Alarms were blaring in his ears when he reached what he hoped was the last tunnel. He didn’t know if the general had already given the order to blow the explosive or if that was a command decision based on field observations. If he’d done it right, followed procedure, the general more than likely had planned for his own demise. The order to destroy the valley was going to come from someone else.

He raced through the corridors, dispatching men where he needed to, avoiding others when he could. Despite years of training, his heart was racing. Sweat poured down his brow as he pushed his legs harder. He plunged through a dark opening and slammed into a ladder leading to the surface. His shoulder and arm screamed with the sudden jolting pain. He felt the left side of his head throb and tasted blood in his mouth. Fighting all of it he pulled himself up the ladder and threw open the hatch.

The cool night air greeted him, burned his throat as he rested against a rock and took deep breaths. He looked up into a full canopy of stars wondering if he could see the Alliance fleet from here. In the valley thunder and lightning as two armies collided.

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out what would appear to be a flask to anyone who didn’t know better. A twist here, a pulled lever there and the opened sideways in his hands, the small keypad blinking as it activated. He punched in the coordinates from memory and sent the signal. A light appeared on the transmitter. Green for received.

Somewhere in the shiny black a group of ships was making their descent.

Looking across the valley he tapped another message into the transmitter, more than just a set of coordinates this time. He didn’t know if the message had been received and understood, but he had done his best. Circumstances were beyond him now. He stared at the pad a moment longer, before tossing the device into the night.

He laughed for no reason and looked once more across the valley to the sharp, shadowed edges of the hilltops. It would all be burning soon. Instinct told him to run but he did not move. The war would be over very soon. They would not need men like him anymore.

He heard the footsteps coming up the ladder. He thought a moment about defending himself, felt the training want to kick into gear and fight to the very end. Hodges would have loved that scene. Paulie against the might of the Independent’s army, all flowing from the tiny tunnel opening to bring him down. The valley on fire around them. It would have been a good death.

Instead he sat there and took the blow. His head slammed into the ground. The world was swimming in his ears.

"Goddamn, traitor son-of-a-bitch," Sergeant Hurst screamed at him as he placed a heavy knee against his back, "I should just kill you now."

His arms were twisted behind him. His injured shoulder shot a massive electrical jolt down his spine. He lay where he fell. Hurst was kicking him in his side. He felt at least two ribs give and then break. The other man was a shadow against the stars. Behind him, the sky filled with light and the stars began to spill their fire into the valley.

He saw trails of smoke from the missiles glowing in the light of their own engines. He heard the high whine of bombs plummeting to the ground. This was what he’d come for – to end the war. He wondered briefly, as the world exploded and went black, if his father would come for him now.

"Can you hear me? Hey, can you hear me?" The voice broke through the darkness. With some effort, he opened his eyes, blinking stupidly up at the man leaning over him. He could tell, from the awkward angle of his arms, at least one of them was broken. He vaguely registered the thought that he should be more panicked and pained than he was at the fact he couldn’t feel them, but he was too shocked.

"Wha…"

"Shh, don’t talk. You’re lucky to be alive."

He felt a gentle hand against his forehead. "I’m…my arms…"

"I know. It’s all right. One is definitely broken. I’ll find a first-aid box; splint it as best I can until they come to take us to—to wherever--interment camps, I guess. I’ll take care of you."

"Are you…. Who are you?"

There was a gentle hand against his forehead again.

"I’m Shepherd Derrial Book, HQ Chaplain. Please, just rest now. Just rest."

It had been six days since the bombing of Serenity Valley. He knew this only because Shepherd Book told him. The younger man had somehow managed to splint his right arm, procuring a tight immobilizer and splint for it. He wasn’t sure he had managed to reset the bones properly, but he had done the best he could.

"I’m not a doctor," the Shepherd had apologized after he had applied the splint. "I’ve done the best I could, but I’m pretty sure you’re going to need to have it properly fixed when someone finally comes to get us. Otherwise, you won’t be able to use it properly again, I don’t think."

He watched the younger man as he worked over some of the other survivors he had managed to gather in the caves, where they were taking refugee. There weren’t many, and with every passing day, there were less, as men died. The Shepherd never faltered in his care or his optimism, however. He rationed out the water and what little food had been found, along with his compassion and gentle words. And when another man died of his injuries, the Shepherd would say a prayer over him and promise to let his family know.

Late on the seventh night, after the Shepherd had checked the wrappings on his arm and helped him drink some water, he had rested beside him. "I wish everyone else was doing as well as you, Colonel."

"I’m not…I’m lucky, I guess. How many are left?"

"Here? We’re down to about six, but honestly – I don’t expect two of them to last much longer. Their injuries…well, the infection is just too much. Perhaps…if I had proper supplies, or if someone came… It’s a shame."

"When…where are they?"

The Shepherd laughed mirthlessly. "I don’t know. But they have to come soon, right? They wouldn’t leave so many people here to just die, would they?"

"No, they wouldn’t. They won’t. They’ll come soon and…"

"Camps. They’ll put us in camps. But at least we’ll be out of here. And they’ll fix you up properly. They’ll take care of you."

