It's good - to see him laugh. To see him capable of it. Does he ever remember he is? Most of the time, it doesn't seem so. It's impossible, she knows, when she had been called playful, and now she wields it as just one more weapon.

It's easy, perhaps, where they're not talking in the tone of commands or debriefing, talking one to another in a war camp over what passed as a hot meal. That she reaches across, takes a grip of his hand. Solid, sure, not polite or decent. "You will. They will have your eyes and your wife's smile. Of that I am sure."

Miles, is what she sees. Sees them both in him, now she knows what she looks at. Different, of course, in part, but even so - "If you cannot believe it yourself, then I will believe it for you."

And with that, she relents, her hand moving back. To take a drink and lean back in her chair, settled back between their lines as easily as she strode across them.