Work Text:
The sound of the front door slamming pulls Tim’s attention from the vegetables he’s chopping in the kitchen. Kojo’s too—the dog hops up off the floor and runs toward the front door. Tim drops the knife beside the cutting board, wiping his hands on a tea towel before making his way toward the noise.
“Lucy?” It takes just one glance at her and immediately he can tell that something is wrong. Her shoulders are slumped and her movements are slow and tired as she kicks off her shoes. “What happened?” he asks, his voice filled with concern.
She drops her bag on the floor, scratching Kojo’s ears quickly before turning to face Tim, and his stomach drops. Her beautiful face is marred by a nasty black eye, and she’s hunched over, her body curled in on itself as she holds her arms tight against her midsection.
“What happened?” He repeats his earlier question as he rushes to her side, his words laced with what can only be described as horror. But then, when he reaches her, he freezes. As much as he wants to take her in his arms, he doesn’t want to hurt her.
He sucks in a breath, feels his stomach turn as she tells him about the call, how the guy ambushed her, knocked her off her feet and started throwing punches.
The rational side of him knows their line of work is dangerous, knows she’s been hurt on the job before, and knows that it’s inevitable that she will be again. But knowledge and reality are two very different things. And seeing her like that, knowing some scumbag put his hands on her, hurt her like that?
It kills him.
He pushes back the white hot rage he feels, casts aside the crushing pain of not being able to protect her. He wants to lose it, to go hunt down this asshole and teach him a lesson.
He buries it all.
He shoves it into a little corner in the back of his mind, and focuses on her. Because he knows seeing him get upset will just upset her more. And the last thing he wants to do is cause her any more pain.
“What do you need?” he asks softly, unable to stop himself from reaching for her, cradling her face in his palm, brushing his thumb gingerly against her skin.
“Hold me?” her voice is small as she answers, her hands already grabbing his t-shirt, gripping the soft fabric tightly between her fingers.
He can feel her body shaking as he holds her close, carefully wrapping his arms around her and tucking her to his chest. He hears her take a single, shuddering breath before the dam breaks and she starts crying, her tears soaking through his shirt. His fingers tangle in her hair and he whispers words of reassurance as he kisses the top of her head. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”
It’s probably not fair that he’s comforting himself just as much as her.
*
When Tim wakes the next morning, he’s alone in the bed. Glancing quickly at the clock, he gets up, throwing a pair of sweatpants on before making his way toward the bathroom.
There’s Lucy, leaning over the countertop, trying to get her face as close to the mirror as possible—a bit of a struggle, given her injuries.
He leans against the doorframe and watches as she swipes a thick coat of concealer over the dark bruising around her eye, her fingers carefully dabbing at the swollen skin. She lifts the hem of her t-shirt, turning slightly as she surveys the bruises mottling her midsection, and Tim can’t help but wince right along with her at the sight.
He makes his presence known, then, stepping onto the tile floor. He stands behind her, bringing his fingertips to trace gingerly over her bruised skin before ducking his head to brush a feather soft kiss to her right temple.
“How’s the pain?” he asks, his lips still pressed along her forehead.
“I’ve had worse,” she answers quietly.
Feeling the way she's leaning on him for support, he guides her to sit on the closed toilet. He reaches for her shirt, but stops himself before actually touching her. “Can I?”
She nods, leaning back slightly as he bunches the fabric in his hands, pushing it up to her chest.
Tim falls to his knees on the tile floor beside her, sucking in a breath as he examines her injuries more closely. The bruising has set in further, looking far worse in the light of day than it had the night before. “Baby," he starts, his voice breaking, overwhelmed with emotion, "I think we should take you to the hospital.”
“No,” she shakes her head, her hands reaching to tug her shirt back down. As if covering the marks will make him forget. “The paramedics checked me out yesterday—it’s just some bruising, nothing’s broken.”
Tim just nods slowly. He knows she's right, that she just needs time and rest to heal. But that doesn't mean it isn't killing him to see her hurting like this.
*
It’s late when he gets home a few nights later, and he finds Lucy stretched out on the couch, Kojo curled up by her feet. She’s sound asleep, oblivious to the sounds of the TV playing softly in the background. There’s a fuzzy blanket draped over her legs and feet, and her sweater has ridden up in her slumber, revealing her bare abdomen. The bruises have started to heal, turning from blues and purples into nauseating shades of green and yellow.
He kneels on the floor beside her, his hands reaching for her, fingers combing through her hair. “Lucy,” he murmurs, stirring her from her sleep. He doesn’t want to wake her, but he knows she needs proper rest to heal, and she’s not going to get it on the couch.
“Hmm?” she mumbles, her eyes slowly fluttering open as she gives him a sleepy smile. “You’re home late again.” She’s not complaining, just stating a fact.
