Author’s Note: I wanted to get this out by Christmas, which means I didn’t have a change to push it though it’s usual, rigorous, copy editing process. Please forgive any gross misspellings and the noted lack of Chinese Phrases (********* indicates Chinese, I mean, to us it’s practically the same). I’ll fix it all later, if you like, after Christmas.

PROLOG: “An what?” Mal asked. “Is this here?” “It’s a Christmas tree!” Kaylee said excitedly. “Don’ cha just love it?! Can’t remember last time I saw anythin’ so green!” “No,” Mal said tersely, starring at the little fur tree, which his crew had, unbeknownst to him, set up on the short table at the side of kitchen. It was barely three feet tall, and held up by some makeshift tree stand that looked like Kaylee’d welded it together. Book, Simon and Inara were all lounging in the chairs around the tree, they seemed to be twisting bits of wire to make a garland of sorts, River was sitting on the ground at her brothers feet, drawing intently. It was a heartwarming scene, of course, Mal didn’t really want his heart warmed, ever. “An I can’t remember the last time I seen anything stickyer and more like ta catch fire on my ship.” “Aw, Cap,” Kaylee said. “How kin ya say that? It’s Christmas time!” “I can say it ‘cause it’s my ship an’ I don’ remember anyone askin’ me if it was Ok ta bring in a ***********” “Captain,” Book scolded. “Don’t you have any Christmas spirit.” “As it happens, no, I don’t. Don’ much care for the birth of a savior who never saved me from anything.” “You don’t have to be religious to celebrate Christmas,” Inara said, glaring at Mal. “The holiday’s also about friends and family and . . . “Greed and commercialism and the slaughtering of perfectly innocent pine trees,” Mal finished. “Why am I even standing here discussing this. Serenity’s my ship and . . .” “Look Simon,” River said, holding her sketchbook up so her brother could see it. “I drew an angel.” “River that’s beautiful,” Simon said, looking at the drawing and stroking his sisters hair. “I want to put it on the tree,” River said. “Is that ok?” “’Course,” Kaylee said, heading over to the siblings. “Le’me see.” “No,” Mal snapped. “I don’ care how pretty that there angel is, it ain’t gonna go on the tree, cause the tree’s goin’ out the air lock!” Mal felt every eye focused on him with an angry and disapproving gaze. But he was not going to budge. “We’ll put this up in you’re room, Mei mei,” Simon said. “It’s beautiful.” “But I made it for the tree,” River protested. “Can I see it?” Book asked. Simon passed the picture to the shepherd. “Oh, River, this is amazing. I had no idea you could draw that well.” “May I see?” Inara asked, leaning closer to the preacher. “Oh, River, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a prettier angel.” “Show me,” Kaylee said, hurrying away from her displeased Captain, around the tree, to where she could see the drawing. “Aw, River, ******. Cap’n you . . .” “If you try’n tell me I gotta see this amazin’ drawing of a ****** you can just save you’re breath. I’m goin’ ta my cabin’ an’, when I come out in the mornin’, I ‘spect ta see this tree gone, understand.” “Now, Captain,” Book started. “Understand?” Mal said viciously. “Yes sir,” Kaylee muttered. “Good now,” Mal snapped. “I’ll see ya’ll come mornin’.” No one wished him good night.

