I know they wonder. But a communications officer is a trained keeper of secrets. And I have learned from the best, from him, how to let my face be a mask.
I respond to crew curiosity with professional reserve: not aloofness, even that might seem to say I have something to hide.
After the Narada, on the long sub-warp trip home, he worked relentlessly to keep the Enterprise functioning. Despite his exhaustion he could only sleep spooned tightly around me, each breath against my shoulder hot and slow, each taken in controlled mathematical precision.
Were there tears? I'll never tell.