Hank checked their route for Lazarus once more, set the autopilot, and stood up. He stretched, hearing the joints in his neck pop, and he scratched his head. Time for bed. And time for a haircut, too, he considered. Not that any barber he’d ever tried could do anything.

“Double crown,” River said.

He turned, not really surprised. She’d been spending a lot of nights on the bridge. Something about the shuttle being too big without the big guy – at least, that’s what she’d said when he asked her. “Not sleepy?” he asked.

“Very. But saving it for Jayne.” She slipped onto the bridge, her bare feet making no noise on the decking.

“Thought it was something else you were saving for him.”

“That too.” She smiled at him. “You didn’t ask what I meant.”

“Double crown? Oh, I know.” He pushed ineffectually at his hair again. “Two points where it grows, and they’re fighting each other.”

“You’re losing.”

“What, my hair?” Alarmed, he ducked down to try and see his reflection in the bridge window.

“No. The battle to have a style.”

He straightened up, grinning at her. “Guess you’re right. Much as I’d like my hair to look like Mal’s, I’d even be content for it to look like Jayne’s. But no matter what I do, it still looks like I’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards.”

“I think it’s sweet.” She sat down and flicked off the autopilot.

“Figuring on doing some flying?”

“Some.”

“Don’t let Mal catch you. You know he says you’re grounded for flying Serenity into the dark side on Amnesty without asking.”

“He’s asleep. In the infirmary. Dreaming of Freya. Dreaming of …” She smiled, and her face took on an aspect far too mature for someone whose one and only boyfriend was Jayne.

“That good?”

“Might have to change the blanket.”

Hank winced. “And on that somewhat disgusting note, I’m going to bed. ‘Night, River.”

“Goodnight. Sweet dreams.”

“Don’t need ‘em,” he replied as he walked off the bridge. “Got my woman back again. That’s all the sweetness I require.