Author's Note: I am not a doctor, so my apologies if the medical aspects of this section don't match up to known reality. Like Wash, I'm improvising...Scroll-over titles added for those who want to see Chinese translations.

When escaping, it is usually sensible to move towards the exits. But Wash had found over the years that doing things which seemingly made no sense often worked for him. So instead he carried her deeper into the building. To the high-security wing, designed to contain violent inmates. If, like the former residents, they couldn't get out, Wash reasoned, maybe he could set the doors so that no one else could get in. But once they got there, Wash had to reassess his so-called 'plan'. The doors were heavy, all right, with multiple electronic locks. But the equipment was newer -- fewer wires, more microchips, and some electro-plasma grid thingy. Although Wash was pretty good with gadgetry, he saw no obvious, quick way to rig the system to be controlled from the inside, and he sensed that Zoe couldn't spare the time it would take him to figure one out. She wasn't looking glassy-eyed at nothing anymore. Her lids were closed, body listless, and her breathing was dangerously shallow.

In the end, he took a page from the Malcolm Reynolds' Guide to Mechanical Engineering -- close the doors and bang the panel until it short-circuits.

He picked a cell at random from among the dozen or so small and well-padded ones that lined the corridor. The air was close and stuffy, but reasonably warm. Zoe flopped like a rag doll when he put her down. Wash fussed over her as best he could, smoothing her hair from her face (yep, every bit as soft as he'd imagined), unfolding her legs, pulling the over-sized shirt down to cover her upper thighs. This last he did with deliberate care while staring at an imaginary spot two meters up on the far wall, as Love held off Curiosity at gun point.

He knelt on the floor beside her. "Now Zoe, I'm gonna help you, bao bei." This time he was very much aware of the endearment, but it seemed at home on his lips, so he let it stay. He carefully fished the syringe out from amid the pile of knives and scalpels. "And I'm so sorry if it hurts, but I have no idea what the ruttin' hell I'm doing."

'Course, he was no doctor, but Wash had steady hands he fancied would be the envy of any surgeon. Taking the syringe in his right hand, he balled his left into a fist, and...

"Gorramit!"

Okay, try again, hot-shot. And this time let's see if you can hit a gorram vein.

His second effort, executed with more humility, was successful. He drew the syringe full, and carefully pulled it from his wrist. Shifting slightly on his knees, he reached for Zoe. But one look at the dark bruises on her wrists and he knew he couldn't inject her there. Her forearms were out of the question, which left... Wash gulped nervously, because the only other veins he felt he could navigate were those bold, defiant ones in her long neck. Putting blood into someone's neck. A reverse Dracula. That maneuver seemed all manner of wrong.

But he couldn't see any alternative. There was no other equipment, and Wash wouldn't have known how to use it, anyway. Zoe's head moved just slightly as he gently brushed her hair aside and gave the injection. She didn't make a sound. He repeated the procedure, drawing twice more from his left wrist, and then switching to hold the needle in his left hand and drawing three times from his right wrist. And then switching again. Fill. Empty. Fill. Empty. Wash kept it up, alternating wrists, until he felt like a slightly woozy pin cushion. It occurred to him at some point that this was probably not the recommended protocol for an impromptu transfusion. He was O-negative, so no worries the blood wouldn't agree with her. But didn't the medical establishment frown on reusing needles? Or was it sharing needles? Needling people? Needlepoint? Something like that.

Well, she can thank me later for the Hepatitis B.

But it was working. The veins in Zoe's neck were near to mutiny, and Wash's left hand, which was the weaker of the two, was starting to tremble. But some color had returned to her lips and cheeks. Gradually, her breathing deepened, and she passed from the torpor into something resembling normal sleep.

Feeling a little drained himself, more from the adrenaline crash than the transfusion, Wash lay down, his side pressed flush against Zoe. Had to keep her warm, and there was nothing to cover her with. And softly caressing her face, well, that was meant to soothe her. Soothe both of them, really. After all, didn't heroes deserve a little comforting, too? So, you see, all very justifiable. No connection to certain fantasies that may or may not have allegedly occurred to certain parties in the past, none whatsoever.

They lay like that for a time, Wash memorizing her profile. He wondered if he'd ever get another chance to be this close to this woman without threat of serious bodily injury. Then a new possibility occurred to him. "Now, if you find yourself getting the urge to play with my dinosaurs after this, well, I think we can come to some arrangement."

Zoe's eye lids fluttered, and a sigh escaped her. She heard him! "Come back, sweetheart," he whispered tenderly in her ear. Yeah, it felt right, calling her that. Brushing his fingertips lightly across her lips (just checking her breathing, mind), he debated the wisdom of hazarding a kiss. One gentle, chaste kiss to make up for all the day's drama.

