(Disclaimers with Part 1. Thanks for reading through to the end--please, leave a comment if you enjoyed the story!)

"Fateful Hours" Conclusion by HawkMoth

_______________

The journey back to the port wasn't the long painful walk Mal had anticipated. Not only did they have an escort, they went in style seated in an open patrol wagon driven by Constable Harris. The sheriff sent along another deputy to ride shotgun.

All seemed relatively peaceful as they drove through town. There were still lawmen on patrol in small groups, and not too many regular folks about. If there had been any major disturbances or civil unrest, they didn't see any evidence of it. Of course, they still didn't have any real idea of what had gone on after the attack on the rally.

The only thing Mal truly cared about was getting back to Serenity, and out of his disguise. His longing to be off this world and back in the sky was so strong that it was making his head ache again. He sat in broody silence, only half-listening as Book talked with the deputy, skillfully pumping him for information on the day's events.

It turned out that the plot had been engineered by Magistrate Langston's nephew, who was a commissioner in the next province. His plan, it seemed, had been to make it look as if the magistrate himself had been after his son, and cause a breach in the family and and the political factions.

"Wanted to move in and take over here himself," the deputy opined. "Only place he'll be moving now is a prison cell, alongside his hired goons."

Huh, thought Mal. Let 'em rot there. If only they had landed on a different day, or if their contact had chosen another place for the meet--timing was everything, and why was his always so lousy?

Dusk was settling in when they arrived at the port. Harris carefully maneuvered the transport through the roadways, following Book's directions. "This will be just fine, Constable," he said, urging a halt. "Our ship's just over there."

Serenity was still some distance away, the open cargo ramp a welcome and inviting sight. Mal climbed down from the transport with a barely suppressed groan, weary and aching all over. He stood still and let Book do the talking, thanking their escort and urging them to hurry on their errand to fetch Mrs. Mallory.

"We'll get her back safe," Harris promised. "Nice to see folks like that who have such respect for men of the cloth," he added, nodding toward the ship where the entire crew could just be seen waiting at the top of the ramp. "You have a good trip now." The lawmen gave a salute and drove off.

Free at last, they started walking toward the ship. "Quite a day," Book said.

Mal shrugged, shifting the weight of the box under his arm. "One I expect you ain't ever gonna let me live down."

"Oh, I imagine there will be reprecussions of all sorts when you least expect them, son. Things like this happen for a reason."

They had reached the bottom of the ramp. Mal stopped and turned to the Shepherd, staring at him hard. "That's right, you just go on being all cryptic and spirtual. But tell me one thing straight--you and the pastor really do go a long ways back, don't you?"

"That we do," Book admitted.

"Lucky for me and Zoe you both happened to be around today, then."

The Shepherd gave him a crooked smile. "Some might call it luck."

Well aware that their shipmates were still watching curiously from above, Mal went on. "And this outfit--the pastor and me ain't exactly the same build. Handy him having it around, all ready to help out a stranger."

Book's eyes narrowed, and he took on that air of deadly seriousness Mal had seen earlier. "Devlin had a young assistant at one time, who went off to the war to serve as a chaplain. He died in a prisoners' camp, tending to the sick."

It was an old, too-familiar story, but Mal felt a disquieting surge of pity and remorse. "Which side was he on?" he had to ask.

"I don't think that really matters," Book replied, shaking his head sadly. He reached out and took the box from Mal's grasp. "I'll bring this topside for you. I imagine you'd like to change, and that Zoe would like her things back."

Mal still felt guilty and unsettled, for no good reason he could think of. "What are you, Preacher?" he called out softly as Book stepped up onto the ramp.

The Shepherd stopped and turned to face him. "I'm a man of God, Captain," he said. "I've always been so, even when I turned my back on Him for a time. But He was always there, waiting for me--He has infinite patience, you know." He continued on into the ship, where everyone gathered around to welcome him back.

Mal followed slowly, trying to put those words out of his mind.

Zoe broke away from the group to watch his approach. Kaylee gave the preacher one more hug and turned to him with a relieved but puzzled smile. Wash and Jayne were staring at their captain with such similar expressions of stupefaction that it was almost funny. He got a quick, assessing look from Simon, then a firm nod before the doctor turned away to escort a still pale but grinning River back to the infirmary.

And Inara was there too, standing a little apart from the others, but still one of them. She greeted Book warmly as he passed her on his way up, though Mal could see some of her attention was clearly on him.

'Welcome home, Captain," Zoe said, doing her best to look all dutiful and serious as she made shushing gestures behind her back at the others, who seemed ready to pounce on him with questions he was in no mood to answer.

"Yeah--glad to be here," he replied, as he leaned against the edge of the airlock door, trying his best not to look at anyone but her. Especially not Inara, whose expression he couldn't read at all--which was nothing new.

Zoe ducked her head for a just a second, but Mal didn't miss her tiny grin. "All present and accounted for, sir," she reported.

