He almost doesn't expect it, after all that. Surely she's aiming for his cheek, but then Fitcher's lips touch his, and Barrow has just long enough to touch his fingers to her jaw before she pulls away.

A silence passes between them, then, as he looks up into her face, his eyes hazy with admiration and, worse, trust.

"A raft for a drowning man," he says gently, after a moment.