NOTE: This is a re-written version of the old chapter 10, which I wasn't entirely happy with. Please let me know what you think of this latest version. I feel a lot better about it, personally.

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Mal sat on the edge of his bunk, mind churning. Zoe was still following him, and he was in no shape to lead. He took a deep breath. "Well, son, you're just gonna have to change that," he told himself. "Buckle down and keep going, 'cause there ain't no way around it."

Seeing her had brought to the fore something that worried him so deeply he hadn't even let himself consider it. Zoe was here too. If she ever had to go through something like that, and worse, if it had anything to do with him.......

He'd figured out just one way to handle life in this place, and that was to shut down and give in. If they tied you down, you'd best get used to it. If they locked you up, you were gonna stay locked up until they decided otherwise, and if they felt like beating you 'til you were half dead, then you'd better get ready to endure it. But he supposed Zoe was right, as usual; a person couldn't just stop feeling.

Mal looked down and saw his hands shaking. Problem was, he'd given up for a reason. Planning a way out of this prison and into some sort of a life for him and Zoe meant thinking plainly, and that was the thing he most desperately longed to avoid. Hope meant another part of him that could be shattered, and when you cared about the future, it became something else that could be snatched away. An hour ago, he'd been more miserable than he could measure; now, he found himself terrified.

"- find what happiness you can. Just 'cause it may be snatched away the next minute doesn't mean you can't have it." Zoe's words echoed clear as day in his mind, and his hands steadied as he remembered her gentle touch on his shoulder.

He flinched as a voice startled him out of his reverie. "Nice to see you showing some signs of life, sir." Mal looked out through the bars of his cell, overcoming his reluctance to meet the eyes of the pleasant-looking young guard sitting in the hallway.

"And why exactly would that be?" Mal asked harshly.

The guard looked nonplussed. "Um.....I....uh....You been looking so miserable in there, I just kept hoping you'd maybe pick up a bit."

Mal studied him. There was something familiar about the kid's voice, and after a few seconds he placed it. "You the one that's been talking at me all this time?" That persistant, kind chatter had been annoying when all he wanted to do was to stop existing, but in retrospect he supposed that the notion that someone out there had been concerned about him was comforting in a way.

"Yeah. Name's Quordras." The young man looked away uncertainly, clearly unprepared for the unfriendly reception.

Mal's face softened slightly. "Appreciate the concern, Quordras."

"Are you gonna be okay?" Quordras asked.

"Depends on you folks, I guess."

Quordras looked hesitantly at Mal. "Did - we do this to you? I've been prayin' we didn't, but...." His voice trailed off. "Why are you in here, sir?"

Mal looked away, his heart pounding. Why are you in here? There was more to that question than he even wanted to think about. Quordras' heart was clearly in the right place, and Mal bit back a bitter retort.

Quordras shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Seeing that Mal had no intention of answering his question, he asked "Can I get you something to eat? Sure do me good to get some food in you."

Mal nodded. Truth be told, the thought of eating just made his stomach churn all the more. But it had been so long since he'd taken any of the food that they'd offered that he questioned whether he could stand if he tried.

Quordras walked away in search of a meal for Mal, who took advantage of the opportunity to test his legs without official oversight. Shaky, but functional. He made his way to the small table that shared his cell and sat down at it, giving the camera above him a slight glare. He wondered how many people were watching his small moment of privacy.

Quordras reappeared, marching down the long hall way towards him holding a tray and flanked by another guard. The second man stood watch as Quordras entered the cell and put the tray on the table in front of Mal. Mal gave him a slight smile and nodded his thanks, and Quordras exited with a cheerful grin on his face, feeling all manner of pleased with himself.

No sooner had Mal finished his meal than three more guards made the march down the hallway, stopping squarely in front of his cell. Ruttin' wonderful.

"We're here to transfer Reynolds." Mal's breathing stopped. Much as he longed to be out of this sterile little fishbowl they had him stuck in, he'd learned a few hard lessons about just how much worse a bad day could get in this place.

