Fury (Episode style Firefly fic)

Work in progress, hints of some dark issues.

Teaser

History has always been defined by those who strive for new horizons. Behind every ridgeline was another mountain, new land across every ocean. Even before the great exodus from Earth-that-was, explorers had dreamed, full of wonder, and sought the skies and stars.

The roar of atmospheric reentry split the fiery clouds of the early dawn sky, the turbines at Serenity's wingtips and the skill of her pilot cushioning the often frantic and malfunction prone landing. As soon as the Firefly class B cargo ship settled onto the grassy bluff above the pasture lands, all nine of the travelers gathered at the main airlock for their first look at the new and unfamiliar world. In part an informal head count opportunity for the captain, the ritual never lost the sense of poignancy.

A cool, clean breeze drifted into the burnished metal of the cargo bay around them, carrying the essence of the prairie frontier. They shared in the experience, briefly drawn closer like the arm the lean soldier wrapped around her husband, and they all breathed deeply, a respite from the algae filtered air of a week in transit.

Malcolm Reynolds spoke above their reverie, briefing them on the order of the day. "Don't let the idyllic scenery lull you now," he warned.

Even the prim and proper doctor from the coreworlds had joined them, surverying the view even as he held back his unpredictable sister from running out amid the daisies. "Yes," Simon observed, "that field of wildflowers looks deadly."

The captain shot an icy look at the Tam siblings - I don't pay you to be smart. They answered with their own. Actually, you do. He put his hands up. Whatever. "The town nearby," Mal continued, with particular emphasis,"is known as Temperance, and they like to live up to their name. Don't much like outsiders, particularly what peddle vice, trouble, or merry making."

"Columbine and lupine!" River pronounced, with a bright smile for her brother. The look faded, and her brow furrowed. "The doves among the wolves."

"What she said," Mal agreed.

As ever, Jayne Cobb blundered into the moment with all the mercenary delicacy of hired muscle. "We just gonna stand around here, or we plannin' to make some coin?" He was already armed with an unnecessarily large rifle.

Zoe detached herself from her embrace with Wash, one final squeeze, then joined Kaylee in looking over the hovermule. Shepherd Book stepped forward as the captain watched the proceedings. "I suppose that would be why we're runnin' moonshine to these folks," he mused.

Mal nodded. "In keeping with the natural order. Oft times a ban on alcohol don't last long, and it pays well to deliver to dry counties." He glanced over at the older man. "Problem, Shepherd? Wouldn't want those hair of yours to turn any more grey."

Book grinned back, holding his bible close. "Actually, preachers are known to have some communion with the spirits now and then," he replied, with humour and some nostalgia. "Back at the Abbey, we even had our own distillery."

"That's cordial. Isn't that cordial, Zoe?" Wash asked. The first mate waved a hand at him, acknowledging the joke.

The little mechanic looked up eagerly, a smudge of grease already adorning one of her cheeks. "You mean like raspberry flavoured?" Kaylee wondered.

"I could go for some," Jayne said, keenly interested in the liquor conversation.

"All right," the captain intervened, before his crew could chatter the day away. "Best behaviour. You can all talk about culture later." He addressed the dark-haired companion gracefully approaching him from the side, her silk dress whispering and her doe-eyes studying him from under thick eyelashes. "That goes for you too. Be careful out there."

"Me?" Inara asked, halfway between amusement and disbelief. "You're the one who's always getting into trouble."

"I mean it," Mal insisted. "If you have any clients..." He shook his head. He didn't want to talk about her clients. "Well, what's legal in the core might not be given so much leniency out here."

She regarded him coolly. "Perhaps they appreciate thieves and smugglers more." The courtesan floated off, and as he caught the subtle perfume she left in the air, belatedly he thought to be curious why she'd been walking over to him in the first place. The mule backfired and interrupted his curiosity. Right. Time to head into town and make their deliveries.

River spoke up again. "They say it's haunted."

He looked at her where she'd materialized by his elbow. "Who does?" he asked.

The teenage psychic turned her unnerving gaze on him. "The ghosts."

= = = = =
The heat was a swelter, mindless wrath that beat with violence upon the numbed senses. The wastelands felt nothing, knew nothing. Only the brutal facts of existence - of four days of walking to reach water, and nothing but sand for miles and miles. A stirring of dust, and the thunder of hoofbeats, echoes already long gone beyond the mirage of the horizon.

"Good riddance to them," Vinny said. It was all she could think of.

He smiled up at her, his head on her lap, with all the fevered ardor and cluelessness of a man in love. "It'll be all right," he promised her. So much promise. Last week she'd pledged her life to him in that little chapel, before they'd had to run. Sweet Elian, still thinking on her, even now. Didn't even blame her for the trouble she'd brought down on him.

She'd been gentle once, and pure, until she'd caught a greedy eye. Maybe if she just stayed still, she could fade into the landscape. Her golden tresses and her bones, and all the blood on her hands, in his hair, down her legs, staining her torn dress. She supposed some sins just don't wash away. Never rained here anyway.

Five years ago, two lovers died in the desert, and no one shed a tear.

