Mal and Book, post-Christmas,discuss the heavenly host.
Thanks to terimaru for typo patrol and encouragement.



Book wasn't, by nature, a manipulative man. Not in his present life, at any rate. Still, as he stood finishing up some late night dishes, he wasn't above turning the volume up just a bit on the song he had been singing to himself...just enough to make the tune audible to the owner of the purposeful footfalls he heard approaching the dining area.

"Shepherd Book," the captain greeted as he entered the galley. He took down his mug and cast a searching look along the cooktop.

Still singing, Book called Mal's attention to the coffeepot in his hands, and finished rinsing, set it on the counter, never interrupting his song. The captain groaned at the lack of coffee and turned to search for fresh fixings.

"Seems to me," he commented as he rooted through various compartments and hidey holes without success, "that Christmas has been done with two days now. Ain't it time to stow the 'Midnight Clear' til next year?"

Book let the question dangle until he had finished the last verse. Never did feel right dropping a prayerful song midway, and truth be told, he enjoyed the sound of his own baritone, particularly on a song of a melancholy bend. Only when the last note had melted away did he address the question.

"I'm afraid it is in my nature, Captain, to celebrate Christmas until we reach January 6th." Dishes finished, he meticulously dried his hands. "What some call Little Christmas. What others refer to as..." he produced a pouch of ground coffee from his pocket and presented it to the captain,"...Epiphany."

Mal gave a snort but accepted the coffee. "Others can refer to it all they want, Preacher. I've had my epiphanies, plenty of 'em and not one was to do with strangers lining up to ply me with valuables." He measured water with practiced ease and set the coffee to brewing. "Anyway, seems one day a year is plenty enough to ruminate on the musical talents of winged orchestras. Any more than that," he took a seat at the table, his voice turning to a conspiratorial whisper " takes away the mystery."

"Oh," Book folded his hands, touching his index fingers together, "I reckon there's not enough time in all of infinity to take away the mystery. We've so many questions to consider, that even now, heading on three millennia after the events in question, we've no idea what it is we're meant to ask, much less understand."

"Won't disagree with you there." Mal was up again, staring at the coffeepot, shaking it a little by its handle.

"And yet we keep asking. The same familiar questions. The who's. The what's." Book moved to stand opposite Mal. "The why's."

"I know the why's, Shepherd. Got all the answers I needed once I pulled my head out of the clouds your angels are singin' in. Found it made heaps more sense to watch the non-heavenly path and avoid the intents of the other sinners who're all too keen on drawin' a bead. Find that gets me through and no being fitted for a halo afore my time."

"I don't imagine there's many of us need to be troubled about being fitted for halos. But," Book set his own mug beside Mal's, "it doesn't hurt to listen to those who already have them."


Mal picked up the pot and, judging the coffee ready, filled his mug and Book's with evident relief. "Then you go ahead and listen to 'em, Shepherd," he smiled curtly, handing Book his mug. "You leave me a note if they happen to mention me by name. Until then," Mal started across the room and up the stairs to the foredeck, "the seraphim and cherubim can chime all they want, but they'll grow tired of warblin' long before I take up with the choir."

Book smiled at the captain's retreating back, the words of the song again running through his head. "But that's the point, son," he spoke to the empty room. "For all that we decline to hear, they never do stop singing."

He picked up his own cup of coffee and, oddly comforted, returned to his room, this time whistling the old tune as he went.