"Uh....may I see your orders, sir?" asked Quordras. "I don't think this inmate's in any shape to be moved out of here yet, sir."

A burly officer handed Quordras a set of papers, and he examined them closely. "Um....everything looks in order," he said, looking confused as he handed the papers back and swiped his access card on the door of Mal's cell with a worried glance at his prisoner.

Mal stood stock still as one of the guards entered and cuffed his hands behind his back. He was gentle enough about it, a fact that Mal appreciated greatly at that particular moment. "Step out," the man ordered.

The walk down the hallway and out through the maze of buildings and corridors was more exercise than Mal had gotten in weeks, and the effort soon caught up with him as he staggered and fell hard on the ground, unable to catch himself with his hands bound.

The intimidating officer with the paperwork knelt down beside him and grabbed his hair, pulling his head up roughly from the graveled walkway. "You faking me out? You trying to get out of going somewhere you don't wanna be?" he asked angrily.

"No sir," Mal replied, feeling acutely helpless with the memory of the last time he'd been in this particular position. Seeing the guard continuing to glare at him, he met the man's gaze directly, finding none of the hatred and cruelty that had shown so vividly on the faces of the men who'd attacked him. "That hurt too bad to fake," Mal admitted honestly.

The man's face relaxed and he let go, motioning to one of his escorts to help him. Together, they helped Mal to his feet, their hands firm but gentle. He was marched through the falling light to one of the generic housing units at the outskirts of the massive compound, the two men supporting his uncertain steps until they reached the gate. Escorting him into the housing unit yard, they removed his handcuffs and left without explanation, locking the gate behind them.

Mal held himself upright until they were out of sight, then sank to his knees in the twilight. Breathing deeply, he inhaled the fresh, warm summer night air as he watched the light fall around him. The compound was relatively quiet, and he heard crickets begin to chirp in the distance. The sky was painted in soft oranges and pinks, with faint wisps of cloud brushing the setting sun.

"-go on, find what happiness you can." Mal was reminded of the beauty of the sunsets he'd watched so many times on Shadow. Letting his mind play, he realized that the Alliance might have destroyed his world, but the universe still lived on, untouched as a whole. So will I.

Mal breathed a deep sigh of relief as he stood and made his way to the door of the housing unit, noting the vaguely familiar "28A" printed in plain block lettering on the side of the building.

He entered, not returning the curious gazes of the men within. He found an unused bunk near the back of the building and laid down, quickly drifting into the first solid sleep he'd enjoyed since the day of the fire.

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Mal drifted into a semiconscious state, blinking rapidly as he tried to figure out where he was and what the hell was happening. Maniacal figures danced in front of his eyes, darting about like nothing real had a right to. After the application of serious effort on his part, his eyes focused on the wall in front of him, where shadows were taking on the shape of familiar life forms and moving about.

Mal turned his head and saw a man relaxing on the bunk next to his, clearly creating the source of all his confusion. Noticing his gaze, the disheveled blond prisoner stopped and smiled at him. "Welcome to summer camp. I'll be your counselor for the next few weeks as we......"

He stopped as Mal rolled his eyes, unable to fight the chuckle that rose in his throat. Mal studied the cheerful, blue-eyed figure, finally placing why he seemed irritatingly familiar. "Didn't I use your face as a punching bag last time we met?"

The young man glanced wistfully up at the ceiling. "Ahh, memories." He looked back at Mal. "I hear it makes some folks a little crotchety, loosing a war." After a long silence, he held out his hand with slight hesitation. "Name's Wash."

Mal grasped the offered hand, and Wash pulled him gently upright. "Have some food. World looks a sight better on a full stomach," he said as he handed Mal a plate.

Mal took it gratefully and glanced at the contents; carefully arranged in separate sections were a small pile of gravel, five houseflies, and a very large, very dead spider.