Ta ma de!

Wash grimaced in pain. Once their eyes had become accustomed to the gloom, it had become apparent that they were underground. The earthen room was irregularly shaped, with a beamed ceiling about 4 meters high. A sack of dusty potatoes in the corner bore lonely witness that this was indeed a root cellar. Judging by the room's size, the potatoes must, at one time, have had a great deal of company. Tufts of straw were scattered about at random, emitting a sharp, acrid smell that mixed with the musty air, itching their noses to the brink of sneezing. Rough, uneven wooden stairs led from the hard dirt floor to a pair of very solid, very solidly locked double storm doors.

From his vantage point, flat on his back, left side throbbing accusingly, Wash could see thin gaps in the mocking planks, through which a weak light was filtering in. So much for the hurling of his semi-muscular body at the door to break the lock asunder. "Sorry." His voice rose discouraged from the floor, followed by the rest of him. "We're humped."

Kaylee scooted up the stair to examine the results of Wash's manly efforts. "Not even loose. There ain't no way outta here, 'cept someone unlocks that door," she said with sad finality. She descended slowly, absentmindedly brushing dirt off her clothes. Wash put a consoling arm over her shoulder.

"Hey, now," he said softly. "At least it's not raining. I mean, then we'd be standing around in mud. And wet straw, which smells foul, I can tell you!" His voice took on a slightly manic edge. "Especially when it's from a horse stable. That's another god-awful smell, wet horse. Worse than wet dog, if you ask me, although that's also pretty gorram disgusting. This straw here doesn't seem too bad, though." He gave her an encouraging squeeze. "And we can eat the potatoes."

Kaylee turned towards him and slid her hands around his waist. Blood rushed to Wash's cheeks. And elsewhere. His arms reflexively encircled her.

"I never did get a chance to tell you, you look shiny without the mustache."

Wash swallowed hard and rolled on, eyeing Kaylee uncertainly. "And it's cool down here! Okay, maybe that's not such a good thing. Might be downright cold when night falls, but we won't be here that long. You know Mal and Jayne are looking for us. Hmm, Jayne." Wash frowned slightly. "Well, anyway he's a good tracker, 'cause the sense of smell is more developed in lower species."

She rose on her tip toes and kissed him. This was, to put it mildly, unexpected. Nevertheless, Wash applied a light pressure to her lips. Didn't want to be rude, after all. But then he pulled back. "Uh, Kaylee?"

"Makes me feel better," she smiled sweetly and, looking a tad mischievous, moved her arms to drape lightly around his neck. "Besides, anything to stop your jabberin'."

"Sorry," he said again. "Can't help it."

And he really couldn't. "Used to drive my mother up the wall. In flight school, no one would co-pilot with me. Of course, I just put that down to jealousy, being second in my class, but still it did kinda hurt my feelings."

His equilibrium disrupted, Wash's brain and mouth were rapidly going their separate ways. The words just kept tumbling out because, well, it wasn't healthy to keep things bottled up inside, right? Anyway, communication was an essential part of human interaction. And talking was helpful, to alleviate worries and resolve misunderstandings and such. Even though right now it was annoying the pretty girl who waited in his arms, apparently expecting something else. No denying she was pretty. So was that his heart pounding so loud? "But I'm not one to hold a grudge. Although there was this one fella..."

She kissed him again, more insistent this time. Parts of his body, parts with their own agenda, took note of her, soft and yielding in all the right places, and made an executive decision. His grip tightened and he drew her in, lips parting lips. This was nice, Wash thought as his tongue and hands, now on auto pilot, went exploring. Kinda not helping with the whole escaping thing, but it felt good. Very good, actually.

Wash moved to nibble on her neck, and felt Kaylee's fingers running through his hair.

Maybe they'd get married (assuming they lived through this, of course), have a passel of beautiful little mechanics and grow old together. Sit rocking on a front porch somewhere, her with the knitting, him with the watching her knit. Thanks, Washburne! Real sexy image, that! Might be useful to stop gorram thinking, y'know, and focus on your love making responsibilities here...

But he really...just...couldn't.

After a time, it was she who pulled back. She searched into his confused blue eyes. "You ain't much interested, are you?"

"I'm sorry," Wash repeated for the third time, feeling like a heel, as she slipped away from his now-flaccid, uh, arms.

"'s alright," Kaylee said matter-a-factly. "I wasn't lookin' to marry you or nothing. Just thought it'd be a comfort 's all. Don't pay it no mind," she added quickly, noticing his serious, slightly panicked look. She gave a reassuring smile to let him know she meant it.

They both jumped at the voice.

"Attention crewmen of the firefly." They looked around quickly. "You are unharmed, and I'm sure you will be pleased to know that you're going to stay that way." There it was, a small speaker high up in the corner behind the stairs. Tough to notice in the darkened room.

"What do you want with us, you rotting piece of maggot meat?" Wash yelled. He hoped for Kaylee's sake that he sounded more angry than frightened.

"Nothing, crewman. My business is with Sergeant Reynolds and Corporal Alleyne." The voice was infuriatingly calm and patient, speaking as if to a simple child. "You'll both be released in a day or two. In the meantime, I don't want you to be too uncomfortable. There's a water canteen and some blankets behind the potatoes."

