Author's Note
Quotes are from The Prophet and The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. Translations are in mouse-over, but you can also find definitions here:
Baobei - Sweetheart/Baby
Kewu de lao baojun - Horrible old tyrant
Ai ya. Tian a - Merciless hell
Hun dan - Bastard
Word of caution: This chapter has brief mentions of a suicide that doesn't happen. It is a potential situation far in the future that does not come to fruition. I'm not sure how to warn for that, but there it is.
Chapter 4 - The Last of the Spirits
The phantom slowly, gravely, silently approached, and the very air through which it moved seemed to scatter gloom and mystery. It was shrouded in a deep black garment, which concealed its head, its face, its form, and left nothing of it visible save one outstretched hand. Otherwise it would have been difficult to separate the figure from the night's darkness that surrounded it.
Mal waited for the Spirit to speak, but it was silent, so he ventured to do so himself. "I can reason out a pattern. You're the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come, ain't you?"
The Spirit still said nothing, but pointed onward with its hand.
"You're here to show me what ain't happened yet, but what's going to happen. That so?" This time he got what could pass for a nod. Though he couldn't see any eyes, Mal got the disturbing impression that the Ghost was staring fixedly at his face, and he devoutly wished it would look elsewhere. Anywhere else. At the ground. At his boots. At his left ear. The farther on this night went, the more Mal felt he was being measured and found wanting, by his own standards as much as anyone's, and he weren't mighty keen on looking no one in the eye just now.
"Alright, no point in denying it. You're making me a mite fearful here. But you're trying to do me good, that I know. I want to do better than I've done, so I'll bear you company, and thank you for any knowledge you give." Mal shifted from foot to foot. "Just — won't you speak a word?"
No reply. Still just the hand, pointing into blackness.
"Alright. Guess not. Lead on, then."
Before he'd taken more than a step after the Ghost, buildings seemed to spring up around them. Blinking in the sudden cloudy daylight, Mal saw they were again in the muddy road outside the row of houses in town he'd visited with River.
Josefina and Zuberi were shoveling snow in the same yard now, wedding rings on their fingers. Quang was examining his front steps, which appeared to have lost a support, his hair several shades grayer than it had been before. Yasamin was leaning on his gate, and Mal caught the tail end of what she was saying.
"No, I'm afraid I don't know much about it. Sorry. I only know that he's dead."
"When did it happen?" asked Zuberi, digging his shovel into the snow. "Him dying, I mean."
"Last night, I think."
"I heard he was sick." Quang straightened up. "Didn't know it was that bad, though."
Josefina frowned. "Why didn't anybody help him, then? I thought he had friends here in town."
"Yeah, he did." Yasamin stuck her hands in his pockets. "But you know how he's acted, last while. Shut himself up, wouldn't see anybody."
"What about family?" Zuberi heaved a shovelful of snow off his walk.
"Think they died, years ago, or else they lived too far away to get here in time." Yasamin pushed herself off the gate. "Mayhap it was grief for them as made him the way he was."
"Mayhap." Josefina started for her shed. "But I reckon it was loneliness more than anything else. It's a pity. He wasn't that old, was he?"
"No, he wasn't. You're right, it's sad." Quang sighed. "Well, at any rate. I've got to go cut a new support for this, afore the relatives swarm over it today. Gorram wood rot. Gets you every time."
"Yeah. I've got to run to the market. That husband of mine smashed our bottle of gin, and I need it for the Christmas cake. Too bad I'll have to pass Diogenes' bookshop on the way home. That man yells at anyone he suspects of buying alcohol." Yasamin headed down the road.
As she went out of sight, Mal found himself, with the Ghost, in the living room where Kaylee and Inara had held their Christmas party. Though it was hung with greenery and ribbons now, as it had been then, Mal at first thought it was empty. But then a quiet sob alerted him, and he took a step forward to see better.
Kaylee was curled up on the loveseat, a mostly-empty bottle and cup on the table nearby. Her eyes were red and puffy, and tears dripped down her cheeks. After a few moments of swiping at her face with her cuffs, she snatched the bottle up and began refilling the cup.
The door opened and Inara came slowly in, appearing older and more shaken than Mal had ever seen her. When she saw Kaylee, she hurried forward and firmly removed the cup from her hand. "Sweetie, no. Don't do this to yourself."
"'Nara, it's my fault!" Kaylee drew herself into a ball, rocking back and forth. "It's my fault he's dead."
"No, it isn't." Inara sat down next to her, wrapping her in a tight embrace.
"Yes, it is. I'm the one who went to see him, and he told me he'd be alright, and I believed him! I should've seen. I should've gotten help." Kaylee buried her face in Inara's shoulder. "If he was really that sick—"
Inara took a deep breath, looking as if she were stealing herself. "Baobei, he was sick, but that wasn't why he died."
"What?" Kaylee frowned. "I don't get it."
"He—" Inara brushed a strand of hair off Kaylee's face. "He killed himself."
Kaylee's eyes widened with horror. "No! But — why?"
"I don't know. We probably never will." Inara leaned her forehead against Kaylee's. "He was so isolated. Maybe that was it, or maybe he'd just watched too many people die. No matter what, it's not your fault. I understand, though. I feel guilty too, but there wasn't anything we could have done."
Mal turned to the Ghost. "You have to tell me. Who is this they're talking of?" The Ghost gave no response.
"I just — I kept hopin' it would be alright," Kaylee was saying tearfully. "After Shepherd Book died on Haven, I hoped we was done with losin' folk. And then River leaves, dies far away from us, all we see is that blurry capture of her body. Still, though, I thought we'd keep on. But now — we're down near half our crew, and none died in peace. 'Nara, those Alliance folks, they're takin' the sky from us." She clenched her fists. "I hate 'em. I'd torture 'em to death if I could."
"Kaylee, don't!" Mal interrupted. "Don't want you thinking to torture nobody, not you." He whirled on the Ghost. "What chance of we got, if she's hating so bad?" The Ghost did not move. "Wait. She said down near half our crew. That means four, don't it? Book and River and two others? Who died besides this man here?"
