The small hospital waiting room for the unstable actually did have padded walls, but what disturbed Mal was the contoured chair bolted to the floor, and the chilling multitude of straps sprouting from it.

“If you’re fixing to put me in that contraption –“

“Wouldn’t think of it,” said Daniels, removing the handcuffs. There was no place to sit besides the chair, which none of them were inclined to go near.

"Not fair, bein’ surrounded by a crack team of the world's nicest prison guards. Makes it hard to uphold my war-criminal-ly standards of behavior," said Mal, breaking the tense silence. Thank you for not shoving me into that god-awful chair, and for not beating me to a pulp when I gave you every excuse. For forgiving.

"I'm sure we could arrange to get Lambert back," said Lang with a cheeky grin. The slight redness of his cheeks was telling; he clearly liked being called one of the world's nicest guards, and he recognized the meaning behind Mal’s words. "There could be a cage fight," he suggested.

Mal's eyes sparkled. “Ain’t every fight in here technically a cage fight?"

Daniels chuckled. "If you're cranky about the crack team, you'll have to make your grievances to Lee. He's determined to make sure nobody who even contemplated having a mean streak two former lifetimes ago gets near you. Quite touching, the way he had our great grandparent's cats interrogated just to see if we were fit to pull a guard detail."

"Suppose I should lodge an official complaint?" asked Mal. "Guards are too rutting nice, make ‘em meaner?"

Daniels burst out laughing, and Lang followed suit in the manner of the desperately tense. The room, and most particularly the lurking, almost sentient form of that chair, was giving them all the creeps, though none were inclined to admit it. After a moment's reflection, he pulled out a pen and a scrap of paper, handing them to Mal. "Write that. I'll give it to Lee, he'll love it."

Holding the paper against the padded wall, Mal printed neatly and signed