For once, Mal was glad for the cuffs on his wrists. He was fair certain they were the only thing holding him together; that without something to anchor him in reality, the vortex spinning around him would simply steal him away, ripping him apart like it had the fragments of his world. Numbed to his surroundings by shock and alcohol, he staggered and tried to focus when he felt Khiloh remove the handcuffs. They were standing in a yard somewhere, the cover officer nowhere to be seen. The yard spun, and he closed his eyes.

“Spill,” Khiloh ordered gently. If Mal heard him, it was in a distant corner of his brain that he would only discover minutes later. There was no flicker of reaction or acknowledgement on his face. “Mal,” the guard pressed, “what happened in there? What did Lee say?”

Mal looked at Khiloh dizzily. “That I’m a war criminal.”

Khiloh frowned. If Lee had insulted Mal, he couldn’t fathom why that would affect him so deeply. “And?” he asked, guiding Mal to a bench.

The very intoxicated Mal sat clumsily and blinked as though slightly startled to find a bench under him. “And, they’re fixing to try me as such and slap me with a jail sentence. If I’m all fortunate and well-behaved, I’ll spend here an’ not a place with a name like Misery Heights Penitentiary. Which would be – you know – fun, because I – that’s a funny name, right?”

Khiloh’s heart dropped. “Oh, God,” he whispered. Mal was rambling in utter shock and hardly seemed to hear him. “I’m so sorry.” Khiloh reached out and covered Mal’s hand with his, holding it firmly until he seemed to regain a recognition of his surroundings. When it happened, it happened fast, like a stunned soldier recovering from a devastating attack and moving on.

Mal gripped the edge of the bench hard to steady himself and actually met the guard’s eyes for the first time. “This ain’t – where’s – this ain’t my housing unit,” he observed alertly.

Khiloh blinked. “Ah, no….” He sniffed, and his jaw dropped as things started making slightly more sense. “You’re – drunk!"

Mal grinned broadly and nodded. “Reckon I got me a new drinking buddy.” He started laughing. “Hey, next time, ya’ should join us. Celebrate my execution order or whatever jolly special holida-occasio-“ he broke down snickering.

“That’s – not – funny,” protested Khiloh, shaking the still–chuckling Mal’s arm to get his attention. Mal finally looked up, caught between laughter and desperation. Khiloh tightened his grip. “Mal. Please. Whatever pride you have to swallow at that trial, please – just come back here so I can help you through this, okay?”

Mal nodded halfheartedly. “Mal! You get yourself sent to some rathole prison, I’m going to be out here every day in agony for you, thinking and worrying and wondering where you are and what’s happening to you.”

Mal’s face softened, and he looked away, holding his face in his hands. After a minute he asked quietly, “You - care that much?”

“Yes,” said Khiloh simply. “Mal, I care about my friends. Knowing you were being abused would be torture for me, an' - I’d never be able to forget about you. Please.”

Mal looked at him, touched but a mite unsettled. “That’s – it’s kinda creepifying, hearing a guy in your position-“

“So – it’s creepy for me to care?” interrupted Khiloh, stung. “Or am I just not filling out my bad-guy role well enough?” The guard stood and glared. “Look, just ask Wash sometime if I’ve ever betrayed his trust or his friendship, okay? I might've beat him up a couple times, but I'm pretty damn sure I've never actually hurt him.”

“This – just ain’t where I’d think to find a friend,” said Mal. "Not seemly, ya' know. Need to be all – cold an' such, prison guards ain't supposed ta' –" he stopped, wondering what point he'd been trying to make.

Khiloh's voice was still tight as he addressed Mal. “Maybe you’ll never get past my uniform, my job or that I work for the Alliance. But I don’t give a damn. When my can xiao world fell apart and I was standing there crying in cán rěn misery, you and Wash were the best friends I could’ve asked for. If that was coming from a guy who’ll never trust me, I guess it means even more.”

Mal’s head was swimming from looking up, and he patted the bench dizzily to get Khiloh to sit. “You’re – a good friend,” he said, his words slurred. Don’t abandon me now, please. I’m scared.

Khiloh sat and fell silent for a minute, seeing Mal's sudden vulnerability and wondering how to respond. "I – didn't mean to scare you," he ventured timidly. "It's just, in your place I'd be so scared and depressed and really needing a friend to care about me, and – I just wanted to be there for you."

“You still gonna feel that way about a convicted war criminal?” Mal asked finally. "Ya' know, Lee figures folk're gonna think I'm all evil and – stuff."

Khiloh looked him directly in the eyes. “Mal, I don’t want to be your jailer. I hate being the one keeping you in a place you hate. But I will do that for a million years before I’ll see you hurt even more.” He fell silent for a minute. “I had a chance to get out. Out of a job I hated, away from a place that rips me to shreds inside every day. I reenlisted because of Wash, because I couldn’t abandon my friend here. I won’t abandon you either.”

Mal squeezed his eyes shut. Thank you. Even coming from such an odd source, Khiloh’s stubborn caring was deeply touching. “Think I’ll ever get to accept it, like Wash?” asked Mal. “Get to be content here, learn shadow puppets?”

Khiloh thought for a minute, then shook his head. “No,” he said softly. “Wash has learned how to trick himself, copes by feeling safe and trusting the people here. He knows it’s an illusion, but it’s one he’s happy with. He’s learned to put himself in our hands, and he trusts the people he has to depend on. When his trust is violated, it shatters him, but he turns to his friends and he gets over it.”

