Wrote this awhile back, was pretty well received on Fanfic.net so I thought why not post it here? xD I hope you like it.
Scars
.::.
She's been afraid of them ever since she got her first, afraid to show them to the world. Because they'd judge her, scars were from failed battles, they were her weaknesses. Each scar told a different story, and it was memories she never wanted to remember.
Scars were the only thing worse than death, because you had to live with it. Though most of her scars were faint they were still there and she could pin point every single one and tell you what weapon had marred her beautiful tanned skin. But she was glad she never had to retell those stories, because thankfully the people around her don't know of these scars.
Until today that is, she has never once faced someone who has broken through her barriers and ventured far enough to see them and question them. So here she laid now her body naked in the darkness because she can't even turn the lights on for him to see how many they are and how devastating they had made her. He understands this and she is glad that he does, because it wasn't every day that she would bear it for all to see.
When he had lifted her army green t shirt off she could feel his hard stare on her back, and she expected that, but what she hadn't expected was for him to hug her. It took her off guard and she couldn't help but let out a little gasp as she felt his fingers trace each line, which brought back the haunting memories of when the blades entered her and forced against her resistant flesh.
His fingers seared her skin like a red hot metal rod just pulled out from a furnace, and it didn't actually hurt but she could feel it when her exposed skin came in contact with the humid air, tears began to well up and she refrained herself from screaming, just like she had before.
For someone like Tony she'd expected him to leave as soon as he'd discovered what a mess she was, she was supposed to be like the ugly dog at the dog hound that no one wanted. This wasn't a fairytale or a story where things like this happens.
As the first of her salty tears overflowed over her barriers he kissed it gently away, and it felt like a great weight had been lifted off of her shoulders. Like all this time she'd been holding it all in and that repression had created a mini gravitational pull on herself.
More tears fell as he continued to kiss them away, as if he was forgiving her for the sins she had committed and the sins of those who had done this to her. Because she was never human enough to forgive them, for doing this to her and making her live in a life of fear. To be afraid of being sent on undercover missions because her body was no longer something she could be comfortable in.
With the last tear that she had allowed to fall, he wiped it away softly with his thumb, and the green eyes that stared at her were warm and tender. She knew it must've been a dream because this was Tony, he was the clown and she should've been the perfect pitch for a great end of a joke. But instead he was rock on the inside, somewhere deep down where most people allowed things that really mattered to them, to affect them.
He saw the scars that scattered over her back, trailed down her legs, some just narrowly missing major arteries. And because he stayed behind when the crowd would've left, she told him, told him every single story.
From the very first on her thigh where her father had cut her because he felt she needed to learn to handle pain, that losing a sister is no pain compared to a two inch deep cut. He'd later apologized for wounding her so deep and helped her clean up the pool of blood that had bled profusely from the gash.
She told him the scar she got when she got caught up in a compromised mission and had nearly been killed by a bomb. The shrapnel that pierced her skin was something she could remember vividly, the agonizing pain of cold sharp metal entering and slicing her flesh apart.
She had to commend him on wincing and making it through all forty-one scars. But there was one more that he would never see, one that no one would ever see. Not only because it was the most painful but because it was invisible. It hadn't stained her skin like the rest of the scars that had been due to monsters that disguised themselves as human beings.
No, the scar that only she herself will only ever know is one attained not long ago, one attained right here in America. Scarred by the man in front of her, and not only once but several times, it would be a lie if she said each was deeper than the last.
But as conceited as it sounds it was when he was happy with someone else that scarred her the most, not the teasing and pranks, heck not even when he killed Michael. He placed the scalpel over the same incision and pressed it back in as she bled on. It was only a matter of time until she'd crack, that the scalpel will have nothing else to cut through.
It had seemed as if something had tipped her off, most likely her eyes, the betrayer it was of all her senses, it was the most disappointing. Suddenly his hand rose to place it over her heart, and she wondered if maybe she'd said that all aloud, that he'd heard all of it. But when his eyes flickered back up and he removed his hand, she knew he hadn't a clue what was killing her.
He showed the little respect that she deserved and wrapped a blanket over her body and brought her head to his chest.
