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He notices things like the accidental brush of her sleeve against his arm. She’s usually careful about giving him his space. Today she doesn’t seem to be all there. She needs to be aware if he’s going to have a chance at keeping her alive. He’s half a breath from telling her so when she looks up at him, smiling.
The look in her eyes is both warm and oddly distant. He suspects some weird Jedi thing and wonders if she could focus even if she wanted to. He hates doing it but it might be best to set their mission aside until she’s got her head on straight.
He’s made up his mind to suggest they stop for the day when she reaches up, glove mysteriously missing from one hand, and brushes her fingers over a cut he’d gotten in the last fight. The cut, the bruises he could feel forming on his shoulder and ribs, and all the pain associated with them are gone when she takes her hand away.
“I’m sorry I’ve been distracted,” she tells him, voice gentled by something he can’t name. He doesn’t try. There will be time later to unravel her mysteries.
“Just pay more attention,” he responds because “it’s fine” and “do that again” are both on the tip of his tongue but neither make any sense to him.
They go back to their mission. She’s back to her preternatural level of awareness, he doesn’t take another hit, and the world makes sense again. He doesn’t linger on the feeling of loss when her shield protects him and he thinks of the way her hand felt against his skin. Now is not the time.