THE FIRST GHOST Jayne Cobb was dead to begin with. This you must understand or nothing that follows will seem wondrous to you. He had been executed years ago and Mal, along with a mob of bloodthirsty citizens who were sick and tired of outside folk bring trouble into their town. Jayne was not as guilty of that crime as others had been, but then, he was not as clever as other’s had been, and he had committed more than his fair share of mortal sins so who is to say he did not deserve it? Mal certainly would not have said so. I will not say he felt no emotion at seeing his friend of many years and many adventures, but I will say quite truthfully that he showed none as he gazed at Jayne’s corpse sway in the wind as he hung from his neck. Jayne was dead as a hatchlock, though what about a hatchlock is particularly more dead than say, an airlock seal (which often is often devoid of any type of life giving oxygen). But who am I to question those who coin the phrases so I will say again that Jayne was dead as a hatch lock; a fact which Mal was very, very aware of. Mal was a tight, cold hearted *****. He ran a tight ship and he ran it efficiently. His reputation was of a merciless mercenary and it was well earned. He kept a small crew, a pilot and a doctor, who kept his ship floating through the sky, but it was a ship, not a home, and they were employees, not a family. Mal made sure that this was very clear. “Doctor, you got our next job planed yet?” Mal demanded, storming into the infirmary and startling the nervous yet brilliant young man. “All most, sir,” the boy said. “I don’t pay you for almost, boy,” Mal spat. “I, I know, sir, I’m sorry,” Simon said, his voice humble, his eyes on the ground. “It’s just River, she . . .” “She’s locked in her room, ain’t she?” Mal demanded. “Yes sir,” Simon said, “But . . .” “But nothin’,” Mal said. “She’s a useless mouth that I feed an’ keep in some very expensive medicines so’s you can come up with you’re ***** plans.” “I know sir,” Simon said. “Now, if you stop doin’ yer job, I might just stop feedin’ her, or maybe stop with the medicine.” “It’ll be done by the end of the day, sir,” Simon said quickly. “Long before we reach Flagstone.” “You see it is, boy,” Mal said. “Or else your sister might be sufferin’ some interrupted nights sleep.” “Yes sir,” Simon said, turning back to his computer screen. Mal turned and started heading towards the cargo bay. He didn’t get any further than the commons room before he ran into Wash. “Hey!” the pilot said. “You know what I just realized? We’ll be on Flagstaff on Christmas Day!” “Really?” Mal snapped. “An’ what’s that got ta do with anythin’?” “Well,” Wash laughed. “It’s Christmas. We could all go to a local bar and enjoy some eggnog, Mal, real eggnog.” “I don’t give a damn for real eggnog,” Mal snapped. “Come to think of it, I don’t give a damn for Christmas.” “Don’t give a damn for Christmas?” Wash wined. “Come on Mal.” “Ya know, Wash, we’ve known each other fer years now, and I there have been precious few Decembers we ain’t had this conversation.” “Yeah but, Mal, don’t you remember what you’re missing.” “I don’t care what I’m missin’,” Mal snapped. “I don’t care ta remember an’ I don’t care ta have this conversation, ever.” “What can one cup of egg nog hurt?” “What can it help?” “You’re disposition, for one,” Wash sniped. “Probably not,” Simon ventured. “He’s a surly drunk.” “That’s ‘nuff outa you,” Mal yelled. “Get back work!” “Yes sir,” Simon said. “Wait, Simon,” Wash said. “You’ll go have some egg nog with me, won’t you?” “Well, I,” Simon said nervously, glancing at the captain. “He ain’t leavin’ the ship,” Mal said. “Them’s the rules, you know that.” “This was supposed to be a safe place for them, Mal,” Wash hissed. “Not a prison.” “Lots a thing ain’t what they were supposed ta be,” Mal said. “Things are what they are.” “Fine,” Wash spat. “Well, I’m going to go and enjoy the holiday and the eggnog, and maybe some rum punch and you can’t stop me.” “I don’t give a damn what you do,” Mal said. “You keep Christmas in you’re way, I’ll keep it in mine. Do we have an understanding?” “Yes sir,” Wash snapped. Turning to the doctor, he managed a smile. “I’ll see ya later, Doc.” “Thanks for stopping by,” Simon said. “I thought I told you to get back to work,” Mal snapped. “Might I remind you of a young girl who costs lots but does nothin’?” “Yes sir,” Simon said, turning back to his nefarious planing. “Good,” Mal said, turning and heading up to the kitchen, not wanting to go the same direction Wash had. He ate his dinner, dry flavorless protein bars with warm flavorless water and headed to his bunk without seeing another living soul, which suited him just fine. He walked to his quarters and prepared to kick open the hatch so he could go to bed. Now, Mal had been kicking open his hatch for many, many years and it always made the same