and half the written ones right along with them, but-“

“Don’t worry,” assured Wash. “We’ll record the conversation and forward it to your Sergeant at the first possible opportunity.”

Khiloh raised an eyebrow. “Appreciate the loyalty,” he said dryly. “So. Somewhere in the hour I just spent getting lectured and yelled at, I just got told it’s my fault those guys didn’t obey me, that I have to make you respect me. They – they let us be friendly with the prisoners, but – If I don’t start treating you guys like prisoners, if you don’t fear me enough to obey my orders, my Sergeant is going to transfer me away from this yard permanently.”

Mal’s heart sank. Khiloh’s eyes were clouded with grief too, and Mal took a deep breath. “It’s our fault, and I’m sorry. It’s just –“ his voice faltered. Even with Mal’s lingering unease around Khiloh, the thought of him not being there was hard to take. “You’re a lifeline to us,” he said with quiet sincerity.

Khiloh’s expression softened sadly. “Treat you like prisoners. What do they want me to do, shove you around, throw out a few insults now and then? How ‘bout if I line you up along the fence and beat the lot of you? Oh, wait, no. There’s a gorram rule against that, too.” His voice was bitter and frustrated.

“Nah, you’re going at it all wrong,” said Mal. “You want spectacular and cruel. A nice round of public floggings in the cafeteria might work, if you was looking for a place to start.” Mal’s attempt to break the tension failed horribly. Khiloh’s jaw dropped and he looked like he wanted to cry just thinking about it.

Wash was hardly amused either, and he looked at Mal grimly. “We’ll start with you,” he snapped.

One look at Wash’s face stopped Mal in his tracks. The pilot’s angry outburst was nothing compared to the anxiety on his face, and Mal realized just how frightening this was to him. “Didn’t quite mean that,” said Mal. “Not – I mean obviously not the floggings, but – sorry,” he finished sheepishly.

Wash stared him down. When he finally spoke, his voice was tight with emotion. “Listen, mister tough guy. I know you like to make light of things, helps you deal. Fine. But let me tell you how I cope. When my world comes apart, this guy pulls me through it, and –“ he clearly intended to continue, but his lower jaw developed a suspicious quiver, and he looked away as he took a deep breath.

Mal looked pleadingly at Khiloh. Help. Another angry, heartsick face greeted him, and he threw his hands up in the air. When do I get to be the one moping? he wondered in frustration. He turned to console Wash, his eyes widening in the split second before the pilot’s fist connected with his jaw.

“What in the name of-“ Mal spluttered, putting his hand up to his jaw. “Wa - what’d I do?” It occurred to him a second too late that the pilot had seen and misread his frustrated gesture, and lacking anything more constructive to do, he fumed.

“Hey!” said Khiloh with deliberate coldness. “Shall we not turn this into a case in point? Wash, get it together.”

Wash stared back at his friend, stung by the harshness in his voice and crestfallen at having chosen just that moment to force him into being their prison guard. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said, taking a deep breath and collecting himself. His shoulders relaxed, and he faced Mal.

Mal cut off his apology before it started, reaching out and taking his friend’s arm roughly. “We’ll deal with this,” he said firmly. “No sense panicking about what hasn’t come to pass, you hear me?” His words lashed out at Wash, but his steady grip kept the pilot from misreading him this time. This is important to me too, got it?

Wash gulped and nodded, steadying himself, bowing his head against the now driving rain. Mal turned to Khiloh. “So, what is it you need to do to fix this?”

“There’s nothing I can do,” said Khiloh, anger still seething below the surface. “They want the prisoners treated well, then they turn around and rip me a new one because you don’t cower at my feet.” There was a puddle forming at his side, and he kicked at it viciously, sending the water and gravel flying. It was a rare outburst for him, the strain of forcing himself to be calm and steady every single day finally giving way to the rage of a man trapped in a situation he hated.

He whirled around, his jaw set hard as he grabbed the chain-link fence lining the path between the yards and started kicking it furiously, sending the collected droplets of water flying until he was gasping from exertion. Finally he turned back to the two prisoners, sweat mixing with rain trickling down his face. “What the gorram hell is wrong with my doing my gorram job?” he asked, grimly irritated.

“I imagine you care a little too much,” said Mal after a moment’s pause. “There’s a difference between a lack of cruelty and actually showing concern for a person, and I can see how some might not favor your approach. Havin’ said that – can’t say I see a problem. You’re not overly friendly when bystanders are about, and I get the feeling if I stepped out of line you’d not hesitate to take me down.”