"Who the hell are you?" Wash demanded, this time very definitely angry, and unconsciously clenching his fists. He stalked up to the speaker, wishing there were a person there to deal with. Hard to glare menacingly at a disembodied voice.

"For a time, I was Lieutenant Colonel Marcus Callum, Commander, 5th Light Infantry Brigade, Epsilon Battalion, Union of Allied Planets." The voice was proud, haughty, even, snapping out the words with military precision. Wash almost expected it to add, "Reporting for duty, Sir!" He waited, but the voice apparently had nothing more to say.

"Okay, Mr. Former Lieutenant Colonel Limp-pecker, what the guay do is going on here?" Wash glanced at Kaylee, who met his gaze with equal parts puzzlement and concern. "And where is Zo-…Corporal Alleyne?" Wash realized he hadn't thought of Zoe since he'd charged the storm doors, and hurt his shoulder, and had his, uh, 'contact' with Kaylee. He suddenly felt terribly guilty, that he'd somehow let Zoe down.

"You didn't fight in the war, did you, crewman? I couldn't find any service record on you." The statement was so unexpected, it took Wash a moment to process. A sudden chill gripped him. What in the ruttin' hell was going on? "And you, miss, well, you're much too young. So you wouldn't understand."

This guy was some post-traumatic-stress lunatic. "The war's been over for more than two years, you bench-humping bastard. And your side won, in case you didn't notice."

"Irrelevant!" Callum snapped. "Reynolds and Alleyne are war criminals, and there's going to be a reckoning for what they did." There was no calm in his voice now, only righteous indignation. "I had to take you for bait, for which I do apologize. But you two've given me no cause to hurt you, and I won't. I'm still an officer and I still have a Code. You'll be released soon, so no extreme measures will be necessary. That's all you need to know." The speaker crackled and then nothing.

"No extreme…?" What a shee-niou bizarre thing to say! Now they really had to get out of there. Find Zoe, warn Mal.

Wash stared at the wooden storm doors for what seemed like hours, his peripatetic mind churning over the problem anew. Had to break that gorram door! Had to....No, wait. Yeah, that might work. They didn't have to break the door, just had to get it open.

To Kaylee's amazement, Wash actually grinned widely. "Kaylee, get me those tzao gao blankets that hwoon dahn was talking about," he said, as he began clawing at the rim of the speaker. Wrenching it from the wall, he carefully pulled until he had extended the wires as far as they would go without disconnecting from the main unit.

Thin flannel, excellent! "Stuff one there between the doors and the top step. You keep the other." Great. The go se wires would reach, no problem. "Could I have some straw, please?"

Wash was still grinning. Maybe it wasn't seemly to admit, but now that he knew for certain (and somehow he surely did) that his brilliant and daring escape plan was going to succeed, he was enjoying himself.

Turning over the speaker unit, he gingerly pulled out first a white, then a red wire and stripped them at the tips. He looked back at Kaylee. She nodded, and laid down flat in the dirt at the far side of the cellar, pulling the blanket halfway over herself.

Sparks flew. The straw caught. Wash dropped the speaker and ran. He threw himself to the floor next to Kaylee and she drew the blanket over both their heads, as the fire sputtered and smoke began to spread.

"Burn, damn you, burn," he muttered over and over. He noted with pride that Kaylee wasn't trembling. The girl was no slouch in the courage department, either.

They could hear the crack and hiss of the fire, and a sharp crash as one of the stair planks gave way. Kaylee and Wash felt the heat, caught the heavy smell of burning wood, and instinctively pressed closer to each other and to the cool earthen wall.

When it was over, the entire squat staircase had been reduced to a heap of blackened shards and ash. Part of one charred storm door swung stubbornly on its hinges. The other was completely burned away. Wash and Kaylee shared a triumphant hug, which he was pretty sure was of the platonic, shipmate-type variety.

Climbing back into the world, they found themselves in a sort of pantry, attached to what seemed to be a large, institutional kitchen, dingy white and too brightly lit. A door to the left opened to the outside, where a mule was parked on a dirt road. Across the kitchen was another door, leading, Wash supposed, further into the building.

Wash felt the nervous energy building in him again. Callum and his strange words still echoed in his head. Extreme measures...war criminals...a reckoning... The man was in a very, very dark place, and Zoe was in there with him.

"Hot wire the mule and get back to town. Find a cortex and tell the captain where we are. I'm going to look for Zoe."

"But..." Kaylee started.

"Look," Wash snapped, his voice rough and harsh, "there isn't time to debate this. Someone has to find the captain, and who knows what that Shan Yu-wannabe psychopath is doing to Zoe." Kaylee stepped back, mouth gaping open like she'd been smacked across the face.

Wash was just as startled at his outburst. "I…I'm sorry." Seem to be saying that a lot today, he noted miserably. "But this is really, really bad, and there's not one big damn hero in sight. So we're all they've got, dong ma? You have to go for help, and I'll see what brave and hopefully not too gorram stupid thing I can do here. Yes?"

After she'd gone, Wash paused at the inner door to take in a deep breath. Zoe, I truly am sorry. (Ha! Note to self: If survive, tattoo "SORRY" onto forehead.) Not the big damn hero you need, but I'm afraid I'm the best I can do.

He turned the handle on the exhale and stepped forward.

End Chapter 3