abby wasn’t easy with people. most got the version of her that was sharp, guarded, and cold. the soldier who never let herself slip, who made her presence felt without ever having to say much. but with you, it was different.

it started small. she’d always sit close enough to touch. her knee brushing yours, her hand resting on the back of your chair, her fingers ghosting yours when no one was paying attention. at first you thought it was habit, but then you realized: abby needed it. she wanted that contact, always reaching for you like it grounded her.

you’d tease her sometimes, just to see her reaction. “abby, can you grab that for me?” and before you’d even finished the sentence, she was already moving, handing it to you without hesitation. or when you’d tell her to sit, she’d do it instantly, sinking down beside you with that quiet, obedient ease that she gave no one else.

the look she gave you was the most telling. abby’s eyes, usually hard and calculating, would soften the second they landed on you. she’d tilt her head just slightly, pupils wide, like she was waiting for approval. like she’d do anything just to make you happy.

and god, the way she looked at you when you spoke. head tilted back, lips parted, those puppy dog eyes trained only on you. abby anderson, the woman who could break a man in half without blinking, hanging on your every word like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

to everyone else she was still the cold, untouchable soldier, snapping when she needed to, always a little intimidating, always unreadable. but with you? she was pliant, devoted, worshipful. when you walked into a room, she straightened without thinking, eyes tracking you until you met them. when you smiled at her, she lit up in ways she didn’t for anyone else.