The look on Archie's face doesn't go unnoticed, but for all that it warms William's heart and sends a pleasant, quick buzz all through him, he finds himself focused otherwise on Horatio — on the frustrated furrow in his brow, on the spot where his hand's come into contact with the table.

They've struck a nerve.

But of course they have; Horatio's are exposed at all times, it seems, frayed and still sparking. Volatile.

William pushes himself away from the door, abandoning the solidity and reassurance of the heavy weight behind him. With careful steps, he moves to Horatio, pauses, then lays a hand on the man's upper arm. His fingers curl against the fabric, against the swell of Horatio's muscle.

"This is about all of us."

Not just you.