He fought the panic that rose inside him when Shepherd Book singled him out, shaking his head. "Not just me…all of us. There will be doctors at the camps for all of us."

"But you won’t be going to the camps."

"Why…"

"I know who you are." The Shepherds calm words hit him like bricks. He blinked and tried to sit up, before falling back.

"I’m Colonel Cole."

"For now. Here. Until they take you back and give you another identity. Don’t worry, no one else knows. They’d kill you – or try to, anyway. I won’t tell anyone."

"How…why are you helping me?"

"I’m a Shepherd. I take my vows seriously –‘ thou shalt not kill.’ I wouldn’t be much of a Shepherd if I just left you to die, would I?"

"But if you knew…you could have just left me. You don’t have to help me."

"You’re wrong. ‘Whatsoever you do to the least of my brothers, you do unto me.’ It’s my job to minister, not judge. I might not agree with the side you chose, but you must have had your reasons for it. Besides, the war is over--we’re not soldiers or enemies any more. We’re just men. Just men trying to make it through another day."

Fifteen days after Serenity Valley had been bombed, with Shepherd Book’s help, he had managed to hobble weakly to the mouth of the cave. The stench underground – from the stale air and the decomposing bodies – had become almost too much to bear. He should have realized it would be worse topside. Everyone was dying, and it didn’t matter what side they had been on. Bodies left to rot in the sun…everywhere he looked he saw only death. And still, no one came for them.

He and Shepherd Book were fairly stationary, but it was impossible to mistake the moans of the dying for anything other than what they were. Every morning, the cries for help were fewer.

He wondered if the whole valley was this way – bodies of soldiers rotting were they had fallen; survivors waiting for rescue. Even a prison camp would be better than this – at least they would be given rations.

He had always known the Alliance would win this war. They were too strong, too organized, not to. He had fought hard for them, for the ‘verse they were trying to create. He had been taught from an early age that all the Alliance wanted was peace and cooperation among all the planets. They wanted to build perfect worlds, where everyone had access to a solid education, good medical care…freedom from crime. He had believed in that vision.

But this – what where they trying to prove here, at Serenity Valley? They had won -- what did it serve leaving so many soldiers, from both sides, to die? Even if they couldn’t evacuate or contain anyone right now, they could still send in doctors and medical supplies to save who they could. There was no reason for them not to drop ration packs or water.

He had survived, against the odds on what had amounted to a suicide mission. They had told him he would save thousands of lives; but he had cost them. Each day the Alliance didn’t come, he was responsible for the deaths of more people. The weight of this knowledge sat heavy on him.

Hodges had often told him his biggest problem was that he thought too much; he didn’t just follow orders. Why should he care how many died, if the objective was achieved? They were trying to help the rim planets, yet everywhere they turned they were met with resistance – why shouldn’t the Alliance end that resistance any way they saw fit, to better the ‘verse?

But now – the war was over. Shepherd Book had said it best – they weren’t soldiers anymore, they were men…men just trying to survive.

They sat, backs against a partial wall. Both men tied strips of material over their mouths and noses to help filter the smells, but it didn’t seem to help much.

The Shepherd’s face was gaunt from hunger, his lips cracked and scabbed over from thirst. They had been rationing their water for a while now, a mouthful or two a day – but there was hardly any left. He tried not to think about how thirsty he was. He tried not to notice the yellow seeping into the younger man’s eyes, the sallowness of his skin, the way he barely moved; barely breathed. He reached out and gripped the other man’s arm, willing him to stay alive.

"They’ll come. They’ll be here soon. They have to. They won’t just leave everyone here to die. They’ll come."

Book opened his eyes and looked at him, shaking his head weakly. "They’re not coming back for anyone. They don't care enough for anyone here. They’d rather it all be forgotten."

"Maybe…maybe some of you. But they won’t abandon me."

"They have, though." The Shepherd coughed dryly. "We’ll die here together."

"We’re not going to die."

"Where are you from?" The Shepherd asked. The sudden turn in the discussion made him sigh. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall behind him.

"Nowhere. I don’t have a home – never did. I don’t even have a real name. Where are you from?"

"I’m from Lilac, but lived for five years at an Abbey on the outskirts of Persephone City. It’s where I was ordained. I miss it. You’d like it there – it’s beautiful." The expression on his face turned wistful. "There’s a big garden in the back. We grow fresh vegetables and fruits and sell them at market. In the spring, the apple orchard out back blooms. The blossoms are white and pink and smell…well, not like this." He shook his head depreciatingly. "Father Leung told me I would always have a home there. I wonder if I’ll ever get back."

"You will. They’ll come. They’ll be here soon. I have…I have a marker, in my arm. As long as I’m still alive, it will lead them to me." He tried to keep the doubt from his voice. " I promise, I’ll get you out of here. I’ll take you home. They’ll come for me."

Book didn’t respond to that. Instead, he reached into his pocket for his bible. It was old, the pages worn and creased. The leather binding was shiny in spots, where hands had caressed it and rubbed it in prayer. The Shepherd handed it to him. "Read to me. We’ll find our salvation here."

