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 affection, and pain. He did not deserve the doctor, did not deserve Simon's trust. Did not deserve him, not after all he'd done. He thought of Zoe, the person who was always watching his back, a woman who was a fierce and loyal friend, who would kill to protect those she loved. She never questioned him. Never doubted him. He thought of little River, the broken, mutilated, toyed-with girl whom he had come to love, too. Kaylee, the warm ray of sunshine, the constant source of joy and positiveness, whom he loved like a little sister. Inara, a woman he respected and once thought he loved, a woman who was beautiful and intelligent. Wash, funny and kind, even in the darkest of times. Book, who was always ready to give valuable, wise advice... He suddenly realized how lucky he was to have these people by his side, always and every time. No matter what. Simon stirred next to him, pressing his body to Mal's and smiling as he opened his eyes. 'Hey,' he said, looking so prettily tousled. 'Hey,' Mal smiled, pressing a soft, lingering kiss on the doctor's head. Mal suddenly remembered a night two months ago. Simon had been shot during a job and they were, most unluckily, in the middle of nowhere. For three nights he was comatose, for three painful, terribly, tear-filled nights Mal had thought he was going to lose him. Night after night he sat by the bed, watching Simon breathe, dreading, with all his being, of the moment when that breathing would stop. He felt that terribly ache now, an ache that was in his heart but that was so intense it could have been physical. But the memory faded, and the pain faded with it, to be replaced by the dark room and a healthy, smiling Simon. 'What time is it?' Simon stretched, yawning, all aglow with warmth and carefreeness. 'Five-thirty; we've still got plenty of time.' 'Hmm...' Simon closed his eyes again, nuzzling his face so that his lips were pressed to Mal's neck. 'Simon?' 'What?' Simon muttered, eyes still closed. 'Kiss me.' Simon smiled against Mal's neck, and then looked up, squinting. He then wound his hands around Mal's neck and kissed the captain. The kiss was warm and slow, so deliciously lingering that it was as though they had all the time in the world. They loved each other's kisses, were addicted to them, to the simple comfort they provided. They were never hard or bruising. Their first kiss had been clumsy and hesitant, for neither really knew – or were comfortable with what – they were doing. But they always were gentle, soft, honey-like, unhurried. Seconds – or it could have been hours, or several heavenly years – later the two broke apart, smiling at each other as each silently proclaimed their love, wordlessly. A love sanctified by pain and hope, joy and laughter, trust and passion. A love that perhaps not all would understand. But that was – always will be – wonderful nonetheless...