Tycho's eyes on him were a little too discerning, and Ford found himself looking down at his glass almost immediately after speaking. He kept his eyes there, watching the quivering reflection of the nearest lamp on the surface of the wine, until Tycho nudged his foot. He let out a long breath before he met Ty's eyes again, then leaned his elbow on the back of the bench and his head against his hand as though he would have preferred to hide behind his fingers.

Of course that wasn't all there was to it, and Tycho knew it despite Ford's attempted deflection. If the answer to Ty's question hadn't already been obvious, it would have been from the pained expression on Ford's face now. Don't make me explain, Ford pleaded silently. If Tycho asked again he would tell him, Ford thought. He couldn't imagine lying to Tycho about something like this, and he couldn't think of any way to avoid answering the question entirely, but he really didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want it to change things, and he had the impression that it would change things, even if neither of them wanted it to.

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