*set between the second and third sections of Four*

Times were tough. Well, tougher than tough, like trying to find drinkable water in the middle of an ocean, really. But that sentence, three little words kept ringing through Mal’s head as he stood there and just stared.

Times were tough.

He wasn’t sure if he was aghast, or furious or guilty. Probably all three and then some he reckoned. What lie before him blurred, it stopped being people, bodies, sickly faces, refuse and horror all neatly packaged in a cargo container and just looked like abstract shapes.

Simon yelling for a stretcher was a distant cry as he reached out and braced himself on the now open door. Zoe blew past him, Jayne and the others, but he couldn’t will himself to move. Legs were like lead weights that were, and his chest constricting like a vice around all of his vitals.

Times were tough.

“Mal?”

No money, no food, barely enough fuel.

“MAL?!”

Any job would do.

“CAPTAIN.”

Just a quick pick up, fly from the moon to the capital, easy peasy.

“CAPTAIN!”

Never curious about the cargo, don’t ask don’t tell.

“SIR.”

Zoe’s face came into focus, and the world around him stopped being a tunnel. In the present the smell of dead, dying and decaying hit him hard, all it needed was the bite of gunpowder and it woulda smelled like war. He felt her strong hand grip his arm, twisting it to get his attention as cries and moans of their cargo echoed in the damp container.

“Sir,” her face was strong and resilient, wanting him to come back to the situation “Sir, are you here?”

His throat felt like he had swallowed a mouthful of sand, making his reply hoarse. “A’course Zoe.” Standing up straight, he peeled his bleary eyes away from her and surveyed the mistake, his mistake.

“Sir, this wasn’t your fault.” She told him. “None’a us knew, Doc says they got something in their systems, made them hush.”

“You just keep telling yourself that.” He used a low tone, fury building as Serenity gently touched down with a j