Wash met Mal halfway to the table and offered him a shoulder to lean on, supporting his steps and helping him ease into a chair. “What happened?”

“I’m a war criminal,” Mal answered bluntly. “I – they – I’ve been –“ he couldn’t force the words from his mouth. I’m going to be here for ten years. He couldn’t say it. He couldn't keep the hurt off his face either, and Wash rested a hand lightly on his shoulder.

Focus on now. Now is bearable. Mal reached up and put his hand on Wash's, appreciating the touch more than any words. This was sanity. For an eternity, nobody spoke.

Khiloh was standing close to Mal. Several times he moved as if to speak, and stopped before any words came out. Wash's gaze was focused on the floor of the cell. These two men were hurting like hell for him, thanks to that stricken look. You learned to be a better leader than this before you even left the ranch. Get it together.

"I got a – a thing on my ankle I'd be more'n a little willing to part with, if you were to be in a taking sort of mood," said Mal, keeping his voice calm and light..

Relieved to have some way to help, Khiloh knelt down a little too quickly and started fumbling with it. "They – used this on you." Khiloh couldn’t even look at him, but he took such care in unlocking and removing the band that Mal almost missed the shake in his hands.

Mal nodded. He took the band from Khiloh and set it on the table and spoke plainly to the two men. "Listen. I won in there. Might not look it, but – I fought those xiao wáng bä dàn men."

"Oh, it looks it, all right," said Wash, unable to resist the joke even though his face was an odd sort of pale.

Mal chuckled. There was a beep at the door, and he looked up. Mal recognized the doctor; he had a pleasant face with a few too many wrinkles, and a frosting of gray in light brown hair. Of all the people who'd treated him in the hospital, if he'd had to pick out a favorite it would have been this fellow. He had a quiet, almost shy manner to him that tended to have a soothing effect on a man.

"Doctor….." Mal thought. Remembering the names of the medical staff had taken the lowest possible priority in his mind. "Tucker?" he greeted.

"Taylor," said the doctor.

Mal sighed. “’He who carries black bag and brings powerful medicine’ would be easier to remember.”

"It's brown," said the Dr. Taylor, setting the bag on the table.

"Huh?" asked Mal.

"The bag," said the doctor with a smile. "It's brown." His face grew serious as he studied Mal, and he fingered the electronic band lying on the table with obvious distaste. "These – they're supposed to be used as an alternative to killing someone, not for –" he hesitated.

"Torture?" finished Mal, trying to get all of the concerned people hovering about him to stop walking on eggshells.

The doctor nodded. "It's a neuroscrambler. Powerful electric shock with a nasty twist." He glanced at Mal. "It's why you're shaking so badly."

"Not – permanently I hope?" asked Mal.

"Nah," said Dr. Taylor with a reassuring smile. "I'll put you on some really strong muscle relaxants and pain meds for the next few days, and your body will take care of the rest. You'll feel good, actually. Weak, but nice and relaxed and sleepy."

Mal ventured a smile. "Sounds kind of nice."

The doctor nodded and readied a syringe. "It will be, I promise. Let's see if I can find someplace not covered with bruises to inject this."

"Good luck with that," said Mal. The doctor chuckled and slipped the needle into his arm. Within seconds, something washed over him, taking all his aches and pains with it. "Smart doctor," he muttered, sleepy. "Shèng mu qïn fó, thank you." He closed his eyes and savored the feeling of not being in pain.

Wash and Khiloh both did a terrible job of hiding their horror at the sight of his injuries, and he rolled his eyes with a grin. "What, you two never seen a man with his shirt off before?" he teased.

"Your friend's going to be fine," assured Dr. Taylor. His voice took on some of Mal's teasing tone. "Bruises heal, you know. Thanks only to major advances in medical science…."

The doctor sprayed something soothing on Mal's back and dabbed ointment on various cuts and abrasions. He treated the small, painful burns on his ankle, and wrapped light bandages around his bruised wrists. Mal knew well enough it was more about making him feel cared for than any medical necessity, but it was pleasant.

It had been a day of extraordinary intensity, and without the nagging pain to anchor him in the present, his mind drifted. Flags on a courtroom wall, an advocate going through the motions of defense. Bursting through walls of orange flame, and floating among stars. Voices; gentle voices, cruel voices, unsettling voices in his head. He was dazed, almost numb. It was too much for one person to experience in a single day.

