THE GHOST OF CHIRSTMAS PRESENT He didn’t know how much later, but it was a goodly amount of time, he heard a bell strike two. “Now what,” he muttered, with untold forbearing. “Come on up Cap!” the cheerful voice of a young girl said, echoing from the hallway above his room. “Know me better.” “What the?” He said, his natural curiosity and obsessive protectiveness of his ship propelling him up the hatch and out the door. When he reached the hallway he was affronted by a host of wonderful smells, Turkey, cranberry sauce, Yams, green beans, Ham, Apple Pie, walnuts, ale, and more smells so sweet he couldn’t even name them all. And again the voice, which was very familiar and yet, he knew he’d never heard it before, called out “Come on in, Cap, and know me better!” “Who,” Mal asked, steping causiously into the kitchen, which was magically filled with a feast of real food large enough to feed a goodly sized town. “Exactly are you?” “Well, I’m the ghost a Christmas present!” The voice said cheerily from some location Mal couldn’t quite see. “Get it, it’s a pun!” “Very clever,” Mal said, trying to sound like the girl’s voice alone didn’t warm his heart and make him want to laugh for sheer joy. “Where exactly are you?” “Oh, I’m right here!” the voice said as a pretty young girl with a round face, brown eyes and brown hair adorned with silver Christmas tinsel popped her head out from behind the kitchen. She had oven mitts on and in her hands she was holding a tray of gingerbread cookies in all sorts of shapes. Mal knew, in his heart that this girl was Kaylee Frye, and he knew that he loved her dearly as a sister. But how he knew these things mystified, him, because he’d never meet the girl before. “Wanna cookie?” “You don’ look like any ghost I’ve ever seen, nor heard tell of.” “Well,” the girl said smiling at him broadly. “I’m a very special ghost.” “Are you now, little specter?” “Yes I am cap’in,” she said, bowing her head. “An’ yer gonna come with me and see all the great things you miss out on.” “Do I have a choice in this matter?” Mal asked, watching as the girl, or perhaps, ghost, put a tray of cookies down on the counter and gingerly picked up a small one shaped like a heart. She tossed it from hand to hand for a few seconds, waiting for it to cool. When the temperature was finally satisfactory, she grabbed the cookie and broke it neatly down the middle, handing a half to the captain. “Here,” She said, smiling at him, all the stars in all the heavens seemed to shimmer in her eyes. “Take a bite.” Mal didn’t like Gingerbread, and he knew that eating any food a ghost would give him could lead to the worst sort of ramifications. But he couldn’t say no to the pretty beaming girl. “Kay,” he said, setting his teeth in the soft, brown cookie. The sensation seemed to set him on fire. He’d never tasted anything so delicate, and yet, so wholesome. The world, with the exception of the pretty ghost, seemed to swirl around him and Serenity faded into the sea of color and mal realized that they were gliding over a pretty white countryside. “Where are we?” Mal asked once every last morsel of the cookie had dissolved, leaving a wonderfully sweet taste in his mouth. “This is Flagstaff,” Kaylee said simply, reaching her hands into her pockets and pulling out wads of what looked like glitter. She’d let it go, and it would drift down onto the planet below. “Flagstaff on Christmas.” “What are you doing?” Mal asked. “Wha’da’ya mean?” Kaylee said, for a moment taken a little aback. “With the glitter I the pockets . . .” “Oh,” She said, laughing. “I’m spreading Christmas Joy.” “You do that do you?” “Yep.” “I thought Christmas Joy is something each person’s gotta find fer themselves,” Mal said, fully believing that he’d discovered a flaw in the ghost’s holiday mission. “My joy falls on everyone what want’s it Cap’n,” Kaylee said. “If you don’t want it, it’ll slide right off of you and find someone else to cheer. No one’s forcin’ anyone ta do anything.” “Glad we got that all cleared up,” Mal said, his voice trailed a little bit. He was being distracted by what he saw below him. Each house, each home, seemed open to him. Family’s with nothing, with less than nothing, people who had to struggle for each meal, mother who’d lost children and children who’d lost parents, old people who could barely walk and see and young people who were so thin as to suggest they would not make it through the winter were all touched by a shimmering piece of Kaylee’s glitter and their hearts were filled with Joy. There were Christmas carols sung, gifts exchanged and love shared between people who, the other three hundred and sixty four days of the year were miserable and heartbroken. “Oh,” Kaylee said, noticing something far, far below them in one of the larger