“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-“

“Khiloh’s back,” interrupted Wash. He extended his hand and helped Mal to his feet, and the five men made their way out to the broad, barred gate and looked out with silent, questioning greeting. Khiloh returned their gazes with equal silence, a friendly smile in his eyes. They’d lost the expression of tortured exhaustion from the days before, but there was something off about his manner.

Khiloh greeted them with a forced smile. “Hey, you guys.” He didn’t step forward and lean companionably on the gate as he so often did, and the men maintained a respectful distance of their own. They all recognized that the mutual trust had been perhaps not shattered, but bruised. “You been doing okay?”

“Fine,” said Wash. He was perhaps the only man in the group who didn’t misread Khiloh’s behavior as caution. “How is he? Your son?”

Khiloh’s eyes sparkled with joy and relief as he looked at Wash appreciatively. “He’s good. Out of danger, and actually getting better really fast.”

“We were worried,” said Mal. “About the both of you.” The wind had been picking up as the clouds darkened, and as he spoke they heard thunder grumbling an ominous underscore to his words.

Wash’s jaw dropped as he pointed at Mal. “That – I thought that was only supposed to happen in bad movies!” Mal grinned, glaring in misgiving at the approaching storm.

Khiloh bit his lip and looked down, ignoring the exchange. “Thank you.” There was something wrong; the clenched fists, the hesitation before every word, the conflict on his face. He raised his head, his eyes seeking out Mal and Wash. “I don’t think I’d have been able to cope without you guys. Your being there –“ he stopped and stood quietly, not quite looking at anyone in the group.

“Where were you, sir?” asked Wash. Mal glanced at him. It wasn’t often Wash called his friend ‘