The kitchen was quiet when Wash returned to it, but he was vexed to find Zoe sitting peacefully at the big table, sipping plainly from a cup of tea. She looked up at him casually as he came down the stairs.

"Where the hell were you ten minutes ago when I was face-planted on the floor in here?" he asked bitterly. When their eyes met, he was surprised by her lack of negative reaction—he knew his anger showed, but she seemed unperturbed by it.

She held his gaze for several long moments, and as she did, he felt the anger that had been broiling in him drawing out. She didn't smile, and her eyes weren't even kind, but he found something there that could still defeat him quite easily. After several seconds she looked away casually. "Can't be everywhere at once," she softly replied, picking up her cup. Her eyebrow quirked a little and she returned her gaze to him. "Didn't break nothing?"

Wash rubbed his hip softly where he was bruised and sore from falling and shook his head. "No. Nothing broken." He glanced about the galley slowly, uncertain how to proceed with the conversation.

His eyes eventually rose towards the engine room, and he recalled the fight he'd witnessed between Kaylee and Jayne. The soup bowl was long gone, and he felt a pang of regret for having yelled at Kaylee and upset her. "Kaylee in there?" he asked Zoe casually. It was remarkable how talking to her seemed so easy yet so difficult.

She shifted in her seat and looked behind her. "See for yourself."

He didn't want to leave because it had been a while since they'd spoken, but he didn't want to press his luck, either. Not appearing too eager would probably be nice. Keeping his temper probably couldn't hurt, either. So, he left Zoe and stepped around the table to enter the engine room, peeking around for the mechanic.

Kaylee looked up at him from where she was lying in her hammock, and she scowled at the sight of him. She lifted an eyebrow, cautiously. "Come t'yell at me some more?"

Wash leaned against the curve of the doorframe and studied her with his most gentle expression possible. "No, Kaylee," he replied in a voice that sounded soft even to his own ears. "I came to apologize. I was really, really rotten to you yesterday."

Kaylee appeared to be considering this for several moments, though her eyes never left Wash's face while she did. She shifted in her hammock a bit, making herself more comfortable. The scowl was still evident on her face.

Wash didn't like the prolonged silence. "You know how hard this has been on me," he proceeded uncertainly. "I have these mood swings sometimes, and I'd had a really unpleasant conversation with Simon right before I saw you. You know how unpleasant talking to him can be." He tried on a faint smile and wished it felt more natural on his face than it did. "I regret that I didn't stay and eat your soup, and thank you for making it. I'm sorry you got into a fight with Jayne because of me." At her continued silence he stepped inside the engine room toward her. "I really am sorry, Kaylee."

She looked away from him at last and stared at the end of her hammock. Wash didn't know what reaction he had expected from her, but his mental simulations had ended with smiles–not her still scowling. When she finally spoke, she kept her eyes off him. "You sayin' that 'cause y'really mean it or 'cause Zoe's sittin' right out there?" she morosely questioned.

Wash opened his mouth to retort, but his throat went dry. He was fervently aware of Zoe's presence behind him and that he was straining overly hard to act normal and casual around her. He also knew she could probably hear their entire conversation. He couldn't say he had consciously made the decision to come in here to apologize to Kaylee on the basis that Zoe'd hear him and potentially admire him for it, but once Kaylee pointed it out to him, it didn't seem so far-fetched. His subconscious had been doing much worse things to him lately.

He felt a chill along his spine, and he took another step into the engine room, leaving the kitchen behind him. He spoke in a hushed whisper, soft enough that it wouldn't carry out to the galley. "I'm a sick, broken man, Kaylee," he said, realizing that it was true as he spoke it. He was overcome with a sudden desire to touch her in some comforting way, but he stayed his hand. "Everything is wrong on this ship," he added, "so I react in the wrong way a lot, too. I didn't really mean it."

Kaylee sat up and looked at him earnestly. "Ain't nothing gonna get fixed if you don't let people know it's broke," she replied and then gave him a little smile. They both knew she could just as easily be talking about herself. "We all got lots of healin' t'do on this boat."

