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forsenics · 26 days ago

Text

needles

pairing: bob reynolds x sloane bolton

summary: after being tasked with living with the new avengers and reporting to valentina on what they do, tensions are high between sloane and the team. she decides to give bob something to apologize for past mistakes.

warnings: cursing, mental distress, bob being slightly ooc, mentions of past trauma and abuse, undressing.

author’s note: this is legit my first fanfic i’ve written that’s made it out of the drafts. i love bob and sloane so much,, they deserve the world

rainy days inside the watchtower weren’t uncommon. there were plenty of things to do inside; watch movies, train in the gym, sleep, read, play video games, or in sloane’s case, knit.

it was something her grandmother taught her when she was young; all freckles and lost baby teeth and giggles, before the world turned her into a broken, quiet woman, who chose silence over the awkwardness of words.

her grandmother had sat her down, one sunny thursday afternoon, stuck some knitting needles in her hands, and taught her how to spin yarn into clothes. it took her four days to learn how to cast on, knit, purl, frog, and from there it was like magic. all sloane did for the next eight months was knit. she made scarves, hats, bags, and one ambitious sweater, with a hole in the armpit.

she loved knitting. she loved sitting in one spot and feeling the minnesotan sun pass over her after she spent countless hours poking her fingers with the ends of her needles.

she still did it now, even though her tension was awkward and the needles never sat right in her hands and her yarn kept getting tangled up in itself.

she could hear her grandmother’s voice as if she was whispering in her ear; ‘keep your hands relaxed, keep the strand of yarn over your shoulder for good tension. don’t drop your stitches.’

sloane sat crosslegged in a chair on the terrace, stormy grey clouds covering the sky, making for a somewhat gloomy atmosphere. a dark fleece blanket covered her lap, in which rested a half-knit leafy green panel, her knitting needles, and a handful of stitch markers that rested around her pinky finger.

her wired earbuds nestled in her ears, blasting some rock music as her fingers dexterously worked the stitching, slipping loops over the needles, the cable knit pattern revealing itself in the detailed ribbing.

she hadn’t told anyone in the complex she could even knit in the first place, and none of them really knew she could. she stuck to herself most of the time, figuring the team didn’t want to spend time with someone they considered to be a double crossing, traitorous asshole. the most interaction with them she got was sparring with john in the gym, making small talk with bucky at the coffee machine while watching him take his metal arm out of the washing machine, or alexei needing someone to listen to his new marketing strategies.

it wasn’t that they hated her; it was just uneasy terrain. sloane worked directly for valentina as her bodyguard, so right off the bat she was protecting the life of the one person they all not-so-secretly wanted to kill.

it didn’t help that she was an incredibly awkward person socially, opting out of conversations when she could, staying quiet even when spoken to, skipping team dinners and movie nights to stay in her room. it took alexei barging in and dragging her into the living room with an iron grip to get her to start spending mandated time with them.

she still didn’t speak much, but she opened up, little by little. gym sessions with john became more frequent, more time spent in the kitchen drinking coffee and talking to bucky while his arm took a spin in the drain cycle, alexei making sure she joined them for team dinners and movie nights. ava even started asking sloane if she wanted to join her and yelena for runs around new york city.

yelena had been hard to get close to. at first, it was a lot of glares, russian inflected mumbles underneath her breath, even excluding her from group dinners and movie nights, narrowed eyes and pursed lips whenever she was in the room, eyes full of disdain of who sloane protected and what valentina did to the one person she could never get close to; bob.

her relationship with bob was guarded, awkward. their face time was limited, they rarely were ever in the same room unless forced to be. they never spoke to each other, unless it was small, uttered ‘good mornings’ or ‘goodnights’. it was palpable in every room, every hallway. it seeped into the gym, the elevators, the bedrooms. everyone could tell something was going on between them.

