Mal raised his head and greeted Lee with a genuine smile. "Is this a rescue?"

Lee smiled in return. "It is."

“Glad you showed up. Things might’ve started to get ugly,” deadpanned Mal.

A startled grin cracked Lee’s face, and he shook his head in affectionate disbelief. He stepped aside to allow Dye in, and the Sergeant freed him from the chains, offering his hand to help Mal sit.

Lee entered the small cell and knelt by Mal, his face grave. He looked down and rested his hand on Mal's. It was a gesture of respect more than comfort, and Mal kept his voice soft with equal respect when he spoke. "Ugly thing, ain't it? Chains, blood, and men in prison cells?"

Lee nodded. "Corporal Alleyne told me when I had you on suicide watch that you'd be better off if I chained you up in a dungeon. That at least that way, you'd have something to fight." He studied Mal thoughtfully. “I hope she was right."

"Felt good to fight, sir," said Mal with a small grin. "The torture, not so much."

Steps sounded outside the door, and Lee stood and stepped to the side. Mal heard the slight squeak of a gun being un-holstered, and Gunderson appeared at the cell door, his weapon aimed directly at Dye.

Dye froze.

"We gots an Independent sympathizer here, looks like," said Gunderson. "Thought it looked like you were going soft on me." His face was twisted in a contemptuous grin.

His eyes traveled down to Mal. "Seemed I left you a little more – secure." Mal glared at Gunderson, keeping his eyes from flickering towards the corner of the cell where Lee stood.

Dye shifted, and Gunderson's finger tightened on the trigger. "But first I'll deal with the traitor -"

Lee raised his arm with the speed of a cobra and fired two shots directly into the side of Gunderson's chest. Almost in the same movement, a third to the head ended his life with deafening finality.

Lee tucked the pistol back into a holster concealed under his coat and nudged at Gunderson's body with one foot. There was no movement, and Lee stooped to retrieve the gun from his hand.

"You shen jing bing, he had his finger on the trigger! You could have gotten me killed!" shouted Dye. The shots were still ringing in their ears, and Mal heard the words as though through a pane of glass.

Lee shrugged and motioned for Dye to help him drag the body out of the cell, then helped Mal to his feet. Keeping one hand on Lee's shoulder for balance, he walked out. It seemed a symbolic moment, and he held his head up high.

Lee gestured to Dye. "Get in."

Dye froze and stopped breathing, glancing between Lee and the cell with sudden fear. Seeing no give in Lee's manner, he walked in with the bearing of a man stepping up to a gallows.

"So,” said Lee with a calm nod in Mal's direction. “After your court-martial, when you go to prison, is this how you want to be treated? When you walk in there to start your sentence, scared and depressed, this is the kind of reception you’d like?”

“No, sir,” said the Sergeant, shaken and pale. He unbuckled his gun belt and handed it wordlessly to Lee.

“I’m thinking I’ll chain you down when I get back, and while you’re in there you can hope and pray you wind up someplace where you’ll be treated with more mercy than you’ve shown this man,” said Lee, his voice frighteningly mild.

Dye looked away silently, his hands shaking. “Yes, sir,” he said. He looked up at Mal, his expression pleading with Lee to give him this moment. “I’m sorry, sir. Hope you come out of this okay, and maybe forgive me sometime.”

Mal found himself looking back into the officer’s eyes, his own expression a mirror of the look of uncertain dislike and sympathy Dye had given him in the office. “Already did, sir,” said Mal. “Not easy, makin’ the right choice in a tough spot. Xie xie.”