In my experience, idyllic scenery is one of those things that's likely to arouse Malcolm Reynolds's suspicions of danger.   I like it that this tale is going to involve Wash and Book.  (I'm getting a bit weary of their dreadful habit of being dead so very often in fanfiction.)  I am suspicious that Inara is going to be in more danger than the others -- I have this crazy scenario in mind in which Jayne is inexplicably welcomed by the townspeople with open arms, while the "respectable" members of the crew (Inara and Book) are somehow found wanting by the fanatically-motivated autocrats who rule this town.  But maybe that's just my imagination running away with me! 
Meanwhile, the big tease is really the second section, because just who are these people Vinny and Elian and how does their story tie into this?

Well, to be fair, his concerns about the danger are usually justified.

And there's some things that are yes with your speculations, and some that are no. But Vinny and Elian will be important for the story, even though what the deal with them and how they fit in won't be revealed until probably the very end. But I liked how this scene establishes them in a very quick and surprising way. I think it's kind of a kick to the gut and I like that. A sense of an injustice and a tragedy that draws in the reader. But I also like a narrative kick to the gut in general too, like crashing serenity in the first two chapters of a story.

I think I've come up with a fun Wash subplot. But I don't have much for Simon and Kaylee to do. And I have fallen into the common trap of not having much for Book to do too. But at least I still have some idea of a plot here, and I can follow that along.

I'm really happy to hear that Wash gets to have a fun subplot in this story.  Yay!
I don't have a lot of suggestions for Simon and Kaylee.  Sometimes those two characters don't speak much to me, either.
Too bad there isn't a subplot for Book.  It seems to me there's a potential for one.  Maybe he clashes with the town's resident shepherd, who is an intolerant fanatic -- two qualities that would really rub Book the wrong way.  And the local shepherd would consider Book a poor example of shepherding, and have no understanding of his ways of affecting his chosen "flock" of Serenity's crew.  Since I don't know what you have planned, I don't know if this suggestion is even helpful, but PM if you want to brainstorm about it.  I have a couple other ideas, too, so depending on what you intend to happen in this story, might be useful.

Hmm... Did I mention my plans for a town preacher to you? Because yeah, there is a fire and brimstone preacher I have in mind. I suppose there are reasons that he might go along with the plot later on, maybe some character development Book could help with.

And maybe Simon knows how to ride a horse as well, he does come from an upper class family and might at least know dressage. We know River can ride a horse. Inara probably can too. But there's nothing much really for Kaylee to do still.

All I can say is "Oooooh."

There's so much here that I love. How yes, Mal does pay the Tams to be smart (and he gets quite a bargain); how he reflexively alienates Inara and gets interrupted by the backfiring mule; how River knows the place is haunted.

The last part, with its hints of pitiless tragedy, is such a good fit in this genre, isn't it? How wretchedly hard life can be, something I think everyone on the crew has knowledge of...

Yeah. If I can get off my butt and get the next section out this might go somewhere interesting. I mean I have it outlined, it's a matter of the time and the inclination to sit down and write it.

Wow does this ever need updating.

This story is officially finished.

============================================================================================================
(Act 1)
Dirt-laden wind and smoke swirled together, a choking mixture lingering ominously over the remains of the burning encampment. The inferno cleansed them none-the-less. Almost peaceful, now that the crying and screaming and fussing had quieted down.

Vultures could track their prey for days, sometimes before a body even knew it was dying. They were circling now, studying the intruders. This was their land after all, would be long after everyone else was withered and gone, claimed by the desert.

Eventually a survivor panicked and tried to escape. The retort of gunpowder objected loudly.

The runner dropped like a stone, with about as much relevance. Nothing else moved after that until the fires grew low. The raider rode off with the caravan's horses and only the buzzards remained.

- - - - -
The town of Temperance was also modest, a little one lane affair with a scattering of homes and businesses. Small enough anyway to fit in the shadow cast by the Baxter mansion at the end of the road. That was enough to put anyone in a mood, and draw a suspicious eye to any strangers, so the captain of Serenity had some concerns when the drop off coordinates led them along the outskirts and then behind a small white stone chapel.

The old man in the rocking chair guarding the cellar lifted the brim of his straw hat as they approached, assessing them with a keen eye, before returning to the wooden bear he was whittling. "We're closed."

His first mate had her own doubts, and Zoe glanced over. "This the place?" she wondered skeptically.

She asked what Jayne blurted without any discretion. "A church? The hell -?"

Closer to the truth than he'd like. "Jayne," Mal interrupted, warning. "We're good little pilgrims here." The mercenary grunted unhappily, sitting back and crossing his arms, and the captain turned back to the shriveled watchman and tapped their crate of moonshine. "Even brought a donation. You're Tommy?"

"Ol' Tom Two-Bits," the man corrected, squinting over at him. "I might be. What kinda alms you talkin'?"

The captain shrugged nonchalantly. At least they'd found their contact. Couldn't say much for the choice of meeting place though. "The liquid kind. Holy water and coffin varnish."

"Hah!" Tommy grinned and showed off all his teeth, the eponymous pair of them. "That's downright benner-factorin'. Got a formidable preacher, real fire an' brimstone type. Always need fer more baptism."

Mal frowned skeptically at the set up. "They approve of you taking up under the altar?"

