Bob was a man shaped by the violent environment he was subjected to as a child, molding him into the reclusive, doe-eyed, self-sacrificing person you'd met in Utah, a man who simply wanted to belong and help wherever he possibly could.

Despite the less than ideal introduction between you and the others that had been sent to the O.X.E. vault, Bob's attachment to you had been nearly instantaneous - you were the only one who had treated him kindly, patiently, whereas Walker was as insufferable as ever.

It was no surprise when, after the events of New York and the Void nearly took over Bob entirely, his attachment to you only seemed to grow into something more reverent, more worshipful in nature.

He listens to you like you're the only thing keeping him together, the sole reason he hasn't succumbed to the chaos in his mind. It started with little things; reminding him to take a deep breath when he seemed frozen, or the moments when you'd gently urge him to eat late at night after noticing he was more antsy than usual during dinner.

He never argues with you, could hardly stomach the idea of doing the opposite of whatever you told him to do. His trust - his devotion to you - is too much, as though you encompassed everything that made up his very existence; his morals, self control and the entire reason he still got up in the mornings. You were the sun and he was the Earth, orbiting around you and hoping you would always be there to help hold his heart and soul together.

One sleepless night, you were sat on the edge of Bob's bed with him on his knees on the ground, his head nestled comfortably against your thighs as your fingers ran gently through his hair, the constant noise in his brain reduced to nothing more than a distant murmur as was usual when he was in your presence.

"Nothing goes wrong when I'm with you, not anymore." He suddenly whispered in the silence of the bedroom, lifting his head just enough to look up at you with those eyes that held an impossible amount of faith in you.