It warranted contact -- comfort, proximity, or something similar. Whatever the emotionless could scrape together to mimic it. A cautious hand came gently along Dexter's shoulderblade, mayfly light and would scatter just as soon, if prompted. His fingers trailed down in the idea of what could be understanding -- what could have been more -- and he hoped it expressed what he could not say.
"Thank you." It was muttered under a breath, and his hand returned to his knee.