"But…"

"Please. I’m so tired, I can’t do it myself. We’re here, together. Whether the Alliance comes or not – I don’t want to argue it. Only my God is faithful. Only He won’t abandon me. Please…Cole…read to me."

The book felt warm in his hands. He moved closer to the younger man, cleared his throat. "My name – my real name – is Paul."

"Shepherd? Shepherd Book? Please…you need to hold on."

They had run out of water three days ago, and were dying of thirst. His throat was so parched, it hurt to speak. The Shepherd was in even worse shape. His lips were cracked and his eyes sunk deep into their sockets. When he squeezed the flesh on the younger man’s arms, the skin remained indented.

"I’m going to go and find some water again, okay? I’ll – there has to be water."

"No water," the Shepherd rasped weakly. "Looked already, when we first came out, and again. Don’t--conserve your strength."

"I don’t understand…why.…You shouldn’t be this dehydrated. I need to find you something to drink, or you’re going to die"

The younger man nodded weakly. "Had to save…have I saved you?"

He blinked against the pain the younger man’s question caused in his chest; his heart ached. "You saved me. You saved my life."

"Not what I meant," the younger man whispered. "I want to know…have I saved you?"

"Shepherd..."

"I have drunk from the well of life; I’m ready. Tell Father Leung…promise me. Go to the Abbey and find your way."

"We’ll go together. Just hold on – they’ll come for us. Soon. Soon."

They were silent for a few moments. He smoothed the lank hair away from the Shepherd’s face, noting how cold his skin was despite the heat. "Tell me about the Abbey again."

The younger man opened his eyes, but they remained hazy and unfocused. "It’s beautiful," he whispered. "Beautiful. The garden will be planted now, the trees blooming. Can you hear the bees buzzing? Father Leung likes to sit under the oak tree and drink hot tea. Someone’s singing…Paul?"

"I’m here."

"Paul? Paul?"

"I’m here, I’m with you, I’m here…" He kept repeating that, long after the Shepherd stopped murmuring his name, long after his eyes had closed, long after he had died.

"Tian xiao de, he’s finally waking up."

The voice, half-amused and half-mocking, made him wince. Even through his eyelids, he could see the brightness of the electric light hanging above him. When he opened his eyes and actually looked around, he thought he’d go blind from it. The sheet pulled over him felt clean and cool. He recognized the thrum of engines and realized he was on a large ship. "Hodges?"

"Paulie," the other man grinned. "Looks like I saved your ass again."

"What happened?"

"Thought you were dead. Some idiot on the Confederate didn’t realize the pinging on his screen was your marker. He just assumed you’d been killed in the bombing."

"How…"

"I asked them to double check. Told them you were too much of a bastard to die. What’s that old saying – about cockroaches?"

"Why are you here?"

"Came in to help interrogate some of the PoWs. When we realized you were possibly still alive, I went down with them. You were in bad shape, I have to tell you. Doctors have fixed your arm and pumped you full of fluids again, but you’ve lost about thirty pounds."

"My stuff…"

"I got it all. You were delirious when I found you, you know, but you made it clear what you wanted."

"Shepherd’s Bible…"

"Got it, and the cross and his clothes. Couldn’t get the body. Not enough room on the transport."

"He saved me."

Hodges shrugged. "Bleeding heart, then. I saved you. And I have to tell you, a thank you would be nice. Perhaps we could even do a job together…"

He closed his eyes and shook his head. "Not for me," he replied. "I’m done, Hodges. I want out."

"You said you’d read stuff about her. What did you find out?" They were outside the bar now, walking through the back alleys towards the docks.

Hodges smirked. "Not much. She’s dangerous, I know that much. And they want her back badly. I’ve got a file number, not that it helps. 1122-TAM. Didn’t want to press too much; didn’t want to raise any flags. Not that it matters."

"Smart move. They’re probably watching her files anyway, to see if they can flag her down. Her brother is trying to figure out what they did to her."

"He’s a smart one too," Hodges agreed. "Easier to get information on him, and his family. The parents are prominent doctors themselves, back on Osiris. She’s a geneticist, he’s an obstetrician."

"You know more than me. Simon doesn’t talk about them."

"Can you blame him?" Hodges laughed meanly. "They sold him out, but not before they sold the daughter first. Kind of like what our fathers did to us."

"What do you mean?"

"The parents – they knew where she was going. They enrolled her in the program."

The Abbey sat back from the road, its winding spires barely visible above the trees surrounding it. With a sigh, he walked through the gates towards the massive wooden doors.

The yards were quiet. Behind the Abbey, he could make out the small apple orchard Shepherd Book had told him about. The trees were bare now, as the season headed into winter. He wondered what they would look like in the springtime.

Shifting the bag he carried carefully, he reached the doors, staring at the massive knocker willing himself to lift it. He was here for a legitimate reason – an important one. The Shepherd’s vestments and Bible should be returned to the place he had called home; his friends here deserved to know what had happened to him. It was the least he could do.