"Not whatsoever, but Father Greaves don't got much say, unlike me," the old man answered garrulously. "He keeps his lively blessin's, an' we move the devil's work underground. Speaking of..." Tom nodded to the heavy wood panels of the cellar door. "Welcome to The Cathedral. Take yer libations to the bar."

- - - - -
The field shimmered with sunlight and the flickering shadows of the revelers, glistening against the morning dew. River had engaged Kaylee in a game of tag almost immediately. While the two youngest crew were playing around, the doctor was watching from the gang-way with a small smile and about as much levity as a flying brick.

Ah, the mysteries of life. Advanced astronavigation couldn't help Wash follow the logic behind the Kaylee and Simon, but, he supposed there were odder match-ups out there. Himself and Zoe, for which he was eternally grateful.

He couldn't claim any particular talent or understanding with the feminine persuasion, he'd more just been extremely lucky with his wife. But the doc needed all the help he could get. "Bet she'd like a flower," Wash hinted. Especially from Simon. Even though there was probably a good million blossoms out there to choose from and Kaylee could pick any of them on her own.

Simon didn't even look away from where she was playing with his sister. "Who, River?" he asked, distracted. Egads. The boy was doomed. DOOMED. There was only one possible course of action.

Wash pushed him, and Simon staggered a few steps off the ramp. "Have fun!" Wash called, waving. The doctor frowned over at him, then walked towards the girls on his own. Wash shook his head to himself. There, but for the grace of shaving cream and a few drinks was him. He turned and started to make his way back to the helm – usually someone had gotten in trouble about now.

- - - - -
A man of the church, grey-haired, weathered, with an obvious clerical collar in his modest grey livery. A companion, dressed down without makeup but still unmistakable, her dark curls and red silk outshining the bright pastels of the single-room homes and businesses. The townspeople passed them with increasingly hostile looks, and crossed themselves before hurrying away, but she ignored them with serene dignity.

Inara glanced back towards the meadow behind them - no sign of their younger friends. "Should we wait for them?"

"Oh, they'll be some time," the shepherd answered knowingly, with warmth to rival the sunshine on the daisies. He offered an arm, which she accepted, then meditated a moment on the fresh air. "It does feel good to be planetside awhile. We don't get days like this too often. Breathes new life into the soul."

"It's usually darker up there," Inara admitted, her voice almost wistful except her the curve of her lips. "I'm almost tempted to join in." The preacher raised a silvered eyebrow at her. "But this is..." she trailed off as something in the road squelched wetly under her sandal. "...Charming," she winced.

"I'm sure," Book said, skeptically, as she discretely tried to scrape the bottom of her shoe against the broken gravel. There was no accusation in his voice, just curiosity. "Would've thought you'd be off on a lavish adventure with one of the land barons hereabout."

Inara paused in her efforts, as though pained. A group of people were gathering around the church, with an occasional shout of anger and outrage. A young man stood on the steps before them, one arm around a bible and the other outstretched to them as though to calm them, but his words were like a wild-fire among the crowd. "Every day is an adventure," she replied.

Book frowned at the congregation. "Could the captain be involved?" he asked.

Inara sighed to herself - of course he is - and hitched up her skirt, moving towards the crowd to try to create a distraction.

- - - - -
As far as drinking establishments went, the cellar under the church was underwhelming - empty, except for the local toughs that were waiting for them. Three of them. Two were overweight and bulky with scraggly dark hair, one taller and one shorter, one with stubble and the other with a beard. The third stood back watching, clearly in charge with a lazy kind of calculation behind mousy hair and something lean and dangerous in his stance.

"Mornin'," Mal greeted, immediately on edge.

The leader of the three waved him off. "We'll take it from here."

Their contact hadn't mentioned anyone besides Tom, and he was getting a decidedly unfriendly vibe from these characters. "Take it where?" Mal asked, trying for oblivious.

In answer, the two brutes wordlessly pulled open a trapdoor at their feet. "We're set up at the end of a mine shaft," his counterpart elaborated. "Tunnel's like a maze, liable to get lost in 'em."

No one moved. The broker glanced at the crate Jayne was carrying. Mal looked pointedly at the money pouch hung on the man's belt by his holster. The other man bared his teeth in a rough approximation of a smile that put no one at ease, and tossed him the bag. Mal hefted it, checking the weight, then nodded to Jayne. The two drudges moved forward as Jayne set the box down.

Then the tension exploded with help from a gunshot. The captain drew his own sidearm, wondering why Zoe had fired as they stared down the three other barrels. He exchanged a glance with Zoe, and found a question in her eyes. He followed her gaze over his shoulder.

"Blasphemers! How DARE you profane this ground!" The preacher in the doorway was young, but he blazed in righteous fury alongside his shotgun, a fire that promised holy wrath in his booming voice, his light brown eyes, his golden hair. "As I protect my parishioners, so too will God rebuke and strike down with vengeance upon those who would bring them harm! I will not go back; I will not spare; I will not relent; according to your ways and your deeds you will be judged!"

"Mal, you got us smote? I don't wanna be smote." Jayne scowled. "I toldya not to truck with no church."

