Somehow, even after he’d begun to suspect the truth, he’d managed to avoid facing its inevitable implications. Of course she knew how he felt about her. She’d always known, and it had been that knowledge which had driven her away to the squadron command which had landed her on Hades as a POW and nearly killed her. And now he knew the complete reason she’d run away. Because she’d not only sensed his emotions but shared them. And so while he’d thought he was suffering in such noble, splendid isolation by concealing his love for her, she’d been bearing the burden of knowing exactly how they both felt.

Her expression wavered for just a moment before she smiled at him, and he kicked himself mentally. Beating himself up for feeling what he felt and for “inflicting” it upon her did neither of them any good. Nor was it his fault. He knew both those things, yet the knowing changed neither his emotions nor his guilt and frustration for inundating her with them… which only made all of them worse.

“Hamish,” she said, and her soprano was husky. A large, dark bruise was rising on her right cheek, and her upper lip was swollen. He didn’t much care for the way she favored her right side, either, but she only held out her flesh and blood hand to him, and he took it in his and kissed it. It was no longer the simple, adopted Grayson courtesy it had been, and both of them knew it, and he wondered miserably what they were going to do.

“Honor,” he said in reply as he released her hand.

Nimitz and Samantha leapt down from their perches and came pattering across the gym towards them, but he scarcely noticed. His attention was fixed on Honor.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” she asked in a very nearly normal voice, and he produced a smile which he knew fooled neither of them.

And would I really want it to? Hard as this is, painful as I know it is for her, there’s still something wonderful about it. About knowing that she knows exactly how much I love her, no matter how much it’s cost us both. And how much it’s cost Emily.

The thought of his wife reminded him why he was here… and why he’d come in person, rather than screening her. Why he’d deliberately arranged to make her feel his emotions. Something flickered in her eyes, and his mouth quirked with wry bitterness as he saw her recognition. At least it was only emotions, and not thoughts, he reminded himself.

“I come bearing an invitation,” he said, much more lightly than he felt. Nimitz and Samantha arrived while he was speaking, and Honor bent to scoop Nimitz up without ever taking her eyes from White Haven’s face. She straightened, cradling the cat in her arms.

“An invitation?” she repeated, and he felt a fresh flicker of pain at the wariness in her voice.