Wash nodded. "Yeah. It's just not easy."

"No, it ain't easy. That's why you got friends."

There was a moment where he hesitated, and then he softly said, "I pushed you away because it's too dark for you." His smile was sad. "I don't want you to see me this way. I don't want you to have to worry about me."

Kaylee shook her head disarmingly. "That's what friends do, dummy."

As he listened to Kaylee, he failed to notice River arriving from below decks to find Mal in his bunk. She escorted him back down with her. Wash's hand reached out to touch the ropes that attached the hammock to the engine. "Remember when I helped you hang this up in here the first time?"

Kaylee leaned back in the hammock and sighed, resting her hands over her chest. "Yup. It was real soon after I got on this boat. Zoe didn't much care for me then, and the cap'n was always busy, but I remember you were sure welcoming."

Wash nodded thoughtfully and pulled the rope slightly so it rocked Kaylee. "I miss that. Everything was easier back then."

"Mmm," Kaylee mused softly. She was silent for a period as Wash rocked her, and then she shook her head. "It's gonna get better."

"Do you really believe that?" he whispered.

Kaylee lifted her eyes to look at him, and in their depths he finally saw a hint of her inner sadness. She nodded. "Your life ain't over, Wash. You got a second lease, even. Ain't hardly nobody ever got that before." She reached one of her hands up to fold over Wash's on the hammock rope. She squeezed his fingers tightly. "There's no way that was an accident. You get another chance, and I know it's not for you to waste away depressed. These things just take time." She smiled at him, soft and real. "I got faith in you, Wash. It'll get better."

Her smile was so real and tender that he found himself returning it before he even realized. For once, it felt proper. "God, I hope you're right."

--

River all but pushed Mal into the infirmary and quickly stepped in behind him. As soon as they had cleared the doorway, Simon glanced about the passenger lounge beyond and, seeing the coast was clear, slid the doors shut behind him. He turned around and pressed his back against the metal, staring at the two others now closed in the room with him. River went to take a seat on the countertop, and Mal turned around, completely bewildered.

"What in the hell is going on here?" he demanded, confused. "River comes dragging me around sayin' we got an emergency, but I don't see no bleeding bodies." He looked at Simon critically, expecting an explanation.

Simon took a deep breath. "We've got a slowly ticking time-bomb onboard," he stated at last, his eyes rather wide with the fear of what he had to explain.

Mal raised an eyebrow. "You sproutin' pretty metaphors like your sister, or should we be loadin' the shuttles?"

"Wash is sick," River announced.

Mal looked over to her, critically. "Don't take a genius t'figure that one out."

"It's worse than we thought," Simon added, directing Mal's attention back to him. "Wash has practically stopped eating. I don't think he ever sleeps, his weight mass has dropped significantly again, and he's given up his physical therapy schedule in lieu of . . ." He trailed his hand in the air for a moment, hoping to find a word that would elaborate what he was trying to say. "Well," he sighed, "whatever it is he and Jayne are doing together every night," he continued with a pointed look and emphasis that he hoped would clue Mal in, "it isn't benefiting him."

At last, Simon stepped away from the closed doors to his computer. He swiveled the monitor to face Mal and brought up the diagnostic reading he had just run on Wash. "Under normal circumstances I would never reveal this sort of private information to a third party, as I'm sure you can imagine," he prefaced, "but River truly believes Wash is on a destructive path, for both himself and this crew, and I'm leaning hard to believe her."

Mal nodded, crossing his arms, and stepped closer to peer at the monitor. "Girl has been known to be true on occasion."

Simon's finger circled a section of the display. "See this dark area? It's extensive bruising. I took these scans about ten minutes ago. You can see it trails along his spine and down his legs. He's got a few other bruises, too, not consistent with the types of injuries he ought to have sustained from his training."

Mal's face was stony. "He's been passing out again, and I know from personal experience those grates leave bruises."

