Steam still clinging to the mirror from the shower he insisted on taking after a long day in the office. He stands with his back half-turned, towelling water from his hair, scars already visible; old shrapnel marks along his ribs, a puckered line near his shoulder where something exploded too close for comfort.

Then he shifts. And you see other scars for the first time. Clean, pale lines across his chest, precise in a way the others aren’t. Not violent, deliberate.

Robert eventually glances at you where you're stood beside him at the sink, brushing your teeth. his shoulder. His tone is mild when he speaks, almost bored. “Forgot those were new to you.” He looks faintly amused rather than concerned, he trusts you more than enough.

“Doc said they’d fade,” Robert continues, “Personally, I think they add character. Matches the rest.” He gestures vaguely at himself, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth. “Battle damage. Just another scar, means I made it through.” And for Robert, that’s always been the point.