cities. “We gotta stop by here. Every year they make Eggnog on Christmas.” The pair drifted down until their feet were touching the cold compressed snow that made up the city’s streets during the winter time. They stood in front of a bar called, The Cooked Goose, it was little more than a wooden shack, but the warm sounds of men laughing could be heard from the street. “Wash wanted to go out and get Eggnog,” Mal said, and for a reason he didn’t quite understand, he felt sad. “Did he?” the ghost said coyly. “Well, wha’da’ya know?” With that she walked into the bar, not bothering to use the door, but passing straight through the wooden walls. Mal, eager to stay with the pretty little ghost, followed without questioning the physics. Inside it was dark, lit mostly by oil candles, and a large fire in the middle of the room. There were about three groups of men singing three different Christmas Carols in three different keys, and then, a fourth group who were in the middle of a brudy drinking song. Men and the few women had to yell to be heard over the commotion, but every voice was filled with joy and gladness. “Don’cha’ just love this place, Cap?” Kaylee asked, her nose scrunching in absolute delight. “Sprit a Christmas is so thick in here ya’d need a fourteen watt power welder ta cut through it.” Mal laughed and glanced around the jovial room. “Don’ suppose I could get me some of that eggnog, now, could I?” he asked. “Nope,” the girl said, wagging her head. “Yer just a specter, we ain’t really here. But, ah, ya might do well ta go over to the fire,” she said, pointing to the middle of the bar where a group of Men were sitting, laughing and drinking, with their feet on the hearth and large cups filled with eggnog in their hands. “Why what’s . . .” Mal asked, and then he realized, that in the middle of this group of men was Wash, telling stories, being clever, and having a better time than anyone had had on Serenity in recent memory. He started walking closer to the pilot, straining his ears to hear the familiar voice, longing to be one of the men with their feet on the hearth laughing at jokes, and having not a care in the world for one day at least. “And then,” Wash gasped. “And then he says to me. Make the boat go faster!” The crowd of men burst into laughter yet again. “I say, ‘Captain, what do you want me to do? Go out and push?’” More laughter. “So then he gets cranky and pulls out his gun! We’re being chased by Reveres though atmo in this damn tricky terrain and he thinks his gun is gonna scare me.” “OH god,” one man said, “I think my side’s a gonna burst!” “But how’d ya get out’a it?” Another man asked. “Oh,” Wash said casually, the way only a good storyteller can. “I told him if he didn’t want to be turned into Sunday’s dinner and Sunday’s suite he oughta prep the engine fer a full burn.” “And you got away?” a third guy asked. “No actually, we were eaten alive,” Wash said, straight faced. There was a silent pause and then the whole group of men started laughing again. Mal, much to his surprise, was laughing too. “Why don’t you leave then,” One of the men asked, sucking in a serious breath between hearty chuckles. “If you’re captain’s such a *********.” “Ah, well,” Wash said, looking down into his mug of eggnog. “Guy needs me. And Simon needs me, I’d hate ta be in that kids shoes whenever it’s just him and Mal.” “Why?” Mal asked, forgetting that he couldn’t be heard. “I do alright by Simon.” “Besides,” Wash said, glancing up and into the fire. “Zoe was absolutely dedicated to the guy, he saved her life. And if he hadn’t done that I would never have met her, and the best years of my life wouldn’t have happened.” He looked sad and introspective for a moment, but then, with a deep breath and a set jaw, he thrust his cup upward. “To Captain Malcolm Reynolds, the biggest ******** in the universe, may he figure out how to be less of one.” “Cheers,” All the men said, banging their mugs together, before taking a deep draught of eggnog and letting the conversation drift to other, more merry topics. “See,” Kaylee said, over his shoulder. “You could’a been here, but no, ya had to be a sour puss.” “I do alright by Simon,” Mal snapped at her, as if she’d been the one to criticize him. “Do you?” Kaylee asked, looking at him skeptically. “That boy has everything he needs, his sister too.” “Do they?” Kaylee asked again. “Take us there,” Mal said ordered. “An’ I’ll prove it.” “Yer wish,” the girl said, blinking her eyes that held the heavens and, suddenly, the bar and the noise was gone and everything was dark and silent with the exception of a soft humming. “Where are we?” Mal asked. “Ya wanted ta see how Simon an’ River spent Christmas,” The ghost’s voice explained, although, in the dark, Mal couldn’t see her. “This is