One of the gentle voices nudged him back to the present. “I need to take a look at that stomach wound." Mal leaned back, taking a deep breath and looking away. “It doesn’t look terribly deep,” observed the doctor.

“It’s not,” replied Mal. “More – horrifying than anything else, just stings a bit.”

“They do what I think?” the doctor asked. “Make the cut, then stitch it without anesthetic?” Mal nodded.

"I –don't remember that part of sewing class," said Wash, trying to chase off the buzzing in his head with humor. It didn't work, and he planted a hand on the table to steady himself.

"You must've missed a day," said Mal. Nothing prepared him for the primal rush of revulsion and rage that ripped through him when the doctor prodded at the cut with his gloved hand. "Get – away from me," he said with a force that made all three men back away in an instant.

Taylor stood calmly. "I apologize, I should have-"

"No," said Mal, sheepish. He gripped the edge of the chair tightly, his heart steadying. "My bad, go about your business, nothing to see here at the local flashbacks-R-us…."

Dr. Taylor touched Khiloh on the arm. "I can tell you care. But please leave us for the time being." Khiloh nodded reluctantly and left.

Sitting down on the edge of the table, the doctor pulled back the sleeve of his crisp white coat.

There was an inmate band around his wrist.

Mal did a startled double-take. “Wha-“

“I’m the only non-civilian on the med team,” the doctor explained. “I’ve been an inmate here since a few weeks after it opened, before they realized if you’re going to house untold thousands of prisoners, half of them wounded in battle before they got dumped here, it’s a good idea to have little luxuries like doctors and medical facilities instead of a nurse's station that would have been quaint fifty years ago. After a few people died they started letting me treat people to the extent I could, and when they put in the hospital and hired doctors –“ he shrugged. “Doctor Morgan talked them into letting me stay on.”

"Seems like that'd get hard on a man," said Mal.

"It does, a bit," said Dr. Taylor. "I can't imagine a greater privilege than being able to help those in here when they need it, it's – this has more meaning……and the rest of the staff are wonderful. But it's a heartbreak, seeing some things…." his voice drifted off. “I have a lot of freedom, and a gratifying job. But I haven’t seen the outside for years.”

Mal swallowed hard. "Wish you'd told me this before, in the hospital. Would've been nice to-"

"Oh, I did." He smiled almost timidly. "You thought I was trying to win your confidence for some fell purpose, and yelled at me more loudly than usual." He spoke with obvious affection, and Mal smiled. "In case you ever need to know – you've got the whole med staff wrapped around your finger," said Dr. Taylor with a return smile.

"I hated you!" protested Mal. He was grinning despite himself, and Dr. Taylor chuckled.

The doctor knelt down and looked at Mal with a steady gaze. "Can you trust a washed-up old Browncoat field medic to patch your hurts?" Mal nodded, and meant it. "Okay. I won't cause you any pain, it's just a matter of a little numbing gel and taking out that sorry excuse for a suturing job."

Mal clenched his fists, frozen in place and hardly breathing. There was no pain, but he could feel the tug as each tiny piece of wire slid out. Wash was standing behind him, and he pressed his head back against his friend. Wash gripped his shoulders and held on for dear life. Gradually Mal relaxed his head in trust against Wash, closing his eyes and simply waiting for the doctor to finish his work.

The doctor spoke, his voice sober. “All done.” He sprayed a line of light foam down the cut. “I won’t have to touch that again, it’ll heal easy enough.”

Mal nodded, relaxing somewhere deep inside. Wash was still holding him, and he tilted his head up to look at his friend. Wash's jaw was set and he was staring aimlessly at a spot across the cell, his cheek suspiciously damp.

"Hey," said Mal with a grin, "No fair you bein' more upset than me. Stop cuddling and make yourself useful."

"How?" asked Wash.

"Uh – by – uh-" Mal sighed and glared at him, wiggling back into his shirt.

“You’re going to be okay, mì you,” Dr. Taylor said. It was something he’d said many times in the hospital, and Mal nodded silently. "I don’t just mean physically.”

Mal turned his head to look at the doctor. He was looking at Mal with quiet empathy, and Mal’s heart softened. “I believe I will,” he said. "Take care of yourself out there, all right?"

The doctor touched him on the arm and left, letting Khiloh in and closing the door quietly.

