“Get Malcolm Reynolds, inmate INDVHSH5603 up to my office,” Lee ordered.

“Yes, sir,” the bored assistant replied. He poked his head back into the office a moment later. “Sir, he’s currently in medical. They’ll bring him up here next.”

~~~~~

"How are you feeling?" asked Kelli, probing carefully at the wound on Mal's forehead.

"Developin’ a phobia of dessert plates. You?" replied Mal with a mischievous grin.

The nurse rolled her eyes. "Microwaves everywhere tremble at the sound of my name," she replied. "Looks like this is healing just fine," she said, giving him a pat on the shoulder. "You being treated okay?"

Mal got the impression the question was motivated by more than purely medical concern, and his eyes softened. "On the whole," he replied. A shadow crossed her face, and she answered him with a quiet touch.

"Honestly though, all tableware phobias aside – you feeling okay?" she asked.

Mal nodded. "You’re lookin’ at the picture of health.”

She raised her eyebrows speculatively. “The picture of health has a gash on its forehead, an arm turning five shades of purple, and walks with a limp?”

“That it does,” affirmed Mal, his eyes sparkling.

She shook her head in affectionate frustration, pouting at him. “You’re impossible to deal with even when you’re bein’ nice and cooperative, you know that?”

“I got a reputation ta’ uphold,” replied Mal.

~~~~

Lee stood, handing Mal a crisply folded document without meeting his gaze. "That constitutes official notice that you stand charged with war crimes against the Alliance. You will be assigned an advocate, and your trial will take place a week from today."

Mal unfolded the paper without any change of expression, despite the feeling that someone had slammed a baseball bat into his stomach. His eyes scanned the words without seeing them, and finally he spoke. "Come to the conclusion that wasn’t more’n a threat."

"It wasn’t," said Lee. "Things changed. Politics have a way of doing that."

"And the