As the storm died down and the light began to fade, Mal stood and hobbled his way over to Wash, shivering quietly in the corner. “Wash? You okay?” Wash nodded silently.

Zeke joined Mal and knelt down next to Wash. Feeling Wash’s icy hands, he looked up. “No, he’s not. You two can’t spend the night like this.”

“Yes, we can,” said Mal with firm authority, his words directed more at Wash than Zeke. “Not cold enough ta’ kill us,” said Mal, wishing he had some way to help. The pilot’s jaw was set and he clearly had no intention of complaining, but it was going to be a very long night.

Zeke looked at Mal in dismay. “So that’s it? You’re not going to die, so it’s okay? You don’t seem wildly concerned about yourself, but I’m pretty unhappy at the idea of seeing Wash suffer, and I think you are too.”

“Suit yourself,” said Wash. “I’ve never had hypothermia, I’m looking forward to trying it.” He looked at Zeke, who was still regarding him with concern. “Thanks,” he said in a small voice, staring at the floor. Zeke gripped his shoulder gently and moved away.

“Ming’s Pizza and Prison Food, here with a delivery for – ah housing unit 28A?” interrupted Khiloh’s voice on the intercom box. “Come and get it before it starts breeding new and exotic life forms.”

#

They’d essentially been on starvation rations, with the day shift guard bringing them breakfast and the swing shift guard finding an excuse to deny them food every night, so the hot, filling food was ambrosia. Khiloh had also brought them a large jug of hot chocolate, which the dry prisoners forced on Mal and Wash until they protested that they were going to die of chocolate poisoning.

The rain stopped, and with their stomachs content for the first time in days, five grateful men went outside. “Sir?” asked Zeke hesitantly. “I may be really out of line here, but Wash hasn’t stopped shivering since he came back in, and Mal is chained up so he can’t even move around much to stay warm. I’m –worried about them.”

Mal shot Zeke a look of fury that the concerned pilot missed completely as Khiloh’s face creased in worry. “You are out of line,” snarled Mal in frustration as he saw the hurt on their guard’s face. “We did this, it was our choice, and it ain’t his gorram responsibility to fix!”

“I’m sorry!” Zeke yelled back, hurt. He took a deep breath and controlled his voice. “I really don’t want to see you suffer all night, okay? I don’t think he does either.”

“No, I don’t,” said Khiloh, taking a deep breath and trying to settle the sick feeling in his stomach. Zeke and the others hadn’t heard the earlier conversation, and wouldn’t understand what he was about to do. He looked directly at Zeke. “I really, truly don’t, but they’re going to have to tough this one out.”

Zeke looked at him in dismay. “Can’t you bring them a change of clothes, or some blankets, or something?”

“No,” he said flatly, not trusting his voice not to betray him if he said any more.

“What the hell!” burst Zeke, throwing his hands in the air. “This is cruelty from anyone, let alone the guy who actually gives a damn!”

“You try doing something like this to people you care about sometime, and get back to me with that pissed-off look of yours, okay?” Khiloh snapped, looking away as he tried to hide the emotion in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” said the confused Zeke gently, seeing the sincere hurt in their guard’s expression.

There was a long silence, and finally Khiloh took a deep breath. “You’re not out of line,” he said softly, looking at Zeke and Mal. “That was a kind thing to do. I’m under a lot of pressure to be harder on you guys, and I’m not going to do that. But I try anything I can get caught at, like giving blankets to people who aren’t supposed to have them, things are going to get a lot worse for you guys, dong ma?”

They nodded, and Khiloh looked around the group soberly. “I care about you, all of you. I think about you at night when I go home to my family and my comfortable apartment, and I think about you when I hear about the war and Browncoats and right and wrong.” He looked down. “And I think about being the guy who lets his friends shiver in the cold all night, who hauls people into tiny little solitary confinement cells to punish them and who uses things like handcuffs and shock sticks on people who never committed any crime.” His voice was a little ragged with frustrated emotion. “And then they tell me I’m not treating you like prisoners. Just how much of a chou wang ba dando I have to be before I meet the acceptable standard, I wonder?”

“You have to do all those things in the spirit of abuse,” said Mal softly. “To try and hurt us with them instead of blunting it with kindness and understanding.”

