The cargo bay doors slid open, but not fast enough for Mal. He slipped through a gap not wide enough, and banged his elbow on the thick metal, but he ignored the pins and needles it set up down his arm. Instead he skidded to a halt in his stocking feet at the bottom of the ramp.

“Hank?”

The pilot gave a shaky smile as he helped support Peter Frye. “We’re okay, Mal,” he said, his speech somewhat slurred. “Well, maybe not okay, but we’re not hurt particularly.” The young man almost slipped from his shoulder, but Mal was there in a moment, taking his weight, letting Hank gather himself. “Thanks.”

Freya had followed her husband and was staring out into the darkness, her shotgun still cocked. “Is there anyone still out there?” she asked.

“Just us chickens,” Hank said, tripping and falling to his hands and knees. “ Chun ben. ”

“Stay there,” Simon called, pulling a sweater on over his sweat pants as he ran through the bay.

“Don’t think I can move far, doc.” Hank tried to grin but it wasn’t quite right, twisting his mouth as it did. “And I think a marathon is out of the question.”

“Pete?” Kaylee was behind him, and tried to dart out but Mal’s voice stopped her.

“Kaylee, call Jayne,” Mal said quickly. “Get him to bring your folks here. We’ll look to your brother.”

The young mechanic glared at him but his tone was the one he used when he expected to be obeyed, no matter what. “I’ll be right back,” she promised Pete, running up the stairs towards the bridge, crossing with Zoe as she ran down, her gun in her hand.

Simon was already examining Hank. “No major wounds or anything?” he asked.

“Nope. Nothing that a few weeks sleep won’t cure.”

“Headache? Any –“

“Doc,” Mal interrupted. “Can we do this in the infirmary? Pete ain’t exactly a lightweight, and I’d rather we all got out of the light soon as we can. Seeing as we’re very pretty targets right now.”

“Oh. Yes, I'm sorry.” Simon lifted Hank to his feet. “Can you walk?”

“Got this far, didn’t I?” He looke