(Disclaimers with Part 1)

"Fateful Hours" Part 2

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Voices came at him from an echoing distance.

"Careful."

"Lay him down right there."

Seemed like he'd been in this situation before. Fuzzy-headed, hurting--the far-off voices slowly getting closer, the words clearer...waking up in the infirmary, after the salvagers had shot him....

No, that was past. This was now. This was different. Even with his eyes shut and his brain half locked down, Mal knew he wasn't on Serenity.

"I'll check the street, but I don't think you were seen."

"Zoe, are you all right, child?"

Two of the voices he knew. Two he didn't. Where was he?

"I'm fine, Preacher, it's just a bad bruising. We need to be looking after the captain."

"I'll fetch our med-kit."

Zoe--Zoe was hurt? It was his job to look after her. He tried to open his eyes--he had to see if she was all right, if they were safe.

"Careful, he's coming to." That was Book, concerned but calm as ever.

He felt hands on his leg, trying to be gentle, but they provoked a sharp wave of pain which jolted him into full awareness. His eyes flew open and he saw Zoe at his side, one hand on his shoulder. The Shepherd stood just behind her, smiling down in reassurance.

Someone else was tending to his injury. "Tamade diyu!" He tried to jerk his leg away, which only made it hurt worse.

"Oh! Please, hold him still," came a woman's shocked, worried voice.

"Captain..." Zoe sounded relieved and exasperated all at once as she squeezed his arm. "Just take it easy, sir."

Mal grasped her hand weakly. "Zoe--we gotta keep moving, they'll be after us..." He struggled to push himself up, but she held him firmly in place.

"Steady, Captain." Book leaned over him, shaking his head. "You're safe for the moment, but you won't be going anywhere for a while. Now just lie still."

He realized he was lying on a wide, high-backed sofa in what looked to be somebody's parlor. A plainly dressed middle-aged woman with a kind face was working on his leg, carefully cleaning and dressing the laser burn. She looked up when she felt his gaze on her, and smiled at him soothingly. "You listen to the Shepherd, young man. You'll be feeling better in a spell."

They didn't have a spell. Mal bit back another curse and focused on Zoe again. "We gotta get back to the ship--make sure the others are okay." He had no idea how long he'd been out, and now his head was starting to throb, making it even harder to be thinking clearly. "Zoe..." he pleaded urgently, needing her to do the thinking for him. He belatedly recognized the discomfort on her face, remembering with a start that she'd been hurt too. "You okay?"

She nodded, flexing her arm slightly to reassure him. "I'm good, Cap'n."

He knew she probably was, but he was no less worried. "Preacher--the two of you have to get back to Serenity," he implored, hoping Zoe wouldn't mind the indirect order.

"Not a good idea, Captain," Book said decisively. "If they're on the lookout for a man and a woman, we'd fall under immediate suspicion."

Mal rubbed fretfully at his aching head. "Then you just wave that magical little ident card of yours at 'em," he insisted. "No worries."

"Play that trick too often," he replied, frowning, "and I won't be able to use it when we really need it. Besides, the way the law works on this world, credentials like that won't impress anyone. We'll have to rely on other sources for help."

The woman finished tending to Mal's leg and gathered up her medical supplies. "I'm sure Pastor Devlin will be able to come up with something, Shepherd," she agreed as she stood up.

"I believe I have." A portly man about Book's age, dressed in clerical black, entered the room briskly, rubbing his hands together. "The search parties are still two streets over," he said to Book. "We have a little time to put a plan in action."

"Hold on a gorram minute--" Mal started to protest, but he shut up when the woman made an aggrieved "tsking" sound, and the Shepherd gave him a stern look.

"Mrs. Mallory," the pastor went on, ignoring Mal, "they're expecting a visit down at the free clinic, and I'm sure that as a new parishioner, this young lady--" he smiled paternally at Zoe--"would be happy to accompany you and help carry our donations."

The woman nodded and beckoned. "Yes, come along, dear, and I'll get you all fixed up."