Their fence raised an eyebrow over his pistol. "Man's got some wisdom it seems." He smirked at them, and pulled a silver star hung on a chain out from his shirt collar. "What's he got to say about smuggling and the law?"

"Aw hell."

"The devil knows his own," the cleric agreed. Zoe reluctantly raised her weapon in surrender and Jayne set down his rifle. Mal cursed inwardly to himself - once again, nothing ever went right. Why couldn't it ever go right? Best he could figure it was some kind of divine punishment. The sheriff and the two deputies waved their guns at them and forced them up the stairs into the chapel.

- - - - -
They were just about in a gorramn dungeon, the stay not made any more pleasant with the pair of thugs pawing through the money they'd taken back as bail. Then Inara walked into the joint in her red dress like she owned the place. He was having flashbacks about Paradiso and Mal knew – she was Hell and Damnation for sure. This time, though, he couldn't help noticing she was in handcuffs. "Hey-" he started, and received a scathing look from her that shut him up directly.

Well. That was interesting. Mal glanced at Zoe, leaning against the dirty stone wall, and Jayne, who had his big mitts around the bars like he could shake the cage open. He was about to open his mouth again to annoy her some more when the Sheriff stepped into the holding block after her and opened a solitary cell. He leered at her as she drifted by into the room. "Here y'are, princess. You get lonely, just give me or one of the boys a call."

Inara settled down on the austere cot and brushed at her skirt. The companion smiled back with all the charm she could muster, but was a tightness at the edge of her eyes. "That won't be necessary."

The sheriff's expression was predatory, and full of insinuation. "Oh, we insist. Big believers in the punishment fittin' the crime around here." He shut the door and locked it, then pulled out a hip flagon and took a drink from it.

Mal bristled, but quickly pushed his temper down. Zoe looked calm as ever - and ready to kill. He didn't like their odds for shooting their way out. "What're we in for?" the captain asked, forcing guileless curiosity. Partially as a distraction, and partially to stop the obnoxious gloating.

He glanced over his shoulder at them. "You can guess. Local embargo violations and smuggling." The corrupt cop raised his flask their direction. "Also illegal possession and sale of alcohol. Thanks for that, by the way."

The captain clenched his teeth. "No problem." Mal nodded over towards Inara. "And her?"

A nasty smirk. "Indecent exposure and public lewdness." Jayne boggled and his attention immediately swiveled over to the companion, staring at her shamelessly. He would've been annoyed at the mercenary if he wasn't similarly occupied himself.

Zoe sighed at them. "Any time you two want to crawl out of the gutter, we'd be much obliged."

That proved an impossible request for Jayne - the larger man merely grinned in an unwholesome way and sat himself down on the shared commode - but Mal regained his senses and cleared his throat awkwardly. "I'm sorry I missed that," he admitted.

"Oh please," Inara scoffed, her temper starting to fray, "They just didn't like the style of my dress. Or any fashion at all, really."

The sheriff watched the exchange with interest. "Listen to y'all chatterin' on like you know each other. I guess we should make that conspiracy, solicitation, bribing an officer, and attempted jailbreak." He leaned in and planted his hands on the door barring Inara's cell. "Let that be a lesson to you, whore. No one refuses Mr. Baxter." He smiled back at them. "But we're generous folk around here, and we're even willing to offer some community service in lieu of sentencing."

Mal refused to look at Inara, even though by all accounts she was the reason they were in this mess, and even though the thought of her staying in this tiny building for any time with the hungry swine around chilled his blood a little. Whatever the sheriff was offering was their only way out. And hers. "What's the job?" he asked.

(Act 2)
The sun shown down through the stained glass on the modest altar underneath the cross, the only decoration on display a thick, worn leather bible - all that was needed. Few in the village would be able to read a book, let alone wealthy enough to own one, and the Shepherd approved. Surely the word of God was impressive enough on its own. The church was quiet and reverent, and calmed his nerves after having witnessed the arrest of half his crew and traveling companions.

He made his way to a dark secluded alcove where tiers of lights flickered on the railings before a tapestry depicting the martyrdom of St. Lawrence. Several of the fires had gone out, and he tended to them before kneeling. He must look like little more than a shadow himself, with a wisp of white up top. For thou wilt light my candle: the LORD my God will enlighten my darkness, Book thought.

"You are a Shepherd?"

The question was skeptical and judging, with some censure towards the order for its apparent laxity, but he turned back towards the scowling young priest with a smile. "I'm part of the flock," he replied, the expected answer.

His frown deepened, his eyes flashing in warning. "You came here with those outsiders. If you are praying for forgiveness, you won't find it here."

"Then I'll pray for deliverance," he answered. The priest seemed about to make some other objection, but he sank back into a deep meditation, until finally the other clergy man sighed in grudging acceptance and joined him.

- - - - -
The two deputies studied them suspiciously, guns at the ready, their dark eyes almost buried in their scraggly ungroomed hair. Their boss gave goliath and the gorilla a sharp nod. Everything about the leaner man was sharp in a way, underneath an aloof facade - a keen calculating squint that could be mistaken for a half-lidded kind of lazy, the toothy smile that slashed across his face at times like a knife. The cell door rattled aside as they reached through and dragged the captain out.

