When they had lived in the Grójec ghetto, Simon and River used to play games with one another as much as possible. Being German, they couldn't understand the polish children and so were isolated even more than most. As the old adage went, necessity breeds invention and the two would spend hours each day creating and playing new games, each hour producing more complicated and entertaining rules. River always enjoyed them and pretended she didn't know Simon made her play in order to minimise the ever increasing feeling of hunger that gnawed at their bellies.
One of these games, named rather simplistically 'Feuer, Wasser, Sturm, Blitz', was a favourite of hers, as she and Simon would play it while they walked around the ghetto- or, rather, as she would walk and Simon would deliver parcels for extra food or money. The idea was simple: If Simon said 'feuer', River would have to crouch down quickly, 'Wasser' meant she had to climb on top of an object (usually a crate or, on one rather stomach-in-mouth-moment, a pole), 'Sturm' would have her latching onto something and 'Blitz', which always sent her into peels of laughter, would end up with her making herself really small. If she was too slow, or did the wrong action (which she never) then she lost the game and would have to admit that Simon was the better sibling. He didn't know she stuck her tongue out when he turned around though.
Looking at the form in the doorway, River was glad they had played as often as she did. She clung tightly to Simon, he being safety in the 'Sturm'. Both siblings were trembling, necks craned downwards in a symbol of submission and respect. River hoped this stranger would be kind to them, like Mr Reynolds was. Unfortunately, it seemed she was wrong, as the man reached down and snatched the back of their necks, hauling them off the ground and ignoring their quiet cries of panic and distress.
"Well, well, well," came what could only be described as a slimy voice. "What have we here?" He finished off the question by shaking them, smirking at their whimpers. River searched for her brother's eyes and found them, recognising the fear in them as her own.
"Please, sir..." Simon tried, voice shaky as the eye not covered in an eye patch swung towards him with the venom of a snake. The man shook him once more and Simon fell silent. Turning (not caring about the children swinging around in his grip), the man began to walk to the end of the garden, towards a little wooden gate swinging in the slight breeze. Both children were paralysed, wanting to fight but too fearful of the repercussions to do so. Reaching the bottom of the garden, the brown haired man looked back at the house, muttering to himself: "That Mal Reynolds is sure to listen now."
"Mr Dobson! How marvellous, I was just looking for you."
The voice startled Dobson as much as it did River and, in shock, he dropped the Tam twins, both of whom latched onto each other as though HaShem himself had called out 'Sturm'. She caught a glimpse of long black coat before Simon gently pushed her head into his chest, blocking her view of the outside world; River threw her arms around him, half listening to his calmly noises and half focused on the conversation above them despite the gaps in her knowledge.
"Pastor Book. How...fortunate." Dobson didn't sound very happy to see the man; he made no effort to his distaste.
"Very." This 'Book', thought River, his voice is calming. "I was hoping to catch you at the service yesterday but it seems you missed it."
There was silence for a moment and River was tempted to look up and see what was going on. Hearing booted steps, she let out an involuntary whimper and sank further down into her brother's embrace, feeling him shake in restrained terror. They had been in similar situations before and it had never ended well. Never.
"My apologies but, as you can see, I'm a little busy here. I'll get back to you when I've finished with these detestables."
At that, River could feel Simon been lifted up and she let out a little cry, unwilling to be separated. Dobson, seeming not to care, ruthlessly pulled at their collars, trying to get them to their feet; Something he was finding difficult when they pair refused to separate. Frustration building, he yanked Simon up and, finding River clinging to him like a limpet, raised his hand back to deliver her a blow. River could only watch, as though a flicker camera cranked slowly, as Dobson's hand came down.
"I believe the bible has some strong things to say about violence and love, Dobson." Said Book, hand wrapped tightly around Dobson's wrist. Dobson looked at it with outrage, eyes wide and lips thinned. He wrenched it from Book's grip and stepped back, dumping Simon to the floor. River went to him immediately.
"Sure but I'm sure it says stuff about thievin' and breaking the law." Spat the brown haired man, fists clenched in rage.
"Well that might be true." Returned Book. "But you'd know more if you came once in a while. Couple of seats spare."
Focus now entirely on Book, Dobson moved closer, determined to get the children to the 'Police Station' (the village hall) before the hour was through.
"I caught these evacuees breaking out of Mr Reynold's house-"
"Did you see any stolen items?"
"No doubt if I shake 'em."
"Which," Book lilted, stepping around Dobson so he ended up in front of children. "We will not be doing."
Dobson, seeing how he had been forced to separate from his bounty, all but growled as his eyes took on a devious shine.
"Those children that somebody has taken into their home - home - think it's within their right to just walkabout willy-nilly and take what they want. Well!" He shouted, turning to address the Tam's and making them flinch. "You can't do that here. This isn't your playground! You must do what we tell you!"
River felt her eyes welled up; the words might be lost but the temperament remained. Hate would always be hate. She hugged her brother tighter, once again fearing what such a thing would mean for them both. Mr Reynold's was nice; she didn't want to be moved again.
