For a long beat they just stood there looking at each other, the mercenary and the preacher, and then Jayne cleared his throat. "You're the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come?"
Book smiled. "I'm not gonna show you your future, Jayne."
Jayne frowned. "That bad, eh?"
Book shook his head, still smiling. "I believe we choose our own destinies, son, and as such the future's not something carved in stone. It's what we make it."
He stepped closer, and Jayne almost unconsciously took a step back, making sure that the distance between them remained the same. "So," the shepherd continued, steepling his fingers together, "let's look at it this way: What do you think your future looks like?"
Jayne shrugged. "Dunno. More of the same?"
Book nodded. "And are you still on Serenity?"
"I guess."
"Why?"
Jayne contracted his eyebrows. "Whatchu mean why?"
"Well." Book dragged it out before answering. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you're not a very likable person."
"Is there a right way to take that?" Jayne sarcastically spat back.
"You're rude," Book continued, "you lie, and you cheat, you never say 'please' or 'thank you', and you complain. A lot."
"Can we get this over with?" Jayne muttered.
"And yet, despite of all this, they still haven't thrown you off the boat," the preacher pointed out. "Why is that, you think?"
Jayne straightened. "'Cause I'm a good tracker," he replied, not without a certain pride in his voice. "And a damn good shot."
"There are other snipers," Book retorted. "Other trackers. Not many as good as you, I'll give you that, but they're out there. You're not irreplaceable, you know. As far as the weight you pull on this ship goes."
"Why are you talkin' at me like this?" Jayne asked. Or rather shouted, just to hide the hurt he feared would otherwise color his voice.
But the preacher was unstoppable. "Has it ever occurred to you that it might be they actually like you? Despite the fact that you're an ass."
With a scoff Jayne turned away from him.
"I know I like you," Book probed. "God knows why, but I do."
"You mean did."
"Do," Book insisted. "That doesn't go away when you die."
Jayne still didn't say anything, but in the corner of his eye he could see the preacher's smile widen before he concluded, "I'm gonna go on a whim here and say that you don't like being liked particularly much."
He pulled out a chair and sat down. Jayne arched an eyebrow. Apparently ghosts could pull out chairs and sit.
"But let's look at it from the other angle," the shepherd kept going. "Why do you stay?"
"Huh?"
"This boat is not a prison. You don't have to stay. You can leave whenever you want to, like I did. So why don't you?"
Jayne snorted. "It's how I earn my coin."
"You could've earned more. Mal's giving you a generous slice of the cake, absolutely, but the cake's not that big, after all. There are jobs he simply won't take, and those are the jobs that pays off the most, I think you know. Other captains would take 'em in a heartbeat. So why is it you stay here with this one?"
"Ain't none of your business."
Book tilted his head to the side in that teasing manner of his. "Aw, you can tell me."
"Don't wanna."
"So there is a reason? And you know what it is?"
"Shut up."
"By all means." Book leaned back in the chair. "I've got all night."
Jayne glared at him, slowly realizing the man, or ghost or whatever, wouldn't leave him alone until he'd answered his question. He cursed. "'Cause he's fair, okay!" he snarled.
Book smiled again.
Jayne narrowed his eyes and stabbed the air with his finger. "You better not tell 'im!"
Book threw his arms out. "Dead men tell no tales."
"He's fair," Jayne repeated, and it was easier to say it than he'd expected. "And he values me. Zoë's respectful to me, hell, even 'Nara is. And Kaylee's kind to me, and the Tams are… there." He was no longer able to look at the shepherd and stared intently at his fingers. "Now, Marco and Rufus and Stitch, they made me what I am. But on this boat, with this crew, I feel human."
"A good answer," Book said. "Even an honest one."
"Are we done now?"
"That eager to get rid of me?"
"Sorry." He dared risking a glance in the preacher's direction. Book had leaned forward and was resting his arms on his knees.
"You know what night it is?" he asked.
"'Course I do, it's Christmas Eve," Jayne replied.
"That's right. And somewhere, in the dark and the cold, a woman's searching for a safe place to give birth to her baby boy."
"Zoë's havin' a girl," Jayne protested before he'd taken the time to think.
Book chuckled. "Not Zoë. Another mother and another baby. A long, long time ago."
"Ah," Jayne muttered, realizing his mistake, "Jesus."
"Yes," the older man smiled, "the Messiah. See, Jayne, that's what this night is about. Birth… second chances… redemption. Those are the true gifts of Christmas."