That was met with nodding from Simon. "That could account for a small portion of the bruises but not all of them. There's really no way he could obtain this sort of injury in a fall; even if he fell down the stairs, it wouldn't look mottled like this."

"Grey and blue and purple," River muttered to herself unhappily. "Everything has become so dark."

Mal cast her a brief glance and then tilted his head as he stared at the display again. "So Jayne's beating him up…?" he asked slowly, piecing it together.

Simon pressed his lips together tightly. "Well, yes. In a way."

"He likes the pain and the pleasure," River supplied, snapping out of her introspectiveness. "It makes the emptiness go away, for a little bit."

Mal said nothing as he stared at River. For several moments he seemed lost in his own thoughts, sorting things out internally. After a minute had passed, he blinked out of them and returned his fathomless gaze to Simon. "You sure about this?" he finally replied.

Simon's eyes flickered to River, and he nodded. "Almost positive, sir." He looked back at his monitor to avoid Mal's penetrating glare. "I've spoken to both of them, and so has River. Our attempts to get them to stop have been futile. They don't see it as harmful, but it's not the sort of … of companionship Wash needs."

"No, it sure the hell ain't," Mal agreed unpromisingly. His face was cold and unreadable, and his voice was firm and serious.

Simon was frightened of Mal in that moment. He seemed darker and more unpredictable than ever before. "Jayne's intentions aren't malicious," Simon said softly, trying to diffuse the temper he may have just ignited, "just misguided."

Mal's eyes didn't soften any. "Wash ain't right, Doc, we both can see that." He shook his head, unnerved. "This is somethin' I should've seen and prevented, and I didn't. That don't sit well with me none, and I aim to fix it. Wash don't know what he's doing, and he ain't got nowhere else to turn, so maybe I can see where he gets off thinkin' this is what's best for him." His lips tightened into a scowl. "But that gan ni niang Jayne gorram well knows better."

"He thinks he's helping," Simon supplied.

"You tell him what he's doing's wrong?" Mal cut him off angrily.

"Of course," Simon replied sharply.

"He say he was plannin' on quittin' him?" Mal pressed.

"No, sir."

Mal somehow managed to look even bleaker after his point was made. "Man knows better," he repeated, warningly. He turned on his heels to stalk out of the infirmary and only halted because Simon had shut the doors.

"Where are you going?" Simon asked hesitantly, not moving to follow him.

"Gonna get me my gun and have a little chat with my bu lang bu you mercenary," he snarled back, shoving the doors apart. As soon as they opened, he charged out.

"Mal!" Simon called and began to follow him. What Jayne and Wash were doing needed to be stopped, but not at gunpoint.

"Simon," River called in a gentle voice. He looked back at her in concern, and she shook her head. "This is what he needs."

"He's going to kill Jayne," Simon protested. He was rather surprised to find that as much as he disliked Jayne, he didn't want to see him killed.

"He won't," she reassured him. "This is how it has to happen. The pieces are in place for a checkmate," she grinned at him from across the infirmary. "But the king wouldn't kill his knight."

Simon looked uncertain, turning back to her. "You're sure about this?"

River gave him one of her withering glares that meant he was being stupid. "You know I'm right."

He looked helplessly back to the stairs, an expression of deep concern etched onto his face. "I trust you, River," he reassured her. "It's them I'm not so sure about."

She said nothing for a long period of time, and her eyes trailed from her brother onto the examination chair. "Simon," she finally said into the silence. When he turned to look at her, she spoke again without lifting her eyes. "He has so much guilt for everything. He thinks this is all his fault, all of it. Everything." She raised her gaze to him, and her eyes were those of a conflicted small child. "He hates himself so much for it, and he runs and runs." She shook her head, trying to clear the thoughts. Her eyes pinched tightly closed. "But there's nowhere else to run."

Three large steps carried Simon over to her, and he slipped his hand comfortingly over hers. "Mei-mei," he whispered soothingly. He shushed her, and when her eyes reopened, he countered gently, "Sometimes you have to run far enough away that you can turn back and see the whole picture. You can't solve anything if you don't know all the variables." He smiled at her softly.

