Sara shifts in his arms and Leonard instantly stills, like a deer caught in the headlights.

"What is it?"

There's a warm edge of - humor, not laughter, he knows that - in her voice when she replies.

"Don't suppose you've got a shirt that's a bit less…abrasive?"

For a moment, he doesn't even breath. "I don't need my armor here," he mutters.

"That's right," Sara agrees.

Then he very gently nudges her, and she rolls onto her side, giving him room to move. He's wearing a thermal underneath the heavy, military-issue sweater. Of course he is.

Silk, Sara decides, as she settles back against him. Elegantly efficient…and clinging to some nicely understated muscles in all the right ways, though she's not sure he's ready to hear that just yet.

"Better?" he murmurs.

"Mmmm."

His hand hovers over her back, uncertainly. "May I?"

She nods against his chest, and his hands slide up under her top. One palm rests on her waist, the other carefully explores the assortment of scars on her back. His sensitive fingertips are feather-light, gently tracing each mark. He touches that one on her spine, and she shivers.

"Ollie stitched that one. It can be a little sensitive sometimes."

"Think I'll stick with Gideon," he drawls.

Sara can just hear the smirk in his voice.

"We all have scars," she tells him.

He moves to pull his hand away, but it's tangled in the floaty blue fabric of her top.

"Don't stop," Sara whispers. "It feels nice."

He exhales, then carefully lowers his hand. She's so warm. It does feel nice. "OK," he breathes.