The wind was warm on Mal’s face. It seemed much warmer to him than it had been the last time he was here. Then again, if this was a dream world, or whatever it was, he supposed it didn’t have to make sense. Looking around at the burning ruins of Haven, Mal cleared his throat. “What’re we doin’ here? Where’s Gab?” “Were you not done on Hera?” Book proposed. “Were there other loose ends to tie up? Were you not finished with Gabriel?” Mal shrugged. “I guess not,” he replied. “So, what’ve you got here for me?” Without an answer, Book began strolling down the dusty street. Mal followed him, and they stopped at the spot where the Shepherd had died. The memory Book lay on the ground, bleeding from the sword wound through his torso. Mal glanced around to see if the ghostly mirrors of himself, his crew, and his ship were arriving, but none were in sight. “The Operative came to my new home, his men murdered my people, and he slew me in the street,” the standing Book began. “All of this death… just to get to River.” Mal swallowed a lump in his throat. He fought at the watering in his eyes, hoping against hope that it wouldn’t spill out. “I know, Shepherd,” he spoke after coughing the choke from his voice. “You could have prevented this, Mal,” Book informed. “You could have stopped all of it from happening. All you would have needed to do was give River to the Alliance.” Mal nodded in silence concurrence. “That price was not worth the alternative world it would have created,” Book stated with finality. “You would feel much, much worse had you given River up, thus, saving the lives of me, my people, and all of the other people at your various hideouts. You made the right choice, and you should feel no shame, nor regret, about that choice.” Mal stood, staring at the other Book, the Book that was dying on the sun-baked ground before him. He had nothing to say, so he merely listened. “What you should feel, instead, is anger. Anger toward the Alliance, but not toward yourself. Vengeance is not an option, Mal; if you stoop to vengeance, then you turn yourself into the very people you hate so very much. Anger is human; it is natural, and it is healthy. When you let your anger turn you into a murdering, vigilante crusader, then it is no longer healthy for you or for those around you.” “What are you sayin’, Shepherd?” Mal inquired, unable to tear his gaze from the familiar sight. “What do you want me to do?” “Protect River and Gabriel,” Book replied. “Protect your crew, your family. Protect yourself. When your enemies get what they want, then they win, and you lose. All of you.” He placed a hand comfortingly on Mal’s shoulder. “More people will die as your enemies search for you. That is *not* your fault. That is *their* fault. People like Ray Foster and Damian Ritter and the Operative. Blame *them*, for they are the ones killing to get to *you*.” “No compromise, huh, Shepherd?” Mal ventured. “We won’t give up, so they got to.” A grin spread across Book’s bearded face. “I think we’ve visited these particular ghosts long enough,” he decided. “I have one more place I’d like to show you.” ***********************************************************************

Simon stepped through the back doorway onto the top of the lounge steps. Kaylee, River, and Inara waited there. “I just can’t get any sense out of him at all,” he admitted. He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “River, I’m sorry…” River gave him a friendly smile, although it turned out to be only for his benefit. “I didn’t think it would work; it’s okay.” She touched his cheek with one hand. “I think I can relate to him, but you did your best.” She gazed past her brother’s shoulder and into the cargo bay, where Gabriel paced back and forth, muttering to himself quietly. “Niao se dub doo gway, am I like that, when I… when I…?” “Sometimes,” Simon admitted. “Sometimes better; sometimes worse.” River wrapped her brother in a hug. “*Oh, Simon*,” she whispered, “*I knew I was a burden on you, but until now, I really had no idea-*” “Stop it,” Simon interrupted, silencing her. “You stop it, right there. Nothing is your fault, and you have *nothing* for which to be sorry.” He pulled back to look into her watery eyes. “Dong luh mah?” River nodded. “Shr ah. Sie Sie.” She glanced toward Kaylee and smiled a little. “And congratulations, you two.” Simon and Kaylee exchanged glances. “Can’t keep a secret from a psychic,” Kaylee commented with a grin. Turning, River strolled purposefully into the cargo hold. She paused as she neared Gabriel, and then chose a seated position on the nearby stairs. *Gabriel*. She forced the name into his head, grasping his attention in an instant. Gabriel froze, his head snapping toward her. “Come here,” River called. “Sit with me.” Gabriel blinked at her curiously, and River repeated, “Come