Tim doesn’t say anything as he helps her up, ushering her down the hall to the bedroom. He knows he’s been working late more nights than not lately, stumbling in after midnight, just enough time to crash for a couple of hours before heading back to the station and starting the process over again.
He doesn’t tell her he’s barely been sleeping.
He doesn’t tell her how the sight of her bruised and battered body is all he can think about.
Instead, he’s quiet. He just helps her settle into the bed, pulling the covers over her and kissing her forehead before stripping out of his work clothes and heading to the bathroom to shower.
*
“Tim?” Lucy calls out from where she’s sitting on the sofa. She heard him come in the door a few minutes earlier, but he still hasn’t made his way through into the living room. It’s been close to a week since her attack, and while her injuries are mostly healed, she’s still a bit sore. Her movements are slow as she rises off the couch cushions and pads barefoot across the floor toward the entry.
They nearly collide with each other, both stepping into the open kitchen at the same time.
He reaches for her instinctually, his palms stretching around her upper arms to steady her. His hands touch her skin for a split second before he pulls them away, recoiling from the contact. He doesn’t trust himself. He can’t touch her—he’s absolutely terrified of hurting her.
“Tim?” she says again, confusion washing over her face as she peers up at him. Her voice sounds foggy to his ears, distant—it feels like he’s a million miles away, not standing a few inches apart. “Babe?” she reaches for him, but just as her fingertips graze his skin, he takes a step back, moving out of her reach. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” he starts quickly, sounding entirely unlike himself, his voice coming out quiet and a little shaky. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he continues before he strides across the room, grabbing a bottle from the shelf and pouring himself a glass of whiskey.
He can feel her eyes on him as he downs the amber liquid in a single gulp. Without even looking at her, he knows she’s worried about him.
“I’m fine,” he repeats with a sigh, sounding no more convincing than he did the first time. He closes his eyes, pressing his fingers to his temples and rubbing circles against the skin as he tries to quiet the way his head is suddenly pounding.
“No,” Lucy shakes her head. The way her hair swishes from the movement draws Tim’s attention enough to look up and face her. He can see the concern in her brown eyes, watches the way she’s wringing her hands, as though she’s trying to hold herself back from reaching for him again. “You’re not fine, Tim.”
He takes a deep breath, hoping the exercise will calm the emotions raging inside him. “Please just drop it Lucy. It’s been a long day.”
“Talk to me Tim, please.”
“Dammit Lucy,” he snaps, “I said I don’t want to talk about it! Let it go!” And then before he even realizes what’s happening, he throws his empty glass into the sink. The sound of glass shattering has Kojo skittering out of the room, and sends Tim straight back to his childhood. Even after all these years, he can hear his parents shouting in his head like he’s right back in that house. And he knows what comes next.
“I—” he starts, but he can’t manage to find a single word to explain or justify his actions. There’s nothing he can say that makes it okay. He’s so ashamed, he can’t even look at her.
And suddenly he feels like he’s suffocating. He has to get out, has to get away.
This can’t be happening, he can’t be this person. He won’t.
*
He flinches when he hears the back door slam shut behind him, the sound reverberating loudly through his ears.
But he doesn’t turn back.
The sky is dark, the only light in his backyard coming from street lights and neighbouring houses in the distance. His hands are shaky as he stares into the darkness, his breathing erratic. He feels like he’s lost any semblance of control over himself and his actions—control he’s worked so hard for.
And despite it all, his worst nightmare is coming true.
He’s becoming his father.
The fear has always been there—always. Sometimes it’s quiet, tucked far back in the recesses of his brain, not something he thinks too much about. And sometimes—like it’s been since Lucy’s attack—it’s loud and screaming and completely consumes him.
Watching her cover up her bruises, the way she moved so gingerly, trying to hide the pain she was in? He’d witnessed his mother do all of those things. Hell, he’d done them himself. It feels like he’s a kid again, seeing his mother pretend everything was okay, even though they both knew he’d heard his dad throw her down the stairs the night before.
And of course, he’s seen Lucy injured before—hell, he’d pulled her body from that barrel and breathed life back into her.
But it’s different now. Their relationship is different now. It’s a hell of a lot harder to compartmentalize when someone you love is hurt.
And it’s eating him away inside.
He’s only outside for a minute or two before he hears the door slide open, but it feels like hours have passed.
He can hear her footsteps approaching, but he doesn’t turn his head in her direction. He’s afraid to look at her, afraid of what he’ll see on her face—disgust, horror, fear. He knows it’s all there, and he’s not sure he’ll survive the sight.
“Tim,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. She’s right behind him now, so close he can almost feel the warmth of her body heat in the cool night air. “Please look at me.”
And as much as it pains him, he can’t refuse her, slowly turning his body to face hers.
