Frank gave her a second to move. He knew she was keeping an eye on him, and when she'd settled, his gestures were practiced, deliberate. He let his hands rest on his shoulders for a moment before he started to dig his thumbs in, seeking out knots that had settled in for a long haul.

Decency, respect, a long term commitment not only to a woman he loved but to the military that had been his second family kept Frank's hands professional and his gaze discrete. Natasha was a beautiful woman. He wasn't dead. But this was an act of kindness, some small thing in a place that was unkind.

He rubbed his fingers up the nape of her neck, into the back of her hairline.