Chapter Text
“What’s gotten you makin’ that face?”
Her eyebrows furrowed, “What do you mean?”
“That—” He waved a finger, “—sorta pout but not really.”
Renee gave him a deadpan look. “I’m pretty sure this is my normal face.”
“No,” Elliott began, with a casual shrug of a shoulder. “I’m pretty sure I know what you look like when something’s wrong.”
His choice of words and the simple way he made the assessment that made her scoff, and she turned her head away. He would know. But it wouldn't be so surprising. He knew her more than anyone, even before she started looking at him beyond friendship, long before they started dating. She has been around him enough that she trusted the point of view and the way he looked at things so very different from hers. It worked in the Games, when one brain isn't enough to ensure the team's safety, and he’s often pretty spot on judgment about life outside too.
It’s these knowledge and the fact that he’d never judge her that she exhaled heavily, leaning forward and resting her head against the cool surface of their kitchen table.
“Renee?”
She raised her left arm, letting the sleeve of her jacket bundle, and then tugged it all the way down, bearing the insecurity to his full view. Her skin on her left arm is thick and leathered, especially around the area where her phase tech clung to her veins. It was molted, cracking, and very unsightly but despite the appearance she's not in any danger of losing her limb. Unfortunately, not a single cream Ajay or Nat suggested worked on it either.
He let out a puff of air. “Renee.”
“I—uh—there were a few people earlier. Who talked about scars.” She explained. “Apparently it’s ugly. That’s what they said. Just ugly. Didn’t even make it seem I should take it lightly, or tried to sugarcoat it. It’s just ugly. I guess, in a way, it is.”
It’s the middle-aged woman and her posse. She made it clear time and time again, she did not like getting her pictures taken but they pushed and followed and she tried—calmly—to make them leave. One of them grabbed her arm and saw and just said ugly hoping it would hurt. It didn't, not really. Never does when she was self-aware about it. It just rankled on her nerves. What she hoped was that no one would exaggerate it when it that story breaks into the public, because there was a small crowd who caught it. Otherwise…well, Elliott has a protective streak a mile wide no one would ever expect, and their friends also have a few colorful things to say.
He scoffed, case in point. “And you used that hand to punch them in their faces, right?”
“I wish.” Renee snorted, “Of course not.”
“Agh, it’s the Apex Games ruling thing—or whatever they call it protecting civilians, ain’t it? Not important. You know what’s important?” Elliott paused, and the silence stretched for so long that she lifted her head to fix him a look. It seemed to be exactly what he was waiting for, because he said: “They’re wrong.”
“Elliott.” Her heart lurched. “If you think I’m trying to bait for compliments, I’m not.”
“I know you’re not. I’m just saying they’re stupid and they’re wrong.” He shrugged a shoulder and turned to the counter, pouring, setting and fixing the dinner he made for them. She couldn't help but stare the planes of muscles on his back and the dip of his spine dragging into his sweatpants hanging low on his hips, built on hours upon hours of training. Her boyfriend. She earned the right to ogle him. “You know we can set an appointment with Bateman and they’d erase it no questions asked?”
She frowned, taking a moment to remember what they were talking about. “I know that.”
“But you didn’t.” He turned holding two plates. He placed one on her side, and the other next to her where he usually sat. “Everyone of us in the team have scars—and all of us still have it until now. We all know we can get it removed, but we don’t.”
She sat up straight, trying to trace where Elliott was going with this.
He has several on his face, across his nose, eyebrow, and cheek. Natalie has her trademark on her face down to her arm. Parekh, Williams, Imahara and Ajay have several pucker marks from bullets and knives on their bodies. Horizon, Bloodhound and Caustic have burns on their hands, while Fuse, Octane and Crypto have angry welts on their limbs. Hell, even Loba—perhaps the second most vain person she knew—kept the scars on her arms and one small one pinching on her cheek from the time her parents were murdered.
“It’s pride.” Renee whispered and watched as Elliott’s lips curled into a smile. “A proof of things we survived.”
“It is.” He said and walked around the table. “They should be embarrassed and glad I wasn’t there. Would’ve roasted them to the afterlife.”
She huffed a laugh, “Now I'm hoping I saw that.”
Elliott leaned and dropped a kiss on her temple near her lids, making her eye close by instinct. “You are—” He took her left hand in his and planted another kiss, “beautiful.”
Renee huffed in playful protest, still getting used to all these gestures of affections he gives so freely, but she tightened her fingers around his palm. When he sat down next to her, she leaned closer to him and pressed her lips against his.
“Thank you, Ellie.”