The Ghost raised its hand and pointed. Mal, turning his head, saw that they were again standing amid the rice fields, and that the Ghost was gesturing towards the ramshackle house he knew belonged to… "Not Wash. He's got to live. He's in there with his kids, I'll prove it to you!" He ran towards the house, and, though he found himself unable to actually open the door, moved through it into the main room.
The table was laden as it had been before — the hot chocolate mayhap slightly less well-mixed, the sausages mayhap just a mite more burned, and the fruit bread mayhap a bit less baked, but all there. The Washburne kids sat in the room, the three of them seeming to have shot up like bamboo sprouts in however many years had passed. Lumi was hugging her clearly well-loved redbird, Benjamin had a worn blanket around his shoulders, and Rose was reading, slowly, from a book.
"For death and life are one, even as the river and the sea are one. In the depth of your hopes and desires lies your silent knowledge of the beyond…" She squinted at the page. "And like seeds dreaming beneath the snow, your hearts dream of spring." She wrinkled her brow. "Trust in the dreams…" Shaking her head, she put the book down.
"Can't you finish?" Lumi petted her bird.
"Let's wait for Momma." Rose sighed. "She can tell if I've been straining my eyes, and I don't want her feeling guilty 'cause we can't pay for new glasses just yet. Where is she? Thought she'd be due home by this time."
"She is." Benjamin pulled his blanket around him more tightly. "But I think she walks a little slower than she used to, since…for awhile."
They were all three very quiet for a moment. Then Rose spoke, in a determinedly cheerful voice. "You know, I've seen her walk real fast when she — when she was helping Dad along the path."
"Me too," Lumi agreed.
"Yeah," Benjamin added.
"But he always pulled his weight as much as he could." Rose rubbed her eyes. "And I guess loving someone means it seems less trouble." She perked up slightly at the sound of footsteps. "Here she comes."
Zoe came through the door with a small bag. She set it down and held out her arms, and immediately all three kids ran to cling to her. "Look at that. You done some Christmas cooking. Nobody but Rose lit the stove, did they?"
Benjamin shook his head. "Lumi set the table all by herself, didn't drop anything."
"Well, ain't you a big girl, now?" Zoe tried to smile. "And, let's see, Benjamin mixed the hot chocolate?"
"Uh-huh!" Lumi put an arm around her brother. "And when he poured, he went and poured five cups…" She stopped as her siblings glared at her. "Sorry."
"We said we weren't going to talk about that," Benjamin reprimanded her.
"It's a natural thing to do." Zoe peered at Rose. "Honey, have you been straining your eyes again?"
"Just to get the eggshell out of the batter for the fruit bread." Rose pointed at the loaf on the table. "I think there might be some still in there. But it won't kill us."
"That it won't." Zoe opened her bag. "Couldn't find but one grapefruit, for what they were charging, but we'll get a quarter each, at least."
"Momma?" Rose leaned on the table. "Would you mayhap like to walk down to Dad's tree after we eat?"
Zoe nodded. "Think I would at that. It does me good to see the place. Looks peaceful. 'Sides, the tree's so tall, there's days I fancy he's up at the top, seeing the stars. Fancy he's not dirt-bound no more." She swallowed. "Leaf on the wind and all…he became a pilot half to see the stars, you know. I wanted to get him up on a ship once more, though he couldn't of flown it, but it hurt so much to move him at the last…I didn't want him to die on the ground…" She gasped, and tears trickled down her cheeks.
Terrible pain knifed through Mal's chest. "You know I've never seen her cry? But there weren't no one like Wash, neither. Zoe, why'd this have to happen to you?"
After a few minutes of embracing on the part of the four, Zoe dried her eyes. "I've got faith he's proud of you all. Speaking of, Rose, the midwife down in town says she'll be glad to teach you some of her trade. It might not matter to an off-world doctor, but she's got good wisdom."
"I know it." Rose smiled.
Zoe chuckled a little. "I'll see you be an off-world doctor yourself, one of these days. I'll see all of you soar on the wind." She sobered. "Just the one thing — no matter where we all go, do me a kindness and don't forget your dad. He done so much for all of us."
"We ain't going to do that!" Benjamin stood straight. "Best dad as ever lived. Ain't nobody can say otherwise."
Lumi hugged Zoe. "I'll always remember."
Rose nodded. "Me, I couldn't forget if I tried."
Mal stood, nearly frozen. "Spirit, tell me. This we're seeing, has it got to turn out as you're showing it to me? Can't it change? Please, ain't there still time?"
The Ghost again gestured with its hand, and a dingy darkness swallowed up the Washburne house. Mal looked about and saw they were in a tumbledown warehouse. So little light leaked in that he could only see the outlines of the two people there — a man crouched on the floor, and a woman residing on a crate as if it was a throne, but he recognized the latter's voice the moment she spoke.
"Do tell what's so worth my time, Kohaku. I have a few little capers I have to take care of before the night is done, with people that pay more than you ever have."
"That's Saffron." Mal frowned. "Or Bridget, or Yolanda, or any other of the thousand and one names she probably has. What's she got to do with any of this?"
"You'll see what's worth it, right enough." A voice emerged from the other figure. "I've snatched a nice trifle this night. Reckon it'll pay my debt to you and then some."
"Why, I am shocked." Saffron put her hand to her mouth in mock indignation. "Have you stooped to stealing? I thought you made a nice honest living as a whore."
"Nah, it's honest enough. He weren't going to make no use of them. Not a dead man."
"Your morality pleases me." Saffron tapped her foot. "Do lay out this trifle."
The figure — Kohaku — opened his bag and pulled out what appeared to be a lock box. "He weren't rich, but he had some coin in here. Broke the lock, I did, and it's enough to cover me."
Saffron took the lock box and opened it, revealing something that, from its general shape, Mal guessed was a stack of credits. "Well, well. You just may not be dying in a nasty way at the end of this month." She shifted under the stack, and pulled out something small that was hidden by the dark. "Now, this is interesting."
