E-Mail: browncoat.malcolm@gmail.com

Status: Completed 4/13/2008

Word Count: 2,430

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Mal licked his dry, cracked lips. His throat was also parched making swallowing difficult. He was grateful, in a way, for the dehydration. It meant he wasn't sweating anymore, which meant there was no more sweat to roll down and aggravate his raw back. He had no idea how long it had been since he'd had any food or water, or how much longer it would be before he was given any. Reginald was still playing his hot/cold game. Seeing as how he'd been roasting for a while, he was sure it was only a matter of a few minutes before the temperature would drop again.

Sure enough, some time later, Mal could feel the temperature dropping. At first, it was a relief. The cool air helped to sooth his sore back and the burns. Soon, though, it became so cold he started shivering again, causing his already raw wrists to rub against the metal of his restraints. He was pretty sure there wasn't any skin left on 'em, least ways there wouldn't be by the time Reginald was done with him. His ankles, covered by his pant legs, were fair just a might bit better. His teeth began to chatter so hard, he was certain they'd be breaking anytime now.

After what seemed like an eternity, Reginald and his goons returned. He waited for the temperature to start to get back to normal again, but it remained frigid. He braced himself for what he was sure would be coming next, but the freezing cold water didn't come. After a few minutes he looked up. Reginald was standing in front of him, arms crossed over his chest, glaring at him with eyes that held a level of burning hatred and loathing Mal had never seen before. He shivered in spite of himself. It was somewhat frightening to know it was all directed at him, for something that wasn't really his fault.

Well, not entirely anyway.

Reginald continued to stare at Mal silently. The intensity of his glare sent shivers up and down Mal's spine that had nothing to do with the cold. Mal re