sound, a sort of pop and a creek. But that night the door instead, said “Aw, Mal,” very distinctively and quite clearly with the voice of Jayne Cobb. Mal froze. The noise was so clear, so distinct, so unmistakable that, for a very few seconds, Mal was uncertain of weather or not Jayne Cobb actually was standing beside him complaining about one directive or another. But then, the image of a man who’s saved you’re life on several occasions swinging almost gracefully from a gallows is not a memory a man would make up, or forget. “******” Mal muttered as he climbed down the hatch. He got undressed unceremoniously and climbed into his bed as he would any other night. Still, before turning off the lights, he hesitated. He didn’t like hearing the voices of dead crewmates. He wasn’t particularly eager to hear what they had to say. Still, Malcolm Reynolds was a man of cool reason and hard logic. The notion of a ghost haunting his door was a little beyond his cool reason and hard logic, so he turned of the lights. A second latter they turned on. “********, Whirring,” he muttered. Turning off the lights again. And again they turned on. “Fine,” he yelled, presumably to the ship. “I can sleep in the light!” “I actually prefer it,” the unmistakable voice of Jayne said. “Easier to wake up, case somthin’ happens.” For a long second, Mal could feel his heart stop and his blood run cold. He blinked several times, but did not turn his heat to the right towards Jayne’s voice. “Am I dreamin’?” Mal asked. “Or are you a ghost.” “Hell Mal,” Jayne said in such a familiar way that most people would have thought it could be a memory. Mal, however, dismissed this out of hand; he had long ago learned how to not remember. “You ain’t real.” “Well,” Jayne laughed bitterly. “I sure as hell ain’t in you’re head. You never think a me. You never think a anyone. Wish I could say you were just self centered but you never did too much thinkin’ on yerself neither so as far as I kin tell you don’t do any thinkin’ at all.” “Well,” Mal said, turning his head and looking at Jayne for the first time. It was, without question, Mal’s old friend. Only the large man was somewhat translucent, like he was nothing more than a reflection off Serenity’s windshield. He had several magazines of bullets around both shoulders and dozens of guns holstered at every point on his body. He looked tired and weighed down by all the ammunition. “Ain’t you a sight.” “Yeah well,” Jayne muttered. “You don’t look so good yerself. All them ghosts catchin’ up with ya?” “Jayne,” Mal snapped. “Ain’t no other ghost but you.” “Really?” Jayne asked, a little flattered. “Yeah, now go away.” “Y’ain’t scared?” “You ain’t real.” “What?” Jayne rasped. “Don’ ya see me here standin’ in front a ya?” “That I do.” “Well,” Jayne said, looking translucent yet confounded by Mal’s skepticism. “There a reason you don’t trust yer scenes.” “Well,” Mal said low in his throat, “’Cause there’s all manner a things can make ‘em twitchy. Like, once, in the war, I ate this piece a cheese was rotten an’ had a nightmare full a ghosts a hell of a lot scarier than you.” “Damn it,” Jayne muttered. “If you ain’t afraid a me this whole thing falls apart.” “What whole thing?” Mal asked. “The thing where we save yer soul,” Jayne muttered. “You gonna save my soul?” Mal laughed. “By, what, teachin’ me the true meaning of Christmas?” “Well,” the large ghost muttered. “Could happened.” Mal was in hysterics. “Oh, yes, yes, I can see that,” he wiped away a mirthful tear. “The ghost’s of Christmas’ll teach me how to be a good, God Fearing man.” “Ok now,” Jayne grumbled. “You kin make all the ***** comments ya want. I only gotta tell you yer gonna get met by three more spirits.” “And will they all be as charming as you?” Mal quipped with an annoyingly flippant smile on his face. “Damn it Mal, this is serious,” Jayne snapped. “Now, Good Lord never seen fit ta give me a chance like this an’ I ain’t gonna let’ch snark yer way through it.” “Sorry,” Mal said, trying hard not to giggle. “You were sayin’ about the sprits.” “They’re gonna come and there gonna teach ya stuff and yer gonna listen,” Jayne said, pointing a phantom Vera at Mal’s head. “Ya understand.” “Oh, very well,” Mal said, forcing himself not to smile. “Good,” Jayne said. “Expect the first ghost when the bell tolls one.” “Jayne, there ain’t no bells on this ship.” “You know what yer problem is,” Jayne said, his translucent form growing fainter and fainter. “You just gotta have a little faith in people.” And then he was gone. Mal sat on his bed and starred at the space Jayne had just occupied, or Jayne’s ghost had just occupied, or what Mal thought had been Jayne’s ghost had just occupied. “******,” Mal muttered, blinking a few times and letting out one last gaspy laugh. “That was one crazy *****.” And with that he closed his eyes and fell immediately asleep.

THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PASTS Much to Mal’s surprise, he was awoken when the bell stroke one and a bright light flooded into his room. “Wha’the,” he muttered, pushing himself up onto his elbows. He blinked, several times, and the light seemed to take the form of an older man, with dark skin and white hair that surrounded his head in a somewhat unsettling halo. Mal knew, in his heart, that the man standing in front of him was Shepard Book, but at the same time, he knew he’d never seen or met this man before. “I don’ suppose you’d be the specter who Jayne said would be stopin’ by?” Mal asked, not bothering to sit up. “I am,” the ghost said, his voice was weathered and wholesome and Mal couldn’t help but like it. “Oh, well then,” Mal said, clearing his throat and sat up. For some reason Mal felt he needed to show respect to this luminous stranger. “Ah, you wanna . . . um, sit down or . . .” “I’m here to work Captain Reynolds,” The man said. “We got a lot to see and you ain’t got much time.” “What, my soul’s on a timer?” Mal asked. “You tellin’ me I’m gonna kick soon?” “I have but one night with you and we have many things to see.” “Who are you?” Mal asked. “I am the ghost of Christmas pasts.” “My past?” “All our pasts.” “I don’ wanna here no story ‘bout a babe in a manger.” “Like I said,” the ghost chuckled. “I don’t have much time. Perhaps we should stick with your past. Come,” he said, stretching out his hand. “We got a long way to go.” For a reason Mal didn’t quite understand, he reached out and touched the shepherd’s hand. He could feel chills run over his body, like a cold bite of peppermint ice-cream or a playfully thrown snowball dripping down the back of his collar. And suddenly he was not in his small room in Serenity, but rather in a large open space under the stares. There was the familiar compactness of his home planet of Shadow’s dirt underneath his feat and the sounds of cattle, which had lulled him to sleep throughout his childhood could be heard under this sounds of the ruckus party around him. “Do you know this place?” Book asked. “Know it? Mal asked with a laugh. “I grew up here, this is my ma’s ranch. Why, look, that’s old Hugh, and Jinxiey boy, and Tom Cat, Hey, TOM!” “They can’t see you,” the ghost said. “We are just shadows impeaching on their world.” “Right,” Mal said, clearly disappointed. Still, his eyes were open and wide as he scanned the field in front of him. “Is there something, or maybe someone, you’re looking for?” Book asked. “Well,” Mal said, his voice oddly strained. “It’s jus’ I . . . I ain’t seen my mother since, well, since . . .” “She’s right over there,” Book said, pointing to a large fur tree in the center of a, presently, unused corral. She was standing on a soap box, looking radiant, her hair was pulled up revealing a graceful neck that seemed always to be laughing and her eyes shimmered. “Kay, Key!” She yelled, ringing the large bell that she used to call everyone to dinner every night. The hands were all trained to stop and listen at the sound of that bell, a wonderfully expectant quiet fell on the crowd. “Y’all havin’ a good time.” There was a cry of hoots and hollers from the crowed. “Well I’m glad!” She said. Her voice seemed to glow, It mad Mal feel warmer than he’d felt in over twenty years. “Y’all know what day it is!” “Christmas!” The cheer came out. “Well,” she laughed. “Y’all are wrong! It’s Christmas Eve yet fer another ten minutes. And there’s only one way ta bring in Christmas, Malcolm.” And then mal saw the most amazing thing. Himself as a boy, no older than ten, so excited by the night and the party and the spirit of joy that surrounded the corral that he didn’t show his exhaustion at being out of bed so late. The boy’s eyes were bright and innocent and glistening with nervous excitement. “And low,” He said, his voice was clear and eager with childish innocence and wonder. “There were shepherds watching their flocks by night . . .” “You used to love that story,” Book said. “You used to put so much faith in it.” “I was a kid,” Mal said gruffly. “I didn’t know any better.” “Not just when you were a kid,” Book said, and the scene changed. They were no longer on Shadow, but they were still in the middle of a large, outdoor Christmas party. “*******,” Zoe