"Are you going to knock or just stand there and admire the woodwork?" The voice, speaking behind him and to his left, made him jump and strike out. He managed to stop himself from hitting the older man who had spoken to him, but only just.

"I’m … sorry. You startled me."

"I suppose I did," the older man agreed. "I apologize. I’m Father Leung, the Prior of this Abbey. Can I help you?"

He felt awkward and unprepared for this encounter, even though he was here of his own free will. He hadn’t thought this through to a logical conclusion – instead, he had acted solely on impulse, something he hadn’t done since he was a child. Instead of responding to Father Leung, he stared at the man blankly. Years of Alliance training and it all boiled down to this: he was broken.

"Son, can I help you?" The older man was looking at him with concern now. "You look like you need a friend, or at the very least a hot cup of tea and a sandwich. Come with me – we can talk after you’ve eaten something."

Father Leung stroked the Bible he had been given. "He was a good man. Joined us here at the Abbey when he was thirteen, after his parents were killed."

"How did they die?"

"Alliance arrested them for dusting their crops with fertilizer not approved for his region. They were sentenced to the labor camp out at Duluth -- mining. His father died in a cave-in within the year. His mother died not long after, but he never found out the cause. He was angry, of course. Vowed he would get even. I knew when the war started that he’d go to join the Browncoats. I didn’t think he’d join as a Chaplain though." Father Leung sighed. "What did you say your name was again?"

"I didn’t." He looked at the teacup in his hand. "I don’t know who I am anymore. Who I’m supposed to be."

"I imagine that’s a common feeling for a lot of the men returning from the war – you can’t help but wonder if you’re the same man that went to fight. It’s natural. I’m sure the changes are only superficial though – you’re still the same man."

"I hope not. I don’t think I want to be." He looked at Father Leung. "Can a man change, if he really wants to?"

"If he really wants to," the older man agreed. "Is that why you’re here? To change your life?"

It was impossible to talk through the pounding in his chest and the sudden tears clogging his throat, so he nodded instead. Father Leung reached out and gingerly removed the teacup from his shaking hands. "Are you staying?"

"He saved my life. And I killed him."

"Should I tell them I’m an old friend of yours, or what’s the plan here, Paulie?"

Hodges was a few feet in front of him. The alley had narrowed considerably. Out of the corner of his eye, Book saw a rat sitting on a pile of garbage. "The plan?" He drew his gun and pointed it at the man in front of him. "The plan is to kill you and keep River safe."

* * * * *

The earth was loamy and rich between his fingers, the heat of the midday sun warm on his back. Now that spring had finally arrived, he found himself spending most of his time in the gardens, weeding and planting and tending the new green shoots springing from the fertile earth. The apple trees were laden with fragrant blossoms of pink and white. It was like a new world to him.

The lunch bell had chimed at least an hour ago, but he had not risen to join the rest of his brethren. Instead, he had stayed behind continuing to mix the earth, making straight rows of freshly planted seeds in a newly turned plot.

"You didn’t come in for your meal." It was Father Leung. "You must remember that the body needs nourishment, just as the soul does, Saul."

Saul was what they called him, and there were nights when it made him weep. Had he been named Paul, in the beginning, just so he could experience the humiliation of that backward slide? Had he been made for an apostle and turned to bad purposes? Or was it just another lie that was grafted onto him, one that didn't go beneath skin, couldn't ever penetrate?

"I wanted to get this finished for Brother Marcus. His hands and knees have been bothering him."

Father Leung nodded at this. "It is a kindness, indeed, to take the work of others and spare them their suffering. Marcus is not as young as he once was. I brought you a cold glass of milk and a ham sandwich. Take a break for a moment and talk to me."

"Yes, Father." Brushing his hands across his homespun pants, he leaned back on his heels and smiled gratefully at the frail man. "I am thirsty. You should have called me though, instead of coming out all this way."

"The walk was good for me, Saul. I’m not so old yet, I hope. What are you planting?"

"Corn. I think it will work well here. The soil should be rich -- Brother Marcus tells me this quarter has lain fallow the last few years."

Father Leung nodded. "It was harder to plant the entire garden with so many gone to serve during the war. Brother Derrial, in particular, was missed. He loved working in the garden as much as you seem to."

Saul nodded absently, his expression suddenly far away. "He told me about this garden. About the apple trees and the strawberry bushes, the tomato plants. He said this was the most peaceful place on earth. He loved planting things, making them grow."

"It’s why he went away," Leung agreed. "He wanted to plant ideas instead of carrots. I’m glad to see his words fell on fertile ground in you."

"I’m not sure they did," Saul demurred, turning back to the dirt. "I don’t deserve to be here instead of him."

"How do you know that?"

"Because…he was a good man."

"He was. Would he still have been a good man if he’d let you die, as you still seem to think he should have?"

"He would have been justified in not helping me. He didn’t have to save me."

"He did though – that’s what he was there for. The Bible says to love your enemies."

"It also says an eye for an eye. If our positions had been reversed, I wouldn’t have saved him.