River’s Christmas.” Before Mal could ask what Kaylee ment by that, there was a pop and a creek as the hatch to River’s room was pushed open and the dim light from the hallway flooded the room. “**********,” Mal muttered, as he saw what his young ward had done with her quarters. The walls were covered with black and white drawings, frighteningly good yet eerie and surreal. The pictures were layered, six or seven deep on every wall, and small glass bottles that had once held medicine were pilled, like building blocks, in various corners. Other than that there was nothing in her room, absolutely nothing. It was an eerie room, not a room Mal would have wanted to spend a long time in, none the less, all his time. “River,” Simon’s voice called down from the top of the hatch. It sounded light, and kind and happy and tired. “I’ve brought you Christmas dinner.” “Bring me food and bring me wine,” River muttered melodically, although her eyes were distant and her voice was cracked from lack of use. “Bring me pine logs hither.” “Good King Wenceslas,” Simon said with a smile in his voice as he struggled down the ladder with a tray full of food. “It’s good to see that you’re in the Christmas sprit.” “Good King Wenceslas looked out on the Feast of Stephen,” River said, emphasizing the day, correcting her brother. “I,” Simon said, drawing out the word as he awkwardly reached the ground. “I’m not quite sure when that is.” River glanced down at the mess of blankets around her. Her posture was defeated, broken, tears were streeming out of her eyes. “No, Mei mei,” Simon said, setting the tray down and hurrying over to his crying sister. Mal found himself following, yearning to reach out and comfort the girl as best he could. “Don’t cry,” her brother soothed. “I’ve got a Christmas present for you.” She looked up at her brother almost hopefully and, as if to obay, wiped the tears off of her cheeks. “Here,” Simon said, handing her a small wooden box that had been on his supper tray. “Merry Christmas,” he said eagerly, as she undid the knot in the twine and carefully undid the lid. River gasped from sheer joy, and when she looked up at her brother again there were tears of joy in her eyes. “What?” Mal said, trying to peek over the boy’s shoulder into the box. “Wha’d he give ‘er?” “Watch,” Kaylee said. The ghost looked like she was on the verge of tears as well. Very carefully, as if handling fine crystal that could shatter any moment, she lifted a ripe orange out of the box. She pressed the fruit to her nose and inhaled deeply, taking in the sent of the rind more than the fruit. “Brightly shone the moon that night,” She told her brother, nearly sobbing from gratefulness. “Though the frost was cruel.” “It’s an orange,” Mal said, turning to ghost, who was wiping tears away from the corners of her eyes with the selves of her golden gown. “I mean, their rear, yeah, but they ain’t impossible to be had.” “You know the last time River saw the color orange?” Kaylee asked. “There ain’t a thing in here that’s that color.” Mal glanced around. The room was creepy in its predominately black and white tones. “An’ how ‘bout the last time she had fruit?” Kaylee said. “You sure don’ give it to her. An’ can tell ya, it took all a Simon’s clever plannin’ and schemin’ ta get that fer her, sneak it past ya.” Mal suddenly felt very guilty, as he watched the girl place the orange on the table in font of her and stare at it as Simon told her she had to eat it that day, that it was too good a treat to let spoil. He knew that, had he learned of the fruit before this moment, he probably would have chewed the boy out for doing something behind his back, he might have threatened to take away River’s medicine again, or cut the boy’s food rations for the day. He would certainly have taken the orange away, and in that act taken a wellspring of simple Joy away from the siblings, who seemed to have so little joy every other day of the year. “I always think of Oranges around Christmas time,” Simon told his sister, his voice tingling with enthusiasm. “You remember how Mom would put them in the toes of our stockings and we weren’t allowed to eat any of the candy until we’ve finished our oranges on Christmas Morning?” River smiled up at him, but her eyes were lost, unfocused. She clearly couldn’t pin down the memory. Simon’s smile faded as he reached up to his sister, “It doesn’t matter,” he told her lovingly. “What matters is that you and I are together and--” “’ Sire, the night is darker now, and the wind blows stronger,’” The girl said, turning her haunting, brimming, brown eyes to her brother. “’Fails my heart, I know not how; I can go no longer.’” Simon stared at her for a sad moment, and then cleared his throat and started talking again. “I don’t know if you know