"Oh, that. It's junk. Worth a couple credits, mayhap."
"You're assuming the payoff is the point." Saffron chuckled. "I do like souvenirs. Don't you?"
A gun cocked. "Then you should've bought a nice picture frame." Saffron yelped and went for an ankle holster, but Amrita the mercenary jammed a gun against the back of her head. "Hands where I can see 'em, or we'll see what your brains look like on the walls."
Kohaku tried to bolt, but only got three steps afore Jayne pressed a knife to his neck. "Ya ain't goin' nowhere." He dragged Kohaku around and smashed his head against the wall. He sagged, unconscious.
"You going to kill me?" Saffron sat, tense.
"Eh. You're worth more alive." Amrita whipped out something with her free hand and shoved it under Saffron's nose. She dropped like a stone. "I like drugs. They don't leave bruises. No one can accuse you of damagin' the bounty."
Jayne prodded the limp Kohaku with his foot. "Suppose we should leave him here, he ain't worth nothin'. No point draggin' him along."
"What'd he steal?"
"You restrain her, and I'll see."
Mal watched as Amrita briskly snapped a pair of handcuffs on Saffron, then began removing her weapons. "So they're bounty hunting now. Huh."
"Mostly just cash." Jayne stuck the lock box back in his bag.
"She dropped somethin' when she went for the gun." Amrita jerked her head. "It's over there."
Stooping over, Jayne grabbed the 'souvenir,' then froze. "I know this. It belonged to Mal. How—"
The Ghost's hand closed over Mal's arm, and he found himself back in the strange open place. "How'd something of mine get there? It—" He stopped in horror. "Thief said he'd taken that box from a dead man. It weren't me, were it? Were it? Did I cause that pain to Kaylee, to 'Nara?" The Ghost gave no signal, no gesture. "Talk to me! Or let me see what you are, if you won't do that, you kewu de lao baojun!" He lunged at the ghost in a fury and yanked hard at the hood covering its head. The cloth came away, and Mal dropped back in shock.
The Ghost's face was decked out with ghastly burns, the skin charred black in places and scorched red in others. Half the mouth lacked lips, so the teeth showed through, and what remained of the long brown hair was thin and knotted. The Ghost gazed at him, deep sadness in its one remaining eye. "I am so very sorry, dear one. I ain't wanted you to see me like this."
Mal sucked in a breath. "Becca?"
"Yes." Becca Reynolds reached out with a scarred hand to touch his face. "I thought this might be easier, were you not walking 'round with this devilish look by you. But I should've known you wouldn't stop at that."
"You ain't no devil, not ever." Mal grabbed her hand. "It were devils as made you this way. When they burned you all on Shadow, I promised I'd fight 'em 'til they shot me down—"
"And I cried when you did." Becca gripped his shoulder. "I wanted better for you, than to spend your precious life with a gun in your hand and hate in your soul. Whether or not they deserved to die, you didn't deserve to kill 'em."
Mal started. "Simon told me that too."
"He was right."
"What's it matter, if I can't change what's to come? If this is the future, if it ain't just what may be, I'll die as closed-off as I am now. 'Least I could do would be to stay away from my crew."
Becca shook her head. "You protect folk, Mal, it's what you do—"
"It's what I did."
"Staying away don't make 'em more safe. It makes 'em less."
"What do you mean?"
Abruptly, the strange place vanished, and Mal, momentarily blinded by daylight, found himself outside his own house, in less good repair than it had been but still essentially the same. Becca squeezed his arm. "I ain't wishful to show you this. But I got to."
About to ask what she meant, Mal heard quick footsteps and turned to see Inara striding down the path, utter fury in her eyes. She stomped up the steps and banged on the door until it rattled on its hinges. Mal frowned. "Why's she knocking at my house? How am I supposed to answer if I'm dead?"
"Mal!" Inara shouted. "I know you're in there. If you don't open this door I'm breaking it down!" No answer. "Mal, you may recall there is an ax outside near your woodpile. I swear by all that's holy I will use it! I'll chop your door into kindling—"
"Fine, I'm coming!" It was his own voice, he knew it. "Just stop that." A few seconds later, the door opened and Mal saw himself once more, years older, face now twisted with bitterness and eyes as hard as flint. "What the hell is your problem?"
"My problem!" Inara hissed. "I am not the one with the problem here, you heartless, blind fool! Where were you this morning?"
The older Mal raised an eyebrow. "Was there somewhere I was supposed to be?"
"Yes, there was! I seem to recall a certain funeral you were told to attend!"
"He's dead and gone, 'Nara. Any pretty words you say over his body ain't going to change that."
"That doesn't matter! He'd have wanted you there."
"So?"
"So he loved you!" Inara exploded. "He loved you until the day he died, even though you failed him over and over and you still are!"
"Don't you throw that in my face." The older Mal turned half-away. "Simon did that to himself. I ain't had nothing to do with it."
Mal felt precisely as if someone had thrown a ten-pound weight into his chest. "No. Not Simon, never — it should've been me." He tried to breathe, but it felt as if the air was gone. Words from earlier came back to him. Shut himself up, wouldn't see anybody…He wasn't that old, was he?…He was so isolated. Maybe that was it, or maybe he'd just watched too many people die. "Becca, it should've been me."
"I don't believe this!" Inara paced back and forth. "Here you are. You say over and over again that you hate the Alliance. Well, do you know what the Alliance does? They put a pretty cover on death. They pretend it didn't happen, and that we can go on with our happy little lives, and that no one deserves to be mourned because whatever cause we're fighting for is greater than they are. You say you hate the Alliance, but today the man who was your medic and your lover and your friend got put in the ground, and you weren't there. You hate them, you say? You are them."
The older Mal glared. "You want to know why I didn't come, 'Nara?"
Inara crossed her arms. "Longing to hear."
