Mal climbed the ladder out of their bunk, pausing briefly to watch Freya sleep. She was tangled up in the sheet, lying mostly on her front, and her tattoo was visible. He’d never told her how much he loved that tattoo, how it had brought her back to him all those years ago, but he was pretty certain she knew. When he’d kissed it from the base of her skull right down to the swell of her hips, before turning her over and slipping into her, he was sure she understood.

Not that he understood her sometimes, now being a prime example. With a sigh which he ruthlessly suppressed, he stepped into the corridor and headed for the galley. Switching the lights on but leaving them low, he crossed to the kitchen and opened one of the top cupboards. He smiled. He knew he could always rely on Jayne to have a bottle stashed somewhere. Picking up a mug he went to the table, sitting in his usual seat and pouring himself a measure, as he scratched his beard idly. Tomorrow this was coming off.

“Should you be drinking alone?” Sam asked.

Mal looked up. The therapist stood in the doorway, his shirt hanging loose from his pants, his hair released to fall down his back. “Want some?”

“Maybe a drop.” Sam smiled.

“Can’t sleep?”

“No. I've been reading, but it doesn’t help.” He sat down next to the captain and held out his glass. “Just a small one.”

“Well, since it’s Jayne’s it can be as big as you like. Might help you drop off.” Mal poured.

Sam held up a hand. “That’s plenty.” He took a sip, and Mal had to admire the way he concealed the shudder that ran through him.

“Yeah, it’s good stuff,” he said, his lips twitching.

“Captain, I hate to think what your stomach looks like.”

“Yeah, me too. Nearly saw it, back there on Three Hills, too.” Mal took a mouthful himself.

“Yes.” Sam studied him.

For a moment Mal let him, before he put the mug down on the table, staring at the other man. “What?”

“Just wondering why you’re not in bed with your wife.”

Mal shrugged. “She took al