here.” Gabriel moved over and plopped heavily onto the stair next to River. “They’re tryin’ teh communicate, I think,” he stated, his accent Scottish. “Hard to tell; some of ‘em don’t need it, but I don’t know which ones.” River wrapped an arm around Gabriel and pulled his head to her shoulder. “I know, Baby,” she soothed. “I know exactly how you feel.” “That’s the problem, right there,” Gabriel babbled, becoming more agitated, as he was when he was pacing. “The ones that do pro’bly ain’t actually communicating. They’re stuck in the loop in *my* frequency, is how I’m wagerin’.” “Trust me,” River assured the man, “I am *not* stuck in your frequency. I’m right here.” “All of it’s just built up,” Gabriel continued, but River could read that he heard her. “All the bodies, stacked up so high that they toppled. They’re crushin’ me! I can’t *breathe* under the *weight* of ‘em!!” *Gabriel, Gabriel, Gabriel!* River projected. “Calm down. You’re all right. Just keep talking, and I’ll keep listening.” Gabriel took a deep breath, then another, before beginning again, this time in his usual accent. “I thought I could control it. Thought I was stronger than that. I couldn’t keep it still.” He turned to wrap his harms around River, nuzzling his face into the nape of her neck. “*Too much death,*” he breathed. “Too much, even for me. Didn’t think it possible, but ‘parently, it is.” The tears now flowed freely down River’s China-doll face, and she squeezed Gabriel tightly. *I know,* she thought to him. *I know. But the only way to make it go away is to fight through it. Let’s not do this; let’s fight through it together.* She pulled his head back to look into her eyes. *You and I… We’ll fight it.* Gabriel was calm, once again. *I love you.* River smiled and kissed her lover’s forehead. *I love you, too.* ************************************************************************

Mal felt the familiar thrum of Serenity’s engines beneath his feet. He heard the buzz of life aboard the ship echo throughout the cargo hold as the engine hummed above and behind him in the engine room, the air was recycled and pumped back and forth through the vents, and incredible amounts of power were pushed through massive conduit from the engine room into the engines, themselves. “Feeling better, now that we’re home?” Book ventured. “I’ll feel better when I’m *really* there,” Mal countered. “What happened *here* that I should come to terms with an’ sooth my achin’ soul?” “This is your life, Mal,” Book explained. “Anything and everything that matters in your life anymore dwells within the confines of this vessel, particularly with your mother dead. But let me pose to you this…” There were suddenly seven people standing before the pair in the hold. Mal wasn’t certain how he could have missed their entrance, but there they were, nevertheless. Wash stood off on the far left, and following him were Kaylee, Simon, Jayne, River, Gabriel and Zoe. Although Wash and Zoe were as far apart as possible, they continuously shot each other glances of longing. Inara was nowhere in sight. “I…” Mal began. “I don’t get it, Preacher. Why am I seein’ these people? Wash ain’t with me no more, anyhow. Am I atonin’ fer his death, now? An’ where’s Inara?” Book ignored the questions. “Mal, everything you see is what your life amounts to. You may think differently, but you now lead a richer life than most. You have people, none of whom are related to you, who care about you as deeply as any family ever could. Each of you, too, possesses unique skills and talents above and beyond what an average individual normally exhibits. “You also live among the criminal element and aboard a starship,” the Shepherd continued, “with half of the galaxy looking for you. That is counter-productive.” “Don’t think I’m pickin’ up what yer puttin’ down for me,” Mal admitted. Book laced his hands behind his back and faced Mal. “You’re not going to stay young forever, Mal. You may be at the top of your game now, but you need to start making long-term plans for the future, and this…” The man swept his hand around the large room. “…this is not a long-term plan.” Mal chuckled. “I see where yer comin’ from, Shepherd, but d’ya really think I got it in me to plant roots *any*place?” Book shrugged. “That depends on whether you believe I am you, or that I am the spirit of Shepherd Book. If I am you, then obviously, you have it in you.” “Are you?” Mal prompted. “The spirit of Shepherd Book?” “I’ve said before that I am not,” Book reiterated. “However, I am whatever you wish me to be.” The seven were no longer standing before Mal and Book, but Inara was there in their stead. Stepping gracefully forward, she stopped at arms-length from Mal. “Did you hear me?” she inquired. Mal blinked. “Shumma?” “I told you something earlier,” Inara explained. She looked toward the