people had tried to ask. bucky, alexei, even ava, one lonesome night, when sloane had skipped out on the movie alexei picked out for them, after seeing how happy everyone looked sitting with each other, bob leaning his head on yelena’s shoulder, her arm wrapped around his back. something dark had spread in her chest, tightening in it like a knot, her eyes burning as she told everyone, ‘yes, i’m fine,’ as the door clicked closed in place.

nobody, except maybe yelena, knew why things were so heavy between them. nobody knew that she was there when bob signed his life away, giving in to all the experiments that would be forced upon him, she was there when valentina paraded him around as her best experiment, as the sentry; she was there, sniper rifle pointed at his head when his gloved fingers curled around her boss’s throat, and she was there when the woman ordered her to shoot him down, defenseless, in the middle of his forehead, when he was bob again. nobody knew how her complacency haunted her, how she could’ve freed him the night they met, how she could’ve taken him with her, far, far away from this fucked up place, back to minnesota, away from everything.

her lips were pulled between her teeth as she ignored the icy feeling of guilt in her veins. her shaky fingers worked the yarn, slipping the stitches onto her needle, looping the yarn around her fingers and pushing it back onto the other needle. ignoring the feeling spreading in her chest was hard, but if she forced herself to focus on the needlework, it died down. the music blasting in her ears helped to numb it down even further.

she only had a few more stitches to finish before tying off the sweater. it was a beautiful piece of work, really. a leafy green cable knit sweater made of the softest hand-dyed alpaca wool she found, in a small vendor shop a few months ago during a mission in guam. only took her two weeks to make, between the missions and mandatory movie nights.

and there were no holes in the armpit this time.

she sighed, finishing off the last stitch, pulling the yarn through and cutting it with a knife she always kept on her. all that was left was to weave in the ends. her heart thumped. she was a lot closer to finishing this than she thought, and now the idea of giving it away played dastardly scenarios in her mind. would he throw it away, maybe even refuse it straight up? maybe even accept her gift, but it would collect dust in the drawer.

maybe she deserved that.

maybe she did, she thought morosely, needle resting between her fingers as she meagerly slipped the loose strands of yarn in between stitches, hiding them. maybe she deserved to be alone in a house full of people. maybe she deserved to be hated by all of them, valentina’s little pet.

another fuckin’ nobody, she remembered john saying to her once.

it stung more than she cared to admit.

the sweater was finished before she could even really comprehend it, the ends woven in so much it would take an incredible amount of wearing to get them loose. her stomach dropped. now came the hard part. now came actually giving it to him.

her feet padded softly against the cold floor, hands clutching the folded sweater as she walked down the hallway. appropriately, her room was unneighbored, while the new avengers were spaced out in different hallways, they were still next to or across from each other in some regard. she’d imagined the several different ways this scenario could play out, but now that it was here, it was a totally different beast.

she reached his room, one hand leaving the softness of the yarn to knock on his door, the other holding the gift went behind her back. with a dry throat, she parted her lips and spoke. “bob.. it’s sloane. may i come in?”

her question gave him room to deny her entry, and in fact she expected him to do so. her heart felt like it was thundering behind her ribs, constant hammering she could hear in her ears that she blamed on tinnitus. she expected him to say no. she expected him not to answer. what she didn’t expect, was the door to open, with bob standing on the other side, sheepishly. “ye-yeah, come on in.”

they didn’t speak to each other. they hadn’t in several months. sloane walked into his room as he went to his bed, sitting down as her fingers curled around the doorknob, though it rest a few centimeters from closing, as if asking a silent question. “oh— uhh-“ bob uttered quietly, nodding after catching on, and the door closed with a click, leaving them in front of each other.

bob’s room was small. the lighting cast a comfortable yellow-orange glow around the room, making for a calming atmosphere. there was a small bookshelf in his room, trinkets spanning the length of his dresser, which also held a stack of books on it. it felt homey. she liked it.

sloane’s chest felt too tight, her throat felt too dry. even though it was the softest fiber she’d felt, the wool of the sweater felt too itchy.

bob’s fingers played with the hem of his sweater, unable to really look up at her since she’d been made to live with them, months ago. there was a tightness in his chest too, which he was unable to describe. his index finger looped around a loose string, pulling it from the fabric, as he parted his lips.