"Jayne?" a voice rang out. It sounded like it came from outside the door, and Jayne turned his head towards it, musing.
"It's Zoë," Book said. "She's been calling for you a while now."
She had? "Huh, I didn't hear."
He started walking towards the door, but before he was even halfway there, it opened and Zoë stepped inside. A bright light flooded into the room along with her, and he squinted against it as her face came into view. She looked worried. "Jayne?" she said again. "Who you talkin' to?"
"Book."
For some reason she didn't seem to find that strange. "Good chat?"
He looked at her belly. She was quite visibly pregnant now. "You're havin' a baby," he said, mostly to himself, because saying things out loud made them easier to hold on to. They were beginning to slip.
"I am," she said.
"It ain't Jesus."
A small laugh escaped her lips. "No, Jayne, it ain't Jesus. It's a girl, remember?"
"Yeah," he slurred. "Book said. He made sense. Wash didn't. I think… Oh." He blinked hard. It was getting hard to concentrate. "There was a tree… And Kaylee's presents… And it's all… so… very… confusing. Zoë?"
She cupped his right cheek with her hand. It was a surprisingly tender thing for her to do, and it should have scared him a little, but it didn't. "Then let go of it," she said.
"Huh?"
"Let it go," she repeated. "Ain't no need for worryin', we're all safe. You can rest now."
"But Kaylee's presents are bein' stole!" he protested, because he suddenly remembered.
"Ain't nobody stealin' Kaylee's presents," Zoë calmly assured him. "I ain't gonna let 'em. Get some sleep, okay? You done good."
He felt his shoulders slump, and he glanced around the room. Book was gone.
But Zoë was here.
And sleep…
sounded…
good.
Zoë didn't move until Jayne's breathing had slowed and she knew he was asleep. Then she leaned back in the chair, squeezing his arm a little as she withdrew her hand. The sound of the hatch overhead being opened made her glance upwards to see Simon climbing down the ladder, followed by the captain.
"How's it going?" the doctor asked, studying the patient as he spoke.
"He's sleeping now," she said. "But he still talks a lot. Keeps talking to Book about how my baby ain't Jesus." Her hand unconsciously moved to her growing belly.
Mal chuckled. "At least it sounds like he knows it's Christmas. He was goin' on and on about the Grinch when I was down here before."
"Lucky you," Simon dryly remarked as he picked up the thermometer and readied it. "I only got the phlegm he thought was gold."
This time Zoë laughed too, but then she and Mal quietly watched Simon take Jayne's temperature, remembering the seriousness of the situation.
It had started as a cold, that after a long trek through the snow wearing nothing but a t-shirt (long story), had developed into a wheezing chest, violent coughing fits and a raging fever. Simon had diagnosed him with double-sided pneumonia, and for two days now Jayne had been lying in his bunk, lost in delirium, and talking nonsense. Simon had made no attempt to hide the fact that the man's condition worried him, and so everybody had taken their turn sitting by his bedside.
"Thirty-nine point two," Simon declared after reading off the thermometer. "Fever's still high."
"He seems to be doin' a little better, though," Zoë said. "He's breathin' easier."
With Mal's help Simon was able to heave Jayne over on his side, facing the wall, and then the doctor put on his stethoscope, rubbing it against his shirt to heat it before listening to the big man's lungs.
"Yes," he eventually said, pulling the instruments from his ears, "it's clearing up." He got Jayne settled again and even offered a little smile, before turning towards Zoë. "I'll take over now, if you want."
"Nah, it's alright," Zoë insisted.
"Are you sure? You're missing out on all the festivities."
"Yup," Mal nodded. "Kaylee's actually managed to get the egg nog tastin' like real egg this year. And it ain't spiked, so you can have some." Judging by his uncharacteristically good mood, he'd likely spiked his own, though.
Zoë smiled. "I've got this. You go and enjoy yourselves."
"Okay," Simon returned the smile. "Just don't wear yourself out."
"I won't," she promised.
The boys headed up the ladder again, and Zoë caught the sound of the girls laughing in the galley before the hatch closed behind them. She switched her attention to Jayne, but he didn't look like he needed her at the moment, and so she settled back in her chair, contemplating the real reason why she wanted to stay right where she was.
A few times during her vigil, Jayne had spoken to Wash as if her late husband was really there – and even though she knew it was just the fever playing tricks on his mind, she honestly could think of no better way to spend Christmas Eve.
fin