Page 59 of Any More Questions for the Corpse?

Mal admired Walters. It would’ve been easy to dismiss Mal’s theory and bury his head in the sand, but Walters saw the truth and he’d faced it head-on. That was strength. He’d even helped them stop Kosh. He hadn’t just lost someone he loved; he lost the version of him he knew, or at least the version he wanted Kosh to be.

Maybe this was why Mal hurt so much. He hadn’t just abandoned his parents; in walking away he’d given up all hope that they might one day be the parents he wanted them to be. They had made his life miserable, but the sad truth was he still loved them. He didn’t want any of this. Mal would have put up with the misery forever, but it never seemed enough for them. They had to try and take more. More of his life, more of his pride, more of his self-esteem.

He’d done the right thing. He couldn’t put himself second anymore. Not for them. Not for people who made him feel lesser than. Not for people who made him believe he was lesser than. Mal would’ve only withered further with their roots dug in his skin.

It was a weird feeling; somehow he felt both better and worse. He couldn’t tell if this pain had made him stronger, or if he’d finally let go of some great weight and now felt lonely without it. He couldn’t stop thinking about everything that could have been. How much of his life he wanted to share with them, but just couldn’t. He finally had to move on.

Mal felt a small rush of hope that felt slightly out of place. He glanced over and saw, for the first time, that Hala’s eyes were slightly different: her irises were now a diamond instead of a circle. He’d never noticed that before, but he’d also never really looked. A lot of magic could be done with next to no transformation; Mal assumed it was the same for Hala’s psychothingy. Mal gave her a look that said, “Was that you?” (For the curious, you cock your head down and to the side, then raise your eyebrows—kind of a sassy eyebrow glare.). She simply mouthed “Sorry,” then gave him a smile that said, “I know how you’re feeling.” (Which again, for the curious, is a muted smile to one side, using mostly the bottom lip; a consoling, funereal smile, if you will.)

“Shouldn’t you lot be doing something productive?” Walters said, ambling over. The clanking of bone filled his gait. For a second, Mal thought he saw Walters staring at the pizza.

“We are,” Yu said. “We’re relaxing.”

“And we’re keeping Mal’s mind off things,” Hala said.

“I finally left,” Mal said. Des rubbed him on the back as if he were poorly with some sort of physical ailment.

“If anyone deserves to relax, you lot do,” Walters said, leaning up against the fireplace.

“Yeah, we saved the world, we should be entitled to at least a week off,” Yu said, picking up another slice.

“Well, not quite the world,” Walters said. “Mazino probably would have conquered the region for a century or two and then been expelled. Still pretty bad. Not apocalyptic though.”

“So we saved Poland?” Mal said, brightening up slightly.

“And maybe its neighbors?” Des added.

“Not bad for our first case,” Hala said, lounging back in her chair.

“I’ve got some snacks if anyone’s hungry after pizza,” Yu said, pointing to a suitcase in the corner of the room.

“You moving in?” Walters asked.

“That’s just gingerbread in there,” Yu said, “but if there’s a room going spare, I’m not turning it down.”

“You can have the one next to Des,” Walters said, attempting a smile. “You’re all welcome to stay if you want.”

“Would help with the student loans,” Mal said, looking to Hala.

“I’m game. Any ideas on our next case?”

“I’ve got some leads on the people that sent lamp-man if anyone’s interested?” Des said.

“Do we have to call him lamp-man?” Yu said. “I’m sure he has a name.”

“Well, it’s lamp-man or knife-hand,” Mal said. “You choose.”

Yu sighed with exasperation, as the others chuckled to themselves.

“For the fifth time, it’s a stiletto, not a knife,” Yu said.

“Oh please, do explain the difference …” Des said, smirking.

Mal took in the moment. Everyone laughing, bickering, and enjoying themselves. He couldn’t help but smile; it felt odd. Inside he felt terrible, but this lot made him feel like things were going to be okay. Why? Why weren’t they disgusted with him? He’d abandoned his family earlier that very day. What was wrong with them? Why wasn’t he more disgusted with himself? They just seemed to accept him, and somehow that made it easier for him to accept himself. Was it really that simple? Why did seeing himself through their eyes matter? It was sad that he’d never felt this before. But, if the choice was up to him, and it very much was, he’d take this lot every day of the week. This is what family meals are supposed to be like, Mal thought. He could get used to this.