Maybe it was a simple as having a hand to hold, or her quiet weariness. Whatever the reason, there was no tension while she the applied the scar treatments. It just became as simple as one human taking care of another, the way a world that made sense should be. As medical procedures went, this one was singularly pleasant. Lying with a warm glow spreading under the goofy blue strips she’d attached to him, he relaxed in relief.

Kelli poured two cups of coffee, pressed one into his hand, and sat back in the chair. “Don’t – you got things to do? Patients to treat, empires to control?” he asked.

She ignored the dig. “I’ve been awake for twenty-seven hours, been on shift for twenty-five, and I just watched a woman die. Have coffee with me, all right?”

Mal raised the mug. “To better days.”

She clinked her mug to his. “Better days.”

Mal watched her sip coffee. There was a lonesome awkwardness to her silence. She sat limp in her chair, like she was longing for these moments to be companionable ones. “You look lonely.”

She raised one eyebrow and looked at him, evaluating. “I suppose I am.” She sighed and swirled her coffee in the cup. “My boyfriend left a couple months ago. Can’t blame him. We met when I was in nursing school. He knew I was going to be married to my job and seeing him on the side, but – I don’t think he was expecting me to love it. Or to not complain about the hours and the being kept away from home and all.”

“All the ready they throw about, seems they could afford enough nurses,” said Mal.

“They can,” said Kelli. “It’s a bit more complicated then that, finding the right ones. It’s odd for people, treating prisoners.” She bit the inside of her lip. “Some of them are - afraid, and some can’t see how afraid the patients are. And some have a problem not seeing a prisoner as someone - less important.”

Suppose it would be. Mal tried to imagine treating Alliance prisoners, found it a difficult concept. “How’s it for you, working on - prisoners?” He faltered ove