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Shaky fingers. Fragmented nightmares. Disheveled hair. You knew the look a mile away.
"Wanna get out of here?" you offer. "Just for a little while?"
Steel eyes locked on yours for a brittle moment. Bob was spiraling.
"Please."
The 24-hour diner was outdated, but it was quiet. Empty. It was perfect for two stragglers fighting to stay awake and keep a low profile.
The booth was against the window, and as Bob slid in, the faint purple glow of the neon light outside lingered on his cheeks. An old sweater covered his shoulders, almost blanketing him. He wore it for…goodness. He must have worn it all week.
It was a safety net.
A waiter strolled over, setting down menus and taking drink orders. Two coffees.
They brewed a new pot - you could smell it a minute later. And then, two ceramic mugs were brought over. You mumbled thanks, and Bob offered a half smile at the waiter before he stepped away. It didn't make it up to his eyes.
You watched unsteady hands dwarf the cup, then pull at the little sugar packets in the holder. Four sugars. No cream. Shaky fingers tore at the paper. The metal spoon clinking in circles was hypnotizing. You didn't mean to stare.
With a clarifying blink, you reached for your own. Two creams. One sugar. And when you finally looked back up, it made your belly ache.
Bob was still struggling, his eyes flitting anxiously and his Adam's apple bobbing. So you laid out a hand. An olive branch to calm the storm. His eyes caught yours again. A heavy breath.
His hand dwarfed yours, and still, you gave a tentative squeeze. Walker would have teased you.
But perhaps it was the grounding that Bob needed.
"Sometimes," he breathed, eyes darting outside the window, deflecting even when you could see his reflection in the glass. "It feels like I'm living just to feel the drop."
Oh. Your chest ached for him.
"I-I'm going to hurt someone," Bob thought. "If I do nothing, someone's gonna get hurt." Guilt chewed through him.
Ah. There it was. The last mission was challenging for everyone. Abrasions and contusions were common, but everyone seemed to need medical care this time. The most notable of the bunch was Alexi pulling barbed wire around his ankle. The metal dug deep. He had never needed a tetanus shot before. He pretended it didn't bug him, but super soldier or not, he wasn't indestructible. You noticed the limp still taking time to heal.
Bob's owlish expression and lingering presence when you landed didn't help. He was stuck in the tower, stuck on the sidelines. He had clearly let it fester. He took a sip of coffee.
"Careful," you warned at last.
It was a whisper, and his eyes landed back on you from the other side of the cup. Your stare was intentional and careful. And he kept steady, shoulders tensing. You leaned in gently.
"That's something a hero would say."
But there was a soft smile at the end of your words. And you swore you could see the upturn of his lips from behind the coffee cup.
"Is that," you dared ask. "is that what you want?"
He set his cup down with a swallow.
"I'm not a hero," he admitted, the words sour in his mouth. "I just. I just," and another pause, "I don't want to be a burden."
You laced your fingers with his. Warm. Bob was always warm.
"You know what I think?"
His tired eyes perked up, lips pursing as he shook his head. It was sluggish. Tired.
"You bring out the best in us." you flashed a self-deprecating smile. "I'm- we're lucky to know you. I can't imagine where we'd be without you." The quick correction didn't change the look in Bob's eyes. Strong. Hanging on every word.
This time, it was you avoiding eye contact.
"And when," not if, you made a mental note, "you are ready to be a hero, I think we're all a little afraid of where it will leave us."
Because as fucked as being twisted in Valentina's web was, she did make a good point. Bob was Earth's mightiest hero. He was it. He had that spark - something broken and perfect.
You were broken, but you weren't perfect. Not a god. Not a super soldier. Not even a half-decent assassin. If anyone was a burden, it was -
"Stop."
Bob's voice was more decisive. He squeezed your fingers. You looked up to find his eyes already on you. It was as if he could see the invisible spiral of your own line of thought.
"You're - you're incredible."
It was more confident than he had been all night. You didn't know where it put you. You didn't know where it would lead you. You chewed on your lip - perhaps you saw the best in each other. And you weren't alone.
"Then, if we can't trust ourselves," you thought aloud, brows furrowing before relaxing, "Then we'll just have to trust each other, yeah?"
Slate eyes were tired of the internal battle. But even then, Bob looked more at ease. Talking about it did help. And as he looked at his hand in yours, Bob's focus changed. You thought you spotted a flash of color in his cheeks. But maybe it was just the glowing neon sign.
"I'm not going anywhere."
The promise passed your lips before you could stop it. Idiot. Why did you have to- your breath hitched, feeling before seeing.
Bob's thumb started rubbing slow circles on the back of your hand. Slow. Grounding. Calming. Warm.
You'd never seen someone so hopeful. Like your words were valuable. Like you were valuable. And the soft cadence of his voice? Groundbreaking. And you couldn't help but believe him.
"Then I'll try," he promised. "I'm not going anywhere."