Uh oh. He screwed up, somehow? It was the smile, probably. He reaches out with his free hand to brush her hair back from her face, the gesture tender and familiar and hard to separate from the history this place has fabricated for them.

It's jarring, somehow frightening to realize he's falling for this woman in increments so small he hadn't felt the shift until this moment. (Falling for her again, his mind says, and he dismisses the thought.) There's a part of him wondering if this would work, how it would work, how he can convince her to come home with him when the time comes.

He steps on that. He has to. He's not going to drag her away from everything familiar and into a war.

"It's all right. It's okay."