Seeing that rare smile vanish is always a bit of a dull, prickling pain. For once, Horatio can't quite dwell on the loss.

It's too overwhelming to think of stealing moments like this, with delicate contact and soft expressions. It's too fragile to let himself blunder through. (It's too difficult to hold himself back from leaning in against James's shoulder for a heartbeat, snug and perfectly content, a hair's breadth from the noose.)

"If it's-- required, sir."

Or if the commodore simply asked it of him, or hinted vaguely that it wouldn't be too much trouble.