Her eyes studied his for a few moments, and then she nodded. They still seemed too young and too conflicted, but they were reassuring. "The guilt is thick and cloying. It chokes the entire ship. But cast it off, and she'll sail true."

Simon swallowed hard and nodded. "That she will, but we've got to save Wash before we save Mal." His smile was sad. "And I don't even know if that's possible."

River looked away from him, her fingers curling along the hem of her skirt. "It's all the same," she whispered softly. "He's the source. Ripple effect." Her eyes squeezed shut tightly again. "I'm tired," she added faintly.

"It's late," Simon agreed, taking her hand to tug her off the counter toward her quarters. "We should get some sleep. We might have to prepare for a funeral come morning." He gave her a wry smile.

--

More than anything else, the humming of Serenity settled Wash to sleep at night. She sounded different in the cockpit than she did in the cargo bay, and she sounded differently in the galley than she did in his bunk. That had held true for the bunk he had shared with Zoe, and he found that she sounded different in Jayne's bunk, too. The tone was almost negligibly different, but to an ear as trained as his, it was as easy to pick out as a half-pitch step would be to a musician.

Jayne's slow breathing rumbled behind Wash as he slept. Wash stared across the bunk at the opposite wall, listening to the faint differences in the way the engine reverberated here as opposed to in his own quarters. It was a sound that had kept him sane in the quiet of the night, and that, coupled with the secure arm tightly wrapped about his middle, made him feel like he wasn't drowning out here in space. Well, at least for the moment.

Being with Jayne was like juggling with double-edged knives—no matter how amazing it was when it worked, he got hurt in the end. But it was comfortably late now; Jayne was asleep and Serenity was humming, telling him it was safe for him to depart for his own room.

It was easy to wriggle out from beneath the bigger man's arm; he'd gotten fairly apt at it over the past few weeks. He dressed quickly in the semi-darkness despite the fresh bruises and pain that shot through him as he bent to pull his jumpsuit back on. After a few seconds he turned, suddenly aware that Jayne's breathing had changed.

Wash found he was being watched, and his hand stayed on his zipper as he started to tug it closed. Jayne had woken when he'd left before, but there had never been the look in his eyes that was there now. It was intense and pinned him in place although his brain was sending out flares telling him to flee. "Just leaving, is all," he barely managed to whisper.

Jayne shifted his weight, coming fully awake. Inside of another second, he had sat up and adjusted on the bed accordingly. "We got t'stop this, Wash," he flatly stated in an almost morose tone. "Th'Doc said it ain't healthy." His eyes strayed to what he could see of Wash's body inside the jumpsuit.

Scowling, Wash quickly pulled the zipper up and cut off Jayne's view of his blotchy skin. "Tell me you're joking," he edgily stated.

Jayne raised a hand and ran it through his close-cropped hair almost as a distraction. "I been thinkin' 'bout what the Doc said, and maybe he ain't so far off. You ain't gettin' no better doin' what we do in here. Hell, maybe you're gettin' worse." He kept his eyes on Wash, unafraid of his wrath. "Just thinkin' there's got t'be a better way t'cope than this, is all," he finished.

"This is unbelievable," Wash muttered incredulously. "Simon is an insufferable hun dan who doesn't know the first thing about what I need. He thinks he can just medicate my problems away. We can all see how well that turned out for River," he snarled. "I can't believe he went behind my back to tell you that. And you listened!" He bent too quickly to pick up his Hawaiian shirt and nearly toppled over. He grabbed the edge of the bed to steady himself. "Of all the times for you to actually listen to Simon."

Jayne sat there resolutely watching as Wash angrily pulled his Hawaiian shirt over his jumpsuit. "Hell, I always listen," he replied at last. "Just don't usually obey." He glanced away from Wash at last, taking in their surroundings. "I'd tell 'im t'shove 'is ideas up his pi gu if'n I didn't think he was right." His eyes trailed back to Wash. "But you ain't got no better since this started. I think you got worse."