this,” he said, trying to sound excited again. “But we’re on a planet, we landed last night.” “When the snow lay round about, deep and crisp and even,” She said smiling up at him, like she was trying to lift his spirits. “That’s right,” Simon said. “It was snowing. Maybe, since it’s Christmas, I could talk the Captain into letting you out for a few minutes. You could look out the window, see the world, white and perfect.” She laughed, it was a week laugh, rusty and seldom used. “Therefore, Christian men, be sure, wealth or rank possessing,” She said, giggling as if she were telling a joke and couldn’t keep the snickers of anticipation out of her voice. “You who now will bless the poor shall yourselves find blessing.” Simon chuckled softly, whether because he got River’s joke or because his heart was so tied to hers that any lift in her sprit caused a lift in his, Mal was not sure. For even as the brother and sister began to laugh they faded into a swirl of white; Mal watched River’s sweet laughing face until all he could see was the blinding whiteness of a violent blizzard. “Wait, no!” Mal said. “GO back!” “Why?” Kaylee said, stepping up so she was standing besides the Captain. “The rest a the night she’ll be mutterin’ nonsense and he’ll be lookin’ all sad. Thought you said you’d had enough of that.” Mal, hearing his own words echoed back to him, felt for their sting. “What’d she mean, when she said ‘Sire, the night is darker now, and the wind blows stronger, Fails my heart, I know not how; I can go no longer’?” “Well,” Kaylee, said, looking very said. “T’ain’t exactly my place ta say, but if things don’ change, I don’ see there being much of a River in the future, there’s hardly any one now.” “But,” Mal stammered. “She wasn’t that bad. I mean, she, she was allways a little nuts, but . . .” “Cap’n, you knew that those men had placed monsters in her head, and then you put her in a place were she couldn’t escape them.” Mal felt his throat constrict, “It can stop though, right? It ain’t too late. If I got her outta there, let her round the ship, on the planet even, she could . . . she could come back, right?” The ghost chewed tentatively on her lower lip, and glanced up at Mal, almost regretfully. “We ain’t got much time,” She said apologetically. “Why?” Mal asked, “What do you mean?” “Christmas is one day a year, an’ my day’s almost up.” “What?” Mal said, horrified, “No.” “Sorry, Cap’n,” She said. “But you could keep me alive.” “What I have to do?” Mal asked, the slightest touch of sarcasm in his voice. “Clap?” “Naw,” the girl said, she was starting to fade, just as Simon and River had moments ago, “Remember, I’m a sprit of Christmas, keep it in yer heart and I’ll always be there.” And she was gone. THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS FUTURES “No,” Mal said. An odd moistness was in his eyes and his hands were shaking. He’d lost so much, and now, when he was starting to, longing to, snatch what he still had and redeem it, nurture it, and celebrate it. Wash was a good friend, better than Mal deserved, he needed to be told that. Simon was a good kid, an amazing kid, his work needed to be rewarded. And River, she was too precious to just leave lost in a blizzard to die of the cold and be frozen by the snow. Suddenly, a hand was on his shoulder. It was not placed there, it was simply there, and a shiver flew down his spine: not a pleasant shiver, like the kind that came when the Ghost of Christmas Pasts had touched him, but rather a horrible shiver, like when you know some evil thing is following you on a dark street or you hear a woman’s high pitched scream. Very slowly and carefully, Mal turned to find himself looking eye to eye with the most non-distinct man he’d ever seen. The only thing that was at all unusual about the man, dressed blandly in a black suit, were a pair of bright, almost neon, blue operating gloves on his hand. Still, this man filled Mal with an almost unspeakable dread, as if he were looking death itself in the face. “So,” the Captain finally said, trying to force his voice to sound nonchalant and brave. “I meet the ghost of Christmas pasts and presents, that would then make you the ghost of Christmas futures, right?” The man nodded. It was a somewhat disconcerting nod and Mal took no pleasure in being right. “Well then,” he said, with more forced bravado. “I guess you have things you’ll be wanting ta show me.” Another nod, and a hair of a smile. Mal wondered how such a normal, bland man could appear so very evil. And then he wondered how a spirit of Christmas, any Christmas, could seem so evil. The snow in front of them parted, as if it was a curtain in a great theater, and the man walked through it. Mal followed to find himself in a warm and somewhat merry setting. It was