"Maybe, maybe not. It’s beside the point anyway, because you’re here. Would you want to dishonor his memory – his sacrifice – by denying you deserved it? In the eyes of God, all men are equal. All men are worthy." Father Leung sighed, dropping gingerly to his knees beside the younger man. "Show me what you have learned, son. Teach me how to garden."

"Yes, Father," Saul replied meekly, putting his glass and half-eaten sandwich aside. "Perhaps in showing you, I will learn myself."

* * * * *

Saul enjoyed the change of seasons and the peace of the Abbey. Before he had come, he hadn’t stayed in one spot for more than three months his entire adult life. It was hard to believe he’d been here almost six years now.

Father Leung had become old and frail, his muscles weak from a palsy of some sort that made him shake, his eyes dull with age. He was sitting under one of the apple trees, a blanket draped over his legs as he watched the men prepare the garden for a new season of planting.

Saul approached him with a hot cup of tea, nodding his head as he handed the delicate china vessel to him. "You’re not too cold sitting here are you, Father? Brother Tuck told you not to get chilled, remember?"

"I’m fine, I’m fine." The older man waved a hand in his direction, taking an appreciative sip of tea. "I was just thinking about rebirth. Rebirth and you, Saul."

"Me?" Saul smiled slightly at that. "Why me?"

"I was thinking you need a new name. You’ve been Saul too long – you’re not the man you were when you came to us so many years ago." Leung smiled ruefully at the other man’s surprised face. "You don’t agree?"

"I’m not…I’m happy with the name you gave me when I first arrived. Have I given you reason to believe I wasn’t?"

"Saul is a name for a man who has offended God. Perhaps you were that man when you first arrived. You aren’t that man anymore." Leung looked out over the garden again. "You’ve been reborn here; physically and spiritually. Physically, nearly every cell of your body has regenerated since you’ve been with us – that man no longer exists. Spiritually, I believe you’re new as well. You no longer need to serve here as penance. Brother Derrial wouldn’t have expected it."

Saul looked down at his hands, which were clasped tightly in his lap. "I haven’t viewed my time here as penance. I… Father Leung, when I came here…I was lost. I was bereft of knowledge, of friendship…of home. I had no family, and I had done…I had killed and said I was doing it to make the world a better place, even believed it, when in actuality I wasn’t. I’ve found a purpose here; one truer than the purpose I once served. I agree that I am no longer the man I was, but I am still learning who I am and what my place is in this world. The Abbey is my home, my refuge. Do you want me to leave?"

"I want you to stay," Father Leung replied honestly. "I want to enjoy your company for years to come. I want to continue our discussions about theology and literature. But mostly, I want to know you are here because this is where you belong. I think you need to embrace the man you are now and walk the world a bit – see what’s changed; see if God brings you back to us or sends you somewhere new. But first, I think you need a new name."

Saul bowed his head as Father Leung spoke, his forehead almost touching the older man’s knee. "I will take a new name, if that’s what you want, but I do not wish to leave."

"Think on it. We will never force you out, but I believe you need to leave to prove to yourself that you have changed. When I look at you, I still see the doubt in your eyes – not doubt of God, but a lack of faith in yourself. Until you can believe you are free of past sins, you will never truly be free. You need to make your peace with the universe and then – if you still want to – you can return to us. You will always have a home here."

Saul blinked back the sudden heat in his eyes. "What will I do?"

"You’ve been training long enough, studying with us. Let me ordain you, and then go --minister to others. See what’s changed and what hasn’t. Let God lead you where He will – He has plans for you. Put your faith in Him and He will show you where you’re needed." Father Leung patted his head. "So, my son, what shall we call you as you prepare to embark on this new adventure? Shall we call you Paul, and make your transformation complete?"

"Not Paul."

Leung nodded. "As you wish. Not Paul. Perhaps…you have been a friend and brother to us, much like the man you honored by coming here. Shall you be a Shepherd? Shepherd Derrial Book?"

On his knees in front of Father Leung, Saul’s eyes filled with tears. "Yes, I think that is the best name for you. He’s alive in you still. You honor him with every breath. Shepherd Book. Join me for dinner tonight and we shall discuss your plans for your sabbatical. I am pretty sure I have just the vestments you will need."

* * * * *

Hodges stiffened slightly, before turning slowly to look at him. The grin on his face belied the anger flaring in his eyes. "A gun, Paulie? Whatever happened to settling our differences with our fists?"

"Can’t take the chance," Book replied steadily. "I haven’t been training and I know you probably never stopped. This is the only way I can beat you."

"At least you admit it," Hodges replied. "Not that it matters. You’re not going to kill me."

"I am if it’s the only way to fix this. I should never have called you – wouldn’t have, if I’d been in my right mind."

Hodges laughed at that. "I think you were in your right mind, and that’s why you called. This isn’t you, Paulie. You’re not a Shepherd. You’re an Alliance Operative, born and trained. Doesn’t matter how long you’ve been away, that’s who you are."

"Not anymore."