“I’m sorry,” said Zeke again, addressing both Khiloh and Mal. Mal nodded, touching him briefly on the arm. It’s okay.

“Guess I’m making progress on my assignment,” said Khiloh dryly, changing the painfully useless subject. “I just earned myself an A in Mal’s Evil Prison Guarding 101, don’t you think?”

Matty gave a forced chuckle. “You as the evil prison guard? Somehow I’m just not seeing it.”

“Is that a challenge?” asked Khiloh, his eyebrows arching playfully.

“Yes indeed,” said Matty.

“So,” said Khiloh, sighing. “Apparently Mal’s not the only one that thinks I need work on nurturing my dark side. So, aside from the obvious essentials like random and unprovoked beatings, what other draconian practices should I indulge in?”

“Well, when you think about it, beatings should really be both provoked and unprovoked,” Wash pointed out. “Otherwise you’re missing out on half your opportunities.”

“Hey!” protested Mal. “Last time I said something like that, you hit me!”

“That’s what we call a provoked beating,” said Wash, grinning.

Mal looked pleadingly at Khiloh. “Could I borrow that nasty-looking stick of yours for a minute? Please? I got myself a provoked beating to inflict.”

Wash yipped in fear and dodged behind Zeke’s sturdy frame. “Protect me!”

Khiloh rubbed his hands together in satisfaction. “So, you see how it is?” he said in a menacing accent. “Already I have them turning against each other.” He looked at Mal, falling back into his normal speaking voice. “And no, you may not borrow my baton. It belongs in my evil domain.”

Mal pouted, and Khiloh drew his club, tapping it menacingly against his hand. “This, I do myself.” He pointed at Wash. “Come and kneel before me, prisoner.” Wash obeyed, slinking out from behind Zeke in mock fear. With an elaborate flourish, Khiloh tapped him lightly on the top of the shoulder with the baton and bowed. “I knight thee Receiver of Provoked Beatings, Sir Washburne,” he intoned.

Wash grinned up at Khiloh. “I seem to remember being knighted was an honor, not something evil prison guards do. But – whatever.”

“Does – does this mean he has to be chivalrous now?” asked Gray hesitantly, speaking for the first time. “Because that’s really not his thing.”

“Hey!” said Wash indignantly, standing. “I’ll have you know I rode a white horse once!” He glanced around at the bemused expressions of his friends. “Okay, it was a pony,” he muttered. “With brown spots. But he was mostly white, and I was wearing a helmet.”

Khiloh struck an indignant pose and poked Wash with his baton. “Did the evil prison guard say you could get up?”

“Oh, evil schmevil,” said Wash, backing away with his hands in the air. “You can’t even figure out the difference between beating and knighting.”

The rain began to sprinkle again, and Khiloh’s face went serious. “Go inside.” At Wash’s crestfallen look, he added, “You can leave the door open to make it easier to hear my malicious taunting, but at least get under shelter.”

“Someone’s not getting the point,” muttered Mal loudly as he limped back inside.

“Get back in your cell!” thundered Khiloh, slamming the club loudly across the metal gate. “Any better?” he asked.

“It’s an improvement,” said Wash.

There was light angling through the open door from the outdoor floodlights, and Wash sat down on a bunk just inside the door.

A shadow-puppet figure moved jerkily across the wall towards another figure. “Fear me, for I am an evil sadist and you are my prisoner!”

The second figure cowered. “No! No! Somebody save me, he’s going to knight me again!”

“No such luck, my cowering little shadow puppet,” intoned Wash. “I have orders to be evil, and evil I shall be. See this classroom?”

The second shadow figure darted about. “No – no, I don’t see a classroom, I see a wall. And cold people. I see cold people!”

“Ni shi sha gua, my little friend. You have never heard of suspension of disbelief, I think? Anyway, there is a classroom, and as punishment for your insolence, tomorrow you shall all wake up naked in it! Muwahahahaaaaah!”

“No! No!” protested the cowering figure. “I have tan lines! You can’t! You can’t! Please no!”

“Yes, I can,” rebutted the evil shadow. “One of the perks of working for the all-benevolent Alliance. Defy me and I shall annihilate you!”

“No! Not the social commentary!” groaned the second figure. “Anything but thinly veiled social commentary from shadow puppets!”

