Disclaimer: no owning going on here.
Pulse
It became, within a relatively short span of time, an odd sort of tradition. They did not have the opportunity to meet often, but when they did, their greeting, such as it was, didn't alter.
Not necessarily verbally, though there was, fairly early on, nearly always mention of dinner. She often asked, but he was never hungry. Or so he claimed. It didn't matter. "Good", she unfailingly replied.
It was the only time they really touched with any intent. If they were in no imminent danger, they chose to simply stand, somewhat closer to each other than they both would wish to with any other. His thing, perhaps, but on these extremely rare occasions hers as well.
Then he'd lift his arm so gently to hold out his hand, his palm pale, fingers slightly curled upwards.
He would always do this first. Long since 'Twice', it was an agreement between them, unspoken, but inviolable. She found physical contact comparatively easy. For him to do this was an act of trust.
An invitation, of sorts.
She couldn't ever help but to wait for a few seconds, longing for that moment when his gaze flicked up to hers in confusion, or more likely curiosity at her delay. She would not ever be entirely sure which, but his eyes never failed her. He always looked up.
Then, never away.
Their eyes caught, held, and the world stopped. They darkened, two pairs of cold eyes made warm.
She would lift her arm slowly, finally allowing her hand to brush his before it settled over his wrist. His eyes never left hers, but every time she knew he felt the movement, that he saw it.
He always saw.
This had proven to be the limit of their intimacy, but it didn't matter. These were all too rare, these broken moments, but they were enough.
And so, stares fixed, with fingers resting so gently, they would take each other's pulse.