obviously the hold of a mid-sized cargo ship, but the deck had been dressed for Christmas, with a large tree and several long strings of lights. It was beautiful, Mal found himself thinking, which was odd, because he had not thought anything at all was beautiful for many years, and he had never considered a cargo bay beautiful in his entire life, regardless of it’s decorations. “Why are we here?” Mal asked, not turning to look at the blue-handed ghost. “Come to think of it, where’s here?” No answer came, instead, one blue-hand raised and pointed to a door out of witch some man Mal’d never seen before emerged, followed closely by Wash. “I thought you knew him,” the man said. His voice was gravely, but had a kind almost compassionate intonation. “Well, yeah, I did know him, I guess,” Wash answered. “Come to think of it, I was probably the best friend he had, I mean, he only occasionally threatened to kill me.” The man laughed, “If you want to try to go to the funeral, I’m sure we could arange something.” “They’re having a funeral?” Wash asked, bewildered. “It doesn’t say, I just assumed . . .” “I can’t think of a soul who’d go to it,” Wash said shaking his head. “I mean, I’m sad, I guess, but if any man ever deserved a quick bullet to the brain, he did.” “That’s very harsh,” The man replied, surprised by Wash’s uncharacteristic bitterness. A trait, by the way, which surprised Mal as well. “He would have been the first to say it,” Wash shrugged, a little guiltily. “I mean, I’m sad enough that he’s dead, I suppose, but in a lot of ways, the guy who was my friend died a while ago. I’ve moved on, glad the rest of the world’s got a chance.” “So,” the man said, patting the pilot supportively on the shoulder. “You won’t be needing any time off then?” “Not for this, although, there is this amazing race track on Syphris, so I was thinking, since were scheduled to be there in a week or so . . .” The man laughed, “Maybe, if you’re a good boy, Santa will give you that time off for Christmas.” Wash joined him in his laugher as they walked out of the doors on the other side of the cargo bay, “Well, I guess there’s always next year.” “Who were they talkin’ ‘bout?” Mal demanded coldly. He glanced at the eerie blue-handed man, who didn’t look back. He didn’t answer either. “Kay,” Mal said, a little forcefully, building up his courage, he steeped in front of the ghost and starred into it’s small, hard, seemingly black eyes. Mal had to fight the urge to run screaming, and it was only because there was no six-shooter strapped to his leg that he didn’t try to blow the spirit away. “I’m supposed ta be learnin’ somethin’ here, right? This guy who died, who Wash cares nothin’ for, I’m supposed to learn by his death. But how can I if I don’ know who he is.” The ghost smiled at Mal again, which shut the Captain up as quickly as a bullet to the head would have. Then the specter turned around, silently, and suddenly Mal noticed they were not in the large cargo bay anymore, but rather were in a large bedroom. The walls were covered with interact tapestries and glistening mirrors, the floor with plush carpet and there was the elegant sounds of a violin being played softly but passionately floating in from an open window. Mal turned towards the music, towards the window, and saw a balcony with the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen sitting, smiling up gaily at the violin player, a handsome man with undeniably aristocratic features. “Inara,” the Captain said beneath his breath, walking closer to her, through the French Doors, which were closed. “Oh, Benning,” the woman said, laughing sweetly, her voice was like a thousand silver Christmas bells. “That was absolutely beautiful.” “Well,” he said, his voice lush but modest. “It was inspired by you.” Inara laughed again. “You are too good to me.” “I beg to differ my lady,” he said, falling to his knees. “You are too good to me. No one I know can claim such a comely prize.” “Well,” Inara said. “This past year has been the best year of my life. Few companions are able to find someone whose passions are as compatible as ours. Even fewer are offered as generous a position as you’ve given me here. Of the blessings I thank God for on this night, you, my dear, are chief.” She said, leaning down. Mal burned with furry as he watched. She had been the most amazing woman he’d ever known; she had been truly alive, truly vibrant and truly free. And now here she was, sold, property of one man. They played at love; the way Inara had played chess with Mal so many times back on Serenity. He could see it in the way she moved. Each touch was a calculation and each caress a result of reason and a twisted sort of manipulation. The man, Benning, was getting what he paid for. As he watched them