“I wouldn’t,” said Khiloh, a hint of sadness in his voice. “Done it many times. I do my job, I follow orders, and I do maintain discipline. If maybe I err on the side of compassion –“ he shrugged his shoulders and looked helplessly at them. “Is it so bloody wrong, that maybe people can hope that I’ll treat them with some sort of understanding?” He relaxed and leaned limply on the cold metal gate, his anger deflating into damp apathy.

“Makes you a good man,” said Mal. “But it doesn’t appear to be making you overly popular with the brass, neither. Might be you have to take the low road, learn to hurt people on occasion.”

Khiloh shook his head. “You guys obey my every word. They don’t want us randomly beating up on prisoners, and you don’t give me any sort reason to be hard on you.”

“You implying that we should?” asked Mal.

Khiloh sighed. “Catch-22, Mal. If I never have to use force, I’m not treating you like prisoners. If you give me a legitimate reason to hurt you, it’s because I’m not maintaining discipline. If I lay into you for no good reason, it’s against policy at best and criminal at worst. There is no solution,” he said flatly.

“Nonetheless, if you ever have to do anything - not entirely reasonable, you have my understanding and my permission,” said Mal. He wiped the rain from his face, not entirely conscious of using his hand to cover the flash of apprehension in his eyes as he wondered if he really meant that.

“What, like coming in and ripping into the men who tried to protect me?” asked Khiloh softly. “That went over so well with you, I can’t wait to do it again.” There was a slight undertone of hurt behind his lightly sarcastic words. “A good punch is easier to take,” said Mal.

Khiloh looked back at him steadily. “I seem to recall promising I’d never hurt you so long as you didn’t fight me. The promise stands.” There was a meaningful silence, and Khiloh took a deep breath, speaking hesitantly. “Just so ya’ know - I really admire you, and I – it was hard to do that the other night. “What you did, warning me – I kicked you and your friends in the teeth for it.”

Mal glanced away. “Might not ‘a warned you just for you, mighta’ had something to do with not wanting to see those boys get themselves killed.”

“Maybe,” said Khiloh with a twinkle in his eyes. “Couldn’t go giving the impression that you actually gave a darn about an Alliance guard, after all. Wouldn’t be right.”

Mal grinned. “Thanks, for protecting us,” he said sincerely. “Ashamed to say I didn’t see that coming.”

Khiloh looked at him steadily. “Ashamed to say I didn’t see you warning me, either. It’s pretty plain where your loyalties lie, an’ –“

Mal stopped him. “My loyalties lie with men of honor and courage.” Khiloh froze and blinked, staring at Mal. Finally he looked away for a long time, clearly moved and having not the slightest inkling of a clue as to how to respond. “So, back to Evil Prison Guarding?” suggested Mal. “We can start with getting rid of the honor and courage, both unseemly traits in the average pitiless monster.”

Khiloh gave a snort of laughter and grinned. “I keep telling you, I’m not supposed to be one. Walk into any of our break rooms and you’ll see the golden rule plastered up somewhere. But –“

“But people would rather hone their pitiless monstering skills on us?” suggested Mal.

“Some would. Far from all, really – but - I was in a class, instructor reminded us that the prisoners were soldiers, not criminals, and to remember to treat them as such and all that. So some hùndàn asks why we haven’t shot ‘em all yet, and half the room commences laughing.”

Mal raised his eyebrows. “Lovely.”

“Yeah. The other half just sat there with their mouths shut, but my Sergeant would have laughed. He’s having great fun nurturing his sadistic streak. If he can make it look like I’m failing to maintain discipline, he can nail me for doing exactly what the higher-ups actually want and feel shiny about it to boot. It’s been like this since day one. Only difference is, now someone’s found a threat that really scares me,” said the young guard.

“He know that?” asked Mal.

Khiloh shook his head. “Pretty sure I didn’t let on.”

“Then we’re back to square one, nothing you can do,” said Mal bluntly.

Khiloh nodded reluctantly and turned his head away from the rain and his prisoners. Wash had been largely silent through the conversation, listening with his head down and his arms wrapped around his chest. It had been a rapid transition from dismay to acceptance, a skill he’d learned through years behind the walls of a prison, but the process never failed in making him feel helpless and defeated. “Thanks for everything,” he said, his voice overly clipped and upbeat. “Just – you know – in case.”

