Mal was still primping himself a little as he walked down the corridor from his room to the kitchen. Despite his successful conversation with Kaylee he still had his doubts as to the success of this particular holiday. Kaylee had already gone on ahead to meet up with her family and have some time alone with them after being away for so long. It was up to Mal, as he saw it, to make sure the preparations for Christmas dinner were made.

As he was nearing the mess he began to notice a scent on the air that suddenly had him reeling with a memory. He was eight years old, in the kitchen with his mother. He was standing on tiptoe beside her as she stood at the counter. She was gently prying sugar cookies off of a baking sheet with a spatula. Hers were in delicate shapes like snowflakes or stars. The ones he had made were sprinkle-covered hideous molten blobs of dough that had spread out all over the pan until they touched all the other cookies. She smiled as lifted them with care and placed them on the plate right next to hers, saying, “Oh Malcom, yours always look the oddest but taste the best.”

“Captain?”

Mal opened his eyes to the present moment, and Simon was standing in front of him. “Simon,” he said, re-centering himself. “You cookin’? Not ta be impolite or nothin’, but you ain’t exactly Chef of the year.” He hoped Simon had not caught him looking goofy as he reminisced, but whatever was baking smelled exactly like his mother’s secret recipe for sugar cookies.

Simon nodded once, unable to deny his lack of cooking skills. He was the only one on board who had trouble even boiling water. “Er, uh, no… Not me. River. I’m… supervising.”

Mal smiled and started to walk past him into the kitchen but Simon put his hands up to stop him. “Uh… you might want to…” Simon started to say, but Mal pushed past him to see what he was hiding. “Don’t… Don’t be mad!” Simon called after him.

“Chang jing lu shi!” Mal exclaimed as he crossed the threshold into the kitchen. There was flour and batter on everything within a five foot radius of the countertop, and River was wearing the snowy-white powder from her fingertips to her shoulders. There was even a good amount in her hair. “ ‘Supervising’? The hell kind of supervisin’ you doin’ in here, Simon? Sittin’ back an’ watchin’ while River makes a white Christmas outa’ our dinin’ commons?”

He was going to go on, but River approached him quickly with a plate full of cookies. She gingerly picked one up and shoved it into Malcom’s open mouth. He started to protest, but was shocked at the taste. He chewed slowly, savoring the bite.

“What the hell…?” he uttered softly. “These are…”

She grinned up at him proudly, her face bright, her eyes sparkling. “Just like home,” she said to him.

He looked back at Simon as if he would be able to provide some sort of explanation. It seemed no matter how many times River proved herself to be beyond special, Mal was always taken aback by her demonstrations of power. Mal stared at her, a mixture of pure joy and confusion in his expression. “And don’t worry. She’s going to clean up,” River said with a coy smile.

He grabbed three more cookies off the plate with one hand while pointing at her with the other. “She gorram better.”