Face to Face
"You have to trust me," Bill whispers, brushing calloused fingers across her soft cheek. Her hands rest just about his navel, grasping loosely at his black shirt. Blonde and red hair falls between his vision; his forehand is pressed against hers. It's been seven months since the attack and Fleur still finds it difficult to bring her eyes to his scarred face. She knows it doesn't matter deep down; she will always love him no matter what happens. Bill's other hand lingers in that space between her shoulder and right breast, and she can see the glint of his wedding ring from the corner of her eye. Hatched scars patchwork across the backs of his hands and up his arms, and the end of his bandages poke out from beneath his rolled up sleeves. The scars on his face remain the hardest to look at, the hardest to bear. Three large scars stretch from his ear to across his nose, and two smaller ones diagonally break up his lips on the left side. Another danced down from his hairline and broke up his eyebrow. Smaller scars linger along his jaw and down his neck; many of the minor injuries have already healed. His face may have changed, but at least deep down he was still her Bill.
Fleur's fingers curl into his shirt now, clutching at him with more ferocity, more need. She had been so independent before Bill came along; so determined that she didn't need anyone to survive in a foreign country. But she had been wrong. Eventually, she forces her gaze away from his chest, until, beneath all the scars and calloused skin, his warm, loving gaze smiles back at her. She leans forward, her arms automatically encircling his waist. Bill sighs in relief; he hadn't realized he had been holding his breath until his arms are around her shoulders and her face is buried in the crook of his neck. She doesn't need to say anything; the simple action is enough to put Bill's fears at ease.
Come what may, she will always trust him.