"'Cause he was weak. Alliance took his sister and sawed on her brain. They killed Book on Haven, shot River for telling truth about 'em, Wash died from wounds he got fighting 'em. Simon should've gone hard as stone, 'cause that's how you survive in this 'verse, but no. Last time he was here, there he was, still talking 'bout mercy, of all the gorram things. And I ain't got time for no one who's that stupid."
Mal felt his stomach roil. He had to shut his eyes rather than gaze into that unyielding reflection of his face. "Ai ya. Tian a …Becca, I'm a monster." He whirled around and grabbed his sister's hands, staring into her grieving face. "How did that happen? And how the hell did Simon get so far gone?"
A tear trickled from Becca's remaining eye. "You kept walking the way you're walking now, dear one. And when your doctor's patients passed on, he began thinking he should have died instead of his sister, that his life was worth less than hers."
"That's not true, and she'd have told him so if she could!"
"But she couldn't, and no one he believed told him otherwise."
"Would he have believed me?" Becca only looked at him sadly. "I have to do something. Tell me it ain't too late to stop this! I won't become that man over there, I swear it. Becca, please, if there's aught of mercy anywhere in this 'verse, take me back and let me try and walk another way."
Becca laid two hands on his shoulders and gazed softly at him. "Live as you'd have me live."
Mal's world shrank to his sister's charred yet sweet face, until it melted away into the darkness that wrapped around them. Reaching wildly out for her, he stumbled, instead, into the edge of a broken chair.
And the chair was his own, and so was the room. Morning light was shining through the windows, and he — he hadn't yet become that older, hardened version of himself who scorned any kindness.
"There's still time, I know there is." Mal realized dimly he was shaking with relief. "Thank you, Becca.Thank you, River, and you, Shepherd." He paused. "And you, Operative, if you're listening in, I guess I owe you some too. Still don't like you, but at least you've showed you're human."
His voice was rough and, putting a hand to his face, he realized he'd been crying — for Wash, for Becca, for Simon, for himself. But now Mal couldn't help it — he laughed, and threw up his hands. "It can be different and it will. I don't know what to do first! Hell, I don't even know how long this has all taken. I don't know what day it is, I don't know anything. Might as well be drunk. Might as well have been drunk for years, to be so blind." He stopped and groaned. "I'll have to say sorry, won't I? Well, I will, if it kills me."
Marching to his wave screen, he punched in the appropriate wave code. Several seconds later, the connection came through, and Wash's face flashed up on the screen, gloriously alive, with both eyebrows raised. "Um, hi. How completely and utterly…unexpected. Would a pair of earplugs be a sound investment right about now?"
Mal, half-giddy at seeing his old pilot still among the living, grinned. "Merry Christmas, Wash."
"Hold on, the connection's gone bad." Wash began fiddling with the controls. "The screen's making it look like you're smiling, plus, it sounds like you just wished me a merry Christmas."
"I did. To you, and all your family, 'cause you deserve it."
Wash turned halfway around in his chair. "My stoic poinsettia, I could use some help here. There's a thing on the wave screen that has Mal's face and is talking with Mal's voice and is wearing Mal's clothes, but isn't Mal."
Zoe came into view, Lumi clinging to one hand. "What's he doing, then? Cartwheels?"
Mal took a breath. "No. He's apologizing."
Both Zoe's and Wash's jaws hit the floor. Mal would have gotten a lot more appreciation out of the sight if their shock hadn't reminded him just how much he'd gone wrong. Wash recovered first, to an extent. "Ah, Mal, you are aware of the definition of an apology, right? It means you think you've made a mistake and you regret that. Are you sure you haven't mixed it up with something else?"
"Right sure. Owe this 'specially to you, Zoe." Mal made himself meet her eyes. "Still don't know if I'd have done what you did, signing that tax form to get the doctors called in, but I ain't got no call to insult you for it. You know better than I what was needed for your people, and you did it to save their lives."
"What—" Zoe cleared her throat. "You serious?"
"As much as I've ever been or will be."
"What turned you 'round on this?"
"I—" Mal decided on as much truth as he could give without sounding more deranged than River on a bad day. "I figured out I ain't so above reproach that I've got the right to dictate your morality. There's plenty I've done wrong, past few years, and I'd like to do better."
"Wow." Wash's eyes widened. "Hell is looking kind of…frosty, about now. I think I even see a little ice, just around the edges. Goes to show, you never can trust the weather reports."
Zoe considered him carefully. "Not sure I'm — not sure I'm at the forgiving place just yet, sir, not in small part 'cause I ain't sure if this will last, you being sorry. But I sure do hope it does."
"It will."
"Time always tells." Zoe's stern expression softened a bit. "But you have a merry Christmas."
There was a crash and a shout from behind. "Momma!" Benjamin yelled. "Rose broke that cup!"
"I wouldn't of if you hadn't knocked into me!" Rose accused. "Always under my feet—"
"'Scuse me." Zoe rolled her eyes. "Gotta go break this up." She vanished from sight.
Wash put an arm around Lumi. "Who even knows why I believe you, but I do. But if you've been thinking about this that much, you'll have realized we're not the only people you should be saying sorry to."
"I've been coming at that conclusion, yeah. Won't bother you more now, just wanted to speak my piece."
"Glad you did. Merry Christmas, Mal." Wash grabbed his cane and pulled himself to his feet. "Come on, Lumi. Let's go take a knife to some poor helpless grapefruits." He leaned over and cut the connection.
Being a mite more disorganized in mind than was usual, it took Mal a mite more time than usual to get himself dressed and out the door. But out it he got, and would've strode directly down the path had not his boot knocked against something sitting on his porch. Glancing around, he saw the something was, if truth be told, the smallish box Simon had shown up with yesterday, and which Mal guessed he must have overlooked in the dark of the evening. But why had Simon left it here? Couldn't be by accident, he weren't a careless man.
Sitting on his steps, Mal used his knife to cut the twine on the box and opened it. Inside were two apples, and a folded note. He picked up the last, recognizing Simon's precise handwriting immediately.
I found these and thought of you. Don't worry, they aren't poisoned. Performing another autopsy is not how I'd like to spend my time. Merry Christmas. —Simon
Mal sat there a few minutes. Then he put the apples in his pockets and headed for town.
