Fingerprints
Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Female Reader Warnings: Mentions of childhood abuse, bruising from intimacy, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending Word Count: ~1.2k Summary: Bob wakes up next to her for the first time. It's perfect. Then he sees the bruise. Authors Note: This is eh but im back from being sad, I couldnt get this out of my head, I hope I did it justice.
He woke up slow.
Not the way he usually did… startled, disoriented, blinking into the light… This was different. This was warm sheets, and soft ligh… a particular kind of quiet that meant someone else was breathing nearby. Shes here… she stayed…
She was on her stomach. One arm tucked under the pillow, the other stretched out toward his side of the bed like she'd been reaching for him in her sleep. The blanket had slipped to her waist sometime in the night… and the early light caught the line of her back, the curve of her shoulder, the place where her hair had fallen across the pillow in a way that made here look… well.. . like a fucking angel honestly …
Bob stayed very still.
Not because he was afraid. Because he was trying to memorize all of her. The way the light hit her. The way she breathed. The fact that she was here…in his bed, and she chose to be, and she hadn't left in the middle of the night….and she was still here.
He was aware, distantly, that this was the kind of thing normal people probably didn't have to remind themselves of. That waking up next to someone shouldn't feel like some sort of possible crime.
Any yet…..
His fingers found her spine without deciding to. Just… tracing. Lazy and aimless, down the knobs of her vertebrae to the small of her back.
Her skin was warm.
She made a small sound, not awake..not quite….and shifted closer to his hand.
Just this. Just stay like this for a second…
His thumb brushed her hip.
He felt it before he saw it. A tenderness under his touch, a faint swell where the skin was different. He shifted. Looked down.
Purple. Blue at the edges. Four distinct points of pressure, curving around the bone.
Fingerprints.
His fingerprints.
Bob's hand jerked away from her skin like he'd touched a burner.
He was out of the bed before she was awake.
Not gracefully. He moved like the sheets were on fire, pulling his hand against his chest, and the sudden absence of warmth was what woke her.
She blinked up at him. Sleep-soft, confused. "Bob?"
He was standing at the side of the bed. Shirtless. His hand still held against his chest, fingers curled in, and all the color had gone out of his face.
"I'm sorry," he said.
She pushed up on her elbow. "What?"
"I'm sorry. I'm… god, I'm so sorry. I didn't…" He gestured at her. At her hip. At the bruise she hadn't looked at yet. "I did that. That's… those are my… that's from me."
She looked down. Twisted enough to see the purple marks curving around her hipbone. Looked back at him.
"Bob…"
"No, I know. I know. I should've been more careful. I should've… I knew I was too strong for this. I knew it…. and now you're…" He waved his hand again, a panicked little circle in her direction. "You're bruised. I bruised you. That's… that's not…"
"Bob, it's fine."
"It's not fine. That's… no. That's the opposite of fine. That's, like……" His voice climbed. "I could've really hurt you. Like, really hurt you. I'm… I don't even know my own… I can bench press a building, and I just… I just grabbed you like it was…"
He tried to laugh, but it came out wrong.
"Cool. Great. Super-soldier serum, and I can't even…" He ran both hands through his hair. Held them there. "What if it was worse? What if next time I don't just… what if I actually…"
He couldn't finish that one.
He sat down on the edge of the bed. Not near her. As far from her as the mattress allowed. His hands were in his lap, palms up, and he was staring at them like they belonged to someone he didn't trust. Chest tight and aching.
She sat up. The blanket pooled at her waist. She didn't reach for him yet.
"Bob. Look at me."
He looked at the window instead.
She waited.
He was still looking at his hands. His thumb kept dragging across the opposite palm, back and forth, slow and repetitive.
"My dad used to…" He stopped. Swallowed. Started again. "Yep. So when I was a kid, there were always… my mom had bruises. I had bruises. And it was just… that was just what hands were for, you know? That's what they did. They left marks on people. With the…" He trailed off. His thumb kept moving across his palm.
"I told myself I wasn't gonna be… I wasn't like that. I'm not like that." He looked up at her. His jaw was working, his eyes wet. "But you've got…. so I'm just…"
He stopped. Looked back at his hands.
She didn't answer right away.
Not because she didn't know….Because the answer mattered too much to rush.
"Bob." Quiet. "Come here."
He shook his head. Small, barely a movement. "I don't think I should… I don't wanna…"
"Come here."
His eyes went to her, then the door, then her again.
He moved towards her.
Slow. Careful. The shame of the situation thick in his throat. He sat close enough that their knees almost touched, and he kept his hands in his own lap.
She reached for his hand. He flinched.
She took it anyway.
He let her….which was something at least. His fingers stayed limp, curled slightly inward. She held his wrist and turned his hand over. Opened it. Pressed his palm flat against hers.
"These hands were shaking the first time you touched me," she said. "Because you were so scared of getting it wrong. Do you remember that?"
He was quiet. His jaw tighten…. He looked away.
"I left marks on you," he said. Almost a whisper.
"Yeah." She brought his hand to her hip. Pressed it there, right over the bruise. Held it. "I'm not scared of you, Bob."
His hand was rigid against her skin for a long moment.
Then his fingers softened. Spread. Settled against her hip before trailing agsint her skin.
There you go.
She leaned in and kissed him. Soft. Unhurried.
He kissed her back. Barely. Checking whether it was safe.
She kissed him again. Slower. Her hand came up to the side of his face, and she felt the tension in his jaw, the way he was holding himself so carefully, so she stayed anyway.
His forehead dropped against hers.
"I'm sorry," he said. One more time. Quieter than all the others.
"I know." She brushed her thumb across his cheekbone. "You don't have to be."
