These Battle Scars Don't Look Like They're Fading

They still catch her by surprise when she showers and gets a glimpse of her back in the mirror. The inflammation has gone down, so most of the bruises are barely there, but the scars remain. There's no order or consistency to them. They're thick and puckered, and the skin around them is discoloured. Most of them are on her back, but there are also plenty on her stomach, her arms, her legs. One is on her neck below her ear. It's from a piece of broken glass, or so she is told.

It's a miracle she's alive. And these scars should represent that.

She shouldn't see them as a reminder of what happened. She should see them as a reminder that she's still breathing. But she can't. Because right now, they scream to her what she's lost, what they've both lost. She knows Tony feels the same about his scars, even though he does not have nearly as many. He's always had some from earlier injuries in the line of duty; the bullet scar on his neck is the most important to her. However, these scars they have together unite them in their grief. It's been a few months now. They're at least out of the hospital but still have agents monitoring their home, per Bill's request. With any luck, they'll be able to start seeing clients again within the next couple of weeks. It will be business as usual. Everything will be how it was before that awful day.

Well, almost everything.

"Hey," he says, sticking his head through their ensuite door, snapping her out of her thoughts. "I, uh, called the doctor and told her what happened. She cancelled your appointments."

Michelle nods. "Thanks." All the check-ups with her obstetrician were still on their calendar when they came home. She meant to cancel them but just couldn't bring herself to do it.

Tony takes a few steps closer, standing behind her and snaking his arms around her waist. He rests his chin on her shoulder and meets her eyes in the mirror. Lately, they come into each other's arms like magnets. The fear of losing each other still hasn't gone away. When they were in the hospital, they would usually end up in each other's beds, too afraid to deal with their nightmares and fears alone. They're rarely apart. It's almost suffocating at times but it's better than the alternative.

"How are you today?" he asks softly.

She leans into his touch, sighing. "I'm alright. You?"

It takes him a moment to answer, but then he says he's doing okay, too. Their definition of okay is somewhat unconventional. If they both get out of bed, that qualifies as functioning. The air is still tense between them. Every time they near the subject, it doesn't take long for one of them to start crying — which really is a sign that they need to talk about it. They were given recommendations for therapists, individually and as a couple, but are yet to do anything about it.

Tony kisses the scar on her neck, and her breath gets caught in her throat. He must feel it because he immediately pulls back, pressing his lips together. "Sorry."

"It's fine."

She is reminded of their first attempt at intimacy after that day. It was unplanned. They were so overwhelmed, so afraid, and so aware that they almost lost each other again. One minute, they were sitting on the couch; the next, they were half-dressed, and he was hovering over her...

His mouth moves down to her stomach, and he starts to kiss the marks there, one by one. She suddenly feels like she can't breathe. The slightest contact brings her back to that day. She feels the unbearable heat from the explosion. She can smell antiseptic. She can hear the sirens from when CTU was locked down-

"S-Stop. Stop," Michelle utters, placing her hand on his head, and sitting up on her elbows. She realises she said it very quietly because she has to repeat it a few more times, and when he registers, he immediately pulls away. "I can't… I can't."

She lets out a sob and buries her face in her hands. Tony quickly moves to wrap his arms around her. He hushes her, apologising and sniffling.

He's been afraid to touch them since, and she hates that she's making him walk on eggshells around her when he's the only one who knows how she feels and vice versa. She has, however, kissed his scars and showed her love for him the way he can't for her right now. He has told her she's beautiful more times than she can count. He has tried to keep their spirits up, appreciating every moment and saying how grateful he is that they are both still here over and over again. But she knows he is struggling, too. Beneath his strong facade, he is still human. Michelle wishes they could find a way to both be vulnerable without feeling like they're making the other feel unsupported. She just wants them to be okay.

She lifts her fingers to graze the scar on her neck. She hates that she is so conscious about it that she won't let her own husband touch her body. It's ridiculous. At the same time, she feels helplessly unable to move on when she has to look at them every day. Tony views them as a reminder that they are stronger than what life throws at them. She respects that, but she can't see them that way. To her, they are almost taunting. They remind her that she can lose everything in the blink of an eye. They frighten her. She wants a way to fight back, not just to live despite them. There is something she knows she can do. She isn't sure how Tony felt about it as she has only mentioned it in passing before. However, she trusts that he will understand.

So today, she decides it's time to put it into action.

