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No one really blinked an eye. It was normal, a part of who you were. At first, Walker made jokes and pushed so hard to reveal your secrets. But you ignored him. The long sleeves and pants were part of you. No matter the season, the weather, or the occasion, you wore clothes that covered every part of your skin. Everyone knew this, and Yelena and Bucky made sure you had the tactical suits or dresses for missions in how you liked them.
However, there was a mistake or a lapse in judgment, or maybe it was intentional, but the outfit for your mission was a sleeveless dress that went to your mid-thigh. Valentina was in charge of this mission, and you knew it was why the dress wasn’t correct. It was like she had a vendetta against you.
You sat on the hotel bed and stared at the dress that hung on the bathroom door. It seemed to mock you. Each second that passed, your stomach grew into knots. You could call off the mission, pretend to be sick, or fake an injury, but the mission counted on you.
You were a new member of the team brought on by Valentina after the very public fight against Bob. The target had no idea who you were. “Shit,” you ran your hands over your face, and your legs began to bounce. This could not be happening. Perhaps one day you will be brave enough to show your skin; today was not that day.
The door to the hotel room opened. “Ugh,” Yelena groaned and used her foot to close the door behind her. “I hate stakeout missions.” The blonde was your backup. For at least a week, you would be stuck at this hotel pretending to be an up-and-coming investor. You would go to conferences, dinners, and parties. All to get information on Elias Carter. “Hey, should you be getting ready? You have a reservation at the hotel’s restaurant.”
“I can’t do it,” You said without taking your eyes off this god forsaken dress. Every dinner option had a similar cut, with no sleeves, being short, and highlighting every part you wanted to hide. Yelena walked over to you and sat on the bed.
“What do you mean?” Without looking at the blonde, you pointed to the dress. There was a beat of silence. “Oh,” Yelena huffed. “I am going to kill Valentina.” To your surprise, you barked out a laugh and shook your head. You played with the cuff of your sleeve. There was no time to get a new outfit. So it was either abandon the mission after weeks and weeks of work or suck it up. “Hey,” Yelena nudged your shoulder with hers. “You do not have to do it. We can figure something out.” Finally, you looked at Yelena.
She had a soft smile on her face. There was no pity in her eyes, but understanding, somehow, that made it worse. “You don’t even know why I’m like this.” Yelena shrugged.
“I don’t have to,” she said. “This is a boundary you have, and we should all respect that.” You smiled and leaned back on your hands to stare at the dress. “But you can tell me. I will never judge you. I have no right to.”
You wanted to believe her. So many people have said that to you, but they broke your trust. You couldn’t blame them. It was hard for anyone to handle, even for you. All your mirrors were covered, you had no photos of yourself, and most of the time you changed in the dark. “So you know how I can,” you wiggled your fingers. Yelena nodded. “There is a consequence to my power.”
It was a surprise to everyone that you managed to stay under the radar for so long. SHEILD, Xavier, and the Avengers were always looking for mutants to help with the cause. But you hated using your powers because of the scars that decorated your skin. Only extreme circumstances would you use them. One of those rare circumstances caught the attention of Valentina and the New Avengers.
You could summon chains to bind, drag, or crush anything you targeted. The chains were intangible to others unless you made them solid. The drawback was that each time a chain was summoned, a scar would be branded on your skin. The scars looked like chains. Small usage of your power could leave faint ring-like scars around your wrist or arms. At the same time, longer uses would leave long, dark scars. The chains you used to imprison others imprisoned you, too.
Slowly, you pulled back your sleeve. “They aren’t as dark on my arms and legs, but on my chest and back, it looks like I was burned.” With a gentle hand, Yelena traced the chain-like scars that she could see. You shivered, not used to someone’s touch on you.
“Do they hurt?” She asked and looked at you. Still, her hand was on your arm. It was soft and warm.
“No,” you answered. “They ache sometimes, and when they intentionally appear, they sting.”
“And they appear,” Yelena said slowly. “Every time you use your gift.” Gift, not power or ability, or weird magic trick, Walker called it. Yelena always called what you could do a gift.