kiss, he could feel hot bile eek up his throat. He had known Inara did this sort of thing, but seeing it made him sick. Especially after he’d watched the passion and purity their kiss. It was sick, a perversion, and there was nothing he’d ever seen he hated more. “Take me away!” he said, spinning around and looking at the horrible blue-handed man in the eyes too disgusted by the scene in front of him to register the horror that chilled him every time he saw the man. “I don’ wanna see this.” The man smiled at him, cruelly. Mal was too upset to be terrorized. “I can’t see this. She’s a whore, I get that, an’ maybe if I was a little more charitable she’da stayed and we’d be all happiness and rainbows. Kay, fine, point made. Don’ show me this. Please,” Mal begged. “I don’ wanna see this.” Maybe the specter took compassion on him, or maybe it was just a step up in cruelty, but the world around him swirled and faded and instead of a lush and ornate room, Mal found himself in cold bareness of an alliance prison cell. “What the . . .” he muttered, looking around at annoyingly cream colored walls until his eyes rested on one familiar figure. Simon Tam, red eyed, pail skinned, was sitting hunched on his cot, much as River had been sitting on her bed in the Christmas Present. He looked older, ages older, even though Mal knew with some certainty that this Christmas was not nearly far enough in the future to justify the weariness in Simon’s eyes and the defeat in his stance. “No,” Mal said, shaking his head. “This ain’t any better. This is, this is . . .” His thoughts were interrupted by a crackle as the force-felid behind him was disengaged long enough to let a woman in. It accrued to Mal that she looked very much like River, only much older, in her forties or fifties, and with a considerably saner look in her eyes. Mal deduced she must be the Tam’s mother. His deduction was sound, because Simon look up, shot the woman a cutting smile, and said, “Well, Merry Christmas, Mom, awful nice of you to find the time to visit.” “Don’t be like that,” Mrs. Tam scolded. “You know how hard it is for us to come here.” “Oh,” Simon sighed, shaking his head. “Selfish me. Of course, I would never expect you to interrupt your busy social life. It must be quite full, what with the holiday season and all.” “That not what I meant, Simon,” She replied. “And you know it.” Simon swallowed hard and looked down at his hands, “Well, I . . .” he glanced up at her. “I do thank you for coming.” “You’re my son,” the woman said, leaning forward and touching her son’s face tenderly. “You’re all I have left.” “Spirit,” Mal interjected, keeping his eyes focused on Simon, not daring to glance behind at the terribly normal face. “Where’s River? She ain’t . . .” he wasn’t sure which would be worse, knowing the young girl was dead, or knowing she’d been sent back to torture at the hands of the Alliance. “We saw the Nutcracker,” Mrs. Tam said chipperly. She was trying to drag Simon out of his sulk, but to Mal it proved a thankful distraction. “It wasn’t as good as when River was in it, of course, but still, the Clara they had seemed too – ” “The world was brighter with River in it,” Simon said. There was a moment of sad silence, then, he added. “Do you really think she’s dead?” “Simon, stop, don’t.” “You still haven’t told me if you saw the body.” “Don’t do this, they’ll put you on the drugs again.” “So what?” Simon said. “Sanity in this place tends to be a disadvantage.” “I don’t believe you just said that,” Mrs. Tam gasped with conviction. “My son is not a drug addict.” “No,” Simon said, looking at her critically. “Your son is a kidnaper held under maximum security in a federal prison. Drug addict would actually be a step up.” “How could you do this,” Mrs. Tam said, she was starting to sob. Simon watched her critically, not moving. “How could you put us through this.” “Selfish me,” Simon sighed, leaning his head on the wall. “Everything’s always about me. Nothing was ever about River.” “Can’t you be kind and loving?” his mother demanded. “On Christmas of all days I would think . . .” “It’s gone,” Simon answered, philosophically. “All the kindness, all the love, it got used up. I don’t, I can’t quite find it in me anymore. And of all the places in the ‘verse, I somehow doubt this is one where I could get more.” “Don’t speak in gorramn riddles,” Mrs. Tam spat. “This is why you’re father and I don’t come to see you.” “It’s my own fault,” Simon said, nodding. “All this, it’s my fault.” He smiled at his mother; it was such a forlorn, ironic smile, that Mal felt a little angry, although he couldn’t say at whom. “At least you can tell people your son’s accepted responsibility for his actions. The doctor takes his medicine.” “Your not a doctor, Simon,” Mrs. Tam