They pushed him down onto an overturned crate around an improvised table under a bare bulb, amid the remains of a game of tall card. Mal scowled and tugged once at the lapels of his brown duster, shrugging their beefy hands off. "I ain't in that kind of business," he informed them irritably, then remembered Inara was still in the room. She seemed to be ignoring him, a regal vision in red silk, somehow still graceful even being held in jail and apparently meditating on the flimsy cot.

"More concerned about the other kind of ride right now," the sheriff answered, flopping down on the only real chair in the whole room. He clarified at a look from the smuggler. "Horses, I mean."

A beat. "You got some odd tastes," Mal quipped. His mercenary snorted a laugh from his seat behind the bars. Zoe was no doubt raising an eyebrow, the one that said his face was going to be somewhat more bruised in the near future if he didn't watch his mouth.

The dirty cop rolled his eyes. "Stop bein' a smartass for a gorramn second."

Inara sighed, unable to withhold comment. "Good luck," she said, her eyes still closed. "I think he was born that way." That was the best part of his ragtag bunch of misfits. Always helpful and supportive.

"I mean horse thieves!" the lawman snapped, glaring.

"There's that much demand?" Mal asked.

The sheriff impatiently nodded to his two brutes again, and they promptly clapped their hands down on his shoulders and tossed him head first into the other wooden crate. "Mal!" Inara shouted, alarmed, and the captain heard Zoe say I told you so without speaking.

He raised himself from the shattered remains of the broken nails and boards, dazed and blinking away stars. "All right," he relented, and the deputies righted him on his makeshift chair. "So horse thieves. What about 'em?"

The other man stretched his face into another self-satisfied grin, with more than a slightly impatient edge. Like a circling shark. "All the animals hereabouts are owned by Mister Baxter Wolcott," he said. "Back in the early days, terraformers brought in some horses to make life easier for the settlers. Turned out the land was only good for ranching, and the mustangs competed with the cattle for feed."

Mal nodded to himself. They'd had feral horses out on Shadow, and he'd heard that argument before. There'd been ongoing disagreements about the best way to deal with them. The question was settled conclusively by the firebombing in the war. The Reynolds were more accommodating than some of the others - his first horse had been a wild mare he'd saved from a snow storm as a yearling - but then, Shadow had been less arid than this world, with better grazing. The horses here survived better on the rougher forage, and most families were poorer. Cattle land and protein would be at a premium.

"The current herd was acquired from a livery stable. Mister Wolcott continues leasing out the animals for travelers and is the only local provider of horses. So we've had some problem with poachers before, but nothing like this." If anything, the sheriff sounded more entertained in the gruesome telling. "They don't just steal the horses. They kill everyone, even the women and children, then burn the bodies."

A chill settled over the room. Jayne stared at them through the bars, his blue eyes wide, and asked the question no one wanted to think. "Reavers?"

The captain shook his head at them. "Reavers don't cook their food." Everyone settled back, though with some lingering unease and curiosity at his certainty. He ignored the odd looks, and suppressed a sigh. "So you want a hunting party?"

That earned him an annoyed scowl. "We want some hired justice, not no damned high-steppin' frilly party. You offer them any mercy, or you turn on us, you'll be joinin' 'em."

No justice here, Mal thought bitterly. There was something for certain the corrupt sheriff wasn't saying. Problem sounded real enough though. The captain looked tiredly over at his crew. Jayne just wanted out of jail, but this didn't sit right with any of them. Got no other options. Finally he nodded, to their disappointment and his own. Inara's eyes were burning into him. "We'll do it."

"'Bout time," the lawman scoffed, and drew his side arm as he pushed off the makeshift table to stand. Mal raised his hands in an irritated surrender as he was prodded up and shut back into the cell. "You just wait here while I see the boss with the arrangements. Holtz, Tannin, you keep watch." He turned back towards the companion with a malicious smile. "Wouldn't want the lady to miss her appointment."

The sheriff made a show of opening the door then offering his arm to Inara, and when she looked away in distaste he yanked her viciously to her feet. "Hey!" Mal objected, rattling the cage threateningly only for the two lackeys to pull their guns on him. Their captor just grinned smugly as the captain glowered at his back. Inara sent him a long unreadable look over her shoulder, before she was pulled along and was gone.

The crew stared down the two deputies, until after a few moments they got bored, holstered their sidearms, and went back out to the front room. "Well, that was useless," Jayne declared after a while. "We got a plan here?"

Mal shook the bars once more for good measure. "Sure, Jayne," he said, his voice edged with frustration. "Get out of here, shoot some people, rescue the others, and get the hell off world."

Zoe rolled her eyes. "We might want to figure some of the details instead of the obvious parts, sir."

Which left the question as to what. The three of them went quiet, mulling over their options. "These lunks guarding us don't seem so bright," Jayne offered, "That's an angle."

One of them thumped their fist against the wall in protest. "We can still hear you," they complained, sounding offended.

"Then don't listen!" Mal called back, irritated.

He jumped back at the sound of gunfire. At first Mal thought it was a warning shot, but then it went on far longer than strictly reasonable. Sounded like three different retorts, two against one other person. There was a pause in the action, then one final shot. Everything went quiet except for their breathing.

