Some of his anxiety showed, in its small and subtle ways, mostly in the way he held himself, the tension in his shoulders and his tendency to keep his head more ducked, and when he was off duty like now, the fidget of running his right thumb over and over the place he knew and few others did where the prosthetic met his flesh. Not constant, but a tic that had come to him ever since the explosion.
The kiss did reassure him a bit, but he was still anxious about whatever she wanted to talk about. But regardless of that anxiety, he waited with quiet patience across from her as she tried to find the words. He knew about her condition, and he also had a lot of practice being patient. He leaned over and brushed fingers over one of her temples and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear; his fingertips were cold.
"Take your time. Words are hard," he said. "Even I think words are hard sometimes." And besides, it would probably be his turn to be speechless later.