(Disclaimers with Part 1. This part contains references to Mal's past from "Bloodlines.")

Fateful Hours Part 4 by HawkMoth

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Book moved on to tying up some grape vines to an arbor, as Mal held it steady. It had gotten warmer in the long hours since they'd left the ship, and the black shirt was sticking unpleasantly to Mal's skin. "What the hell time is it?" he muttered, bending to wipe his forehead against his shoulder. "What is wrong with the law on this rutting planet? Can't find me, and can't even track down the ones that really did it."

Devlin looked up from the nearby vegetable patch, exchanging a forbearing glance with Book. "It's well past three," he answered. "I wouldn't be surprised if the perpetrators were hired from off-world, with the assault planned well in advance, if they've managed to elude capture this long. But surely a few of the witnesses could have given some useful information."

"People in a panic tend not to see much of anything," Mal said scornfully.

The pastor lumbered to his feet. "I think we could all use a bit of rest, and a cool drink. I'll be right back." He headed for the house, with a polite nod to the lawman who had just come around the corner of the porch. "Can I get you some water, Constable?" he asked cheerfully. "It's thirsty work, I expect, marching about like that."

"No thanks, Pastor," Harris replied. "I'm good."

The constable had kept to the same unrelenting patrol pattern: around the church itself--which much to the pastor's dismay had been locked up on the sheriff's orders; up to the rectory door and across the porch; through the garden and back around the house to the church again. Each time he walked through the garden, he'd stop for a few minutes to watch them at their work, the stun rifle resting with deceptive casualness in his arms.

Mal knew that stance, and just how quickly the weapon could be raised, aimed and fired. As the pastor went inside the house, Harris took it up again, standing on the garden path, h