Lee gave Mal a questioning look, but then gripped his arm tightly to silence him. Mal closed his mouth and looked away. “Thanks,” said the guard tightly as he turned away. Lee hit a button on the door and it slid shut.

~~~~~

Lee walked slowly down the hall with Mal. "You are a very decent man," he said in a soft voice.

"Been given some painfully plain examples of the other kind," said Mal, looking at the long row of blank metal doors they were walking past, each looking like it should contain mops or canned peaches or some such. Not human beings. It hurt inside, walking past them.

"If you sum up what the Independent army was and what it stood for, then I would have been proud to fight with you," said Lee.

Mal stopped. Lee looked at him with a smile deep in his eyes that was no less sincere for not reaching his face, and waved him forward. No need to return the sentiment.

“You seem a very decent man yourself, sir,” said Mal. He walked for a minute, troubled. "Are you really –"

"No," Lee cut him off. "I won't leave him in that cell. I just wanted to show him how frightening a thing like this is. He'll be charged, but if he's the one who turned this in he'll get off pretty light."

They walked out of the depressing building, and the cold night air hit Mal like a cleansing wave washing over him. He breathed in deeply and looked up at the sky with a deeply held feeling of fondness. The lights dotting the surroundings partly obscured the stars, but several shone brightly through in greeting.

Lee was in no hurry, and he waited until Mal looked back at him before starting down one of the walkways leading from the building. It took all of Mal’s strength simply to walk, but Lee’s limp slowed him down enough to match Mal’s uncertain steps, and the two men fell into a companionable shuffle.

“What’s with the limp?” Mal asked, curious and wanting something to distract him from – well, everything.

“I didn’t always run a prison, never wanted to, actually. I was a minor General in the war, and got my leg blown off in an attack. This one’s artificial. Works like a charm, but they wouldn’t put me back out there, and this was the best assignment I could get. Thought I might do well enough at it.”

“Woulda’ figured you to harbor a little resentment against us, given the leg and all,” said Mal.

Lee shook his head. “It’s the nature of war. I’ve got no reason to hate the Browncoats, one of your medics actually tended to me a bit on the way through. Saved my life. And we were holding a few of your guys prisoner for a while, waiting for transport to take them here. They were very honorable men, and I’d always wondered what became of them.”

Mal looked at Lee with renewed respect. “My squad caught a few of your people once too,” he said. “They weren’t half bad.”

The two men walked silently for a minute. It felt strange, walking along casually trading war stories, but Mal couldn't think of much better to do. For all the intensity of the day, he was oddly numb. What had happened had happened, and that was that. There was no changing it, just going on.

"So I take it they were lying, about your ordering this?" asked Mal. "Still a little fuzzy on how I wound up on that little side trip."

Lee nodded. “Not a lie, exactly. I don’t know the details yet, but I’m guessing bad intentions got mixed up with worse communication. I checked the central cortex, and there actually is a standing order to the effect of my wanting all war criminals held at maximum security.”

“We have a protection unit here – it’s solitary, but a lot more pleasant than where you were. There was discussion about whether we should house our war crimes convicts there. The mood’s more than a little ugly when it comes to you men. If that instruction got passed along to the wrong people and twisted badly enough, I can see how it might have turned into a good excuse.”

"You – decided not to, right?" Mal momentarily neglected the difficult task of keeping his legs under him and stumbled to his knees. "Hold us in solitary?"

Lee extended his hand and helped him struggle back to his feet. “No, I decided to risk this,” he said, looking at Mal with conflict written on his face.

Mal shrugged with a grin. "Hey, what's life without a good beating now an' then?" All humor vanished with his next question. "What about Corporal Alleyne? Having a hard time with the notion of something like this -"

Lee raised his hand to stop him. “I’ll protect her. I’ll protect all of you, it’s just going to be harder than I thought. But on that note I have to ask something of you. I need to put you on suicide watch tonight.”

Mal stopped in his tracks. “Suicide watch? Though you had me figured better –“

“You’re arguably a suicide risk and a downright liability to my guards at the moment, but it’s a lot more than that,” interrupted Lee.

“You imagine I’m gonna go on a rampage armed with my good looks and enough strength to maybe take out a puffy marshmallow?” asked Mal. Trust something like the Alliance to kick the lä shi out of him, then lock him in a cell because he might have the gall to be upset about it.

“No, I’m afraid for your safety. My guards on suicide watch are some of the best screened, most well-intentioned people in this facility, and I trust them not to hurt you in any way. You’ll be treated well, you’ll be comfortable and safe. I can't say that about any other place tonight."

Lee met Mal’s eyes steadily. “I’m going to do this,” he said. “I’m sorry.” The apology was genuine.

"I'm not covering this one up," said Lee, changing the subject with authority after a few second's awkward silence.

“Imagine it might be hard to cover up, given you shot one of your own officers,” snarked Mal. He was sulking and he knew it.

“You shot two of my officers, and I managed,” commented Lee dryly. "What happened to you in there is going to get very public. In about a week you men are going to get a visit from an Independent liaison. He's going to want to talk to you about this. Don't hold anything back."

"What about your shiny untarnished career? Don't you mean to say I should tell 'im you serve us margaritas at the poolside an' leave little mints on the pillows?"

“A lot still depends out your keeping what happened to you before under wraps, but this story you tell far and wide. I know what I'm doing," said Lee, looking directly into Mal's eyes with a completely unwavering gaze. There was much more behind that statement than Lee was letting on.

“We’ll get you back to your unit tomorrow. Anyone out there who might do you harm?” asked Lee.

“Nasty piece of work named Lambert,” said Mal instantly. “Check the surveillance feeds - about a week back. Was done on the pretense of teaching a couple of decent young men how to treat a prisoner."

Lee nodded. “Okay. You'll never see him again."

They came to the door of a long, low building that Mal recognized very clearly. Last time he'd been brought here, he'd thought he was going to be executed. Instead, Lee had ended his life in a different way.

Mal stopped, and Lee followed suit. "Bad memories here, I know," said Lee.

Mal nodded. Despite everything, he liked this man, liked his unflinchingly straightforward manner and quiet intelligence. "If everyone with power handled it like you, we wouldn't have had this war," said Mal.

Mal motioned at the door, and Lee opened it and led him in.

They walked past a door with a placard reading "Showers" in English and Chinese, and Mal suddenly realized what he wanted most in the whole world. "May I?" he asked Lee, nodding at the door.

Lee nodded. "Go ahead. I'll have one of the guards bring you some fresh clothes, and get the doctor on his way in."