Mal looked over at the calmly miserable pilot, no stranger to this helplessness himself. It strangled him, kept him from thinking clearly or doing much of anything, in fact. He vastly preferred being shot at, when it came right down to it.

“Hey,” he said with what he hoped was firm Sergeantish authority. “Imagine this fella here will be tormenting us with his shiny new evil jailering skills for a good time to come. So just relax an’ look forward to tomorrow’s beating, all right?” Mal’s eyes were far gentler than his words as he tried to relax his friend. “It’ll be okay.”

Wash turned towards Mal, who threw his hands up defensively. “No punching!” he said in mock fear. “Not my fault I have a limited and violent imagination! We’re POWs, isn’t that what they’re supposed to do to us?”

Wash rolled his eyes. “Is this how you inspired your troops in combat?” he asked with a grin, his spirits lightening. “Holding out the hope of a good beating here and there?”

“For the most part,” said Mal dryly. “Sometimes rabid badgers and blowing things up factored into my motivational speeches too.”

Khiloh cleared his throat and affected a wide stance, fists on his hips. “All right, Browncoat gǒushǐ duī,” he said sternly. “Go inside out of the storm, or I’ll tie you up and let rabid badgers have their way with you.”

Mal snorted in laughter. “See?” he said, pointing. “Imagination. I think floggings, he has us raped by badgers.”

“You’re a natural at this,” agreed Wash. “I happen to know badgers find Mal exceptionally attractive.”

Khiloh’s jaw dropped. “That – that wasn’t what I meant!” he protested.

Mal scratched his forehead. “Let’s…ah…..skip right over how you discovered that embarrassing little fact about my sex life, and-” he flashed Wash a grin as the pilot interrupted him.

“Onto that cute little spider that was eyeing you the other evening?” suggested Wash. He shook his waterlogged head as rain trickled into his eyes. Mal had been pretending to stoically ignore it, but he broke down and wiped the rain out of his own eyes.

The rain had turned to hail, pelting the three men unpleasantly with cold, hard balls of ice that bounced off their heads and shoulders like tiny, manic ping-pong balls. Wash tilted his head back, catching several of them in his mouth and crunching loudly. “Mmm, snow-cones.”

Khiloh shook his head. “Seriously, you two. Go inside.”

“You seriously need ruthlessness lessons,” said Mal with a little smile. He rolled his eyes as if trying to communicate with an exceedingly dense being. “Okay. Evil prison guard 101. In the event of a freak hail storm, you do not express concern for your captives’ comfort and suggest they take shelter. The proper procedure is to order them to stand in it, preferably naked. Then ideally, you chain them to something metal in the hopes of a well placed lightning strike.”

“Above all, do not underestimate the importance of the evil sneer,” added Wash. “It’s good to rub your hands in satisfaction, too.”

Khiloh shuddered theatrically, glaring at Mal. “Remind me to never be your prisoner,” he said. He looked to Wash. “What do I do if my hands are too cold to rub in satisfaction?”

“Kill a puppy,” suggested Mal. “Owww!” he howled indignantly as a particularly large ball of hail clipped him in the ear.

“And you say God doesn’t exist,” muttered Wash. “I’d say someone just got smited.”

“Great, another complex to add to my ever-growing collection,” grumbled Mal, fingering his ear.

A brilliant flash of lightning arced above them, lighting up the sky and fracturing in a dozen different directions as a deafening roll of thunder shook the ground, going on for what seemed like minutes. Wash and Khiloh looked up uneasily, but Mal closed his eyes against the wind and listened with a thrill. He loved thunderstorms, and the menace the others saw was lost on him. The raw, untamed weather did more to lighten his spirits than anything he could have imagined.

He grinned in amusement at the incredulous expressions on the faces of his companions, chuckling as Wash backed away hurriedly from the metal gate as the sky split apart in another flash of blinding light.

“Okay, guys,” said Khiloh nervously. “Mal, I’m sorry to interrupt the little moment you and the really scary storm are having, but you two need to get inside.” The now-intimidated Wash turned for the door without argument, but Mal planted his feet in a playful challenge. “Or, the evil prison guard will come in and - beat you,” added Khiloh.

Mal rolled his eyes. “Okay, we gotta work on your delivery, but –“ he obeyed Khiloh’s affectionate glare and turned to follow the pilot inside.

Wash immediately dove for the corner of the room and sat down, shivering with his arms wrapped tightly around himself. Mal left the housing unit door open and sat just inside the threshold, looking out from just beyond the reach of the wind and the hail that was now mixing with rain, falling in curtains in front of him.