Characters: Hank Voight, Antonio Dawson
Tags: Gunshot scar, night time, Hanktonio, Bad things Happen Bingo, Scar.
Summary: Antonio, more or less, remembers giving Hank that scar. If not for him it wouldn’t be there. He wasn’t the one to pull the trigger, but it was still his fault. One more scar didn’t make much of a difference if you asked Hank, he didn’t blame him.
Antonio woke with a start, his hand instinctively reaching to the left side of the bed, feeling over the space. Cold and empty, Hank’s usual warmth missing. Antonio propped on an arm, glanced to the clock, his eyes stinging at the glaring red numbers. 2:36 AM. What was Hank doing up at this hour? A nightmare? A haunting thought? Stress from the day? With a small sigh Antonio rolled out of bed, near silent as he moved, carefully walking across the room as to avoid being loud. Hank was awake, so why Antonio was being so quiet was beyond him. He crept to the bathroom door left open just a crack, squinting at the dull yellow lights. Once his eyes were adjusted he noticed that Hank was examining a gunshot scar on his shoulder, sending Antonio’s thoughts reeling back.
He snapped himself out of his thoughts and walked into the bathroom, coming behind Hank, seeking his warmth. Hank shuddered at Antonio’s cold touch, looking back at him, if not fully awake before he was now. “Antonio.” He said softly, leaning back into him, smiling a little as Antonio buried his face in the crook neck. “Did I wake you?” He asked softly, feeling Antonio’s hand cover his shoulder where the old wound had healed. “On about that again?” He asked, moving it.
“I’m sorry.” Antonio whispered and Hank only shook his head, pulling from him. He turned to look at Antonio, putting his hands on his shoulders, leveling him with a steady glance.
“It isn’t your fault.” Hank replied, his voice more careful than usual. “You didn’t pull the trigger.” He added with a sigh. Antonio parted his lips to speak but was cut off by a kiss. Hank pulled back slowly, eyeing the younger man who still sputtered like an idiot at being kissed occasionally.
“They shot you because of me…” Antonio said, undeterred from the subject. Only he said that once he recovered from the shock of being kissed so suddenly.
“Hey, I could’ve done 1,000 things different.” Hank shrugged, putting his hand on the back of Antonio’s neck, turning his around. “Come one, let’s get back to bed.” Hank said with a yawn.
“Hank, it is my fault!” Antonio challenged, “Sure I didn’t pull the trigger… but if you weren’t there saving my ass, you wouldn’t have been shot.”
“Would you have shot that man?” Hank asked seriously, his eyes dark. “I was doing my job, same as you.” He added and Antonio knew when he was beat.
“Going to bed sounds nice.” Antonio said softly, glancing at Hank.
“I never blamed you, you know. You did what you were supposed to, so did I.” Hank said carefully, putting his hand on the younger man’s back, walking back to the bed with him.
“I’ll never forgot that scar.” Antonio said quietly, rolling to hold Hank as close as possible.
“I won’t either.” Hank laughed, getting Antonio with that strange humor too, “but that’s okay. Something to remember you by.” He added, sinking into him.
Hank might have fallen asleep, but Antonio was up all night thinking about what happened. The scene playing in his head over and over. Hank so close, getting shot in the shoulder while doing his job of saving him. He always said it was his unit, that it was his bullet to take, but surely he didn’t mean it literally. Antonio couldn’t get the image out of his head, Hank’s blood staining his jacket, his vest, his shirt, his skin. His arm in a sling. Even if he said it didn’t hurt that much, he knew it hurt enough. He’d been shot too, he knew the pain all too well.
“That wasn’t your bullet, it shouldn’t have been.” Antonio whispered, haunted by it the rest of the night, tormented by his own mind, unable to sleep again.
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