He hovered indecisively over her upturned face, and then her eyes were open. They were clear and focused, and she was staring at him inquiringly.

"Tell me they got earplugs in the afterlife." She smiled weakly.

Flush with relief and joy, Wash gave a laugh and folded her into a tight embrace. And then somehow his mouth was on hers. To the extent he'd consciously intended anything, it had just been a light pressing of lips, a brief really-glad-you're-alive, sorry-for-all-the-needle-marks, by-the-way-I-love-you-but-I-guess-that's-my-problem kind of peck. But she responded! Not with much force, but most definitely she was reciprocating.

For the first time, probably ever, in his life, Wash's mind went blank as he fell into the kiss. No running commentary, no distracting editorial asides. Only the mystery of her mouth, the salty sweetness of her tongue, the undiscovered contours of her body. He was in the Black, amid an endless field of stars. And it was quiet. Wash began, quite automatically, to do what he lived for, what he loved. It was his second nature. He began deftly to pilot the ship that was under him.

Zoe's body welcomed her home. She seemed to have been away a long time, because the house had fallen into disrepair. She couldn't recall letting him in, but she instinctively trusted the cheerful blond man with the merry blue eyes who was wandering around, pulling dust cloths off the furniture, drawing back curtains to let in the sun, awakening every room in her body. She followed after him, fascinated by how he was transforming her house as he moved through it. His earthy, musky scent lingered on everything he touched and she liked that. Her body wanted to open up the lower floors, rooms that hadn't been used since long before she went away. And he wanted to enter them, she could tell. But there were sharp spasms when she tried to shift position to invite him in.

Wash's thoughts, unaccustomed to exile, came trudging indignantly back. Okay, this is great, amazing. Unbelievable, really. But that was an I'm-in-pain gasp, not a Wash-you-irresistible-manbeast gasp. She's too weak for this.

Wash rolled back onto his side and opened up a space between them. The intense concern on his face startled her. "Lao Tyen!" he said, a little breathless. "I...I didn't.... You okay? Did I hurt you? I mean, I guess I must have, because there was that whole groaning in agony thing you did just now."

"I've survived worse," she said dryly. But there was amusement in her eyes.

And then, to her great surprise, Wash sat up abruptly, his open, trusting face darkening.

"This isn't funny," he scolded. "Do you know that you just almost died?" She looked at him skeptically, and Wash rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Not just now. But back there." He gestured towards the corridor outside the cell.

Zoe raised her head and then eased herself slowly up on her elbows, grimacing but refusing to bow to the discomfort. She remembered Callum injecting some kind of anti-coagulant into her neck, but that didn't account for why it felt so bruised. She surveyed the empty padded room, took in the fact of her bandaged arms, her bare legs and ... the shirt. It registered that Wash was topless, and a part of what had happened became clear.

Her gaze lingered on his torso. Wash, growing self-conscious, flushed pink, which, Zoe noticed, brought out the strawberry tones in his hair. He had a nice body, solid and muscular. Shouldn't keep it hidden under those aloha shirts and baggy flight suits. Was that some kind of rash on his wrists? She furrowed her brow, examining the marks more closely. Then another piece of the mystery resolved. She looked steadily into his face for a few beats, mentally reviewing the information to make sure she had understood correctly.

"Thank you," she said sincerely, indicating the needle marks on his wrists. It occurred to her that she had never spoken to him before with anything other than impatience or indifference. Always seemed warranted at the time, but maybe she'd been too harsh with him. She certainly was beholden now, to be sure. Wash's blush deepened as she continued unabashedly to run her eyes over him. Had every right to look, and why not? God knows the man had stared at her plenty during the 8 months since he joined Serenity. Yeah, clean-shaven was better. Made him look younger, but more mature. And easier to appreciate how expressive his dark blue eyes were. It was kinda cute how he had them downcast just now, all shy-like. And based on that bit of housekeeping back there, he seemed to know his way around pleasing a woman.

Well, well. Lots to ponder on. But later. Need to get back to the business at hand. "So what's our status?" she asked, using the practical, disciplined, but not unfriendly tone she normally reserved for Mal.

Wash was still reeling from the "thank you," as well as the brief but dazzling test flight that preceded it. And now she was sizing him up like some expensive trinket, kind of appealing, but unnecessary and probably overpriced. Nevertheless, he did his best to organize his thoughts and imitate her soldierly style as he recounted escaping from the cellar, sending Kaylee for help, setting off the alarms and carrying her to the maximum security ward. She listened, face impassive as he spoke, and when he'd finished he waited anxiously, hoping he'd passed the exam.

"You did pretty well, considering you got no training for this sort of situation."

A 'B'. Maybe even a 'B+'. Yes!

End Chapter 7.