"Always. Besides, you won’t shoot me. We’re family, Paulie. I’m the only family you got."

* * * * *

Book hadn’t left the Abbey until late spring, after Father Leung passed. He liked to think he hadn’t left because of the older man’s ill health, but he knew he hadn’t left because he was scared. He liked the man he was now – liked being the new Shepherd Book. He enjoyed the easy acceptance of his brethren, the steady day-to-day work in the Abbey garden. If, sometimes, he thought it was monotonous, he realized it was a small price to pay to be away from the intrigue and death and harsh living that had characterized the majority of his life.

Now, as he wandered through the streaming masses at Persephone docks, he wondered why he had left. Despite the fact Father Leung had thought he needed to walk the world a bit, to see what God’s plan was for him, he hadn’t been forced to leave. So, why was he here?

Was it because of the nightmares that still haunted him – of the real Book dying so that he could live? In his dreams, he could still smell the overly ripe and rancid stench of bodies, both Alliance and Independent, left to rot in the valley. He could still hear the dying moans of men and women, abandoned by the cause they had fought so hard for.

The Alliance had told him they were building a better world and he had believed them. He’d helped them, despite the fact that he had known – some part of him had known – that he was simply a tool and that they were lying to him.

That was the real reason he had left the Abbey. They had forgiven him too easily for all the horrible things he had done. If they were to be believed, God had forgiven him as well.

So, why couldn’t he forgive himself?

He stopped when he saw the Firefly transport. Sorriest piece of go se he had ever seen. It looked like it was held together by nothing except spit and luck. But…

Serenity.

The name painted on the hull was emblazoned in his heart as well, tattooed across his soul. Serenity was the reason he was Shepherd Book now; Serenity was the reason he had left the Abbey. Serenity was what he was searching for – and what he was running from.

Bartering his vegetables and strawberries to the cheerful girl twirling the parasol in her hands was small price to pay for a passenger berth.

* * * * *

The minute the girl—River--had lurched into her brother’s arms, screaming and cold and naked from the cryo-tank--he knew the Alliance was involved. His mind had snapped to attention; had recognized the adrenaline rushing through his body for what it was--years of training, long suppressed, coming to a head.

The Alliance had done something to this girl--something bad, from the looks of things. She was more than half-crazed, but he recognized her easy panther grace and knew. There had been rumors, of course--rumors that the Alliance was training women in all the arts--training them to be deadly weapons. He had heard through the grapevine prior to Serenity Valley that the program had been shut down and everyone involved in it extinguished. Obviously, the rumors had been wrong.

His mind was ablaze in wonder. He wondered what he could do to help her. He wondered what he could do to keep Captain Reynolds from killing Dobson, the Alliance mole that was currently being held prisoner. There could be no killing. He didn’t hold with that any more, had learned a better way.

* * * * * *

Book didn’t understand Malcolm Reynolds, that was clear from the start. He wondered--often--if the man even understood himself. Despite Mal’s professed hatred of the Alliance, he had turned to them when Book had been shot. The Captain hadn’t batted an eye when a lowly Shepherd’s identity card had guaranteed him first-rate surgeons and fawning respect for all the crew while they waited for his release. Mal hadn’t even questioned him about it, although Book was sure there would be a time and a place where he would have to make some accounting for it.

The Captain was an enigma: a Browncoat, a heathen, a thief but honorable, protective, and loyal. Book recognized serenity in him, and that was enough. Mal had a strange way of binding people to him, an easy charm that belied the rage Book often saw in his eyes. He wondered if that same rage had been in himself when he had first gone to the Abbey.

On reflection, of course it must have been. Perhaps it still was. Perhaps it was why he felt such a strong connection to the younger man. He knew Mal would kill him if he ever found out who Book had been. He even wondered sometimes if the captain suspected; if that was why he hadn’t pushed Book on revealing too much; hadn’t forced him to tell his secrets. Perhaps he didn’t really want to know.

In his quarters at night, Book read his Bible and asked himself what his purpose was. Why had he been brought to this ship and to these people? Was it a test or was it his redemption? Either way, he knew he didn’t want to leave. He was pleased that Mal never asked.

Among the crew, he found he was a different man than he had been at the Abbey. Yes, he was still a Shepherd, but he was more as well. He was confidante and friend; his knowledge--knowledge that a man of God shouldn’t have--was never truly questioned, simply accepted. He admired Zoe’s stoicism and loyalty, Wash’s sense of humor, Kaylee’s tender heart, Inara’s calmness, Simon’s intelligence--but he found he was drawn to the ones he viewed as the most broken: Mal, Jayne, and River.

He wanted to help Mal find peace, hoped they could bury their ghosts together. He wanted to help Jayne find redemption, from whatever it was he was running from. And--most important--he wanted to keep River safe and help her find the girl she had been and bury the…thing…the Alliance had tried to make her, just as he had buried the thing they had made him.

When bullets were flying or they were running for their lives, if he welcomed the old adrenaline rush and the way his senses became hyper-aware, if all his old training flooded to the forefront and took over--it was all for the good of the crew. It was to keep them safe, to help them.

