Maybe physically touching him was a bad move. Not because the startle, the flush in his cheeks, is a bad thing to see, but more because of how his fingers move to curl around her wrist in response, bringing the same soft pink to her own face. This was meant to be comfort and gratitude, and yet something about it feels strangely intimate, makes the act of being here in his quarters with him - alone - feel like something more than it is.

Because what it is, she reminds herself - a cool thought to dash the heat from her cheeks - is two friends enjoying each other's company and offering support as they discuss the difficult times. That's all.

(Or is it?)

She is ready to protest, to insist that her regard is not so easily won, that he has done far more for them than he gives himself credit for, when he continues, offering such praise as to make her breath catch, her cheeks darken ever more in color. And when she speaks, the words come out rough, hardly as well prepared as she usually likes to be:

"My friend, you're far too generous with what you... with your words. I..." Y'tajha pauses, closing her eyes as she shakes her head, trying to clear a path through the thoughts and the emotions and the too-quick beating of her heart. "You are far too kind. Mayhap you do not see what you have offered us as anything more than a privilege, but there are others who would, and..."

Her expression falters, as if unsure where to go, until she manages to school it back into a smile; despite the (hopefully unapparent?) internal struggle, her fingers stay in place at his wrist.

"What I am trying to say is that the good fortune is mine. I— We are lucky to have a friend as steadfast as you are."

No, she was right the first time.

"I am lucky."