Doc wasn't a very self conscious person. He didn't really care how he looked. It was never a concern for him, he had other more important things to do than worry about how presentable he looked. He didn't care if his hair was frizzy and a complete mess, he didn't care what clothes he wore. he simply didn't care. He only cared what one person thought about him. that person was Hank.
Hank has told him many times he was perfect, gave him compliments a lot, and that's all he needed. His confidence was set. He didn't care not one bit. But if that was so, why was he so upset over something as simple as his scars?
He hardly had any. He was in hiding a lot, working from the safety of the base. The rare times he went on missions he'd gain at least one or two scars. No matter how hard he fought to avoid it he would get caught off guard and gain another.. or a few.
2B lifted up his shirt in the mirror, revealing his beaten up torso. A scar dragging from his belly to his hips, another right across the middle of his stomach, ranging near his chest. Other littler scars scattered across his sides. He didn't care about how he looked, but why did this bother him so much? Seeing the remains of large injuries littered on his body was so frustrating. The pink tinted lines so bold compared to his pale skin.
He couldn't figure out why he hated them so much. Maybe it was the memories that came with them. The severe one that was closest to his hips brought back some bad ones. The time he needed to get into one of the agents computers so he went along with the trio. He got slashed across the stomach and almost died. Though, it wasn't all bad. Actually, it brought more good ones than bad. Hank worrying his ass off about him made him feel special, the whole group was mindful of him for once, and some other things that were actually pleasant to remember again.
That couldn't be it. Even the ones that didn't have as great of memories didn't make him this emotional. What was it? What was it about them that made him this disgusted?
He grimaced as he gazed into the mirror more and more. His eyes traced over every gash to thin cut line. Tears glossed over his eyes, making his image in the mirror blurry. He knew it was wrong to be so upset over such a thing as scars, this was Nevada, everyone's body has been torn to shreds. Something about it just bugged him so much. More than deimos breaking into his office while he was working, more than not getting his morning coffee, it hurt him so bad he was in tears.
Before he knew it, tears started falling down his face rapidly. He couldn't help it anymore.
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Hank arrived home from a mission. Sanford had flopped down on the couch with a groan, complaining about being sore. Normally he would eat after such a long and exhausting mission, but he just wanted to see Doc. He wanted to get out of his bloody clothes and get comfy in bed, cuddled up with his boyfriend.
When Hank made a beeline for his and 2B's shared bedroom, Sanford called after him. "Hey buddy aren't ya gonna eat?"
He shook his head, quickly signing 'Not hungry' before running to the bedroom. He knocked, hearing a faint voice tell him he could come in. He slowly opened the door, seeing 2B standing in front of the mirror.
The light was off and the sky was a deep red, providing hardly any natural light through the windows. Hank could only see the outline of his beloved. He came over to Doc, taking down his mask and pressing his metal jaw against 2B's cheek, resembling a kiss.
He noticed the smaller man's cheek was wet, along with his silence. Hank tilted his head to the side, looking down at Doc with worry written all over his face. Hank knew something was off about him, but he also knew that Doc probably wouldn't tell him.
"What's with the face?" 2B asked with an emotionless voice, the red glow from outside illuminating Hank's concerned expression. Hank tried to sign, forgetting the room was way too dark for 2B to see. Hank coughed into his arm to attempt to get his voice working again. Doc waited patiently as Hank tried hard speak.
"A...are...yo..u o-okay?" His voice came out scratchy and deep, way deeper than it already was. He hated when he couldn't use sign language, he'd go days without speaking and was suddenly forced to. Thankfully, Doc seemed to understand him just fine though.
"Yes Hank, i'm alright." He said, still lacking any emotion. Hank didn't press any further. Maybe later if his mood doesn't improve, he told himself.
The medic started to get ready for bed, it was very late anyway. The light was flicked on and he got his night clothes on, steering clear of the mirror. Hank did the same, putting on some sweat pants and not bothering with a shirt. He followed 2B around as he prepared for bed, checking his laptop quickly and plugging it in, unmaking the bed, and lastly saying goodnight to Sanford and Deimos.
"Goodnight!" Sanford said. "Night night." Deimos waved to them.
The two headed back to the bedroom, Doc staring at Hank's shirtless figure. He was covered in deep scars, huge scars, and even fresh cuts that were healing. Hank had way more scars than he would ever have in his whole lifetime. That made him feel utterly worse about how he's been feeling about his body.
2B sat down on the bed, Hank flicked off the lights and laid down. Fatigue hit Hank pretty hard suddenly. Doc laid down too, getting under the covers, and Hank took that as his opportunity to cuddle with him.
Doc chuckled as he was pulled into a bear hug by the way bigger male. Hank laid his head against 2B's chest, admitting a soft purr as he snuggled as close as possible to his boyfriend. Doc pulled Hank's goggles and mask off his face, since he always forgot to take them off, and set them on the nightstand.
2B stared up towards the ceiling, lost in his own thoughts. Hank kept pecking his cheek and snuggling him, noticing how he hardly reacted. Like cuddling with a dead body. Hank was frustrated. He understood Doc was upset but he didn't like when he hid his feelings. Something was badly bothering him, it was a little too clear.
"Are y-you going to t...tell me what's..wrong now?" Hank stammered. His voice was still working against him. He gazed up at 2B, his red eyes squinting in suspicion.
Doc sighed, "How can you tell?"
"I can... a-always tell."
"Fair," 2B said, "though, It's pretty stupid reason to be upset." He growled at himself. Hank opened his arms, allowing them to switch places, Doc now laying against his chest.
"It's n-not." Hank quipped, his arms swallowing the medic in a protective hug. "If it's both-bothering you it's p-p-perfectly valid."
Doc was silent for a few moments, collecting his thoughts before letting them burst out from the dam. He was never one to share his feelings. He kept them bottled up, always causing breakdowns over little things later on. Hank knew this would be good for him. Always encouraging him to open up more (a bit hypocritical for him since he never expresses much either).
"I'm not sure Hank, I just hate my scars." He furrowed his brow to suppress the tears that wanted to spill. "I was looking at them earlier and... I absolutely hate them."
"Doc—"
"I know, I know. You have way more than me, pretty much everyone has more scars than me. The ones I have just make me so angry. They look disgusting on my body." He rambled, tears would silently go down his face. All his longtime vanquished feelings were coming out over one simple matter. "They make you look tough but... me.. I just look.."
He didn't feel like finishing the sentence.
"F-first of all, how many scars I have doesn't matter." Hank said as 2B tried to protest, "Oh stop.. it Doc. Your scars make y-you look.. super tough." Hank growled.
"Your s-scars show how tough you are, you survived countless things... They are nothing to be insecure about. I'm q-quite proud of mine." Hank said, petting Doc's long hair.
"Do they make me look bad?"
"Hell no." Hank said, his deep voice free of any stuttering or pauses. He pressed his mouth to 2B's and wiped his tears. "Far..f-from that."
"Thanks Hank. I love you."
"Love you t-too.. get some rest."
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Word count : 1454
Date : 9/28/21