“so— did you need anything from-“

“i just wanted to come in and-“

they both spoke at the same time, after a bout of silence, words jumbling together to form incoherent sounds. their faces both flushed from the embarrassment of stomping on each other’s words.

“i-i’m sorry, you-“

“oh- you go ahead-“

again, they jumped on each other’s words, sloane exhaling something that wasn’t quite a laugh. bob’s face turned redder, and he looked away. “y-you go ahead,” he invited, the lack of eye contact making sloane’s heart sink, as she fought to find the right, exact, perfect words to say.

her mind kept blanking. she couldn’t form any words, mind racing a mile a minute, just like her heart. it was silent in the room, suffocatingly.

“um,” she started, licking her lips and swallowing. “to be honest, there’s a lot i need to say, and not a lot of words i know how to use to say it,” she started, glancing down at the floor, unable to see or feel bob’s blue eyes slowly bring themselves up to her figure.

“when i was growing up, my grandmother taught me how to do a lot of things. knitting was one of them. i remember she used to take me to bingo nights, she stuck needles in my hands and let me work.” bob nodded. “i remember, growing up, i could never really make a sweater just right. there was always a hole in the armpit. could never get the decrease just right.”

her mind screamed at her to hurry this along, that he was bored, and that he was just acting polite to get her to leave sooner.

“um, this is for you.” she said quickly, awkwardly, taking the leafy green sweater from behind her back, and thrusting the neatly folded clothing item at bob, who stared at it with wide eyes. “it’s, uh, alpaca wool, really soft, hand dyed. yelena helped me measure the sweater so it would be the size you like. yarn’s stretchy too. b-but, uh, it has to be hand washed,” she recited, cheeks burning pink as he stood up, slowly inching towards her.

his eyes glossed over the sweater like it was made of pure gold. nobody had ever done something like this for him before, nobody had ever made something like this for him. the yarn was a bright, inchworm green color, the stitching so detailed it marveled the sweater he was wearing. slowly, hesitantly, like it would melt in his large hands, he picked up the sweater from her outstretched arms, eyes wide as they traced the ribbing, the stitch patterns, the hems. his throat tightened, heat burning between his eyes as tears beaded at his vision.

sloane watched his reaction, breath held unconsciously as he picked up the sweater, eyes practically sparkling. she swallowed the lump forming in her throat, speaking up, quietly, again.

“if it’s, uh, the wrong color or size, i can just redo it-“

“it’s perfect,” he said, with a hint of trembling words. he really liked it. he liked the color, he liked the feel of the fabric. it wasn’t itchy, it was really soft, like cashmere, something he knew he wouldn’t get overstimulated by. his fingers pinched the fabric, marveling at the cable pattern.

“oh.” sloane replied quietly.

there were so many things racing through bob’s head, so many thoughts that buzzed past that were barely comprehensible. why would she do this for him? how long did this take her? why did she spend all this effort on it, like he mattered enough to be someone to make a sweater for? why did she dedicate so much of her time to making him this sweater? his throat clenched.

“uh- how-how much time did you.. spend on this?” he asked, eyes glued to the yarn.

the ghost of a smile curved her face. “oh. like, two weeks.”

his eyes bulged, and he looked up at her, tears dotting his vision. “two.. weeks?” he repeated, his sparse responses making sloane worry.

“y-yeah, if you don’t like it, i can-“ she started.

“n-no, no, i love it,” he hurriedly replied, “i-i love it.. i just don’t know why you’d go through all the effort of making this for me..” his voice trailed off, cracking. sloane blinked.