Zoe got to her feet warily, lips set in a tight line as she glanced enquiringly at her captain. He stared back at her, frowning, not sure if this was the right thing to do.

"Go on, child," Book prompted, patting her on the shoulder. "It'll be all right. I'm staying here."

"The clinic is down by the docks," Devlin said mildly, noting Mal's doubtful expression.

That clinched it. "Go," Mal told her firmly. Her safety--the ship's safety--came before his.

She nodded, and followed Mrs. Mallory out of the room. "You watch him like a hawk, Preacher," she said over her shoulder. "He gets into trouble without even trying."

Mal swore under his breath as Book chuckled knowingly. Whatever Mrs. Mallory had used to doctor his leg must have been potent, for the pain was finally receding to a tolerable level, and his head felt a lot less fuzzy. He tried sitting up again, and this time Book helped him, making sure he kept his injured leg elevated and immobile.

"You sure they'll get through okay?" Mal asked, resting against the arm of the sofa. It made him uneasy, relying on strangers, even if Book seemed to be entirely trusting of them.

"They may get stopped once or twice, if the search parameters have been extended that far," Devlin answered. "But we bring donations--food, clothing, medical supplies--to the clinic on a regular basis. It will be excellent cover for your friend."

Mal blinked at the explanation, then turned to Book. "You and him go to the same funny seminary where they seem to teach a whole lot more than just preaching?" he asked.

Book smiled enigmatically. "Let's just say we've shared a certain--type of experience."

"Uh-huh." Someday he was gonna have a long chat with the man about such things.

Zoe and Mrs. Mallory returned, each carrying a large covered basket. Zoe's distinctive duster had been replaced by a plain, padded jacket, and her hair was pulled back demurely with a wide band. Her gun belt was missing, and she didn't look too happy about it. Mal suspected there had been words exchanged while they were out of the room.

But Zoe was resolute, standing tall as she faced him for final orders. "Captain?"

"You get back to the ship," he said, keeping any taint of "if" out of his voice, "and see to the others. Make sure Wash and Jayne get back okay. And try to contact Inara, make sure she's--that she knows what's going down...." He trailed off, glancing with consternation from Book to the pastor. "We got any idea what's really going on out there?"

"It's hard to say," Devlin replied, his round face furrowed in thought. "From the little I heard, I can't tell if they're treating the incident simply as an attempt to disrupt the rally, or something far worse. Either way, the search is liable to intensify as the investigation continues. So I suggest the ladies get moving."

"I'll try to send a message once we've reached the port," Mrs. Mallory promised, as she tucked her arm through Zoe's and led her away. Zoe directed one last stoical look at Mal before she was hustled out the door.

He glanced at the pastor with a raised eyebrow. "That's one take-charge kind of lady."

"A fine widow-woman, and my sexton," the man replied proudly. "A wonder of organizational skills. Now then..." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, leveling an intent gaze at his remaining guest. "Let's see what we can do about you, young man." He hurried out a door in the back of the parlor.

Mal shifted about, feeling all twitchy. He wanted to get his feet on the floor to see how much his injured leg could take. There was no way of telling how long they'd be stuck here, and he was not much liking the idea of being beholden to the church for any longer than was absolutely necessary.

Book noticed his restlessness and raised a warning finger. "Don't push yourself just yet, Captain. Staying put is our best course of action for now."

"No, best would be getting ourselves back to Serenity soon as possible," Mal countered. He flexed his leg, clenching his jaw against the resulting pain. He tried again, desperate to build some strength back up. "You wanna tell me just how the hell you stumbled across us in our hour of need, Preacher?"

Book crossed his arms, regarding him with strained patience. "The pastor and I were sitting on the porch when we heard the commotion," he explained. "I knew you and Zoe had gone in that direction, so I thought it wise to see if you'd been caught up in any trouble. It was providential that I found you before anyone else did."

"Yeah, whatever," Mal snorted. "But thanks," he added quickly with half a smile. Gritting his teeth, he slowly swung both legs off the sofa and sat full upright. "And as kindly and well-meaning as your friends may perhaps be--" he stopped, breathing deeply as his head swam. "We--can't be staying here forever...." His coat and gun belt were slung over the back of the chair Zoe had been sitting in. He reached for them unsteadily, as another wave of dizziness assaulted him.

