Author's notes: This is slash, Mal/Simon, but there's nothing explicit. Mostly it's just suggestion, but there's some pretty obvious suggestions, so…right. Tis slash, you've been warned.

He doesn't remember when it started, but nowadays, he sleeps in Mal's bunk as often as his own. Mal doesn't believe in crew romances, but whatever it is they have, Simon is under no illusions that it was romantic. Sometimes, though, it seems as though Mal forgets his own rules. Simon never does, he's good at following rules—right up until the moment he finds he needs to break them.

Mal doesn't so much cuddle as hold him in place, like he's afraid he's going to leave. Simon would complain, but he's pretty sure if the grip was any looser he would. He should feel safe. Laying here, with someone he cares about, he should feel safe. He tells himself he does, but something always breaks through the lie.

"Tell me about Osiris," Mal says, already more than half asleep. Simon goes still.

He closes his eyes, and when he speaks, his voice is level. "He was an Egyptian god, the king of the underworld." He paused a moment to take a breath. "He judged the souls of the dead."

Mal shifts uncertainly, and the arm around his waist uncurls slightly. "That's not what I meant," he says.

Simon pulls away, moving to sit at the very edge of the bed. "I know what you meant."

-----

He accepts that he can never go back. He wouldn't change it, not for anything, not for dinner parties and sterile white rooms. He understands that he can't go back, and wishing for things he isn't going to have is nothing but a waste of time. He's happy where he is, as happy as he'll ever be, anyway, and he tells himself it's more than enough. They were lucky, River and him, when you really thought about it.

If fate had led them to anyone other than Mal Reynolds they would have been spaced when they learned the truth, or worse, they would have been kept alive and turned over. They're lucky where they are and there's no going back. Simon