Easily, gratefully, she let her hand curl around his. The contact was becoming familiar again, second-nature, and she both dreaded and savored that. She didn't want to feel about him the way she did, or to find such a simple gesture so meaningful. Once taken hold, though, the effect he had on her was a difficult thing to turn off.

It was also entirely irrelevant at the moment. This wasn't about her — or, if it was, only to the extent that she had been thinking a moment before, him trusting what she had to say about all of it. If he did, just that alone would be something she appreciated more than she could say.

"It can be," she told him, her voice matching his in softness. "You should get to have that." He'd given his life to the Rebellion and then for the Rebellion. If anyone deserved a chance to rest, she believed it was him. "But I know believing that isn't so easy."