They all glanced at each other, wondering - was it over? who won? - and then a blast of dynamite took out the wall of their cell in a shower of debris.

- - - - -
Kaylee laughed in triumph as River abruptly stopped and she tagged the girl, then scrambled away. The brainy brunette didn't follow, staring off towards the town. "River?" she asked, wondering if she was being tricky. She reached out to her shoulder - no reaction - and that's when she saw the smoke rising over the hill.

"Tag." River tapped her back, turning her around before dashing back to Serenity. She was left face-to-face with Simon, who was holding a flower, but his gaze was off towards the distance.

He looked at her, seemed to make some decision, and tucked the daisy into his vest pocket. "What's happening?" he asked.

The mechanic was certain. "Better get your med kit, Simon," she answered, then she glanced at him apologetically before trotting off herself. It just figured, right when the doctor finally noticed her and wanted to be all sweet to her, something had to burst into flames.

- - - - -
If Zoe had one virtue - and speaking as her husband, Wash could name a bunch of them, maybe even in rhyme - she was always dependable. That, and scarily attractive. And vice-versa. She was always timely, and if she wasn't, then that was only because the captain had dragged her into yet another shen jing bing plan that not even her amount of sheer dangerous could overcome.

He frowned to himself, staring out from the helm at the road into Temperance. No sign of the hovermule. They were late checking in. He hated when that happened, because that usually meant he had to go be a hero, and while he always appreciated her gratitude, he'd rather she was safe. That and there was usually gun play involved and holy gorramn hell, the town was on fire. Why was the town on fire? The intercom crackled, and he jumped. "Wash! We got a problem!"

The pilot cursed and reached up for the ignition switches. "I see it," he said. "Can you redirect the water lines and dump the tanks Kaylee?"

He heard her clanging around the engine room, short-cutting the usual pre-flight. "Sure thing! Just gimme a shout when!"

A familiar steady calm settled over him as the console lights flashed in sequence and power hummed through the Firefly. This he could do, this was his element. "Everyone hold on," he intoned, the turbines kicking up a cloud as they rose.

- - - - -
Mal could almost hear Book calling him back, and then the older man was there, hauling him out of his would-be tomb with more strength than a man of the cloth his age should have. He choked on the dry air, coming back from the brink and not for the first time with ringing in his ears and bruises all over. Preacher, he tried to say, some kind of gratitude, but his throat was too rough. The Shepherd seemed to know anyway.

Zoë. Jayne. Where? He started digging, feebly, searching, and Book hauled back on his coat. "Easy, captain, you've had a bit of excitement."

How long had he been laying here? The light was low, orange, almost like sunset. He dragged himself up, staggered under the oppressive heat and started looking around, squinting through the smoke, thick as fog. The streets were chaos, the townsfolk vague shadows running in a panic in the lane, shouting to the living, crying out for the lost.

The air parted with a roar for the Firefly, and the sky seemed to open. Water dropped from the cargo bay to meet the fire leaping up from the rooftops after them.

Inara. She hadn't been there with them. His eyes darted towards his chaplain, looking for confirmation, and the shepherd shook his head. Gǒu shǐ.

He began making a way through the rubble, pushing his way past the other priest on his way to talk to Book. He didn't really have to ask what the hell was going on, that was self-apparent. The horse thieves had torched the town, but that was just a distraction. Their real target was the seemingly untouched ranch house.

The manor on Baxter Wolcott's estate loomed over the town plantation style, but despite the size, the land baron clearly wasn't one for show display or impracticality. Instead, the place looked like a fortress, stately but weathered with age and with a formidable wall. All that meant for Mal was he had that much farther to run to get to Inara. Rich folk never did bode well for him.

Like they were waiting for him, the heavy wood doors were already open, the foyer and twin stairways beyond dark and empty. He ran up the curved incline without even thinking, saw the glow of sunlight down one of the hallways.

Mal checked to the side for an ambush as he barged into the office. His eyes were immediately drawn to a splash of red silk amid the dark wood paneling of the office, and there was Inara staring back at him from where she was sitting with some mix between surprise and weary resignation. She was all right, he realized, and felt some heavy pressure in his chest abruptly let up. She didn't look hurt or mistreated.

The familiar click of a hammer on a revolver pulled back brought him back to his senses. He found a body on the ground, tall man, fancy clothes, drowned in a pool of his own blood, the sheriff sitting in the other corner looking a whole lot less arrogant, and a blonde woman sitting at the massive oak desk, something unsettling in her lack of expression, pointing a gun at him.

- - - - -
"Deliverance," Father Greaves repeated, standing with the Shepherd as he looked over the ruins of the town of Temperance. He shook his head, closing his too-bright eyes against some internal struggle. "God help us."

Book looked over at him sharply. "Do you know who did this?"

The younger priest let out a deep breath. "Her name was Columbine."

(Act 3)

"The ranch wasn't always run by the thugs we have now," Father Greaves explained. They were offering last rites to one of the victims retrieved from the fire. Shepherd Book could see the ship's young medic nearby, feverishly working triage on the others they'd laid out in the streets. Quietly he thought the doctor was wasting his energy – they all seemed too far gone, but he supposed Simon still had to try. The mercenary was still out cold. "There used to be an older gentleman and his daughter. But she couldn't inherit, so his overseer and some of the hands had other ideas."