Folk were pouring out into the streets, jostling each other, shouting Christmas greetings, hugging or shaking hands with their friends. Mal slipped and slid along the icy road, nearly crashing into Lela the wood carver as she rounded the corner, carrying the basket that had been returned to her under the influence of River's silver stars. Not sure that even Ghost-of-Christmas-Present-weirdness would keep her in a good mood for more than five seconds, he hastily skated down the street.
Zuberi, in his yard, appeared to be trying to hide behind his shovel, a monumental ambition that, due his six feet of height, didn't look to be happening anytime soon. "Will you all stop it? I was just asking who was coming to Josefina's Christmas dinner! That's all!"
"Of course," Yasamin agreed readily. "Because I definitely didn't see that little package that you absolutely didn't put in your pocket that in no way has Josefina's name in huge letters on it."
Quang snorted from his roof. "Yeah, you really need to work on your stealth."
"Fine!" Zuberi pulled the package from his pocket. "I'll just give it to her before you all start trying to guess what it is."
Josefina swung herself over the fence, clearly intrigued, and pulled the paper off, revealing a purple scarf. "Oh, it's so soft. I'll definitely wear this. Thanks so much!" Mischievously, she kissed him on the cheek and then hopped back over her fence. Zuberi appeared about to faint.
Mal had to laugh, though he did it quietly.
Most of the shops he passed were closed, even those who didn't celebrate Christmas being glad to take advantage of a day off. However, he guessed that Diogenes the bookshop owner would be stubbornly open, as always, and he was completely right.
"Shiny," remarked said bookshop owner as Mal came in through his door. "Planning to improve with literature those brain cells of yours that will remain after you get utterly stinking drunk? Just give it up now. With your luck, it'll be the frontal lobes that go first."
Despite this non-promising start, Mal managed to obtain what he was looking for, and decided that Diogenes' caustic manner was more than made up for by the fact that he gave incredible bargains. Otherwise his bookshop would've been torched by now, Mal thought irritably, as Diogenes sent him out into the street with the cheery message: "If you get sick on that last one, I'll geld you with a rusty knife! Don't think I won't!"
The streets were still treacherously slick, but Mal made his way to the hospital in good time, of which he was glad. He weren't sure he was ready to get face-to-face with Simon yet, not after how he'd acted yesterday, so the earlier he arrived, got done, and left, the better. Though he'd of liked to give some coin, he expected the doctors had already done their shopping for whatever decent food they could provide, so he'd go with the next best thing, even if it'd be harder.
The lady at the reception desk glanced up with a tired smile. "Yes, can I help you?"
"Yeah. Mayhap I'm mistaken, but I believe you've got a couple of folks in your burn ward named Daiyu and Peter. I was told of 'em, and that they didn't have no family as is here. Mind asking 'em if they'd care for a few minutes of company? No harm if they say no." He was half-hoping they would.
"Come with me, and we'll ask together." The lady led the way through several corridors until they reached the hall Mal had visited, invisible, with River. "Hold on." She poked her head into the room. "Hi, you two. I — oh, he's asleep? Sorry." She lowered her voice until Mal couldn't hear her. After a few moments of exchange, she drew her head back out. "Peter's sleeping, which he does precious little of, so try not to wake him up, but Daiyu says she'd be happy indeed for some company."
"Thanks." Mal entered the room, ordering himself not to show any nerves. Daiyu was sitting as he'd seen her, pale, with her dark tangled hair and the nasty-looking burns, clutching her short string of beads in her remaining hand. Peter was mostly out of sight, as he'd pulled the blanket over his head.
Daiyu crinkled her forehead. "Greetings. Pardon, but we haven't met, have we?"
"No, we ain't." Mal shoved his hands in his pockets. "But I happened to hear you were alone this Christmas. Thought that was a shame."
"Who told you?"
Mal decided, again, to go with the option that would make him seem not-deranged. "Didn't hear your names specifically, but Dr. Simon Tam told me."
"Oh, well, if Dr. Tam knows you, that's alright then. Have a seat." Daiyu jerked her head towards the empty chair between the two beds. "You don't have to stay long if you don't want to. It's really nice of you to come at all, but lots of people don't like looking at all this—" she gestured towards her burns "—that much."
"Seen worse, often enough." Mal took a seat.
"Really?" Daiyu gave him a curious look. "Only people I know who regularly see worse than this are doctors, emergency workers, and soldiers. Which one are you?"
Keeping up a lie around this would be plain impossible. "Was a soldier, once. Ain't no more, but you don't forget."
"That's true enough," Daiyu agreed. "I'm no soldier either, haven't been for a good long time, but I fought for Unification, way back when."
"War's long done." Mal didn't believe a word of that, but it was easier than staying on the subject. He was surprised when Daiyu shook her head.
"No, it's not. Not really. Not for me, at least. Too much anger there."
"At the Independents?" This was stupid. He shouldn't have come.
"At first, yeah. I came from a moon that supported Independence, actually. See, my family had this shop, we sold ship parts. When the Alliance put a base near our town, no one would sell to them, except us." Daiyu gripped her blankets. "Townsfolk were our friends. They knew we'd had poor business for nearly a year, that we had holes in our shoes and a roof that leaked, but when we started selling to the Feds, they burned us out. We lost everything."
"That's…awful."
"Yeah. So I joined up for Unification. Fought for years, fought in Serenity Valley, even. Guess you might know, as a soldier, but it didn't matter which side you were on for that battle, your chances of getting out alive were about the size of a pin. But I did. I got out, and I'd given the army years of my life, and guess what? It's made no difference. My family lives no better under Alliance rule, nor does most anyone I've met." Daiyu sighed. "Guess if you fought in those wars, I'm going and offending you no matter which side you were on."
"No, you ain't," Mal said, and found he meant it. "Guess I didn't tell you my name. It's Malcolm Reynolds. Mal."
"Mine's Daiyu Somerville. That over there, is Peter Wong."