“Every time,” you whispered. The blonde frowned suddenly.
“You should have told us. That every time you saved us, it was causing you pain.” You shrugged and pulled your arm back from her grasp.
“It’s a small price to pay if it means the team lives,” you pushed your sleeve down. Another benefit of your power was that you could use it from a great distance. In each battle, the team liked to test how far you could be. You’ve stopped buildings from collapsing, cars from hitting civilians, and captured enemies before the team arrived. “They are just ugly. An eye sore to look at.”
Yelena was quiet. Maybe she finally saw the truth. You were ugly, a freak, a disgusting monster. Those words. Those insults. You were numb to it all. “They are not ugly,” Yelena finally spoke. She stood up and knelt in front of you. She moved your chin to look at her instead of the dress that was taunting you. “They are a part of you, and I do not think you are ugly.” You frowned, eyebrows narrowing at the blonde.
“These,” she continued, rolling up both of your sleeves. “Are a reminder of everything you have sacrificed to save us and so many people.” Once again, her fingers traced over the scars she could reach. You tried to keep your body still, but you still flinched. Yelena was watching you intentionally, capturing every reaction.
There was a set of scars near your right elbow; you got them when you stopped a car from crushing Yelena. You remembered every way you got your scars. It seemed to be part of the curse. Yelena’s fingers dug into that collection of scars. They always seemed to ache, but now they felt good with the way Yelena was massaging them. “Why?” Your voice cracked. “Why are you touching them?”
“Do you want me to stop?” Her hand paused their movement, but they stayed on your skin. As much as the feeling caused anxiety to swirl in your stomach, you liked it. It was different, new, and exciting. You shook your head in a no. Yelena smiled and continued massaging them. “I think you would look amazing in that dress, by the way,” you honestly forgot about the dress and the mission. “But if you are not comfortable, we can figure something out, okay?” You looked at the dress.
A lot was riding on this mission. Weeks of stakeouts, countless meetings, and the information gathered from Carter could save countless lives. “I’ll do it.” You whispered. Before Yelena could protest or say anything else, you stood up and walked into the bathroom. You closed the door and turned on the lights. The light surprised you. It may be time to embrace the scars.
Slowly, you stripped out of your comfort clothes and stared at your reflection. The scars on your stomach were darker. At least there was a positive; the darker ones were the easiest to conceal. Sighing, you put on the dress and left the bathroom without another look in the mirror.
Yelena was sitting on the bed where you sat. Instead of looking at your scars, her eyes were locked on yours. Her smile was soft. “Like I said,” Yelena said. “Beautiful.”
Your body felt warm from the compliment. Rolling your eyes, you ran your hands over the dress and flattened it against your body. “Careful, Belova,” you smiled. “Keep giving me compliments like that, and I will expect them all the time.” Suddenly, she stood up. The blonde was shorter than you, so you looked down as she stood in front of you.
“I will compliment you till my dying breath.” An embarrassing squeak left from the back of your throat. Yelena chuckled. “That was cute.” You pushed her slightly, not hard enough, but she stumbled, as if to be dramatic. Maybe it was her laugh. Perhaps it was her smile or the way she looked at your scars with not disgust or pity but as if they were beautiful. For the first time, you began to believe it.
You weren’t sure who leaned in first but your lips were against her. They were softer than you expected. Her hand moved up your arm and gripped your jaw. Her hold on you wasn’t controlling or possessive. She held you like you were soft and precious. She held you like you were soft and breakable. Your hands found her waist, holding her tight. You could not believe this was happening.
Finally, you pulled away as air filled your lungs. “I’d better get ready,” you whispered. “Don’t want to keep Carter waiting.”
“Right, the mission.” Before she stepped away, she kissed you one last time. “I will be right there, watching your back.” You smiled.
“I know. Thank you.” When people discovered the scars on your body, they recoiled in disgust. You learned to conceal them and hide that part of yourself. But Yelena seemed to be different; she embraced them. The jagged edges finally meet the light, and there is no turning back. And you were going to be just fine.