Blue eyes almost-white meet such dark brown, all he does is watch them, too aware of her eyes on him too, where they land, how he moves when they do, how she moves. How close are their feet from each other? Hand just above the space her arm hair grows. Is it too close? It’s more than he can think of now, the dangers someone faced without seeing a doctor in so long, the fear he searches in her eyes now, everything as a hint of where he should hold himself, what she needs. He holds himself further back, holds his hand more gently.
The Force reaches out as a source of light, up her veins, down bones. He senses it, the scars around her neck, the arms, a history that strikes as a chord, or a knife, or just fear placed as concern. He looks up at her under eyelashes as his expression is still facing her hand, no question in the gaze, it’s just to see. Enough to speak words, if she looks long enough. He’s had to fight for his own life too, it doesn’t make it feel better that Nimm had to too so young.
His eyes are still down as she speaks of Yavin, still watching his hand, his Force signature spreading as water does, waves against a quiet shore, spreading calm, if he can. But there’s something soft across his expression. He says it, only half a joke, maybe hoping the air will be lighter, “We’ll call it a date,” look at her through his lashes again, and then down again, and still there as he answers her, “On and off, when they needed me. Twelve years, if you don’t count the time I wasn’t here. If Ahsoka asked for a house call,” and she knew he would be there.
After this, he steps back, slow, the way he lifts his head up, in the way he straights his back, stretches it, in the way his gaze turns back to her. “The vaccinations will do you well if you haven’t been on many planets. Your immune system will have a hard time taking to a jungle,” a beat, “I may be able to treat the scars, if you want it,” spoken quiet.
The almost-blue, almost-not of his eyes reminds her of something she’s seen before in a dream. (Water from a fountain in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. There are stones at the bottom that she used to collect. She’d show up to the creche with her entire sleeves soaked from reaching beneath the surface to select the smoothest ones.) Atticus watches her beneath white lashes, and she watches him, wisdom in her owlish gaze. Sees the fight inside, the fight he’s known. Sees that he understands. She allows her hand to rest a little more readily in his palm.
Atticus is all calm. A ripple in still water; something known beneath it, comforting. Her posture relaxes. She only realizes after it’s been a beat too long that she hasn’t taken her eyes off of him, and when she does, she forces her gaze back down to their hands. There’s still a small smile on her face.
In return, she peels her Force signature back, allowing it to spread. It stretches out like a Tatooine sunset, something melancholic in the memory of the planet’s twin suns steadily making their way over the horizon. If she closes her eyes, she can still picture them. (Hot wind over her cheeks. She misses the dry heat.)
Her smile grows at his words, “A date?” Echoed, eyes flickering back up to meet his. A question. She then nods, “A date, then. Are there—are there very many waterfalls, here? On Yavin?”
From the way he answers her question about time, Nimm doesn’t immediately chastise herself for being nosy. Twelve years in the Rebellion, twelve years of healing, of fighting. She nods a little. Part of her wonders when Atticus first knew of the Light inside of him. Of what it called him to do. She can’t help but ask him, “Did you ever—was it ever something you knew? How to... heal, I mean. Outside of being taught in the Temple.” (The last formally taught Healer alive. That was another thing Nimm heard.)
Her fingers curl back into her palm, hand lowering to her lap again, “I’m ready for the vaccinations.” Straightens up her shoulders and lifts her chin, the movement playful. His next words cause her to tilt her head and swallow, quiet for a beat before, “It’s... it’s okay. It is. Maybe,” Subconsciously, she touches the small line on her throat, “Maybe some other time.”