~~~~~

Mal tensed as the warm water stung the tender network of cuts and bruises that covered his upper body, but the sensation passed soon enough. He closed his eyes and savored the warmth. It was infinitely soothing, washing away sweat and cold and all the horror that had come with the past hours.

This place was a perfect metaphor for the Alliance that ran it; controlling, well-intentioned, and often shockingly cruel. No official stance advocated destroying planets or bombing innocent ranchers, just as there was no intention to allow prisoners here to be beaten or tortured. There didn’t need to be. It was simply what happened when you gave people or governments an overabundance of power.

His fingers explored the cut on his stomach; he wasn't normally squeamish, but for some odd reason he couldn't look at it. He put his hand over the wound and leaned limply against the wall, letting the water splash down on his head and run across his closed eyes. He felt hurt, and somehow very young.

He thought back on what he'd told the Lieutenant, and wondered what the truth was. He'd heard the rumors same as anyone, never actually met a man who'd actually taken part in it. Not known anyone who'd wanted to. Some said reavers were responsible, that it hadn't been a military action at all. That was the part that almost troubled him the most; he could tell himself with a certainty, just as he had the Lieutenant, that if it was the work of Browncoats, those they did it to hadn't been alive to suffer. He pressed his hand more tightly against his stomach.

Finally the tension that wracked his body left, washed down the drain by the comforting warmth of the water. There was something idly interesting about finding a man could live a nightmare and still find ways to cope. He wondered how many people got to the point where they realized even hell had its upsides, its moments of comfort and quiet beauty amidst the pain, of good men walking among the monsters.

He found the pile of clean clothes that had been left for him and dressed.

Lee was waiting for him outside with Khiloh and another guard, about Mal's age. "Hear you've had a hell of a day, sir," the man greeted. Khiloh started to speak, but his words choked to a halt when he saw the bruises on Mal's face.

"Come on, I'm not that hideous, am I?" Mal asked, trying to set him at ease. He touched the young guard on the arm. "Just another day."

"Right down here, sir," said the guard, leading the way at a considerately slow pace. "Sounds like Khiloh here'll be watching over you tonight, but I'll always be in shouting range if you need me." He looked at Mal with obvious sympathy. "Rest easy, nobody here's going to do you any harm."

"I beg to differ," said Mal wryly. He touched his bruised cheek gingerly. "Unless you got an odd definition of harm."

The guard smiled uneasily. "I meant – I mean here, in this-"

Khiloh rolled his eyes at the discomfited officer with a shaky smile. "He does this," he reassured. "You get used to it eventually." The guard swiped his badge on the door of a cell to open it and took his leave with an overawed salute at Lee.

Mal looked in the cell and blinked. Sitting at the clean white table was Wash, trying to smile in greeting but faltering at his battered appearance. Mal looked accusingly at Lee. “What is this, a post-beating-the-zhï tóu zi -out-of-Mal slumber party?”

“Something like that,” said Lee gravely, a twinkle barely showing in his eyes.

“You run one bizarre prison, you know that, sir?” said Mal, shaking his head and walking into the cell.

“May I go in with him, sir?” asked Khiloh. “I know it’s against procedure, but I’d like to stay with him a while. If I could.”

Lee nodded, giving an uneasy glance at Wash. “You hurt my guard, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”

Wash looked directly at Lee. “I couldn't hurt him - sir.” The gentle sincerity in his voice melted Lee's reservations.

Lee gripped Khiloh’s shoulder firmly. “Good man. Good to know I still got a few,” he added under his breath. “I’m going to replace you out at the yard. You’re on special duty tonight. I don’t care how many rules you bend, you take care of Sergeant Reynolds and keep him safe, dong ma? Doctor’ll be here soon,” said Lee.

“Yes, sir,” said Khiloh, saluting.

Lee glanced at Mal on his way out. "Never mind the war, son. Sometimes it's enough to win the battle."