snapped. “That’s a title, an honor, you lost.” Throughout the interview with his mother, the boy had been able to remain detached, but this last phrase, spat out so casually, so cruelly, hurt him. He gasped, reacting to it as some would react to a physical blow. “I’m sorry,” Mrs. Tam said, composing herself. “We’ve certainly hit an new low, flinging insults like children.” Simon didn’t answer, he just nodded, silently, spitefully. The next silent stretch was cold, Mal felt chilled. It was too cold, apparently, because Mrs. Tam walked over to the forcefelid and yelled, “guard!” “You’re leaving,” there was dread in the boy’s voice. “As you observed, Simon, It is the holiday season, Christmas day, in fact. I had to miss the Copefields party to come see you.” “Well,” Simon said, not hiding his resentment. “I suppose that was very generous of you. If I remember correctly they always have the best goose pâté.” “I do love you Simon,” his mother said, once she’d walked out and the forcefelid was back in place. “I believe you,” he said. “And I wish I could say more.” Clearly not the response she was hoping for, Mrs. Tam took a deep breath, straightened her back, turned and left. Simon was alone in his white room, as Mal looked on, almost as heartbroken as the boy. “This ain’t right,” he muttered, then turning to the blue-hande spirit, he demanded, “Where am I? I swore I’d protect these kids, what happened. Am I in prison somewhere here too?” The ghost of Christmas futures looked at him and laughed. It was a horrible, horrible laugh and Mal knew, suddenly and horribly, that in this future, he was dead. That he died and Simon and River were caught. He died and Inara didn’t even notice. He died and Wash didn’t care. “No,” he said, yelling, trying to overpower the hysterical laughter of the blue-handed ghost. “This ain’t how it’s gonna be played! If I change then this all’ll change with me, won’t it? I mean, what the hell kind of lesson would this be if I can’t change these out-comes!” The laughter got louder, more hysterical and everything, Simon, his mother, the prison, even the ghost, faded into darkness. “I get it!” Mal yelled, hoping to appease somebody, the ghost, Jayne, God, anybody who could give him the power to erase what he’d just seen. “What I got here’s pretty great! I need to celebrate, be thankful, be kind! I see that, I understand! Please, just, please I’d do anything, but don’t let that be the future, don’t let that be how it all ended . . .” And his screams turned into sobs, which overpowered the laughter. They seemed to echo and bounce off of the walls of an infinite blackness that wrapped its inky depths around the Captain. Mal struggled against it, terrified that this darkness would be the last darkness he’d ever see, the finale darkness. The more he struggled, the tighter it became untill he felt himself tip and fall. For a heartbeat he thought he was dead, then he hit the ground and he realized that, were he truly dead, the impact probably wouldn’t have hurt quite so much. He groaned and sat up, opening his eyes on a new day. Yes, the room was his own, the blankets were his own, the bed was his own, the ship was his own. He’d fallen out of bed, tangled in his blankets. Everything was calm, quiet, as it should be, the only noise was the quiet humm of Serenity as she kept them all alive. “*********************,” Mal muttered with joyful wonder as he stood and hurried to his hatch. “It was a dream, the whole gorram thing was a dream.” And then, the significance of what he said hit him. “The whole Gorramn thing was a dream!” He climbed up quickly and, once he reached the top, was delighted to see Wash, still his pilot, and starring out into the darkness of space. “Wash!” Mal called, his voice was edgy, he wasn’t quite fully awake, despite his energy, his mind was still foggy, full of images he didn’t want to ponder, memories that he prayed weren’t real. “Hey Mal,” the pilot said slowly, swiveling his chair around, smiling down at his captain with comfortable familiarity. “What ya so excited about?” “You, ah?” he almost laughed, but managed to check himself. “You know where Simon an’ River are? “No,” Wash said with a shrug. “Last I heard they were makin’ decorations for a Christmas tree.” “A gorramn dream,” Mal muttered to himself, he couldn’t stop from laughing this time. “I’m real surprised,” Wash said, either not noticing or not choosing to mention his captain’s odd behavior. “Didn’t think you’d let us have a tree. Fire hazard and what not.” “You, ah,” Mal said, trying very hard to be serious. “You talk to Zoe about this?” “Yeah,” Wash nodded. “She was surprised too.” “And where is Zoe?” “Sleeping, I’m gonna join her in a minute, just wanted to make sure that comet the sensors picked up wasn’t, you know, spinning