Maybe it was a simple as having a hand to hold, or her quiet weariness. Whatever the reason, there was no tension while she the applied the scar treatments. It just became as simple as one human taking care of another, the way a world that made sense should be. As medical procedures went, this one was singularly pleasant. Lying with a warm glow spreading under the goofy blue strips she’d attached to him, he relaxed in relief.

Kelli poured two cups of coffee, pressed one into his hand, and sat back in the chair. “Don’t – you got things to do? Patients to treat, empires to control?” he asked.

She ignored the dig. “I’ve been awake for twenty-seven hours, been on shift for twenty-five, and I just watched a woman die. Have coffee with me, all right?”

Mal raised the mug. “To better days.”

She clinked her mug to his. “Better days.”

Mal watched her sip coffee. There was a lonesome awkwardness to her silence. She sat limp in her chair, like she was longing for these moments to be companionable ones. “You look lonely.”

She raised one eyebrow and looked at him, evaluating. “I suppose I am.” She sighed and swirled her coffee in the cup. “My boyfriend left a couple months ago. Can’t blame him. We met when I was in nursing school. He knew I was going to be married to my job and seeing him on the side, but – I don’t think he was expecting me to love it. Or to not complain about the hours and the being kept away from home and all.”

“All the ready they throw about, seems they could afford enough nurses,” said Mal.

“They can,” said Kelli. “It’s a bit more complicated then that, finding the right ones. It’s odd for people, treating prisoners.” She bit the inside of her lip. “Some of them are - afraid, and some can’t see how afraid the patients are. And some have a problem not seeing a prisoner as someone - less important.”

Suppose it would be. Mal tried to imagine treating Alliance prisoners, found it a difficult concept. “How’s it for you, working on - prisoners?” He faltered over the word.

“Complicated.” Her expression was thoughtful. “There’s innate sympathy you have for someone who’s essentially helpless. And - fear, and conflict, and when you see - when you feel something, or have an interaction with someone, you find yourself second-guessing the motivations and – dynamics behind it. But sometimes…what happens in here can be very - true.”

“Complicated being here, too,” said Mal.

“Yeah?” Her eyes wandered over him, thoughtful. “I suppose it would be.”

“Too much meanness an’ as much compassion. Never know which way the wind’ll blow one second to the next.” He looked at her, decided she’d understand. “To go from torture and hate to – to just a matter of a few hundred yards away you’ve got gentle folk and doctors about you –” he shook his head to clear it. “Your whole world turns on what side of a wall you’re on. Live or die based on happening to look the right kid in the eye. And some folk are so utterly decent -”

Kelli nodded, sparing him further words. She got it.

“Like being on a razor’s edge all the time. For all of us. I’ve had – a guy got hold of a scalpel, waited ’til I leaned over him, and stabbed me. A prisoner, a man strapped down to a hospital bed with half his leg blown off by a mortar, spent most of the night comforting me, talking me though the problems I had after. There’s no way to know, sometimes, if a patient would as soon kill me as look at me, or if he’d reach out to help.”

They fell silent for a long spell, sipping coffee. Even peace was intensely felt. The cold white walls and the sterile surroundings could even be infused with a certain warmth, when you put human beings within them.

“I don’t think he ever understood,” she said, lost in thought. “I like people. I love working here. Being at home, being asleep –“ she shrugged. “You forget it, in the rush you get when you save someone’s life. And I enjoy the patients. Never knew just how much strength people had, until I started here.”

Her eyes lost their distant look, and came to rest on Mal. “Sometimes I want to take time. Just to sit with somebody who’s lonely, or scared. Maybe drink coffee with someone I enjoy.”

“You’re not on duty, are you?” asked Mal, the light bulb finally clicking on. The nurse shook her head, smiling faintly. “You chose to deal with me?”

“Believe it or not,” Kelli replied with a grin. It was the weak grin of a very tired person, and faded away quickly. Joking took too much energy. She just wanted to relax. “Yeah, maybe I’m lonely, and maybe you make good company.” Her hand was resting on the edge of the bed, and Mal hooked one of her fingers with his, stroking it idly.

This sort of silence truly was companionable, and Mal found himself savoring it as much as she, taking comfort and relaxation in it. This was the kind of companionship men couldn’t offer each other; not a romantic one precisely, but something more caring than what could be found in the company of men alone. Or, he imagined, women alone.