If Book hadn't leapt forward to catch him, he would have hit the floor face first. "Just how far do you think you'll get in this condition, even with me to help you?" the Shepherd chastised him severely. "And I have no burning desire to answer to Zoe if I let anything happen to you."

Brushing him off, Mal collapsed back onto the sofa, scowling. "Fine," he gave in wearily. "I hope to hell you got a story ready and a place to stash me when the law comes calling."

Devlin came at a breathless run through the door in time to hear him. "That will be any minute now," he warned. "They're three doors down." He was carrying a bundle of clothing which he thrust quickly into Book's hands. "Hurry," he urged, racing out again. "I'll keep watch."

"What the hell's going on?" Mal asked.

"We're going to hide you in plain sight," Book answered, gazing at him expectantly as he laid the clothing out on the chair.

Mal stared at the dark shirt and pants, and the stiff white collar. "No," he snarled, breaking out in a cold sweat as his stomach twisted. "No rutting way!"

They heard sirens begin to wail in the distance, and the muted roar of an approaching hovercraft.

Book stood over him, unmoved, with a grim little smile. "I'm afraid you have no choice, son."

***

If he could have reached his gun, there would have been a choice, all right. But the Shepherd must have read his mind, deftly snatching up the gun belt and coat before offering to help him change.

He had seemed completely unimpressed by the string of curses which made up Mal's response, simply saying, "That's right--best to get it out of your system now. Wouldn't be fitting to talk that way in front of the law."

Mal had shucked out of his clothes as quick as he could despite the sharp jab of pain each movement provoked. Book stood by, only helping him with his boots, then had bundled them up with Mal's shirt, the singed, torn pants, his coat and gun belt and taken them off somewhere, presumably to be hidden away with Zoe's things.

It had all been only a matter of minutes, but it seemed like hours to Mal--long torturous hours--by the time he'd finished struggling into the oppressive black clothes. They fit him well enough, but that did nothing to make wearing them any less unsettling.

Sweating again, and shaking slightly, he dropped back down heavily on the sofa, resisting the urge to grab his leg where the pain throbbed its strongest. His hands were already occupied, turning the white collar round and round as he stared unseeing at the hard wood floor. He wished they'd never landed on this yuchun world.

Book returned, carrying a pair of dark shoes. "Don't know how good a fit these will be," he said, dropping them beside the chair. "You have to get a move on, Captain," he added, placing his hand solicitously on Mal's shoulder. "They'll be here any second."

Mal lifted his head and glared at him. "I don't like this one gorram bit, Shepherd."

"It's not for you to like or not, son. It's the way it has to be."

"I can let it happen and still not like it," Mal said stubbornly. Then he let out a bitter sigh, and held the collar up, submitting resentfully to the inevitable. "Here--I can't--"

"Let me," Book said, gently taking it from him.

Mal sat stiffly, bowing his head as needed while Book worked the collar through the neck of the shirt. The fabric scratched against his skin as it tightened, the unwelcome pressure closing in...

...like a chain around his neck, the familiar weight of the silver cross a comfort as he left Shadow behind and went off to war--went into battle with his fears contained behind walls of faith, the cross and chain with him always...

...tight and unyielding. Mal swallowed hard against the band of constriction around his throat as Book finished the task and stepped away from him.

Pastor Devlin appeared in the doorway and signaled wordlessly. Book pushed the chair back, gesturing for Mal to take it, as he sat down calmly on the sofa, the very image of churchly propriety.

Mal eased into the chair awkwardly, slipping the shoes on as he did. Then he straightened his back, and tried to school his expression into the proper sort of humbleness. "Now," he said mirthlessly, "for the easy part."

"You just follow my lead," Book said sternly out of the side of his mouth, "and don't make this any harder than it has to be."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Book's expression plainly said he could well imagine otherwise.

******

Part Three