"Dobson!" Book's voice, though only a slight raise, was a roar in the relatively quiet space, made them all jump. "These are children. More importantly, they are Mr Reynold's children." Seeing Dobson gaping in surprise, Book continued, unable to stop the slight feeling of satisfaction at the cruel man being lost for words. "He was given them by the workers of the home office just yesterday. They were not fleeing, they were, no doubt, exploring."
Dobson stood silent. Book smiled kindly at him and watched with amused eyes as he huffed, growled then let out a groan and stomped off. Reaching the gate, he turned back and glared at the children, eyes full of embarrassment and hate. Then, spinning on his heel, he marched away towards the village square. The garden was in it's own private lot facing out into the fields, meaning nobody had witnessed their argument.
Book waited until Dobson was out of sight, then wheeled around to check on the children. Both were ragged and skeletal, pale skin almost translucent. Book felt a stab of sadness through his heart at the sight of them huddled together on the ground, barely perceptible whimpers and whispers coming from between them. Poor children have had such a shock he thought. Kneeling down, he reached out a hand but was not surprised to see them flinch back away from him. Book, knowing that such thinks needed time, just stayed beside them, letting them become use to his presence. After a moment the girl, poking her head from the boy's chest, eyed him gingerly. Taking in his calm smile and disarming demeanour, she nudged her brother and Book suddenly found himself being appraised by two sets of eyes. All parties were silent.
"Hm...Thank You, sir." Came the boy's quiet voice.
"Yes..Thank You" Parroted the girl, smiling slightly at him in what was, no doubt, an attempt to make him less hostile. Book smiled even as his heart cracked. Then, playing the sentences in his head, Book realised why he thought they sounded strange. Flashing the girl a toothy grin, he began to speak in German.
"You are very welcome my dears."
The children gasped in fear and started to move backwards, the sound of their own accent confusing and alarming. For a second they saw themselves back in Grójec at the 'mercy' of the guards, many of whom were very liberal with their fists and batons. Before anything else could happen, Book heard clattering coming from the house. Malcom Reynolds, lips pursed in concentration, paused at the back door and took in the sight of Book crouching beside the two trembling Tams. His brow furrowed, obviously not liking what he saw.
"Preacher." He said curtly, stepping closer to the siblings, watching them un-tense marginally. Book slowly rose to his feet. He could feel Mal's eyes on him the entire time, suspicion clear. Letting out a sigh, Book spoke in is usual calming tone.
"Mr Reynolds. How are you doing this Sunday?"
"Practically unholy. What you doing with the kids?"
"Just talking. Dobson was giving them some grief so I...stepped in."
Mal, hearing Dobson's name, tensed up further, stepping once again closer to the Tams. River shuffled towards him, her brother following more reluctantly behind. Dobson always seemed to have something to prove. Boy was always poking around, trying to find something wrong so he could get credit for fixing it. Mal eyed the siblings, angry at their roughed-up appearance but grateful for the lack of (additional) bruising.
"Well, thanks." He gave awkwardly. Book, knowing the carpenter had trouble with expressing gratitude, just smiled genially and folded his hands in front of him.
"Your welcome. By the way, will these two," he waved his hand at the pair. "be coming to the child services. Church is always open to them that want or need it."
Mal grimaced though, unknown to Book, not for the reasons he expected. "That's a no, preacher. Don't think they will be."
"Malcom, just because you are not of the faith does not mean-"
"They ain't either."
Book paused, not fully understanding the meaning. Practically all children, be they German or English, were raised in Christian society and most were taken to church. Book would hate for Mal's beliefs to encroach upon what was normal for these children.
"Mal, I understand that you have...problems, with the church. That is fine. It is, after all, your choice. However, these children have been uprooted from what they know and I think it best they have some way of feeling connected. Rooted, if you like, to something they know."
"Ain't gonna happen."
Well now he was just being ornery. Before he could speak, he watched as Mal bent down and whispered something in the girl's ear, sending them both scurrying inside not daring to cast a single look back.
"Them children don't go to church Book. It ain't there way."
"What do you mean by that."
Mal was obviously uncomfortable, shifting from one foot to the other and Book wondered what could be so bad that Malcom Reynolds would feel nervous. Mal was still silent, considering what to say without giving too much away. Taking a deep breath, he decided to bite the bullet; story would get out there eventually.
"They're Jewish Book. That's why they're here."
"Ahh. I did notice the German."
Mal's eyes hardened for a second but weakened when he ran a weary hand through his hair. "Yeah. They were brought over to escape what's going on over there. Poor buggers don't got much so Book." The man in question raised his eyebrows inquisitively. "Please, don't go 'round telling anyone. They're gonna have a rough time of it when it comes out."
It wasn't often that Mal said please in a sincere sense and Book had no intention of betraying his honesty. "Mal, my church is open to anyone. If they do not feel welcome within its religion, they may still feel welcome within its walls. Jesus did say, after all, that we must love our neighbour. I'd like to think he meant all people. Good bye Mal, have a good day."
And with that, Book turned and walked away, but not before catching a pair of brown eyes peaking over the window at him in curiosity.