"Good. And you all got somewhere else to be, if this boat's about to take off," he said, glaring at them as sternly as he could. It didn't seem to be having much effect. He knew they knew how bone-deep pleased he was to see them.

"Oh, yeah," Wash said, his eyes wide. "Else. Somewhere."

Jayne's mouth was still agape. "I do?"

"Yes sir, Cap'n!" Little Kaylee looked ready to bust.

But not a one of them moved until Zoe looked over her shoulder and ordered, "Mah shong!"

They scattered, leaving him under the scrutiny of the two women.

"So," he began, folding his arms as he glanced from one to the other. "You two cooked up a little mutiny while I was gone?"

Inara's lips twitched, but she said nothing.

"It seemed the best course of action, sir," Zoe explained calmly. "Mrs. Mallory filled me in on what the pastor had planned for you. I only got a brief message off to Inara before the comm blackout. She managed the rest."

"Uh-huh." That was easy to assume. "Nothing like having some--respectable strings to pull," he commented, unable to keep a nasty edge out of his voice.

"That's right," Inara agreed, raising her chin defiantly, her eyes flashing.

Zoe took a casual step between them. "We've got clearance to lift off any time we want."

Mal nodded. "So I heard--so we go. Now. Have Wash set a course for--"

"Already got a course, sir. Got us a destination, and cargo to deliver."

"What?" He gaped at her. "How? Did that guy actually make contact somehow?"

Her gaze slid to the Companion for a second. "No, sir. We have another...client."

Inara held a gilt-embroidered pouch out to him. "Unless you'd prefer not to accept the Guild's money," she said, a distinct note of challenge in her words.

He stared at her, relief and resentment fighting inside him. "What's the cargo?" he asked warily.

She returned his look with her usual forbearance. "Books, some artwork, a memory cache. They're being transferred to the House on Boros. The House Priestess authorized full payment in advance." Her voice was steady, but her hand was trembling the tiniest bit. "Will you take the job or not?"

A job was a job, Mal told himself, as a tense silence grew between them. This one shouldn't have too much in the way of complications--he knew he could trust her to that. "We under any kind of deadline?" he finally said.

"That's a 'yes,' " Zoe whispered loudly to Inara, striding past her and accepting the money pouch on her captain's behalf. "I'll tell Wash to heat her up," she called back as she bounded up the stairs. "We'll go on your say-so, sir."

Inara smiled after her, then turned back at Mal. "No, there's no rush," she said.

"Good." He straightened up and took a careful step forward, but his leg had gone stiff again. He couldn't help wincing against the pain.

She moved toward him, her eyes wide with alarm. "Zoe said you'd been hurt--"

"It's fine," he lied, holding up a hand to forestall her proffered aid. She'd already done enough--as much as some part of him might want more, this wasn't the moment. He was still too riled up over everything else that had happened this sorry day. "Shepherd's friends took good care of me," he tried to assure her.

She dropped her own outstretched hand. "I'm sure," she said. "Still, you ought to stop by the infirmary."

"Yeah." He looked at her warily. There was something in her eyes--not so much a sadness, but something that weighed heavily on him. "You had no need to get involved in this."

Her eyes went hard for an instant, and her lips trembled, as if there words she wanted to say, but couldn't. "Didn't I?" she asked.

"Why?" he pressed, though he thought he already knew the answer. You to believe in the ones you trusted, same as they believed in you. "The magistrate had more'n enough to deal with--it could've all gone wrong with you asking for favors. Why do you keep on taking risks for--for us?"

"I don't know, Mal," she said with a sigh. "Perhaps for the same reason you always do."

Now her gaze on him was soft and unguarded. Her hand had dropped to the stair rail, and her delicate fingers were wrapped securely around the metal.

He knew that touch--it was the way he always touched Serenity. If they could ever touch each other that way, just once--if they could learn to trust each other just a little more--

All kinds of words were fighting in his mind, struggling to be said. He chose the easiest, least meaningful ones. "We gotta get off this rock. Ain't really our kind of world."

He heard her sigh again, but there was a hint of smile on her face. "Yes," she nodded, turning away. "I'll tell Simon to expect you." She walked off toward the rear hatch, her firm steps echoing in the empty bay.

It was long past time to be gone. Mal swiped a hand wearily across his forehead, then down to his neck where the collar still chafed with its unwelcomeness.

He went to hit the controls to raise the ramp and secure the doors. But he raised his head for a moment and looked up to the sky, into the black where the stars were just beginning to shine.

His fingers worked at the collar, slowly unfastening it as he gazed beyond the stars, deep into something he didn't want to believe in. "Today didn't mean nothing," he whispered to the emptiness above. "So don't be getting no ideas."

He triggered the controls, and as the door began to close, he punched the comm. "Get us out of here, Wash," he ordered, with one last look out at the sky before the hatch shut tight.

Then he turned and walked into Serenity.

************

Book's prayer for grace is from Proverbs: 3, 5-6.  Mal's prayer is known as The Rune of Saint Patrick.

Inspiration from the final epsiodes of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer," and Nathan Fillion's appearance as Caleb.