"I'm happier; doesn't that say anything?" Wash countered hotly.

"Yeah, but you ain't happy 'cause o'what we're doing. You're happy 'cause for a bit y'can't remember nothin' t'be sad for. That ain't healin', that's hidin', and I ain't one t'hide from nothin'," Jayne retorted.

For a time they just stared at each other, and the surrealness of the situation seemed to sink in for Wash. He was standing in Jayne's bunk arguing with the buck-naked man trying to throw him out, which he was strongly attempting to resist. The floor started skewing again, the way it sometimes did before he passed out, and he clutched Jayne's desk to steady himself and fight off the vertigo. "I need this, Jayne," he protested in a softer, more pathetic voice. "I can't go to my bunk alone every night and stare at the ceiling and pretend that everything is okay."

Clearly Jayne didn't know what to say to that. They were reaching a level of emotion with which he wasn't comfortable. Finally he stated, "I ain't gonna be responsible for hurtin' y'more, Wash." His tone was firm. "That's final."

Wash was dark and his features bleak as he stared Jayne down. "Believe me, you're hurting me more by throwing me out than you are by letting me stay."

"Now, supposedly you ain't the dumb one here," Jayne protested, "so how come you can't see what's better for you than me is all them folk on this boat?"

"Kaylee can't do for me what you're doing," Wash began to disagree.

"How you know that?" Jayne cut him off. "You ask her? You ask Mal or Simon or, hell, even River? Gorramit, you even asked Zoe? Or you just think, 'Jayne, now he's big and dumb; bet I could get him t'hurt me real good and make him think he's doin' me a favor'? 'Cause I thought I was, and that's why I done it."

"You did it because you liked it!" Wash spat. "And now you're backing out because you're afraid Mal's going to find out and you'll get in trouble. But we're two consenting adults here, and there's nothing Mal can do about that."

Jayne shook his head. "I ain't consentin' no more. Not to that. You come back, you best be bringin' cards."

Wash was silenced for a moment until he looked around the room at Jayne's clothes tossed on the floor and the other signs of their tryst. "You've got some fucking nerve saying all this to me after I came in here tonight. I don't think Simon snuck in here and had that little conversation with you while I was sleeping, so how come it's suddenly so bad after we fucked?"

Jayne flinched just a bit. It was never good when Wash started laying on the heavy expletives, especially not when he was using them so graphically. "What, you can use me, but I can't use you?" he flippantly replied. "Now, how's that fair?"

Wash didn't know if he should be enraged, devastated, or drop to his knees and start begging. The situation called for all three, and he was exhausted and not prepared for any of them. He had wanted to slip silently out of Jayne's bunk and into his own without incident. All this talking and arguing had given him a headache. "You're an asshole," he finally managed to say in a low, cold tone.

The insult didn't seem to faze Jayne. "Ain't the only one here who is."

Wash snorted and pushed off from the desk to grab the rung ladder when it was in reach. "Go to hell," he hissed and started up.

Jayne sat up further in bed. "Hey, Wash," he called, "this don't mean we ain't friends no more," he stated.

Wash reached the top of the stairs and rested his hand on the lever to push the hatch out. "We were never friends, Jayne," he snarled. He pushed the door open and climbed out into the dim darkness of the corridor.

"Well, you're mine!" Jayne's voice was faint, but it carried out to him. Wash turned around and shoved the door closed behind him with a snort. Jayne's words seemed to echo what he'd overheard in his conversation with Kaylee yesterday.

Although the door was now closed Wash sadly muttered, "Well, you ain't his," in reply.

He stood there for several seconds, staring at the closed hatch. He regretted everything that had happened over the last month, but he was also thankful it had lasted as long as it did. There was no way he felt he could have survived that month alone. He closed his eyes painfully and then turned to head back to his own bunk, alone.

And that's when he realized Mal was standing right in front of the door to his quarters, staring hard at him through the shadows with a drawn gun in his hand.