"Wolcott," Book guessed. The other priest nodded.

"They found Columbine's father dead. No one could ever prove they did it." The priest crossed the blackened man they were kneeling by, then closed his eyes. "Wolcott senior had hopes for his son and Columbine, but she wasn't interested in validating their claim on the property. She took over the livery stable in town for a while, and one day she caught a vagrant boy stealing some of her horses." He smiled sadly. "She loved horses, and not long after, she was equally taken by the boy."

"They were married, I assume," the shepherd said, a bit scandalized by the alternative.

There was fire in the younger man's eyes. "I was the one who officiated," he answered. "Not an hour later, Baxter and his gang rode up on our church, threatening us. He was furious. He had just lost his own father, and now he felt as though he was losing his rightful wife." The priest bowed his head in shame. "I told them where the newlyweds had gone. I didn't believe they would catch them." He let out a shuddering breath. "I prayed to God they wouldn't."

Book reached out sympathetically and squeezed his shoulder. "Let's continue to look around," he offered. "There have to be more survivors."

- - - - -
When his day started, Malcolm Reynolds had high hopes he wasn't going to be shot, let alone blown up. He couldn't really say why - just about any time he spent planet side anywhere tended to end badly. Usually though, when he did get shot, he had some idea as to why.

There had been a time when he'd lost everything and had a grudge against just about everyone. Zoe was newly kicked out the the Dust Devils terrorizing the rim for her attitude and she'd found him face down and delirious in a ditch somewhere. After that, they'd lived on the streets for a while, scrounging food and change in mostly dishonest ways.

For them, their side might have surrendered, but they felt like they weren't given any other options. He still wore the colors of their old unit, the colors of the Independents, because back then those were the only clothes they owned, because that was the only choice they had. They didn't have the money to drink, Alliance saw to that - never saw a credit of the backpay they were owed according to the treaty - but nonetheless they crawled their way into bars and got into sometimes violent arguments with the patrons, because somehow they survived the fighting and fighting meant you were still living.

He'd seen those other folks though, the ones who either didn't or couldn't realize that the war was over, the ones who didn't care whether they died or not, couldn't be concerned which side won or lost. A former browncoat almost shot him and a bunch of other people one day when he was walking through a city park and makeshift refugee camp before turning the gun on her own head.

The blonde woman at the borrowed desk and her careless way with her revolver had the same attitude, not real inclined to compassion for anyone or anything. All easy calm to contrast with the body cooling on the floor in front of her and the terror of her two hostages. If he could outdraw her - but he left his sidearm back in the rubble, he realized. Damn. He should have been thinking clearer, but then, he'd never shied from any kind of peril, and he'd walk into the fire again the next time Inara was in trouble.

He was waved dismissively to the side, and he took the opportunity to check on the pretty cause of his idiocy. Her painted lips were pressed tight in anxious worry, her brown eyes shimmering behind a veil of dark curls. Aside from her usual dismay at his very being, Inara stayed focused on the gun pointed at them so as not to look at the rest of the grisly scene before them. So far as he could tell she was tense but otherwise unharmed, the very picture of a dignified and high class lady in red silk. Despite everything, he was still relieved to find her such.

The sheriff managed to find his voice; he'd been staring at the other woman like the devil come early for him. "How are you still alive?"

The muzzle of the gun flicked towards the corrupt lawman. "You mean after you killed daddy?" Her expression didn't even break, sounding lazy as the summer heat, the kind that sapped at the energy. "After boss Wolcott stole my land? After you took my husband and my wedding night, then left me for dead in the godforsaken desert?"

"Vinny," he started, some attempt at pleading. The answering blast threw his head back and left a red swirl on the wood panels of the office. Inara startled, the attack as conclusive as it was sudden. The sheriff didn't move again, and the captain felt no sympathy.

"Don't you call me that," she said, almost to herself. "My name's Columbine. Only person can call me that died five years ago." Her tone implied she may as well have gone with them.

He thought maybe he could catch her by surprise in that moment of retrospection, but then he found the gun pointing at him instead, her placid ire redirected. He should have known. Someone who'd burned down an entire town for this audience wasn't about to stop with the ones who had wronged her.

Mal had no intention of going quietly. "Would he have wanted this?" he asked, nodding, more of a jerk of the head at her pistol. "Would he have wanted to see you like this?"

The widow shrugged at him. "Doesn't matter now."

"Of course it does." Inara's voice was soft but certain. Her slender fingers curled around his own, and he glanced down at her, found her gazing back. He had the strangest feeling like she was reassuring him, instead of the other way around. Her hand and her dark eyes withdrew from him, her own confidence bolstered. "No one wants to leave the one they love in pain."

The blonde twisted her mouth into a brittle smile. "You're a companion," she noted, not a question. Saw right through that play. "You Baxter's?"

The brunette looked affronted. "Absolutely not."

"Never could get 'em willing, even if he was payin'," Columbine observed wryly. She loaded her most deadly ammunition. "You ever loved someone?"

