It was a pretty morning; crisp and clear with the subtle flash of melting snow dripping from the chain links of the fence. Tiny specks of fluffy cloud were sprinkled randomly about in the sky, and Mal drew in a deep breath of fresh air that felt oddly free. He pretended to ignore the approach of two guards, but they called his name and he walked to the gate, resenting the interruption of a perfectly nice moment.

The resentment deepened as he was ordered politely out of the yard and stood up against the fence to be searched. As usual, there wasn’t a word of explanation, and he wondered just who had made the huang tang decision that the ‘verse would collapse about itself if one deigned to tell a prisoner where he was being taken, or why.

There was nothing unkind in Lang's manner, nothing different about the demeaning routine he'd endured so many countless times that it almost seemed like an ordinary way for a fellow to say hello. How are you today, Sergeant Reynolds? Let me lock your hands behind your back and make sure you're not hiding a gun in your pi gu. Oh, yes, it is a lovely morning, isn't it?

Nothing remained of the fear Khiloh had so patiently eased him past when Lang locked the first cuff firmly around his right wrist. Just anger, raw rage that made blood pound in his ears while the world shrank to this one moment. Mal jerked away furiously and spun, throwing Lang off balance and facing him, handcuffs dangling.

Lang grabbed his arm, startled, and Mal punched him. The rage fueling him wanted to beat the kid’s face in, to slam him against the fence and show him, this is what it feels like to be hurt. To be defenseless. To have your world destroyed. But something stronger, some innate protective instinct, stayed the force of his blow. His fist caught Lang’s cheekbone, landing just hard enough to make him let go with a startled yelp.

"You honestly think I'm this dangerous?" he asked. "Figure I should beat ya’ to a pulp just so's there's an actual reason to treat m