wildly out of orbit or something.” “Good,” Mal said, smiling as broadly as Wash had ever seen him smile. “You know Wash, you’re a damn good pilot.” “Ah, thanks, Mal,” Wash said cautiously, tossing a concerned glance at captain over his shoulder. “I’ve been thinkin’ you and Zoe, you don’t get enough time away from the rest of the crew. Maybe we should find us a nice out of the way planet where you two could sneak off for a bit.” Wash spun his chair full around and starred at the Captain as if the man had grown horns and sprouted a tail. “Did you hit your head sir?” “What?” “Are you sure you’re all right?” “I’m fine, great, why?” “It’s . . . Just,” Wash stammered. “You’ve never suggested that Zoe, that anyone, I should say, take a vacation. “ “What,” Mal shrugged. “I can’t be generous, it’s Christmas time.” “Ah, no,” the pilot said. “That’s not . . .” “Good,” Mal nodded curtly. “Now, you say Simon an’ River are still playin’ with the tree?” Wash shrugged, “Last I heard.” “And Kaylee, she gone to bed yet?” “If she did she didn’t say goodnight to me.” “I’ll take that as a no,” Mal nodded. “Thanks Wash.” “Well, Mal,” Wash said, more than a little bewildered. “You’re welcome.”

EPILOG: Mal walked into the dinning room silently. The lights were off and the room was filled with the soft glow of starlight. It was kind of romantic, Mal thought as he carefully, quietly, inched his way down the stairs. Once he reached the kitchen area he could hear breathing, he was not alone. A few inches closer and he saw three body’s, hunched on the chairs around the tree. It was pretty, Mal had to admit. Red and silver wires had been twisted together to make a sort of garland, and the picture River had drawn of an angel had been cut out and stuck more or less at the top, propped on lopsidedly on a pair of branches. It was the pretties picture of an Angel Mal had ever seen, he took another silent step closer, and as he did that he heard the crisp sound of someone turning the page of a book. With a mischievous smile, Mal realized that only two of those bodies were sound asleep. “Doctor?” Mal whispered. In the near silent ship it was loud enough to jolt the young man, who was reading a book in the extremely dim light. “Now that ain’t hardly good for you’re eyes. What goods a surgeon who can’t see?” “Captain,” Simon said, glancing up quickly. He looked like he wanted to jump to his feet, but River was draped over him. He had to carefully untangle himself before he could stand and creep over to the captain, carefully avoiding Kaylee’s body sprawled on the floor. “I though I told you to take that tree down,” Mal said with feigned crossness, once Simon had reached him. “Ah, yes sir, you, ah, you did.” “And?” “Well, sir, you told us you expected it down by the time you woke up.” “I’m woke up, it’s still here.” “I can take it down now, sir.” “That ain’t what I’m asking you, boy, I’m asking you why you disobeyed my ordered.” “I, ah, I didn’t sir, we, didn’t, not . . . not really.” “As, forementioned, I am up, the tree is up, this seems to be a disobedience issue to me.” “Well, sir, when we started taking down the tree it, well . . . River and I as children would sleep under the Christmas tree on Christmas eve and she’d been so excited about that and . . . well, Kaylee told us you usually didn’t get up until 0600, so I thought if I could get us up earlier, around 0500, we could take down the tree, clean up the area, and . . . and still be obeying.” “But that plan didn’t seem to work too well.” “No, sir,” Simon said, looking towards the ground. “Well,” Mal sighed. “As it turns out, I’m glad.” “Sir?” “I . . . the tree is nice. Make’s Kaylee happy, makes River happy, makes the kitchen smell all pine fresh.” “Sir?” “Go sleep with your sister, Doctor,” Mal said, then, catching himself. “That’s not what I . . . I mean . . .” “Should I maybe go back to River, sir?” Simon asked, trying not too smile at the Captain’s verbal slip. “Good plan,” Mal nodded, “An I ‘xpect ta see that tree there in the morning.” “Thank you sir,” Simon said, smiling with genuine gratitude at his captain before carefully stepping over Kaylee and easing his way back to the spot he’d vacated. His movements must have woken his sister, just slightly. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked up at him, smiling. “In his master’s steps he trod, where the snow lay dinted; Heat was in the very sod which the saint had printed,” she sung softly. “Go back to sleep, Mei mei,” Simon whispered, stroking her hair. She smiled sweetly up at him, closed her eyes and nodded, easing into unconsciousness, but not before she muttered melodically, “Therefore, Christian men, be sure, wealth or rank possessing, You who now will bless the poor shall yourselves find blessing.”

THE END