“Ow.” Mal sucked his thumb, something he hadn’t been prone to do since he was about three, but the paper cut stung.

It was Christmas Eve, probably the day he’d always loved most of the holiday season. Even when he was a kid, and he knew there’d be presents the next day, somehow that final 24 hours of build-up held a magic all its own. Hope, he’d always figured, and he didn’t mean the little girl asleep down in the crew quarters. The feeling of hope – and anticipation. No matter if the gifts weren’t what he wanted, that there would always be clothes and things his Ma thought he needed, that anticipation of what might be inside the gaily wrapped packages had been almost too much to bear, and still had the power to make his heart beat a little faster.

He knew he wasn’t alone in this, Freya having mentioned it herself when she talked in particular about her grandma coming to stay at the Rostov family home, but he wondered if anyone else felt it quite so keenly.

Kaylee, of course, had started decorating as soon as the calendar had turned from November, and now a tree of sorts stood in the cargo bay, another in the kitchen, and paper chains hung along every corridor. He’d avoided going into the engine room lately in case yet another piece of shiny folderol caught his eye, although the traditional origami crib on the bridge did make him smile. When he was alone, of course. Couldn’t have his reputation as Captain Humbug cracked.

Still, it wasn’t going to be quite the same this year. No matter how hard they tried, neither Hank nor River had been able to devise a course that would take them close to a planet where they could put down and have real snow for the festivities. The job, the first in a while and very welcome, meant they were for the most part away from any civilisation or uninhabited moon, not even a black rock in their path.

It was his own fault, of course. In recent years he’d made sure the kids had a white Christmas, no matter what their age (even Jayne had looked let down), a