laughed. “Where did you get this wine, Sarg?” “Part of being a good commander is knowing how to provide for a company,” a younger, less innocent but, as of yet, still gracious Malcolm Reynolds said. “Only the best for my boys.” “And girls,” Zoe said, lifting her tin cup, filled nearly to the brim with cheep wine. “And my very pretty, very frightening, girls.” Zoe laughed, as did Jannette and Cindy, and Josy. Mal had forgotten that he’d taken so many women into battle, that he’d left so many on the field. As he glanced around at the swarm of people he’d, at one time, had under his command, the swarm of people he’d gladly have died for as many times as possible, a swarm of the braves, most dedicated, most moral, most convicted, all around best people he’d ever known. And they were all dead, every single one of them; every one but him. “I don’t want to be here, spirit,” Mal said, his voice was thin. “Why?” Book asked. “This seems to be a jovial enough place.” “There all dead.” “This is the past, they are not dead yet.” “Soon enough,” Mal spat. “They in the middle of a ************* war! What the hell right do they have to be celebrating?!” “The stars are shining, a quiet has fallen on the battle field,” Book said. “There is laughter and wine, good friends and they are alive. What right do they have not to celebrate?” Mal didn’t answer, he just looked at the scene in front of him, furious. “You know that most will die before the end of the year,” Book said. “All but Zoe,” Mal muttered. “And she dies soon ‘nuff after that.” “Do you honestly begrudge them their last Christmas?” Book asked. Mal didn’t have an answer. “As long as we live, there is reason to celebrate and thank God for his many gifts.” “Gifts,” Mal harrumphed. “Would that be the suffering or the death, that God gave these people?” “You used to have eyes that saw, and ears that heard,” Book said, nodding towards the group. “Alright now,” young, Mal, unfettered by bitterness and sorrow, said, “We all got our wine an’ before we get stinkin’ drunk, there’s some words I feel we need ta say.” “Better hurry,” a young man, no older then 19, named Hennson called out. “We all know how well Cindy holds her wine.” A roar erupted from the assembled group. Cindy, a not quite pretty woman who did nothing to help her dowdy appearance, turned to Hennson with a quick venimance, “Be careful buddy boy, I got a big knife and I know where you sleep!” The group laughed again, hardier, and it took a full five minutes for young Mal to calm them. Finally, as the giggles died down, the Sargent was able to say, “I wanna propose a toste, on Christmas Eve, to God, or fate, or the good force, or whatever you chose to belive protects us, and gives us good food, and good wine and good friends.” “Come on, Sarge,” an older man named Robby, called from the back. “We wanna drink.” “A toast to all that’s good!” Sgt. Malcolm Reynolds said, raising his glass. “All that’s good!” the company echoed and as the sweet wine touched their lips, the scene faded into darkness. “Good,” Mal grumbled. “It abandoned them, us.” “Are you so sure?” Book asked. “Turn and look.” Mal did as he was told and found himself in Serenity’s dinning room around the table only a very few years ago. Zoe was there, still alive, her belly swelling with the child she was going to give birth to in late January. Wash was sitting next to her; Mal was shocked by how much younger the pilot looked. Inara was there, looking as beautiful as any Christmas angel, and Jayne strong, ruddy, and very much alive. “Oh,” Zoe moaned, pushing a plate of food away. Real food, cranberry sauce and stewed turkey and green beans and real rolls. It was a feast unlike any Mal had seen since. “I think I’m gonna be sick . . .” “What do you need, Honey?” Wash asked, grabbing his beloved wife’s hand with one of his and stroking her arm with the other. “I can run and get anything.” “Oh,” Zoe said again, laughing, “Well, if you could get this baby out of me so there’s more room for my stomach.” “I’ll see what I can do,” Wash laughed, then turning to Mal, said “We’ve got an extractor in the Infermary, right?” “Got a laser saw,” Mal offered. “Not good enough,” Zoe insisted. “I’m fine, dear, really.” “You gonna finish what’s on yer plate?” Jayne asked, eyeing the half eaten