“You are a very young man.” Kelli was studying him with surprise.

“I – yes, I – suppose – ” said Mal. Young. Didn’t feel it. Not since he stood in the bombed remains of the ranch house, looking numbly at bodies and charred ground, flames licking around his ankles. One swift lesson in utter injustice, and a body didn’t feel so young any longer.

She hesitated before deciding to speak her next words. “That young man you’ve got hiding in there is rather – special, you know.”

“Zhi xië wëi a dà nao si wáng fù,” said Mal, venturing a smile.

“I can’t believe you just used that as a term of endearment,” said Kelli with a mischievous grin.

“Inexplicably, it seemed to endear me to you before,” said Mal.

“Tell you what,” said Kelli, leaning forward and planting her elbows on her knees. “Let’s give the dead livestock the night off. Say what you really mean.”

“Okay,” said Mal, reaching out and touching her hand with his. “When someone brings you water in hell, you tend to call them an angel. You couldn’t be a more – better – angel.”

“Close your eyes,” she said, her voice soft. He let himself feel, gentle massaging of the tense muscles in his shoulder, delectable warmth radiating across his stomach and forehead, her fingers moving up and rubbing the back of his neck. It was amazing, this ability for touch to inflict pain, or to give comfort and offer understanding.

He felt young, like someone who, in this lost moment, still knew how to trust. Her fingers found a tender bit near the base of his neck and rubbed softly, seemingly easing the tension in his entire body. Taking a final moment to savor the feeling, he forced himself out of the trance he was slipping into; it was too powerful, threatening things like surrender, arousal, maybehaps even tears. Prison was no place for such fragile things.

“Feel like I’m at a spa,” he commented, opening his eyes and looking up at the nurse. “When do I get my manicure?”

She grinned. “Don’t tempt me. I happen to own pink nail polish, and it happens to be in this very room.”

“Had ‘em painted purple once,” retorted Mal. “With little – glitterish - bits. Your nail polish doesn’t scare me.”

Her jaw dropped in amused shock. “What else don’t I know about you?”

“Lots,” said Mal with stubborn refusal to elaborate. “Ever wonder about this?” he asked finally. “Erasing the evidence of evil?”

“I’ve thought about it,” she said. “It does seem a little shady. But then – why should a good man be followed through life by what evil people have done to him? Seems like he has a right to heal, and leave it behind. Not be burdened by reminders on his own body.”

Mal nodded. “Should we forget the war, too?”

She shook her head, and pressed her hand against his arm. “You’ll never forget. And nobody’s expecting you to forgive. Just don’t carry the scars too close to your heart, okay?”

