Page 86 of Alien Burn

“I have no idea.”

She laughed, a small, unsteady sound.

“It may have been important.”

“He'll recover.”

Her gaze dropped to his mouth. He noticed. She knew he noticed because his fingers tightened very slightly against hers.

“You've stopped talking,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“Is it because I'm looking at you again?”

“Yes.”

She let herself look a moment longer.

Then she rested her forehead briefly against his shoulder. He went still, and when his free hand settled against her upper back, she felt the care in it before she felt the warmth.

No demand to lift her face. No attempt to turn it into something she hadn't offered.

She closed her eyes.

“Thank you,” she said.

His hand moved once, lightly, across her back.

“You're welcome.”

She stayed until her breathing steadied. Then she sat up and wiped beneath one eye with the heel of her hand.

“I probably look terrible.”

“You look like someone who's had a difficult morning.”

“That was a very careful answer.”

“I occasionally manage one.”

He found a clean cloth in the cabinet by the water service and gave it to her. She dabbed at her eyes while he waited with his back half turned, a courtesy she liked him for almost as much as the hand.

When she was ready, she gave him permission to copy the note from her comm. He asked her to keep the original and tell him if anything else occurred to her, without trying to question Roemary or overhear another call.

“I won't,” she said.

At the door, she touched his arm.

“Dhomhes?”

He turned.

“Would you still have wanted to talk to me if I hadn't heard anything?”

The question shamed her as soon as she asked it. He answered before she could take it back.

“Yes.”