WARNING - Slash. If you don't like, don't read.

Mal opened his eyes, stretching as the languidness of sleep left him. It was still very early – 5 am – but he knew that soon something would go wrong and he'd be wanted on the bridge, to sort out an assortment of difficulties, problems and crises.

He smiled as the man next to him moved, muttering in his sleep. Mal carefully propped himself up on the pillows. Almost absent-mindedly his fingers grazed the younger man's face; Simon's eyelids fluttered, but he did not awake.

It was one of those rare moments when the captain was himself – truly and perfectly himself. He found it difficult to open up to anyone – even to the closest of his friends – and knew that the crew saw him as a bossy, lonesome, distant, person. Wondering why he was so reflective this morning, he thought that the cause of his lonesomeness was a mystery to him. Was it the war? The bitter, unfair, cruel defeat that had stripped him of his faith, of any ability to trust, to believe in someone? He'd lost everything on that day. Lost himself, maybe. Was this why he could not fully trust even the people closest to him? Was this why he was constantly fearful of showing his true feelings, afraid of anyone using his emotions against him?

What would have his life been if he had never entered the war? Would he have been happy now, with some pretty wife, a child, a good, solid income and a cosy house? He grimaced at the thought. Was that really the happiness he wanted? Was having a ship, a crew whom he loved like family, a tender and caring lover lying beside him not happiness?

With a sudden, fierce pang of emotion he remembered the previous night, when they had lain together, side-by-side. He remembered the way Simon's silver-grey eyes had been full of love and care and hope. He could recall the gentle caresses of the doctor's knowing, professional hands, the cool brush of the long fingers, the satin-like texture of the pale skin. He saw the calm, angelic face now and felt his heart swell with