But despite it all, he would never know.
.::.
Scars
.::.
She's been afraid of them ever since she got her first, afraid to show them to the world. Because they'd judge her, scars were from failed battles, they were her weaknesses. Each scar told a different story, and it was memories she never wanted to remember.
Scars were the only thing worse than death, because you had to live with it. Though most of her scars were faint they were still there and she could pin point every single one and tell you what weapon had marred her beautiful tanned skin. But she was glad she never had to retell those stories, because thankfully the people around her don't know of these scars.
Until today that is, she has never once faced someone who has broken through her barriers and ventured far enough to see them and question them. So here she laid now her body naked in the darkness because she can't even turn the lights on for him to see how many they are and how devastating they had made her. He understands this and she is glad that he does, because it wasn't every day that she would bear it for all to see.
When he had lifted her army green t shirt off she could feel his hard stare on her back, and she expected that, but what she hadn't expected was for him to hug her. It took her off guard and she couldn't help but let out a little gasp as she felt his fingers trace each line, which brought back the haunting memories of when the blades entered her and forced against her resistant flesh.
His fingers seared her skin like a red hot metal rod just pulled out from a furnace, and it didn't actually hurt but she could feel it when her exposed skin came in contact with the humid air, tears began to well up and she refrained herself from screaming, just like she had before.
For someone like Tony she'd expected him to leave as soon as he'd discovered what a mess she was, she was supposed to be like the ugly dog at the dog hound that no one wanted. This wasn't a fairytale or a story where things like this happens.
As the first of her salty tears overflowed over her barriers he kissed it gently away, and it felt like a great weight had been lifted off of her shoulders. Like all this time she'd been holding it all in and that repression had created a mini gravitational pull on herself.
More tears fell as he continued to kiss them away, as if he was forgiving her for the sins she had committed and the sins of those who had done this to her. Because she was never human enough to forgive them, for doing this to her and making her live in a life of fear. To be afraid of being sent on undercover missions because her body was no longer something she could be comfortable in.
With the last tear that she had allowed to fall, he wiped it away softly with his thumb, and the green eyes that stared at her were warm and tender. She knew it must've been a dream because this was Tony, he was the clown and she should've been the perfect pitch for a great end of a joke. But instead he was rock on the inside, somewhere deep down where most people allowed things that really mattered to them, to affect them.
He saw the scars that scattered over her back, trailed down her legs, some just narrowly missing major arteries. And because he stayed behind when the crowd would've left, she told him, told him every single story.
From the very first on her thigh where her father had cut her because he felt she needed to learn to handle pain, that losing a sister is no pain compared to a two inch deep cut. He'd later apologized for wounding her so deep and helped her clean up the pool of blood that had bled profusely from the gash.
She told him the scar she got when she got caught up in a compromised mission and had nearly been killed by a bomb. The shrapnel that pierced her skin was something she could remember vividly, the agonizing pain of cold sharp metal entering and slicing her flesh apart.
She had to commend him on wincing and making it through all forty-one scars. But there was one more that he would never see, one that no one would ever see. Not only because it was the most painful but because it was invisible. It hadn't stained her skin like the rest of the scars that had been due to monsters that disguised themselves as human beings.
No, the scar that only she herself will only ever know is one attained not long ago, one attained right here in America. Scarred by the man in front of her, and not only once but several times, it would be a lie if she said each was deeper than the last.
But as conceited as it sounds it was when he was happy with someone else that scarred her the most, not the teasing and pranks, heck not even when he killed Michael. He placed the scalpel over the same incision and pressed it back in as she bled on. It was only a matter of time until she'd crack, that the scalpel will have nothing else to cut through.
It had seemed as if something had tipped her off, most likely her eyes, the betrayer it was of all her senses, it was the most disappointing. Suddenly his hand rose to place it over her heart, and she wondered if maybe she'd said that all aloud, that he'd heard all of it. But when his eyes flickered back up and he removed his hand, she knew he hadn't a clue what was killing her.
He showed the little respect that she deserved and wrapped a blanket over her body and brought her head to his chest.
But despite it all, he would never know.
.::.