“oh, it wasn’t much trouble. it was pretty fun to put my focus into.” he still looked confused, somewhat upset, so she continued. “it’s an apology sweater.”

his eyebrows quirked up, and he brought his gaze up to her, though her eyes were fixed on the sweater. “apology sweater?”

“y-yeah,” she shrugged sheepishly, “to apologize… for everything.”

bob’s heart dropped. “you don’t have anything to apologize for..” he mumbled, eyes falling down to the item in his hand. a tear threatened to spill down his cheek.

“yeah, i do.” sloane replied, nodding. “i was complacent.” admitting that to herself made her heart hurt more than she cared to admit.

“n-no,” bob said quickly. “you weren’t. you were doing what you had to, to stay alive.”

his words stung deep, like pouring lemon juice over still-open wounds. he was right. too right.

“i’m sorry i was so complacent,” she started, voice dipping to a tremble, “i’m sorry i never did anything. i’m sorry i just stood and watched her do all that shit to you… i’m sorry i never got you out.” it first time in many years her voice carried some semblance of emotion. it tore through her words and pierced through bob’s chest, shutting up that voice that only said, she isn’t sorry, right up.

swallowing back the tightness in her own throat, and the burning behind her eyes, sloane continued. “i’m sorry i let her manipulate you, i’m sorry i let her lie to you. i wasn’t- sh-she didn’t—“ she paused, to cool herself down and let the emotions ebb from her voice, “she lied. i wasn’t brought to manipulate you, i’m her bodyguard. i was just there to protect her, that’s all. anything else that happened, happened because of my own volition.” she continued further. “i chose to come down to the lab, i chose to come down to see you all those nights. she made it very clear not to get attached to any… subjects, but i disobeyed her orders anyways.” she left out what had happened when valentina had discovered that sloane started visiting bob’s cell frequently at night, what had happened when she finally caught them. what she’d done to sloane for disobeying a direct order.

that job wasn’t a promotion. it was survival. sloane did whatever valentina asked to stay alive. the director of the CIA could’ve killed her any moment she stepped out of line. and she made sure sloane knew that, after breaking one of her most important rules. she swallowed.

“i should’ve helped.” she said finally, eyes low and watering. she couldn’t get that message out of her head, that she should’ve done something. her life wasn’t worth much as it was.

they stood in a silent impasse, knowing that whatever they said, the other would have something to combat it. it was awkward, for a little while.

then, bob spoke.

“it wasn’t your fault,” he said, looking down at sloane, standing a few inches taller than her. the soft bass of his voice made her cheeks flush, her eyes never leaving the knit fabric. “you couldn’t have done anything without risking your position and your life. i couldn’t ask you to do that for me.”

slowly, she dragged her eyes up from the fabric, up to his chest, his neck, his jaw, and then, finally, achingly, his eyes.

“you didn’t have to ask,” she said quietly, lips thinning into a sad smile. “i would have done it anyways.”

seeing the emotion painting her face was enamoring. for the longest time, sloane had tried her absolute hardest to never show any emotion ever. emotions made her weak, careless and reckless. without the fear of hurting someone, herself, or any friends, she was able to push herself beyond limits she never knew she had.

but now, it was different. now, emotions fueled the hearth living underneath the layers of nuance and neutrality, the molten fire cracking through her hard exterior.

they locked eyes for a long time, something lingering in the air between them, some kind of static, and electric charge. then, as he did before, bob broke the silence.

“i like the sweater,” he said, softly. “it’s a nice color. really soft. i might go try it on.”

“oh,” sloane nodded. “yeah, have at it. do you, uh, want me to…” she jerked a thumb towards the door, bob’s eyes following her gesture.

