Mal froze at the door to the bridge unsure of what to do. His hand reached out instinctively, but his legs did not move. Zoe sat in the pilot's chair, chin tucked, hugging a dinosaur-shaped pillow that no grown person had any right to admit publicly that they owned. He debated whether he should turn and leave, closing the door behind him, but then she would know that he had been there. He could also close the door with him inside, but then he'd still be... Either way, he felt the overwhelming need to close that door and shelter her from the prying eyes of the crew.

Zoe sobbed anew into the pillow and he wanted more than anything to run over and embrace her. But he couldn't. Not Zoe. He never touched her except to push her out of the way of a bullet or give her a leg up scaling a wall. Everything else, they conveyed with simple glances that spoke volumes more than any words could. His breath pounded sadly through him as he watched his best friend broken over the loss of the man she loved more dearly than life itself. And all he could do was stand by the door.

"Mal," she choked, her voice heavy with grief and tears. She kept her face downcast, but her grip on the pillow loosened. She never called him Mal. Never. But she knew he was there and in her grief, was summoning him. His breath coming in short puffs, he closed the door and walked slowly toward her. Every fall of his boots on the deck plate roared like thunder in his ears. He reached out his hand, but couldn't touch her, so he just let it hover over her shoulder. If only she would meet his eyes. Then without words, everything would be said.

But she didn't lift her eyes and his hand remained hovered. What if he touched her? Would everything change? The way they drew strength and calm from each other. The way they protected each other from their weaknesses. Would she be exposed? Would he?

Zoe's hand suddenly snaked through the air and grabbed his, pulling it down to touch her shoulder. She squeezed his hand lightly, and he in turn squeezed her shoulder. She wanted comfort and she would milk it from his hand if need be. A shudder past through his body into hers and before he knew it, he was squatted awkwardly behind the chair, the one hand still clamped to her shoulder, his other arm wrapped around her. She accepted his embrace, wet tears spilling off her chin onto his forearm. His face was next to hers, breathing fear and comfort, feeling the heat of grief radiating from her skin.

'Dear friend, I would take all your brokenness and pain on myself, if only I could,' he thought, but could not speak. Zoe wept and Mal held her until he felt the muscles in his legs would give out from staying so uncomfortably squatted. Even as his muscles began to shake, he held her, waiting for the tears to subside. Every now and then, he would squeeze a fresh hug across her shoulders and she would shudder and suck in the air.

When it seemed his body was like to give out, he felt her grip on his arm loosen. Carefully, he pulled back from the embrace, seeing a new wave of peace wash over her, accompanied by exhaustion. He found it entirely possible that she'd rest her head on that ridiculous pillow and fall asleep right there, but she didn't. Instead, she straightened her posture, shrugging his hand off her shoulder, eyes fixing on the stars outside.

"Sorry about that, sir," she whispered, her voice strong and stoic.

"Don't be."

Mal felt her peace contagious, and was grateful that the moment hadn't created new awkwardness. No complications. They just resumed like life was normal again, but without having to pretend the moment had not occurred. It was amazing to him how freely he could embrace her, but he was glad he waited until this moment to do it. This moment when the touch conveyed more than words or glances could.

He opened the door, letting the cool ship's air flow freely through the room, diffusing the heat of past shed tears. Zoe reclined in the pilot's chair, her feet on the console, no longer holding the pillow in a death grip. The desperation gone from her body, Mal no longer felt the need to put a hand on her shoulder or protect her from the crew. He sat easily in the co-pilot's chair, surfing the cortex, catching a smirk on Zoe's face as he told a joke. They weren't pretending. They never had to. This was who they were.

*~*

Post-A.N.: Comments welcomed and adored. I promise the new story (the one with plot) is almost done. It only needs an Epilogue and a little bit of beta-ing. Hope you enjoy this in the mean time.