Mal was wandering in something of a trance; it was a state he found himself lapsing into on occasion ever since his sentencing. A way of blurring the eyes of the mind and going elsewhere, of finding a more tolerable sort of hideout while the time passed. He saw himself from the outside, pacing mindlessly. It was a sad sight, not one he wanted to linger on.

“Mal.” There was sadness in that voice too. Mal looked over, reluctant to come back to the solid reality where you talked to folk. Where an inexplicably unguarded man in uniform stood with his head down, clinging to a gate like it was his only support in a gale.

“Long time no see,” said Mal.

Khiloh couldn’t answer, just stood there. He couldn’t hold Mal’s gaze. Hadn’t spoken to him once since that night in the cell, still couldn’t. Mal studied the guard thoughtfully. If a crippled version of himself had come to rely desperately on a friendly face among the enemy, the man he was now didn’t care whether the faces were friendly. It seemed more important to speak truth.

“Run out of ways to justify your part in this?” Mal asked. Khiloh’s head sunk a little lower. “Fantasy gone now? Or you still think you can make it all better with a few nice words?”

“No!” snapped Khiloh, anger finally driving him to face Mal. “You lost your war, well, try losing everything you believe in or hope for.”

Anger flashed through him like a fire through grass. “I have.” The sheer depth of fury in those words made Khiloh step back in genuine fear, the metal gate seeming no barrier at all. “You wanna tell me about loss? I’m real interested.”

The fury faded and Mal blinked, taken aback by the power of it. Wasn’t like him to lose control like that, get taken over by a rage so strong it made the blood rush to his head so’s he could hear it and his eyes blur….he shook his head and took a deep breath.

Khiloh went pale. “I’m sorry.” He walked away, and Mal let him leave. Halfway down the corridor, he spun and marched back, grabbed the gate, and