Inara answered for the both of them. "Yes."

The next shot was brutal, straight to the heart. "You ever watched them die?"

Flashes of Shadow and dead soldiers paraded through his mind as Inara stiffened beside him, and then he was angry, cursing, moving to try to shield her from the inevitable. Was the 'verse ever going to stop taking from him? At the same time, Inara was reaching for him, standing, shouting to him, trying to turn herself towards the line of fire. Almost funny how it was, the two of them stuck in the same steps as always.

The gunshot was almost an afterthought to their morbid dance. Too late, he thought, one of them was surely hit. His hands framed her face desperately, trying to keep her with him, but there was no pain in her eyes as she stared back at him. Finally in confusion they both looked towards the shooter and saw the blood stain blossoming on her ruined blouse. Her pale features didn't even seem surprised, some kind of understanding slowly turning into a wistful but real smile. The pistol slipped from her hand, and her last breath sounded like it might have been a name.

His first mate stepped into the room from the doorway, a bronze shadow, her cut-off shotgun smoking from the timely save. Meantime, Inara was still hanging onto his suspenders like a lifeline, the events of the day finally catching up to her. He continued to hold her, tracing the patterns on her dress soothingly.

Zoe raised an eyebrow at him, then shook her head. Too easy to make a joke about, he supposed. "Found something of yours, sir," she said, and he wasn't she if she was making a remark about Inara until she tossed him his infantry pistol.

He managed to let go of Inara in time to catch it, and he nodded to his corporal. Much better, he thought, feeling the familiar weight on his hip again, and then Inara moved her hand so he could get to his holster.

"Why didn't you have your gun?" Inara demanded, deeply concerned, as he bent over to retrieve the bail money the sheriff had taken back from them.

Nope. Wasn't having that conversation. He went for the door, and as ever, Zoe followed him, Inara trailing behind. Was the hallway beyond the office this dark and dusty when he first came through, or had he not even noticed in his hurry? The confrontation back there must have gotten to his nerves more than he realized, and he shook off the eerie sensation. "The town?" he asked.

"Burned," she reported grimly. "The survivors have scattered. Simon tried to treat some of them for smoke inhalation." He heard a subtle emphasis on tried and the unspoken conclusion. "A house almost dropped on the Shepherd before Jayne woke up to help." He bit back a sigh - two crew injured. He supposed they could've made out worse. "All that's left is this manor and that stone church."

"That'll be a comfort," Mal replied dryly, "they still have all that whiskey we brought."

They came to the grand curved double stairways, and he saw the sandy-haired priest looking up at them. Father Greaves seemed to be waiting for something, so Mal nodded to him. He wondered for a moment if the minister had heard him. "It's done," he said.

The priest turned and left without another word, and they didn't find where he went to when they looked outside. There was only River, swinging on the squeaky gate of the now-open and empty horse paddock. The captain could still see the fire burning across the fields in the distance, the wind echoing over the desolation. The girl jumped off when she saw them coming, walking up to them with a bright grin.

"You addin' horse theft to your record now?" he asked her, a sudden weariness crashing over him.

"Peace offering," she responded dreamily, looking past them towards the mansion and a second story window. "So she doesn't haunt us anymore."

He supposed that was for the best, no one was really around who could use the animals anymore, and if they'd been left in the corral they'd either been burned up in the fire or easy pickings for scavengers. At least there'd been some kind of justice to come from all this. "Fair enough. Let's get you back to the ship before your brother decides this is all my fault."

- - - - -
The mood on Serenity was somber when they lifted off again, the grey ashes and burned earth stretching out around them. Zoe was leaning against Wash's chair, her hands resting against his shoulders in a sort of solidarity. The captain was trying not to watch them to give them some privacy, and had managed to stop himself from snapping at the pilot to pay attention to what he was doing.

The story had disseminated quickly among the crew. He could guess what they were both thinking. They needed this.

He heard Wash take a deep breath. "What if that ever happened to us?" the normally upbeat joker asked, a subdued murmur to his wife.

The thought struck him. They'd been close this time to losing someone - really they were always closer than they liked. As far as he knew, Inara was still planning on disembarking and never coming back. He shifted uneasily. Sometimes he knew he was closer than he wanted to think to that same teetering edge of insanity they'd just seen. When Inara was gone, what kind of monster would he become?

Zoe shook her head at her husband. "It won't," she said firmly. Her hands clenched into fists, possessive, defiant.

Mal heard a sound from the hallway and turned his head and caught a flutter of red skirts, a glimpse of Inara heading back towards the galley. Rare for her to go looking for him when he was busy on the bridge. He'd have to check up on her when they were safely away.

It'd be better for her if she did go, he knew. It was too dangerous out here. He couldn't ask her to stay, and there wasn't anyway he could keep her.

"Look at that," Wash announced. The renewed enthusiasm in the pilot's voice distracted Mal from his bleak decision.

Outside below them, a herd of wild horses thundered over the grassy plains as Serenity roared overhead. The captain thought maybe they had the right idea. They were free, and as long as they were, nothing was hopeless. He nodded to the married couple. "Take us out, Wash," he ordered, and took his leave.