Peter tossed and turned, muttering. Daiyu glanced at him. "I think he's going a little crazy, being stuck here for so long. I mean, I am too, but I worry about leaving. Don't know where I'm supposed to work, now. Sorry, I'm talking your ear off."
"Ain't a problem." It got him off the hook. "Do you like apples?"
Daiyu's face lit up. "I absolutely do."
"I've got some." Mal got one of the apples out and began cutting it. "You can go ahead and talk, if you want."
"Oh! Well, as I said, I'm worried about leaving because, clearly, one arm here, narrows the working options somewhat." She laughed. "I've thought of being a stand-up comedian. Tell people funny stories about death, death, and more death. What do you think?"
"Sounds good," Mal agreed. "Nice welcome change of pace. I can see it all now."
"I could get any comedy club closed down. One thing I've said I will do, though, if it's humanely possible."
"What's that?"
"I'll learn to do handstands again. Completely and utterly impractical. But I want to. Just for me, just because. You know, I once won an enormous jar of vanilla pudding that way. Prize at a fair, for the person who could walk the farthest on their hands."
"How far did you get?" Mal offered her a slice of apple. "Here you go."
"Thanks." Daiyu took it. "I got seven feet. And then I stuck a label that said Regina's Finest Super-Glue on the jar and ate out of it with a spoon for the rest of the day. If I hadn't, my brother would have made off with it, sure as taxes."
Mal cut a slice for himself. "Reminds me. I used to sail in a Firefly, do transport and suchlike." He decided not to mention the transport-was-mostly-stolen part of it. "My crew and me, we was transporting these boxes of jewelry, and our client couldn't pick 'em up for a day after we landed. So we was waiting and—"
"Mal?" Simon was standing in the doorway, looking utterly stunned. "What — you — how the — what?"
"Right." This was a mite more than usually awkward. "I'm. As it happens. I'm visiting." He gestured at Daiyu. "She says she don't mind the company."
"I don't." Daiyu took another piece of apple. "Mal here seems a decent sort. Doesn't mind when I babble. Plus, he supports my dream to do stand-up comedy. Have some apple."
"In a minute," Simon said distractedly. "Mal, I need to talk to you. Hallway. Now."
It weren't exactly a surprise, his being distrustful. For all he knew, Mal had come to terrorize his patients. "Alright." He set the other half of the fruit on the table. "Eat what you want of that."
"Dangerous offer." Daiyu chuckled. "I might eat it all."
Mal followed Simon into the corridor. The doctor slammed the door shut and turned to Mal. "I don't care if you yell at me, but if you've got any decency, don't bother Daiyu and Peter. Alliance or not, they're recovering from trauma and serious injuries. So if you're only here to treat them like trash, just save me the trouble of throwing you out and leave on your own."
"I don't blame you for being suspicious. But I ain't come here to treat 'em like trash. I've done too much mistreatment already, to folk who I owe a lot more." Mal forced himself to look at Simon. "I was a complete hun dan yesterday, and there's times in the past when I've been downright cruel to you, and I'm sorry. You deserved far better at my hands."
"How — what changed your mind?"
"I think—" Mal hesitated. "Best way of putting it is, I got a chance to see myself from the outside, like other folk see me. And if truth's told, I didn't like what I saw all that much." He remembered the hardened face of the self he could become, and had to suppress a shiver. "I won't say I'm a good man, but I sure as hell don't want to be one as hurts others to keep himself safe."
"You came to see Daiyu and Peter." It was difficult to tell what Simon was thinking. "Why?"
Truth would probably be best here. "I started thinking mayhap they was human, not monsters, but I weren't positive. Came to see for sure."
"Do you have a conclusion?"
"Human."
Simon peered at him. "You're right. You've been a complete hun dan."
"If you want me to leave, I get it."
"No. Please don't." Simon sounded odd and vulnerable for just a moment, but then Mal was almost convinced he'd imagined it. "If you can make Daiyu as cheerful as she looked when I came in, and you don't intend to treat them badly, I'm certainly not going to chase you away. I was going to sit with them for awhile, so I'll join you."
Daiyu waved at them as they came back into the room. "This apple is shiny, Dr. Tam. Have some. And you, Mal, tell me more about these boxes of jewelry you were transporting."
"Oh." Simon smacked his forehead. "That story."
"So we was waiting for our client to pick 'em up. Night comes 'round, and we're in our bunks. I wake up sometime late, think I might hear someone wandering 'round my ship as shouldn't be. So I get up and go to investigate, and I see there's somebody down in the cargo bay as has pulled the jewelry boxes out of the hatch we was keeping 'em in. I'm just about to tell him to put his hands up, but then he throws open one of the boxes and leaps back, screaming fit to kill."
"Why?" Daiyu asked.
"That's what I wondered. But then my first mate comes running up and gets the lights on, and I see there's this enormous crawling demon-ish thing in the box—"
"Tarantula," Simon interrupted, reaching for another slice of apple. "It's called a tarantula."
"Hey. I'm trying to create a chilling atmosphere here and you're ruining it."
"Oh, I'm sorry to ruin the chilling atmosphere generated by the enormous grin on your face."
Mal rolled his eyes and turned back to Daiyu. "Simon there had a sister as traveled with him. Who knows how, but she'd gotten a whole basket of the tarantula things and put one in every box. Said they'd frighten away any folks as wanted to steal the jewelry, but if we'd not found it out, they'd of frightened away our clients just as fast. But this thief, he ran so fast we couldn't catch up to him, but he was too scared to take nothing, so it turned out alright."
"Except we still had to get rid of the tarantulas," Simon added. "We put on gloves and chased them all over the ship. One of them managed to crawl down Jayne's sleeve — Jayne was on the crew too. It was…unfortunate."
"See, Simon's got this quirk. He spells unfortunate H-I-L-A-R-I-O-U-S."
Simon gave in and laughed. "Alright, it was pretty hilarious. But don't tell Jayne I said that."