Mal shut his eyes. The soothing warmth along the cut in his stomach and spreading across the few deeper lacerations on his back was almost symbolic. Healing. “I reckon we’re allowed to heal,” he said in a quiet voice, not opening his eyes.

~~~~~

Khiloh didn’t leave immediately after putting him back in the yard. “I’m proud too,” he said once the other officer was out of earshot.

“Of – what?” asked Mal, puzzled. “Of gettin’ your fingernails painted?”

It was Khiloh’s turn to blink in confusion. “Of being called a lousy prison guard.”

Wash came out and greeted them both, eying Mal with concern. There was always that lurking fear when one of them was pulled out of the yard, and the unspoken question upon their return: Are you okay?

Mal smiled. Yep.

Wash bounced the ball in his direction, and he caught it. The game got his blood moving, dispelled the sharpness of the cold air. It was growing dark, and the night had an electricity about it.

There was frantic joy in Wash’s playful demeanor, and he finally sagged against the fence gasping for air. “I’m scared,” he admitted. “You know – you hear about guys being institutionalized? Pretty sure I’m one of them.” He hurled the ball at Mal, as if to distract him from answering.

Mal caught it easily and held on. “Don’t think you’re wrong on that score.”

Wash looked sad; he’d been hoping for a whole other answer. “Think this brave new world has room for guys that play hide ‘n seek in between asteroids instead of practicing formation flying?”

Mal grinned. “Was there room before?” he asked with a skeptical twitch of the eyebrow.

“Not – specifically,” admitted Wash.

“Imagine there’s always room for people to be – people,” said Mal. “Many a government’s tried to achieve otherwise, can’t think of one that’s succeeded.”

Wash looked down, smiled. There was a pure mischief hidden in that look. “But they’ve kept a might powerful hold on you. Mind you shake that off, an’ quick,” Mal warned.

He stood up straight, looked Mal in the eyes with calm honesty. “It was comforting. I’d been fighting so hard, an’ got so torn up inside that – when I was in max I folded. I gave up and put my life in their hands. Never have quite got it back.”

Mal felt his gut twist, the thought sickening him. Wash read the look. Misread it, in fact. Anger flashed in his eyes, and Mal threw the ball. Wash grabbed it, hurled it against the side of the building with all his strength. He ignored it as it hit with a crack, bounced back and came lazily to rest between the two men.

“Look - they – took away everything I ever lived for and then – helped me deal. There was a kindness in there despite it all, and I was desperate for - that. I know it’s twisted, but it saved me.”

Wash grabbed the ball and held it, looking at Mal. “Yes, I know how psychotic that just sounded, and that’s – why I’m scared.” He tossed the ball softly. “That was at least the third worst experience of my life, and I wound up liking the people who did it to me.”

Mal caught it. Despite the doubt in his words, there was a confidence in Wash’s bearing. Something in him was waking up and looking the world in the eyes. “If you can still stand up and remember what it is you are, you win. Not a fan of denial in the general way of things, but if it kept you sane…” he tossed it back.

A reluctant grin snuck across Wash’s face, a twinkle invading his eyes. “Nothing like going flat-out bonkers in the name of sanity? I do favor my psychoses with a side of pure mania.”

Mal grinned. “Watch you answer to yourself. Don’t be givin’ other folk a hold over you.”

Wash nodded. He tossed the ball without looking, and it grazed Mal’s stomach. “Owwww!” he yelped, startled.

“Sorry,” said Wash, worried. “I didn’t mean-”

“Sure ya’ did,” said Mal, gritting his teeth and straightening his stance. “Wanted me to shut up, you coulda just punched me.”

“That wouldn’t be as fun,” retorted Wash. “And for a tough guy, you sure are a wuss.”

“What’s I do to deserve this den of sadists?” complained Mal. “I kick someone’s puppy or something?”

“You do have a nasty habit of punching innocent pilots - ”

“Annoying pilots,” corrected Mal, grinning.

Wash picked up the ball, ran, and threw it. There in the dark and the cold, they played until they were exhausted and the gasping for cold air hurt their lungs. Still weaker than he thought at moments, Mal didn’t feel his legs falter until he hit the ground. He rolled over, content, warm from all the running about, and looked at the moons hanging bright above.

He craned his neck around to look at Wash, who had sunk to a sitting position against the back wall of the building. “You gonna fly between those?”

“Most like,” said Wash.

“I’ll watch for ya,” said Mal. He closed his eyes, in his mind painting in the stars obscured by the glow of the prison lights. It was easy to disconnect and drift through that peaceful black sky. Come to see the real way Wash had stayed sane.

“Clean slate. Start over,” said Mal, reluctantly opening his eyes. “Only way you’ll screw this up is by looking back.”

Wash pressed the ball against his forehead, taking Mal’s words firmly to heart before the hurt hit. “I’ll be leaving you behind – how can -”

“Easy,” said Mal firmly. “Do it. Once they let you outta here, you don’t hurt on account of me. You don’t hand them back an inch, dong ma?”

Wash looked sad. “Some of ‘em really were kind, you know. Not just Khiloh, but guys who took time out of their day and gave enough of a damn to make life a little better for an enemy pilot. Not really sure I want to forget them.”

“You don’t have to,” said Mal. “I’ve – I’ve experienced the same, and I’m grateful. Just – don’t get to thinking it’s normal, finding it such an exception.”

“Wanna know a secret?” asked Wash.

Mal nodded.

“I always hated orders.”

“And?”

“Still do,” said Wash, cheerful.

Mal grinned in the dark.

~~~~~

“One the heels of a guilty plea from the two Tong Yï guards accused of torture, the Alliance has released a statement clearing containment center commander Mathew Lee of any wrongdoing in connection with the incident. It indicates that Lee’s actions in responding to reported abuse by personally investigating in the middle of the night, his long record of refusing to tolerate mistreatment of prisoners, and his notably decisive action in shooting one of his own officers show that this incident was not a result of poor command authority, but of rogue officers exacting vigilante justice.”

Mal turned it off.

“So Lee gets out of this scot-free,” commented Gray. He looked disgruntled.

“He should,” said Mal simply. “Not him that did this.”