Mal nodded, and Khiloh continued carefully. “You don’t have that. I think you’re too realistic, and your grip on reality means enough to you that you’ll never accept being a prisoner. You’ll never be able to talk yourself into it being okay. You’re a smart guy, and you know human nature too well to talk yourself into buying an illusion.”

Mal sighed. Khiloh had echoed almost exactly his own thoughts and notions on the subject. "Take me back?" he requested. He was well and truly drunk, and if he was fixing to pass out he wanted it to be in his housing unit.

~~~~~

Khiloh touched Mal briefly on the back and spoke quietly so the cover officer wouldn’t hear. “Hang in there.” Mal nodded and walked into the yard.

A familiar voice startled them both. “What was that? You gonna make out with him next?”

Khiloh spun around, enraged. The huáng shu láng had to have snuck up behind him with the specific purpose of watching his interaction with Mal. “No, sir,” he said through clenched teeth. It was Sergeant Lambert, his bushy left eyebrow hovering mockingly above his face.

“Turn your back,” ordered the Sergeant with an icy glare at Mal. Mal obeyed with misgiving, and Lambert punched him in the back where Khiloh had touched him.

Mal staggered drunkenly and with his back safely to the Sergeant, rolled his eyes. If that was supposed to hurt him, mister wobbly-eyebrow was gonna have to wait until he wasn’t drunk, dosed to the eyeballs on pain meds, and preoccupied with little matters like, oh, spending years in prison.

Lambert faced Khiloh with smug satisfaction. “Appears I’m gonna have to teach you how to be a prison guard. This is how it’s done,” he chuckled, “-when you’re not a pansy.” He drew his baton and rammed the tip against Mal’s upper back, sending him staggering forward. Almost in the same motion, the Sergeant hooked Mal’s foot with his leg, tripping him and knocking him to the ground with another blow.

Mal grunted as he caught himself with his injured wrist, but that was the only thing that actually hurt, and he relaxed face down in the gravel idly thinking that this would be a good time to be scared, or mad, or something. A kick slammed into his leg, and he obeyed an order to stand, entertaining himself idly with a bout of experimental eyebrow-wiggling.

Khiloh’s cover officer interrupted. “Sir? There’s no need to kick this guy around, can’t recall as he’s ever given us a problem.”

Lambert glared. “Who’s your Sergeant?”

“Smith, sir,” replied the cover officer uneasily. “He’s a good man, sir, as in not fond of folk abusing prisoners.”

Lambert's lips tightened. “Well, if this good man of yours should ever hear about this, I’ll make damn sure you suffer for it. And you,” he said, glaring at Khiloh with his eyebrow twitching in an epileptic fit. “Seem to recall I told you to start treating these men like prisoners.”

“Yes, sir,” said Khiloh dully. “I do, sir.”

“You know why you’re still workin’ in my yards? Because I haven’t found a shitty enough assignment yet, something special for you to dread every day. But I think I'm taking the wrong approach. Maybe it's not you I need ta' discipline, it's them." Lambert faced Mal. "Get down on the ground."

"Sir!" yelled Khiloh as Mal knelt. "I don't know what you're doing, but don't even think about taking this out on him."

Lambert grinned. "Seems you know exactly what I'm doing." He glanced down at Mal. "Face down, spread your arms and legs."

“Practicin’ for your new job as a dominatrix?” asked Mal, raising his eyebrows and twitching one mockingly.

The guard rounded on him, furiously lashing out with his baton. Mal gritted his teeth in momentary pain, feeling none of the irrational terror that had plagued him for so long. He looked up at the short, pudgy nvè däi kuáng zhě with a murderous darkness that made the guard take a step back despite himself.

"Mal, obey him," warned Khiloh. Or, I could – not, thought Mal. Never liked bullies. "Mal!" yelled Khiloh sharply. You're drunk, best listen to the fellow. Might be he has a point. He flattened himself on the ground with a groan.

The eyebrow knelt down beside him. "So, takes you three tries to obey an order? Almost seems unfair ta' punish you for that, considering it's a lax guard as taught you the habit." Lambert shrugged with an involuntary grin growing on his face. "Maybe after he watches this he'll get a little better at maintaining discipline around here."

Kneeling down on Mal's shoulder, he pressed his baton to Mal's neck and pressed the shock button. Mal yelped and tried to jerk free, the shock not helping his already spinning head. After a few jolts he was dazed and simply whimpered softly in pain when each shock hit, not particularly caring. He vaguely heard Khiloh plead with the Sergeant to stop, wished he could tell him it didn't matter.

The gate slammed, and Mal remained in place as he listened to the three sets of footsteps fade away. Dazed and numb, he had no particular desire to move. The ground felt solid, and he found it pleasant enough to simply lie there.

“Mal? Are you okay?” Gray was kneeling beside him, with Zeke looking on in concern.

“Uh –“ Mal thought for a second. “Nope.”

“Can we help?” asked Zeke.

Another pause for thought. “Nope,” Mal said, shaking his head lazily.

“Are you injured?” asked Gray.

“Nooope,” replied Mal.

“Are you gonna say anything but ‘nope’?” asked Zeke.

“Nope,” replied Mal, suddenly finding that reply hilarious. Zeke and Gray exchanged wide-eyed glances. Each taking one arm, they hauled the giggling Mal to his feet and supported his rocky steps inside.

~~~~~