"Speaking of hilarious." Daiyu licked a bit of apple juice off her fingers. "Dr. Tam, I heard two nurses laughing about something you did to an executive from the power plant. What was it?"
"Oh, yes, him." Simon looked embarrassed. "That was highly unprofessional of me."
Mal, noting they'd eaten most of the apple between them, pulled out the other and began cutting it. "Unprofessional? Now this I've just got to hear."
"Yeah, do tell." Daiyu sat forward expectantly.
"Alright. So this power plant executive is very high-up, and as far as I can tell he's got some kind of power-over-doctors obsession. There's absolutely nothing wrong with his eyesight — the ophthalmologist told me that when they used the diagnostic scanner, all the results were perfectly normal — but he kept coming back and insisting that he couldn't see. We only have one doctor who really knows her ophthalmology, and he was taking up far too much of her time."
"So what did you do?" Mal asked.
"It got to the point where he was refusing to let them use the diagnostic scanner because then he couldn't pretend that his eyesight was bad. He claimed it made his eyes sore, so they had to test him with the letter chart — where you look at a poster with letters that get smaller and smaller, and you tell the doctors when you stop being able to read them."
Daiyu nodded. "Yeah, I know what you mean."
"I'd just about enough of his playacting, so I made a new chart." Simon half-smiled. "The original had random letters and numbers — you know, E, 2, Y, 5, 9, P, K, X, 8, L, 0. My new one said, in very large letters: I HOPE YOU UNDERSTAND JUST HOW MUCH ALL THESE TESTS ARE COSTING YOU."
Mal laughed. "You would. Did it get through his thick skull?"
"He hasn't been back since. We'll see how long he stays away."
Although Mal had intended to remain for twenty minutes at the very most, Daiyu seemed extremely reluctant to let either he or Simon leave, and he had a new appreciation of how dull her life must be generally. If anyone had asked him what it would be like to be stuck in a room for several hours with two Alliance veterans and his former lover, he'd probably have told them to start digging his grave. He'd never have pegged it as tolerable, and he would have laughed his head off if he'd been told it would be fun.
But Daiyu, though her trauma showed through, was quick to laugh and joke at the right moments, and Simon — well, he was Simon. Dryly sarcastic, sharp as a newly-whet knife, and always so gorram ready to help any of them if they showed a sign of needing it. It was certainly true that when Peter woke up and, as he had in the vision Mal had seen with River, began snarling at the Independents in general, Mal found it plenty hard to sit still and not snap back.
He didn't, though. And the look Simon gave him after Peter settled back down — mostly surprise, but with just a bit of new respect — made that worth it.
When four in the afternoon rolled around, Simon got to his feet. "I'm sorry, Daiyu, but I really have to go now. I promised some friends of mine I'd go to their house and help cook before their party tonight."
Mal nodded. "I'd best be off myself. I've a stop I need to make."
"Just glad you've stayed this long." Daiyu took a break from the beading she'd been doing to shake hands. "I've had a far better time this day than I'd ever have guessed could be. Merry Christmas to both of you."
"Right back at you."
"Yes. I'll see you soon."
Back out in the corridor, Simon turned to Mal. "After whatever stop you need to make, I don't suppose you'd consider coming to Kaylee and Inara's house? Kaylee said she invited you to dinner, and I know they'd love to see you."
"Was going to stop by and drop this off at their place." Mal held up the bag he'd carried from the bookshop. "Christmas gifts and all. Wasn't planning to stay, but mayhap I will, for a bit at least."
"You bought Christmas gifts?" Simon stared. "Who are you and how are you incorporeally possessing the body of Malcolm Reynolds?"
"They're mostly what I could dig up at Diogenes' shop. How long do you reckon that man's been sitting on a hedgehog? Give me the doctor's diagnosis."
"In my informed medical opinion, perhaps thirty years," Simon said gravely. "However, it would require a thorough physical examination to be sure, and as that would probably end in me getting my head snapped off, I'm afraid we'll have to accept his condition as chronic."
"I as good as snapped your head off more than once, but you never seemed to accept my condition as chronic." Mal wanted to kick himself, very hard and several times, the moment the words left his mouth. He would inadvertently bring up something listed in his 'Top Ten Conversational Topics to Avoid, Thank You.'
Simon seemed to be considering, but finally spoke. "Maybe that's because I didn't believe it was. Chronic, I mean." He paused. "So. Kaylee and Inara's?"
"Yeah. Let's go."
Mal managed to get to the house without making any more colossal blunders, which was just about another Christmas miracle. At Simon's knock, quick footsteps sounded on the other side of the door, and Inara opened it, wearing a chocolate-smeared apron with her hair tied under a kerchief, a pot in one hand. "Simon, I'm so glad you're here. We're going just slightly — Mal?"
"Yeah." Mal cleared his throat. "Merry Christmas, 'Nara. If how I acted yesterday ain't scared you off entirely, well, I'd be glad to join you for dinner. If you'll have me."
Something slammed into Mal's chest very hard, and for half a second he thought Inara had thrown the pot at him. Then he realized he was being enthusiastically hugged by a beaming and flour-dusted Kaylee. "Knew you'd come 'round to it, Captain! Get in here and help us all finish cookin'. You too, Simon. Somethin's most likely boiled over while we're out here greetin' you all."
Before he was quite aware of what went on, Mal found himself in Kaylee and Inara's steamy and messy kitchen, cutting broccoli. Simon had been likewise pressed into service continuing Kaylee's custard mixing, while she and Inara debated over how much longer their roast needed to cook.
"Another fifteen minutes at least," Inara insisted.
"But we gotta check on it afore then," Kaylee argued. "Gotta make sure there's some rare parts, for those as like 'em."
"There's an increased risk of food-borne illness with rare cuts of meat," Simon called as he cracked an egg. "I would cook it twenty minutes."
"Oh, quiet, you." Kaylee flapped a hand at him. "It'd taste like brick."
"Well, I don't know." Mal reached for another head of broccoli. "I happen to be real fond of the taste of brick. Reminds me of the good old days, when we ate just protein."