She reaches for him, her small hand coming up to cup his face in her palm. He feels an almost magnetic pull, and somehow manages to force his gaze to meet hers. He can see her eyes shimmering with tears. Tears he put there. She’s hurting because of him.
He feels like he’s going to throw up.
And just like that, he’s pulling away again. He crosses the yard and sinks down to sit on the lawn, his head hanging between his knees, utterly dejected.
Of course Lucy follows him.
In his peripheral vision, Tim can see her settling on the grass beside him, carefully tucking her legs under her body. They sit in silence for a while, and he can feel her eyes on him the entire time.
“Can you please talk to me?” she asks quietly. “Please Tim, just… what’s going on?”
He doesn’t answer for a minute or two, just stares straight ahead into the darkness. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Lucy opening her mouth to speak again, and it’s then that he finally finds his voice.
“We got called in on this case today. A, uh, a hostage situation,” he starts, stealing a quick glance in her direction before plowing on. “This guy, he… he had his wife barricaded in the house. Was holding her at gunpoint—kept saying he had the place rigged to blow.” He paused, letting out a shaky breath before continuing. “Address had no history of domestics, and patrol interviewed the neighbours. They all said they seemed like a normal happy family.”
He looks at Lucy again, his gaze steadier now. Her brows furrow as she tries to make sense of what he’s saying, but she’s hanging onto his every word, her head nodding slowly as she reaches for him.
This time, he lets her.
He lets himself take solace in her touch for a moment, lets the feel of her warm hand give him the strength to continue. “That guy… he snapped. Everything was fine and then… it wasn’t.” He can feel the tears pooling in his eyes, his vision growing fuzzy as he tries to blink them away. He wrenches his hand out of her grasp—he doesn’t deserve her comfort.
“Lucy, I snapped in there. What if I—I just… what if I’m like him?”
Maybe it's the haunted look on his face. Maybe it's the way his voice wavers. Or maybe it's just that, over the years, she's come to understand him better than anyone ever has.
But somehow, she knows. Of course, she knows.
He’s not just talking about the guy from today.
He’s talking about his father.
Tim sighs heavily, then, psyching himself up to say the words that have been playing on an endless loop in his head for hours. A truth he can’t help but acknowledge, as much as it pains him.
“You deserve better.”
He looks up at her then, watching as an entire spectrum of emotions dances across her face. Surprise, confusion, anger, heartbreak—he sees it all reflected back at him as she processes his words.
But then—then he sees her shaking her head.
“No,” she starts, growing louder, firmer, more defiant as she continues. “No, don’t say that.”
“Lucy,” he says, his voice cracking, “I’m a fucking mess. You deserve someone who doesn’t get angry and throw things and treat you like shit. You deserve someone who treats you right. Someone who doesn’t hurt you. I’m going to hurt you. And I can’t hurt you.” He sounds defeated, like all the fight in him is gone.
“What—is this about the glass? You think because you got upset and broke a glass, what, you’re a monster now? It’s a fucking glass, Tim, I don’t think it cares too much.”
“It’s not just the glass, okay? It’s…” his voice trails off as his mind wanders. “I’d never forgive myself if I hurt you.”
“And you won't." She sounds so confident, like she's stating the most obvious fact. Sky is blue, grass is green, he will never hurt her.
“But—”
“I'm not fragile, Tim,” she interjects. “You’re allowed to get upset, you know? It’s okay to get angry sometimes. That doesn’t mean you’re like him, it just means you’re human.”
He turns to look at her then, his blue eyes meeting her brown ones. And he feels more seen than he ever has in his life.
“You don’t have to carry this alone, Tim. I’m right here.” And then, as if to emphasize her point, she scoots closer, leaning her body into his side. He can’t help but notice the way she smiles when meets her halfway, lifting his arm to wrap around her and pull her close. “Promise me you’ll talk to me next time?”
“Yeah,” he whispers, kissing the top of her head. “I promise.”
As they sit quietly, wrapped up in each other, Tim lets her words sink in. He wonders how the hell he managed to get so lucky to have a partner like her. And he damn well knows he wouldn’t be where he is today without her by his side.
“I need you to promise me something too,” he says, breaking the silence that had enveloped them. “If I ever—”
She cuts him off, shaking her head, knowing what he’s alluding to. “It’s not going to happen, Tim. You’re nothing like him.”
“But if I do—I need you to call me on it. Please, Lucy?”
She looks up at him, sees the conviction in his eyes, and nods slowly. “Okay, I promise.”
He exhales deeply, pulling her impossibly closer, and he feels more at peace than he ever thought possible. He still doesn’t quite think he deserves her, but that’s really more about how incredible she is than anything else. She makes him feel seen, safe, comforted.
She's his home.