“oh, n-no, it’s fine,” he shook his head, a small smile on his lips when he realized what she was implying. “i’ll just go in the bathroom.”

she nodded, watching him shuffle into the room, closing the door behind her. her eyebrows raised at hearing the lack of a click.

there was shuffling of fabric as he lifted the sweater off, the movement swinging the door open a handful of inches.

sloane sunk down onto his bed, respectfully keeping her eyes away, until the door moved open an inch. glancing up, she could see a sliver of skin peeking out from behind the crack of the door.

bob’s muscles strained and flexed as he carefully put the knit sweater on, adjusting it before glancing into the mirror, looking at the sweater only. he couldn’t really look up yet. he was still there, sometimes. smiling at him viciously in the reflection, saying the cruelest of words. he wouldn’t look up this time. he wouldn’t let him ruin this thing that sloane did for him.

the door creaked as it opened, bob stepping out with the blue sweater in his hand. sloane’s eyes darted down to her feet, pretending she wasn’t overtly ogling him as he padded into the room. then, slowly, she looked up.

he looked… comfy. the green sweater fit loosely around his frame, yet provided the space for his muscles to be outlined faintly in the fabric. it was thin enough to allow air in, but thick enough to trap the warmth inside, the perfect blend of wool. the leafy green color brought out those beautiful blue of eyes his. the warmness of the green seemed to cool down the hue of his hair, and somehow brought out the shadows under his cheekbones, the sharpness of his jaw. he looked…. handsome.

sloane battled a smile and lost, her cheeks curving upwards as he placed his crumpled sweater on his dresser, wringing his hands as he stood in front of her.

“it looks good on you, the green.” she nodded upwards at him, eyes sparkling. bob smiled, cheeks turning pink. “oh, thanks. your work is amazing,” he complimented, causing sloane’s face to turn red in return. “i-its’s nothing, really. but thank you, i appreciate it.” she replied politely.

“i-it’s not nothing,” bob said, hesitating before he sat on his bed next to her, body positioned towards her. “this is beautiful. it’s comfortable, the stitching is so detailed. you put a lot of work into this. thank you,” he said politely, blue eyes tracing the frame of her face, the soft auburn brown hues in her hair, the darkness in her eyes.

the color filtered back into her face, burning red as he complimented her. “thanks,” she replied, lips curving into another smile, a wider one, a genuine one, something that curled her lip up to show the pearly white teeth poking out from underneath, something that caused her dimples to peek out from hiding. it made bob take a double-take, blinking. “you’re smiling,” he blurted.

sloane’s smile faltered for a second, embarrassment leaking into her veins. “it’s—it’s not bad-“ he stumbled over his words. “it’s pretty. i-i-i like it. you have a nice smile.” his face erupted into a shade of red when he realized he’d just admitted he thought her smile was pretty. but instead of scoffing, or getting up in protest, she just… smiled harder, corners pulling up into the most genuine, dimple-revealing smile that she’d ever expressed, a soft giggle escaping her lips. “thanks, bob, that’s really sweet of you.” she said in gratitude, placing her hand behind her on the bed, close to in between the two of them.

“y-yeah, of course,” he responded meekly, his own hand crossing the space between them as well, pinky finger resting inches away from sloane’s.

they sat there in comfortable silence for a little, fingers drifting slowly towards each other like the opposite poles in a magnet. eventually, their fingers met, each action halted due to the surprise they felt in meeting each other’s skin.

sloane’s eyes pulled upwards from their fingers, now resting against each other, to find their place in bob’s eyes, which did the same. slowly, he wrapped his pinky finger around hers, causing her to smile, gently.

“d-do you… uh… sorry…” he started, shutting down his own sentence in fear of having just ruined a possibly intimate moment.

“no, no, what is it? please keep going,” sloane encouraged, nodding. bob swallowed. “uh… do you think it wo-would be possible to… maybe teach me how to knit? so i can make my own sweaters?”

the shy eagerness of his question made her heart soar. she nodded before she could even form the words to answer. “yes—uh- y-yeah, i’d be happy to teach you,” she responded, her face growing hot.

“i’d like that,” bob replied, looping his finger around hers, to secure it. sloane’s smile pulled into a loopy grin. “yeah,” she said, “me too.”

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