❛ OKAY! let’s go to work, bobby. ❜ a pause, hands finding his hips and head dipping as he fights a grimace. ❛ sorry. bob. ❜ he doesn’t need another lecture from yelena about how he has to ask if he wants to call him bobby, doesn’t understand the hang - up there, but he doesn’t need to understand it to respect that it’s there, apparently. asking, however, is awkward, and he makes a habit of avoiding awkward, if he can, so it looks like he’ll just have to train himself out of the way the nickname slips out without thought. and speaking of training… a brisk clap of his hands and he’s back to business, ready to get to work. ❛ so, i know you can throw a punch, that’s not the issue. ❜ thinks, unbidden, of the last time he’d seen bob swing on someone―or something, he’s still not entirely sure what the void is, outside of being… well, bob. or a part of him, anyway. that all feels above his paygrade, frankly. ❛ the name of the game today is control. restraint. tapping into all that potential you got locked away up there, ❜ he taps his temple for emphasis, ❛ without letting the big guy loose. ❜ last thing he needs is another ass - whooping from the sentry. his pride still hasn’t recovered from the first damn time. / @centurie, for bob !