Mal

Author’s note: I apologize if this chapter sucks. It’s wanted to be horribly cheesy from the outset, and I’ve re-written it about a dozen times. This was the least cringe-worthy draft, but I’ve gotten so buried in the thing that I’ve lost the ability to tell if it works or not. And to top it all off, my beta is MIA. So, with bated breath, I’m just going to post it. Maybe I’ll edit and re-post if I can figure out how to make it better, or if my readers have any suggestions Enjoy…or not!

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“Thanks – for the understanding,” said Mal quietly after a few minutes.

The nurse looked at him silently for a long moment. Finally she walked over and sat down on a stool by the bed. Aside from the low humming of equipment, the room was very quiet. Mal couldn’t decide if that was peaceful or unsettling, but he was enjoying her quiet companionship.
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Mal lay down with relief on the hospital bed that the two calmly pleasant guards led him to; he’d halfway expected to be beaten again as soon as he was out of sight of the cafeteria, and he was so dizzy that staying on his feet had become overly complicated. He took a deep breath and gritted his teeth, ignoring the pleasantries and explanations swirling around him. Now that he was safely in the hospital he was back to noticing matters like how very much his head hurt.

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“Not – that I was aware of,” said Mal, his grip tightening on the chopstick in his right hand. The guard noticed the movement and slammed the side of his fist down on Mal’s hand, smashing it into the table and shattering the flimsy chopstick. Mal grunted in pain, glaring up at his attacker.

“Now that was plain uncalled for,” said Mal. “I was just gonna offer you some delicious-“

“Shut up,” snapped the guard, twisting Mal’s wrist painfully and keeping him bent forward over the table. “Now, back to you bein’ dead.”

“Not – my most beloved topic of conversation,” said Mal.

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Mal knocked again. “You alive in there? Not that we, you know, care, but if we did-“

Once again there was only silence. The five men exchanged frowns, and Mal hammered on the door. “Comin’ in there in about ten seconds, ‘less we hear somethin’.”

Receiving only silence in return, Mal glanced around at the others and shoved the door open, his hands raised to defend himself from attack. Straaker lay curled on his side on the concrete floor, dark red blood smeared on the walls and floor near where he was lying, clutching his wrist with one bloody hand.

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Mal let out an enthusiastic whoop as he caught the ball and moved to return it to Wash, exhilarated by his newly regained freedom. The Eyebrow hadn’t bothered to show up with the guards who entered without fanfare to release Mal and Gray and return life to normal in 28A, and the occupants were unabashedly enjoying themselves. Wash grinned in delight as Gray ran up from behind Mal and snatched the ball away, triggering Mal to race after him in mock indignation. Mal caught him in a few strides and wrestled his prize back, turning to toss it back to Wash.

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As the storm died down and the light began to fade, Mal stood and hobbled his way over to Wash, shivering quietly in the corner. “Wash? You okay?” Wash nodded silently.

Zeke joined Mal and knelt down next to Wash. Feeling Wash’s icy hands, he looked up. “No, he’s not. You two can’t spend the night like this.”

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“Gorramit, what?” growled Mal, blinking as he sat up, irritated with Wash for interrupting a perfectly good nap. “Is the sky fallin’ in about itself, because that’s about the-“

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The light was beginning to fall, and with it the temperature, a slight chill filling the air. Mal tried to ignore it; he didn’t want to lose the pleasant, warm days to winter’s cold inhospitality. Despite the coolness, Mal was relaxed; he preferred being out here to the confining chill of the powered-down housing unit that felt so much more like a real prison with the little comforts of life gone. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the fence, feeling the cool breeze play across his face. It was pleasant, a quiet reminder of places and times he’d loved.

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Gray was lying on one of the now bare metal platforms in the far corner of the darkened building, and Mal approached with Khiloh’s supplies. “How you feelin?” he asked.

Gray didn’t move. “Rutting wonderful,” he said sarcastically, a very slight quiver in his voice belying his tough tone. Mal fetched a cup of water, handing it to Gray along with some of the pills Khiloh had given him. The man accepted it silently and then turned away, and Mal let him be, looking at the other members of the downcast group in the darkness. Nobody spoke, and Mal made his slow and frustrating way over to his bunk.

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“What’s going on?” asked Gray. His question was ignored, and he spoke again. “Look, guys, I’m-“

“Shut up,” ordered the Sergeant, barely glancing in his direction. Mal was watching him closely, trying to size him up. He was a pudgy man, meticulously groomed and holding himself with an officious bearing. A bureaucrat, playing enforcer. Just charming.

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