ceiling. “Out there, in the real world. Do you remember?” Mal shrugged. “No, but the fact that my dream version of you *knows* ya did, then I’d call it a fair safe bet I did *hear* ya.” Inara nodded. “It would be very good if you could remember.” Mal smiled. “Well, since obviously you know what the other you said, perhaps you could be a sport an’ fill me in.” Inara winked flirtatiously. “Well, that would just be cheating the other me, now wouldn’t it?” She spun and glided away. Mal blinked, refocused his eyes, and turned to Book. “I do believe that was one of my more awkward conversations,” he professed. Book extended his hand. “It was good visiting with you again, Old Friend.” Mal looked at the hand. “That’s it? We’re finished?” Book nodded. “We’re finished.” Mal took the hand, shook it, and then moved forward to embrace the other man. “Preacher, I don’t care if yer really you or not. I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.” Book returned the hug, then stepped away and put his hands on Mal’s shoulders. “God be with you, my friend.” Somberly, Mal nodded his head. “You, too…” he managed, and wasn’t entirely sorry that he’d said it. ************************************************************************

“Agent Nanaka,” Brendt spoke, turning in his chair. “We’ve got a reading on another ship in the area. Classification Firefly; no ID. It could be Reynolds.” Park snuffed his cigarette out in the tray he kept by his seat. It was never wise to smoke in a controlled atmosphere such as existed on a starship, particularly a smaller police transport such as this, but that had never stopped the narcotics agent before. “Range?” “Thirty thousand klicks,” Brendt informed. Park tapped a fingernail thoughtfully on the arm of his chair. “We’re still a day ahead of schedule for arrival on Boros?” “Affirmative,” Rustin, his second companion, confirmed. “Should we move to detain?” Park pondered the circumstances in his head for a moment. “Where’s the nearest Alliance patrol station?” After a moment of scanning, Brendt reported, “Beylix is three days from here on a hard burn. There’s a small outpost; fairly new, but they’ve got men there.” Park clicked his teeth together and hissed. “We’ll lose our schedule, but as lawmen, we’re required to intercept and detain.” *Jen dao mei, this’ll be my second deadline that Reynolds has humped for me.* “Let’s get after them.” “Changing course,” Rustin announced. “Intercept in three hours. Contact point?” “I need a cigarette,” Park told them, pulling another from the tin at his left breast pocket. “Wait until we’re right on them, then call them for their immediate surrender.” He lit the cigarette. “I’ve got a piece of shrapnel in my hip with Reynolds’ signature on it, anyway.” ************************************************************************

*Well, this is new,* Mal thought to himself. *Didn’t feel no pain before…* He was in the infirmary; even with his eyes shut and his head still clouded with blackness, Mal had been on this table enough times to recognize the feel of it. “Mhhm,” he murmured, not realizing at first that he had made any noise. “Mal?” came a familiar, feminine voice. “Mal?” Mal repeated, his own voice booming in his ears. “Yeah, think that’s my name…” “Mal!” Inara exclaimed, bending forward. She placed a hand on his chin, while the other frantically brushed his hair back over his head. “Mal! Mal!” “Ya wear that sucker out,” Mal joked, referring to his name, “I might make ya get me a new one.” He cracked his eyelids to peer at the woman. “Do you remember what happened?” Inara inquired, her hand still intent on maintaining its grip on his jaw. “Uh… Not really. Reckon I got shot.” Inara nodded. “Cornell hit you twice. But you got him!” Mal smiled sleepily. “Told ya I would.” He closed his eyes again as the light began to bother him. “We still on Hera?” “No,” Inara replied. “Zoe had River hatch a plan that wiped out the rest of Cornell’s gang, but Ritter and Dante were both closing on Hera, so we had to leave.” “Sounds like a plan,” Mal slurred, drowsiness creeping back into him. Inara paused for a moment. “Mal…” she began, “…do you… remember me saying anything to you… while you were out?” Mal considered his answer carefully. “Maybe. I dunno.” After a moment, Inara stirred. “All right. Just asking.” She stood. “I’m going to go get Simon.” As the Companion turned and began to move away, Mal stuck his hand out and grasped hers. Inara came to a halt and turned back to look at the prone man. “It wasn’t yer fault, Inara,” Mal told her. “You weren’t to blame. You did what you thought was best, and so did he. The choices you made merely gave him his choices. The choices *he* made led to the outcome. It wasn’t yer fault.” Inara stood, looking at Mal for a moment before slipping her hand from his and exiting the room.