Her hand rests on Cosima's abdomen, steadying, or so she hopes. Which of them she intends to steady is less obvious, when she'd best prefer to claim it was never herself, and yet in this moment she feels rather more dependent on it. Cosima is solid, real; perhaps it is Cosima who is steadying, now.

In general contact means pain inflicted, proximity meant threats. Weapons met flesh, not kisses and careful touches. There was something grounding, in this, in the slow reminder than touch and closeness were good.

"I am honour bound to keep you out of trouble," she finally says, breaking the kiss only to murmur gentle teasing.