It was never, ever because he wanted it, or enjoyed it, or missed it. He was a man of God now. Violence wasn’t his way anymore.

* * * * *

It wasn’t until he realized what he had done under the influence of the bad protein that it occurred to him he might have been fooling himself. The beast inside him hadn’t been buried deeply enough. Underneath his Shepherd costume, he was still a killer, still a spy, still the same monster he always had been. The gun pointing at Hodges wasn’t as steady as it should have been.

He wondered if Father Leung had seen this weakness in him–if this was the reason he had suggested Book leave the Abbey. Somehow, Leung had known that the man Book had been was not gone, but instead merely biding his time, waiting for the opportune moment to return and wreak havoc in the lives of those he loved.

Book did love the crew, and he couldn’t let any harm come to them. He had promised this himself, and he had promised his God.

"They’re my family. I’m sorry it’s come down to this, Billy, but I will kill you if I have to."

"You’re going to kill me? You want to come back just as much as I do, and you know it. Put the gun away."

"No." Book stared at him coldly. "I can’t let you hurt them."

"Let me? You’re the one that called me. Hell, Paulie, you know what I am. Don’t tell me you actually developed a conscience at that Abbey!" Hodges tone was mocking. "Don’t tell me you actually think you’re a man of God. We both know you aren’t."

"Maybe that’s true, but I’m working on it," Book replied steadily. "I made a mistake when I contacted you, and now I have to correct it. You can’t just kill whomever you want. You can’t just--force someone to be something they don’t want to be. You know what they did to that little girl, Hodges? They cut open her brain. They made her a weapon. And you want to give her back?"

"Why the hell not? If it means I get back in, why the fuck shouldn’t I? She doesn’t mean anything to me, and if the Alliance wants her, that’s good enough for me. It should be good enough for you."

"It isn’t, not anymore. They don’t have the right to use people as lab rats, against their will, to kill without impunity. They don’t have the right to take little children and make them soulless assassins. They don’t have the right!" Book realized he was shouting. Hodges was still laughing at him.

"So kill me then. Kill me, Shepherd Book, man of God. I didn’t know Shepherd’s killed people. But you’d better go on and shoot me, because if you don’t, I’ll kill you. And then I’ll kill everyone else on that boat you call home, before I take the girl and her brother back where they belong. So kill me, and become what you were, or come back. It’s all the same, in the end."

The gun was heavy in his hand. Hot. Branding him. But it didn’t shake when he pointed it at Hodges.

"Why didn’t you kill me?" he had rasped when Shepherd Book checked his bandages. The other man looked at him, smiling gently, lifting a small bottle of water to help him drink.

"What I do to the least of my brothers, I do to myself. It’s not my place to judge you. It’s only my place to help you. Men can change. Only God knows what’s in your heart."

He smelled apple blossoms, remembered the creases in Father Leung’s face. He remembered the voices of his brothers in the Abbey, raised in celebration as they sang their praises to God.

Hodges was watching him, mocking, as he edged forward slightly. "Thou shalt not kill, Shepherd. Thou shalt not kill. You know you can’t pull that trigger. If you’re really a man of God now, you won’t be able to do it."

Book tightened his finger on the trigger, but still didn’t pull it. "Shut up."

"No. You’re the one that started this, Paulie. You called me; you dragged me into this because you wanted a way out. You’re bored with your life. You want back in. You miss the excitement. And you could have had it. We could have had it together, like it used to be. But you realize that’s changed now. I’m going to have to kill you, and then I’ll kill everyone on that ship of yours."

"No you won’t," Book replied. "I’m sorry Billy, but I can’t…I can’t let you."

When Hodges lunged, Book pulled the trigger. His ears rang as his arm recoiled. "Father, forgive me, for I have sinned."

Hodges lay in the dirt, blood spreading rapidly underneath him. "I knew you hadn’t changed," he chuckled weakly with his last, gasping breaths. "You’re still the same old Paulie. Welcome back."

* * * * *

The ship was where he’d left it. Even from a hundred yards away, he could make out the name displayed prominently on the bow. Serenity. The name mocked him. The first time he’d seen the Firefly, the name had been a sign. Now it was a warning. He would never find Serenity. He would never leave Serenity. He would never have Serenity.

His thoughts circled his brain, making him dizzy. He was moving on instinct now, trying to hold back the adrenaline that had filled him when he had shot Hodges. It had been easier to kill the man than he had thought it would be, and the memory of sliding back into the skin of Paul Carver, Alliance Operative…the jubilation he had felt when he had pulled the trigger and bested his oldest friend and worst enemy…made him sick.

Hodges was back in the Alley where he’d left him. He’d gone over the body first, taking anything important – anything that would indicate who he was. Around Hodges neck, hanging on a thin chain, he’d found a data stick. It was now nestled in his pocket, beside the gun. Both were still warm.