"You are all hopeless." Simon measured out a cup of sugar. "When you get sick, don't come crying to me."
"You're a doctor," Kaylee reminded him. "Folks are supposed to come cryin' to you when they take sick."
Jayne turned up not long after to lend a hand — or to steal some extra food, it was at times hard to tell the difference. For a good hour, Mal was sure any meal they managed to cook would be more like a grenade explosion than a Christmas dinner. Kaylee put her elbow in a dish of butter and managed to smear it over most of the counters afore she realized what was going on. Inara's skirt got badly singed in the apparently annual stove-gets-lit-on-fire, and then got ripped from the knee down when she shut it in a cupboard. Simon dropped an egg on the floor and then slipped on it, nearly knocking over the table in the process. Jayne, who'd been cutting the ends off the beans, accidentally dumped the ends into the boiling water instead of the beans. As for Mal, he gestured just a bit too wildly to make a point and sent the pear he was holding straight out the window they'd opened to let the smoke out.
But in truth, Mal wouldn't of cared if they'd had naught to eat at all. He was with his crew, as much as was possible, and he didn't intend to waste the chance he'd been given.
Somehow, incredibly, impossibly, they got the dinner ready to hit the table when the guests came, got said table set, even to Inara's I-like-it-fancy standards, and managed to make themselves presentable. Jayne promptly took initiative at this point. "Right, now that we ain't lookin' like we got in a fight with a kitchen and lost, what's that?" He pointed at the package Mal had dropped by the door in the chaos. "Presents?"
"Jayne!" Kaylee elbowed him. "That's rude!"
"He's guessed right. It is." Mal took up the package and opened it, handing the gifts to their respective folks. Diogenes had agreed to provide individual wrapping for the books only with much grumbling and swearing, and seemed to have, in revenge, used far, far too much tape. Jayne, who was arguably the most aggressive of the group, managed to get his present unwrapped first. "What the hell's this? Illustrated Kama Sutra? What's that mean?" Inara and Simon, who both apparently knew exactly what the Kama Sutra was, groaned and covered their faces.
"Just open it," Mal told him.
Jayne, frowning, did as he said. "Is it some scholarly muck? 'Cause Mal, you know I ain't — oh." His eyes went wide. "Oh."
Kaylee tilted her head. "What's it about?"
"Sex," replied Inara, Mal, and Jayne at the same time.
"Not solely," Simon protested. "That's a common misconception. It also has sections on the acquisition of knowledge, forms of marriage, how to choose courtesans—"
Jayne send him an exasperated look. "Don't you know anythin' useful?"
Simon rolled his eyes. "Fine. It also describes, in total, sixty-four types of sexual acts. Happy now?"
"Sixty-four? Shiny. Thanks, Mal."
Kaylee tore the paper off her package. "Ooh. History of early space travel! 'Nara, there's diagrams of the ship parts!" She began examining one of the pages.
Inara eased the paper off the book Mal had gotten her. "Why, thank you, Mal. The Silver Lantern?"
"Set on Sihnon." Mal shrugged. "Knew you grew up there." Of all the folk, he'd really had the least idea of what to buy for Inara.
"Huh." Jayne glanced up from his book. "Ain't you already got that one? I saw you readin' it last time I was here."
"Jayne." Inara raised an eyebrow. "It's the thought that counts."
"Thought don't pay much. Unless it's the thought that goes through someone's head when I'm holdin' a gun to it and demandin' coin."
Mal sighed. He couldn't win them all.
"Come on, get yours open!" Kaylee poked Simon, who was still struggling with the tape. "That paper ain't made of gold. Just rip it."
"Alright, alright." Simon yanked at the wrapping, pulled his book out, and stared.
"Coleridge?" Inara moved to see better. "Ah, yes. Rime of the Ancient Mariner. That one's a touch dark for me, but it does have beautiful imagery. Oh, and it's illustrated."
"What are those?" Kaylee pointed to the image on the cover. "Green and blue and gold…they look like snakes. And what's that bird?"
"They're called water-snakes in the poem. And that's the albatross." Simon smoothed the cover of the book.
A knock sounded on the door, and Inara hastily stowed her new book on a shelf. "They're here. Kaylee, you can study those diagrams all you want later."
Kaylee set her book away. "Come on, Jayne. That could be Amrita, who we told you about."
"Oh, yeah?" Jayne tucked his own book in his pocket. "Now, there's a proper notion." He followed the two women into the hall.
Simon was still staring at the illustrated Rime of the Ancient Mariner as if he'd not seen the printed word in ten years. It made Mal a mite nervous, in truth. "It ain't studded with diamonds or nothing. It was just there, and I only remembered—"
"Yes, you remembered, and there's nothing 'only' about that. Frankly, I thought you'd try and forget."
"I did. It didn't work."
"Oh." Simon hesitated a moment, then reached into his pocket. "I actually have something of yours that you might want back. I've — very much appreciated — I mean, it's meant a great deal to me. So much so that I didn't return it when I probably should have." He held out Becca's harmonica.
"No, keep that." Mal weren't sure where exactly the words were coming from, but he knew he meant them. "Was always yours, no need to feel bad for keeping it."
Simon didn't say a thing, but he looked at Mal, and there was something in his face Mal knew, because he was feeling it himself.
Hope.
River hovered in that nether-space of one who loves too much in this 'verse to quite leave it. "'O Wedding-Guest, this soul hath been alone on a wide, wide sea, so lonely 'twas that God himself scarce seemed there to be.'"
"You know," Becca remarked from beside her. "There's times I find you just a bit puzzling, Miss River."
"Not uncommon." River winked. "'He prayeth best who loveth best, all things both great and small.'"
"Now, that I get." Becca watched her brother. "You think they'll be alright? Mal, and all your crew?"
Book, behind them, smiled. "There's no way to know for sure, but I think so. As Wash would say, they're leaves on the wind. We'll watch how they soar."
Merry Christmas (or holiday of your choice) and thank you for reading! Leave a review and let me know what you thought.