—

Michelle turns the car engine off, biting her lip. One of the agents guarding their house makes eye contact with her and speaks into her radio. She feels very guilty. Tony would be worried sick. But she needed to do this alone today and prayed he would respect that. When she walks through the front door, her suspicions are confirmed. He has his phone in his hand and immediately rises from the couch. He looks very distressed.

"Where the hell have you been?" he asks roughly, but she can tell it's more concern than anger, and it's justified. "I was about to call the police."

"I told you I was with-"

"Chloe," Tony finished, placing his hands on his hips. "Yeah, bullshit. I called her. She's at home with the flu."

She sighs, closing her eyes. If she opens her mouth, she is sure she will just start crying again. So, she simply walks towards the bathroom, inviting him to follow her and shut the door, which he does with confusion. Even though he is relieved that she is here, the worry in his eyes — the worry that she caused — still upsets her. She carefully takes her shirt off, and he furrows his brow before she turns so her back is facing him.

"Oh," he says quietly.

It was a little tricky driving home without resting her back against the seat too much. But other than that, she feels more empowered than she has in a long time.

"I just couldn't look at them anymore."

Michelle has never considered herself an impulsive person. She likes to plan things and think them through. This is no different. She has always appreciated the concept of the human body as an art form but has never been motivated to try it for herself until now. When she brought up getting a tattoo some time ago, Tony offered to come with her. But when she booked the appointment, she realised that she wanted to do this for her grief and hers alone. They might do a lot of healing together, but some parts could be individual, too. The assortment of flowers stemming from her waist and blooming across her shoulder blades symbolise growth and change. They're words she's had in mind since they got back together, but they're more relevant now than ever. The tattoo may require touch-ups because of the uneven scar tissue beneath it, and she'll need to do another session to colour the flowers, but even with the odd bump here and there, the finished image brought her to tears when the artist held up the mirror. It's perfect in every way. She looks at it and feels there is a way out of her misery. She isn't naive enough to believe this hope will last, but it's better than nothing. It's a start.

"Did it hurt?" he asks, concerned.

She shakes her head. "Not really. Some parts were a little more uncomfortable than others. But after a while, I started to nod off," she assures him. "It hurt a lot less than the burns did, that's for sure."

He laughs through his nose. "Why didn't you tell me you were doing this today?" His tone is non-accusing.

Michelle pivots to face him, placing her hands on his shoulders. "Because you keep trying to tell me to accept them, and I didn't want you to think I wasn't listening to you. I was," she explains. "Everything you do helps me heal. I just needed something different, that's all. I didn't want you to think that you weren't helping. You are. You help me so much."

He nods. "I get that. I don't want to tell you how to move on. If this can help, then I'm happy for you."

The corners of her lips upturn. "Thanks. I'm sorry for keeping it from you."

"It's okay."

Tony goes to hug her but hesitates, realising that the skin of her back would be very tender, as it was in the early days of their recovery. She leans into him, slipping her arms around his waist and resting her head against his chest.

"I love you," she murmurs.

"I love you, too," he echoes, chuckling a little at the awkwardness of their half-hug, opting to stroke her cheek.

"Give it about a week, and you can make up for it with all the hugs you want," she jokes.

There's a beat before he speaks. "Can I ask you something?"

Michelle looks up and meets his eyes.

"Would you get another one?"

She lifts a shoulder. "I don't see why not."

"Would you get one together?"

She smiles. "That sounds nice. Did you have something in mind?"

—

She holds her forearm next to his so the small tattoos are level with each other. His choice of design is perfect: a small teddy bear with a blue ribbon. It's simple and implicit but still holds meaning for them. He sniffles, and she rests her head on his shoulder. It didn't hurt much physically, but the process was unsurprisingly emotional.

"This was a good idea. It's a step in the right direction," Michelle says, breaking the silence. "It's a reminder of what we've lost, but it doesn't mean we can't move forward."

"Yeah," Tony agrees quietly.

They've talked a lot these last few weeks. It's almost silly to think that she had to get a tattoo to make them finally start opening up about their grief. But it did the job nonetheless. Most conversations still end in tears, but they're less afraid of them. They're both going through it, so there's no point trying to deal with it alone. They've booked counselling appointments. They're taking control. Things are moving forward slowly but surely.

"I love you so much," she says, leaning against him.

"I love you, too." He lets out a long breath before speaking again, his voice a little unsteady. "We'll be okay, won't we?"

"We will," she affirms, squeezing his hand. "As long as we have each other, we will."