Mal

Lee still couldn’t quite believe his eyes. He made it. Thank God, he thought, feeling a surge of relief and joy at the improvement in Mal’s condition. It was far from the first time he’d made a difficult decision about the fate of an inmate, and few had happy endings. But if there was going to be even one success story, he was grateful that it was this one.

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Lee looked up appraisingly at Mal, who was standing quietly in front of him with his head up and a steady, questioning expression on his face. He’d gained back much of the weight he’d lost, and there was a spirited, living person behind those eyes.

Lee couldn’t help remembering the last time he’d seen Sergeant Reynolds; sitting in a private office in the prison control room, he and a small team were watching surveillance footage of his unmoving form in suicide watch.

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Mal found the days passing more easily after his little confessional with Wash. It was comforting to have even one person he wasn’t constantly on guard around, who didn’t look at him sideways with unasked questions in his mind. The haunted look he’d noticed flickering across the pilot’s eyes at times had retreated, a zany, hilarious streak emerging in its place.

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Mal leaned against the wall and squeezed his eyes shut, his head spinning. He felt exhausted, drained the way he usually did after a round of nightmares. He wished, not for the first time, that there was some way he could just talk his subconscious into leaving him alone, dropping this habit of re-living that horror over and over again, always with some invented twist or embellishment. Wasn’t sleep supposed to be a refuge, not someplace you went to be tortured? And why didn’t he ever dream about the good people? Why didn’t Zoe ever appear at his side with that solid, knowing smile of her face and hold out her hand to help him to his feet?

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“Hey!” protested Wash. “Don’t be forgetting my long and illustrious war record!” He closed his eyes in contemplation. “Ahh, the story I could tell.”

“Story?” asked Mal. “Don’t most folks have more than just the one?”

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The weather was pleasant and warm, and Mal relaxed in the sun, leaning his head back against the wall of their housing unit. He closed his eyes and found it amazingly easy to imagine himself resting in the grass on Shadow – he swallowed hard and tried again. Resting in the grass, letting himself savor the relaxing warmth and the pleasant, lazy breeze.

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Wash’s sleeping form stirred, and he rolled onto his back, finally opening his eyes. Mal watched closely as he blinked to clear his vision, his head jerking bolt upright as he spotted Danny dangling from a string above his nose. Wash’s head sank back down and he looked to the side, glaring accusingly at Mal.

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Mal followed Wash out to the gate, hanging back slightly as Wash introduced him to the young guard standing outside. He seemed jovial enough, greeting Mal cheerfully.

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The next morning after breakfast, Mal was laying on his bunk watching Wash pace around restlessly. “Looks like Khiloh’s on duty,” said Wash, peering out the window. “Wanna come meet him?”

“Uhh…” Mal raised his eyebrows and shook his head comically. “You mean, like for fun? You want me to go chat with a yu bun duh Alliance prison guard for fun?”

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Mal looked back up at Wash. “What the hell kind of summer camp did your parents send you to, anyway?” he asked, a grin sneaking across his face.

“The kind where spiders are haute cuisine, apparently.”

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