Mal looked back up at Wash. "What the hell kind of summer camp did your parents send you to, anyway?" he asked, a grin sneaking across his face.

"The kind where spiders are haute cuisine, apparently."

Mal opened his eyes wide in shock and blinked rapidly. "You want me to eat him? But...I thought you were giving me a pet!" He looked fondly at the plate. "I couldn't eat Danny!"

"Man must do horrific and....horrible deeds to survive," Wash replied soberly. "Thanks for not punching me again, by the way."

"I like to save that for special occasions," Mal replied. "Too much work, punching folk before breakfast."

Wash stood. "Speaking of breakfast, that incredibly annoying ringing noise in your ears means it's time to go eat." He smiled at Mal. "Let's go. You can bring back a little something special for Danny." ____________________________________________________________________

Mal surveyed the small group gathering by the door in his housing unit. It was built to hold at least twenty men, yet he only counted six, including him and Wash.

Wash waved in Mal's direction as the two of them approached the group. "This here's - uh - a guy."

Mal nodded. "Yep, that'd be me."

Taking pity on the discomfited Wash, he introduced himself. "Mal Reynolds. Formerly Sergeant Malcolm Reynolds."

"Zeke Hamilton - pilot, like Wash here," said a stocky man with close-cropped red hair, stepping forward to shake Mal's hand heartily.

"Hello, young man," said a lanky man no older than Mal himself. "I'm Captain Straaker, but you can call me Lance if it puts you more at ease." Mal raised an eyebrow slightly, nodding at him wordlessly with a half-salute.

"Chan Albert Sun Moon Lee," said a forty-something Asian man with a mocking bow. "My parents clearly hated me, and in the spirit of revenge I make myself known as Matty." He grinned. "Oh - and I'm a pilot too, if we're doing the whole life-history in a word thing."

Mal returned the playful bow, turning his gaze to the last of his fellow pris