“Are you mocking me in there?” called Khiloh. “Because I’m warning you, evil prison guards take a very dim view of being made fun of.”

“I don’t see any scars,” returned Wash. “In order to qualify as evil, you need a scar, an eye patch, or at the very least a missing tooth, and I’m not seeing any of the above.”

“That’s it!” yelled Khiloh. “Nothing but water and fruitcake for you lot for a year!”

“Hey, look who’s gettin’ the hang of this,” said Mal. “Would that be my great-aunt’s fruitcake?”

“The very same,” said Khiloh, and Mal shuddered.

“Mal is shuddering,” reported Wash. “You did it! You broke Mal!”

“That’s good,” replied Khiloh. “Because I’m fresh out of evil plots now.”

“You could make us inventory the fence wires,” suggested Zeke.

“Blindfolded,” added Gray.

“Ah, I know,” said Khiloh. “From now on all my unreasonable orders will be issued in Aramaic, and it goes without saying that if you don’t obey, I’ll beat you.”

“With a rabid badger,” added Mal.

“Yes, with a rabid badger,” sighed Khiloh.

“I know how you could score some points with your Sergeant,” said Matty. “Shave our left eyebrows, that way we’ll match him.”

Khiloh snorted. “Shave? Shave? I’m going to pluck ‘em, one hair at a time.”

“So, now you’re torturin’ us with women’s beauty treatments?” Mal groaned. “Ta ma de, next you’re gonna make us exfoliate, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know, I could go for a nice facial,” said Wash.

“Pin prisoners down, blindfold, smear hot mud on faces. Got it. Check,” said Khiloh, laughing.

“There’s always the time-honored classic of makin’ us bow and address you as the supreme being,” suggested Mal. “I always did wanna try that. Or groveling, groveling at the feet of the supreme being is good.”

“Excellent suggestion,” said Khiloh. “I could use some worshippers. And I’m gonna expand on that concept a bit, and be a benevolent deity. I’ll give you gifts – golf ball cleaners, hand-glued stick birdhouses, a lamp that recites bible passages, articles of that nature. But you’d better pretend to like them!”

“And - if we aren’t convincing enough?” asked Zeke.

“Uhh……public floggings?” suggested Khiloh. “Human sacrifice? Engineering school?”

“Narrated museum tours,” said Mal firmly. “Nothin’ more horrific than listenin’ to serious people tell you how your ancestors knitted their own golf ball cleaners and felled entire forests with sharp toothpicks.”

“Suit yourself,” grumbled Wash. “Some of us actually enjoy shrines to petrified badger dung.”

“Will you people stop having fun?” Khiloh whined loudly. “You’re making me look less then perfectly evil with all this enjoying yourselves.”

“An evil reputation has to be earned, you know,” shouted back Matty. “You can’t just knight a guy once and live on in infamy.”

“Doesn’t work that way,” agreed Mal.

“Fine!” snapped Khiloh. “One more laugh out of you and I’m dragging you into solitary confinement.”

“Well, that was moderately mean,” said Gray.

“Moderately? Oh, it gets worse, much, much worse,” said Khiloh menacingly. “You’re gonna have a couple very special cellmates.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Allow me to introduce you to Burt and Leslie, my grandparents. Gold medalists in marital bickering thirty-seven point five years running, Burt and Leslie are math professors who quarrel in advanced theoretical equations.”

“They bicker in equations?” asked Wash incredulously.

“Yep,” said Khiloh. “Can’t wait to hear what they do after a couple weeks in solitary together.”

“Oh, I can hold my own in atmospheric reentry projections,” said Wash coolly, puffing up his chest. “Leslie doesn’t scare me.”

“Scares the hell out of me!” protested Mal. “I can’t projectify reentries, all I can do is blow stuff up and herd cattle! How’m I supposed to hold my own against my intellectual superiors when I’m locked in a tiny cell without access to cows?”

“Oh, fine,” sighed Khiloh. “I’ll stick a cow in there too.” He looked at the time and sighed. “Time for me to get off duty, you guys best pretend to get to bed.” He paused. “Take care, okay?”

“Okay, evil prison guard,” called Wash affectionately. “Have a good night.”

“And a rabid badger?” pleaded Mal quietly into the dark as Khiloh walked away. He grinned as he heard a fond chuckle from the retreating officer.

#