Mal stood, immediately grabbing at the table for support. The room was wobbling around under him, and his legs wanted to fold. Wash and Khiloh grabbed him, and started supporting his uneasy steps. “Doctors,” muttered Mal. “I could walk before, you know. This is like being drunk, only less fun.”

"Dunno," said Wash. "Looked like you were having plenty of fun when he gave you that shot."

"You – got yourself a point there," said Mal as he folded himself ungracefully onto the bed, going limp with relief and drug-induced drowsiness. It took him several long minutes to relax completely, slowly absorbing the fact that he was no longer in pain. Disinclined to move about, yes. But with a deep sense of relief, he found that he was actually incredibly comfortable. After a few minutes he opened his eyes.

"I'm afraid to say the wrong thing," said Wash, uncertainty written on his face. "Can I just - give you this?" He pressed a small object into Mal's hand.

Mal ran his fingers across it, not needing to look. It was the Independent patch he'd left with Wash for safekeeping during the trial. Hope. How'd the symbol of an army defeated and the expression of something he wasn't sure he had any more become so precious? He tucked his arm close to his chest, unconsciously holding it close to his heart.

He closed his eyes to keep the others from seeing the sudden wave of emotion that hit him. Maybe what you love gets more important the harder you have to fight for it. Could be when you lose things, you got to embody them yourself to keep 'em around.

"That's the right thing to say," said Mal.

"Do you?" asked Wash. "Have hope?"

Mal nodded, not planning the smile that spilled out across his face. "Yeah. Believe I do."

"Good," said Wash.

"Hey," said Mal. "You don't gotta feel bad. It's over, you know."

Wash nodded, trying unsuccessfully to hide how much that choked him up. Mal reached out and touched his arm with the back of his hand. "Stay with me if you'd like, I'm grateful for the company. But don't hurt on my account. Been enough of that today. I – ain't lyin' when I say I'm halfway happy right now, and I'm in no pain."

Wash gave a shaky smile. "Okay if I just grieve for the universe, then?"

"I suppose you could if you wanted," said Mal. "Listen," he said, content and sleepy. "Last time a thing like this happened I was just a guy nobody in particular cared about. This - this is nice."

Khiloh dimmed the lights and brought a blanket over, still having a hard time meeting Mal's eyes. “Want me to put this over you?”

“Sure,” said Mal. “Thanks.” Khiloh draped the blanket over him, and Mal tugged it close around his shoulders, appreciating the warmth and shelter. He closed his eyes and relaxed in contentment.

“Mal,” said Wash. “I know you’re the guy who looks after everyone else and never lets his guard down and never surrenders and all that. But how about making an exception, just once?” He looked directly at Mal. “Can you? Just let go of everything, trust us to take care of you?”

Mal nodded, too blissfully sleepy to open his eyes. “Night,” he whispered. He was at peace, and he drifted into sleep with the internal warmth that came from being surrounded by friends.

Wash watched as his breathing took on the steady rhythm of a man sleeping deeply, then stood with a lump in his throat and walked to the front of the cell while Khiloh let himself out. The entire front wall was an open pane of slim, white-painted bars, and he leaned on them wearily. Khiloh stood just outside, and they looked at each other just short of tears. The lights were low, and the hallway quiet and peaceful. Leaning on opposite sides of the bars, the two men grieved quietly.

~~~~~

Mal drifted awake, his brain several steps behind him. His body ached. The lights were low. Everything around him was quiet. It all hit him with a start, and the low cry that came from his lips startled him. They left me. He closed his eyes, his heart racing.

“Hey,” said a sleepy voice. Mal’s eyes popped open and he raised his head to see Wash stumbling to his feet. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” said Mal, laying his head back down in relief. “Don’t – don’t go?”

Wash yawned and sat, sprawled on the floor next to Mal’s bed. “Can’t,” he said. “I’m locked in, remember?” The gentle teasing made Mal smile.

Another soft voice spoke, outside the cell. “Can I come in?” Mal nodded, and Khiloh came and sat next to him. “You hurting?”

“Little bit,” admitted Mal.

“Doc’s on his way over,” said Khiloh.

There was little conversation after that; the two men sat by companionably, and Mal closed his eyes and relaxed. That simple, caring human presence was all he asked for.

~~~~~

When Mal awoke in the morning, Wash was slumped on the floor of the cell asleep on a blanket, dead to the world. Been up most of the night, from the looks of him. Mal closed his eyes again with a smile.

~~~~~