meal greedily. “Please,” Zoe said, pushing the plate across the table. “Do you remember this Christmas,” Book asked the older Mal. “Yeah,” Mal said, his voice tight. “I don’ wanna see anymore.” “Why?” Book asked. “I’ll admit that this is not the most joyious celibration I have to show you, but . . .” “No!” Mal yelled. “I don’ wanna see it!” “Perhaps if we hurry through the night,” Book said, and suddenly it was very late and Zoe and Wash had gone to their bed and Jayne was cleaning off the rest of the Christmas feast, leaving the younger Mal to walk Inara to her shuttle. “Not this,” the older Mal said. “I don’ wanna see this.” But the spirit was merciless and he was forced to watch as his younger self. Drew the beautiful woman to her shuttle door. “Well, then,” he said, a little awkwardly. “Here we are.” “Yes,” Inara answered, smiling up at him. “Here we are.” “Hope you had a good Christmas.” “Very good, thank you,” Inara said. “You were really too generous.” “Nah,” Mal said, shrugging. “That dress was just too pretty not to buy you.” “Well,” Inara said, blushing and looking down at the ground. A sly smile flickered across her face and the older Mal, the one who knew what came next tried to close his eyes. But whether by some cruelty of the spirit or, perhaps, some devious division in his will, he could not look away. “Look up,” The companion said, glancing to the top of her doorway. “Wha?” the younger Mal said, glancing up to discover a quaint bow of mistletoe hanging just between his head and Inara’s. “Oh.” “What are you going to do Captain?” Inara asked. “Well,” The younger man said, smiling like a rouge. “It’s Christmas, that’s mistletoe, I don’t see that I have much of a choice.” He leaned forward and their lips touched. The Older Mal finally pulled his eyes away from the kiss, he didn’t need to watch it, he could remember it all too clearly. It haunted him, just as Shepherd Book was haunting him at this moment. The feel of her lips, the smell of her perfume, the softness of her hair, it was all burned into his memory. It wasn’t his first kiss, and it hadn’t been his last, for he’d found many women to romance as he tried to drive the memory of that one kiss away. But still, it clung to him, the one and only kiss that had ever truly stirred his heart, the only kiss that had left him breathless. He hadn’t caught his breath yet. “Fine,” the older Mal yelled to Book. “I’ve seen all the happiness that I lost. I seen everything that’s driven me to this point. I get it.” “Tell me what you get?” Book said. “I had the Christmas spirit or whatever the hump you want me to have. I knew about Christmas, I knew how to have a good time, I knew how to celebrate and be thankful fer what I had. But I lost it.” “You did,” Book nodded. “’Cause I lost them,” Mal said, glancing longingly at Inara’s image as she came out of the Kiss, her eyes wide with wonder, a smile twitching on the corners of her mouth. “I lost my Mother, the Ranch, I lost my troop, I lost the war, I lost Zoe, Inara, Jayne . . .” “You still have Wash.” “Wash,” Mal spat. “You blame him for Zoe’s death.” “Was that baby killed her. She would have had no baby if she had no husband.” “And Inara, is it Wash’s fault she left?” Mal swallowed the lump in his throat. “This is the past,” Mal said, tears were creeping out of the corners of his eyes. He was too proud to wipe them away. “Why the hell bring it up.” “Because we are little more than an accumulation of our past,” Book said. “You know what you feel, but what you don’t realize is that, by ignoring why you feel it, you have lost all you’re power to change it.” “So you’re a what now, psychologist?” “You are not hopeless,” Book said, his form was beginning to glow and somehow, at the same time, fade. “You’ve just forgotten where hope lies.” “I ain’t quite clear on the difference,” Mal said. “You don’t have to be,” Book said, his light was so bright that Mal was practically blinded. “Just don’t be afraid to Remember.” And then the light was gone, and Book was gone, and Mal was alone in his dark room. “Well,” His said, gasping a little as he slouched on his bed. “That was . . .” but he had no words. For a very long time, he just starred at the wall across from him, lost in thousands of memories he’d wanted to forget.

TO BE CONTINUED . . .