Moving towards Serenity, he realized the docking ramp was up. Both shuttles were in their customary spots, so Mal must have sent someone after it when he’d turned the beacon on. They must have realized Book had abandoned the shuttle – yet they had stuck around. They’d even left the cargo bay doors open slightly, waiting for his return. He wondered, though, who it was that would return to them – was he still Shepherd Book? Did he still have the right to call himself that, after what he’d done? He had saved the lives of his friends, but in doing so he had broken his vows to God…and to himself. He had brought Hodges down on their heads because, deep down inside, he was still a killer. A new name, a new life...he had been fooling himself if he thought he had changed. Father Leung must have known when he sent him from the Abbey that he still harbored the killer inside him.

Reaching the ship, he pressed his forehead against her cool hull. If he were a good man, he would leave. He wouldn’t put them in anymore danger. He had slipped once – what was to say that he wouldn’t again? The next time the monster inside him broke free, he might kill them all. God only knew if Hodges had even told him the truth when he said he hadn’t told anyone else. It seemed like the truth – it fit his modus operandi – Hodges was always a glory hound. He wouldn’t have wanted to share his ticket back to the Alliance with anyone, except his old friend Paul. If word had gotten out though, that Paul Carver had contacted him…well, the Alliance would start looking. And he wouldn’t be too hard to find. Being on the ship…it put the crew in more danger than they already were.

"We got docking legs to keep the ship up, you know." Mal’s voice, coming from slightly above him, made him jump."If you get outta the way, I’ll lower the docking ramp for you. Glad you’re back, Shepherd – wasn’t sure what was going on when the beacon started flashing on the shuttle. Jayne was all set to mount a rescue, ‘cepting we didn’t know where you were." He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "Can’t wait to get off this dung heap."

Book stepped back, took a deep breath, and smiled calmly at the Captain. "Sorry I left so suddenly. Something came up."

"Some poor soul in need of counseling, I’m sure." Mal grimaced at the thought, watching the ramp lower. "Only wish you’d told Zoe where you was headed – we had us some problems with the Lassiter sale. Would have preferred to have cut out once we got them resolved; instead of sitting around waiting for you."

"Sorry," Book replied dryly as he entered the cargo bay. "You didn’t have to wait."

Mal laughed at that, clapping him on the shoulder. "Right, and cause a mutiny on the ship? ‘Sides, I don’t leave men behind."

"I didn’t think you wanted a Shepherd on your ship." He turned to Mal, watching him as he closed the bay door behind them. The captain smirked at that.

"You’re not a Shepherd. You’re the cook. Only one on this here boat can make anything halfway edible with those damn protein bars. That makes you crew." He hit the intercom button by the doors. "Book’s back, Wash. Get us out of here."

"Hey! Welcome back, Shepherd! We were getting worried!" Wash said over the intercom before switching off to power up the ship.

Book walked further into the cargo bay, Mal beside him. Jayne was at the weights, doing his repetitions. River sat on the catwalk, swinging her legs back and forth over the edge, arms curled around the horizontal rail. She smiled when he looked her way and he felt the pain of it right through his heart. She was just a little girl. He had almost--if anything happened to her because of him…

"You look tired, Shepherd."

Book blinked, looking back at the captain, who was still standing beside him. "I am tired."

"Get some rest then. Someone else can cook tonight. Maybe later, over dinner, you can tell us where you rushed off to in such an all-fired hurry, and we’ll tell you about the non-sale of the Lassiter. I’m sure Inara will go on and on. She’s quite incensed."

Book shook his head at that. "Some things can’t be told. I’m sure your adventures planet side are much more interesting than mine anyway. Besides, if I’m the cook, I’d better earn my keep."

He was halfway to the galley when he heard River behind him, calling his name. She was following him, her eyes wide and serious, when he turned to her. He wondered if the sight of her would always hurt him, if he would always see Hodges now when he looked into her eyes.

"You keep my secrets, and I’ll keep yours," she whispered.

He stepped back from her, suddenly nervous. "River?"

"An eye for an eye," she replied. "That’s the way it works. You saved my eyes. You saved all our eyes."

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," he muttered, turning away from her.

"You do," she replied. "But it’s okay to lie if it makes you feel better. You’re still a good man."

He leaned against the wall, stricken. "Am I?" he whispered. He didn’t object when she leaned into him, hugging him; he found that he could even hug her back. His heart was full of love for her. Hodges was dead. He was dead--but River was safe. He hoped God would forgive him, for judging, but that was what counted in the end: he’d kept the girl safe. He’d corrected his mistake.

"Forgive me," he begged against the top of her head. He wasn’t sure if he was asking her or God, or if he was asking himself. But when she whispered ‘I do,’ he realized her absolution would have to be enough. God was too far away, and he would never forgive himself.

Discuss this episode

Title: Road To Damascus
Writers: Michelle Makariak and Michael A Haines
Executive Producers: Michelle Makariak (Michmak)
& Jen Hook (Mistress Shiny)
producer: Van Donovan
art: Jennukes
special edits: Van Donovan, Alianora and Jennukes
Dialog: Sophie Richard
Proofing: Van Donovan, Alianora and Jennukes
Animations: Taerowyn