Work Text:
A bus had crashed into a warehouse, it was all over the news.
Ten minutes after the news broke there were tweets saying the warehouse was full of fireworks, or cosmetics, or — Julie didn’t manage to scroll further than that when news reporters live on the scene were ushered further back as an explosion rocked the building, flames shooting high and something crashed down and someone screamed.
Julie watched as fire engines arrived at the scene from the comfort of her sofa and blew out a shallow breath when she’d stopped Lukes. The number was clear and bright on the screen despite the smoke and the people and Julie gripped her phone tighter and felt like she couldn’t suck in a full breath of air.
Her phone had buzzed three times since the news broke three hours ago. One from Alex to check she was okay, One from her dad to ask if she wanted to come over, and one from Luke to say he was okay and would be home late. The last one had made a hollow laugh bubble past her lips and made breathing somehow even harder.
Julie knew, from watching the news half her life and from spending the last year and half worrying, that fires like this could burn for hours, that it could take them all day and all night to deal with it. And logically, she knew the chances of Luke getting seriously hurt were slim, that he was good at his job and, despite what people might have thought, he was careful.
Julie also knew that she’d never get any work done today until Luke was home and she could see for herself that he was okay.
So she opened twitter and a local news site on her laptop and turned something mindless on the tv and waited.
Flynn rang after an hour and talked to her about her latest client and didn't mind when Julie didn’t respond past the occasional hum and vague ‘oh?’ and after Flynn pauses to let her read through the latest update — they’d gotten all the civilians off the bus, so far there were no casualties but firefighters were still working tirelessly to contain the fire — she asks if she’s okay.
“I’m—“ and she wants to say that she’s fine, but she isn’t ‘fine’, not yet, and she’s never been good at lying, especially to Flynn so she blows out a breath and closes her eyes, trying to block out the images of a building in flames and Luke’s face vanishing into them. “I'm worried. But I’ll be alright. Tell me about how you plan on combining disco with a pastel colour palette.”
Flynn stays on the phone with her until she has a call waiting and apologies and has to go, promising to call back afterwards. but Julie tells her it’s okay. People’s lives go on, even while hers feels like it’s been put on pause for the day.
And it’s weird, she thinks, as she moves around her kitchen to fill her coffee machine and put away clean dishes, this isn’t the first time Luke has been in a dangerous situation since they’ve been together. But it’s the first time she’s not been at work, not had something to distract her, the first time that Luke had been one of the first on the scene, that it had made the news.
The machine beeps and steam curls up from her favourite mug — it had been her mom’s favourite first, deep enough to hold either coffee or hot chocolate with room left for cream and marshmallows, with a handle wide enough to curl all her fingers around and still feel comfortable and secure in her grasp. It reminds her of her mom and of cold mornings in the studio before school and of her first heartbreak when she’d been twelve and of when Luke had helped her unpack, carefully putting it on the bottom shelf of a cupboard for her to easily reach.
It reminds her of comfort and that’s exactly what she needs right now as she wraps her fingers around the pale yellow dotted ceramic, letting the heat seep into her skin, and walking back to her sofa. The sitcom on tv has changed to a different sitcom, and the twitter search is telling her there’s ten new tweets and the news site is still playing the muted live broadcast from her laptop. She can still see Luke's station’s engine in the background and knows he’s still there.
She blows across her coffee, watching the steam spiral and the liquid ripple and waits.
It's dark, the tv has gone through three different sitcoms only to end up back on the one she’d started with and Julie's on her third cup of coffee when she hears a key in the door. She had shut her laptop an hour ago when the last update came through about the last of the flames being put out and the firefighters returning to their engines. It had been twenty minutes later when she’d gotten a text from Luke saying he was okay, and Julie had clutched her phone tight to her chest and tried to breath easily again.
In her head, Julie knew he wouldn’t be home straight away, that he’d have to go back to the station, that he might go get checked over, that he might just end up going back to his flat with the boys and she’d debate getting in her car and driving to him.
So she’d waited, fingers tapping on the now cool ceramic as her teeth chewed her bottom lip close to drawing blood. And then there’s a key in the door and Julie waits until she hears it open and clicks shut again, a thud as he drops his bag, and then she’s putting her mug down and waiting in the entrance to her little living room.
He looks tired, is the first thing she thinks. His shoulders low and his head on an angle as he kicks off his shoes by the door, and when he turns around, eyes trailing up her legs to her face, she takes in the weary look, the circles under his eyes and the smudge of soot still on his jaw, and just holds out her hand. His lips twitch a little at the corners, and something flashes across his eyes that she thinks might be love as he steps towards her.
One, two, three, four and then his hand, larger and warmer and callused, is in hers. She notices the smudges of dirt, scratches and patches of red and swallows as she looks back at his face.
“Hi,” he whispers, voice hoarse and Julie tries not to think about him out there for hours shouting orders and checking in with his crew and being so close to danger.
“Are you—?” she starts, voice just as low and it’s the way Luke squeezes her hand that cuts her off.
“I’m okay,” and then he winces, and Julie’s eyes shoot to his face, to his shoulders, to arms, to find what’s wrong. But she can’t see anything until he carefully lifts up his other hand, the one that had been buried in his hoodie pocket and she sees the bandage wrapped around his palm and tied at his wrist.
“The door of the bus was jammed and my gloves are apparently very old,” he shrugs, but there’s still a hint of pain in his eyes and an exhaustion like she’s never seen in the way he holds himself that stops Julie from commenting.
“Come on.”
She gently tugs at his hand and Luke follows her willingly into her bathroom, sitting on top of the toilet seat with a sigh that seems to echo through the room. There's a first aid kit under her bathroom sink that had been part of her dad’s moving in package and has seen more use then she likes. She pulls it out but instead of rooting through it Julie steps past Luke to turn on her shower, falling water filling the empty room as Luke raises his eyebrows at her in question.
“You clearly didn’t shower at the station, and you’ll regret not washing the smoke off of you now,” she shrugs, and if maybe she also doesn’t want him tracking smoke and soot and dirt into her bed, well, two birds and all that.
He makes a noncommittal sound, one shoulder lifting in a half shrug as he nods in agreement. Julie helps him take off his hoodie, and she knows he must be tired because he hasn’t even bothered with a t-shirt underneath, his sweatpants and underwear get thrown into her laundry pile and then Julie watches him climb over the lip of her bathtub to stand under the stream of water. She watches him for a moment, as the water trails down his back and his muscles stay tense, shoulders still drooped and hands slack at his sides. The water runs dark for a few seconds as he hangs his head, soot and dirt washing down the drain, and with it the last of his strength she guesses, because Luke turns around until his back is against the tiles and lets himself slide down until he’s almost sitting.
“‘m tired,” he apologises as he looks up at her, eyes hooded and lips trying to smile. And Julie just wants to hold him and somehow offer him her strength. But he’s soaking wet and looks halfway to sleep so she just shakes her head.
“Hey it’s okay. Turn around?” she says, and he looks at her quizzically, brows drawing closer together as she grips the bottom of her t-shirt and pulls it over her head, quickly stepping out of her sleep shorts until she’s only in her underwear.
“Don’t think there’s enough room sitting like this,” he mutters, and there’s a hint of his teasing tone that she knows so well that makes Julie smile, flicking his temple as she reaches past him to unhook the shower head from the wall so she can wash his hair.
“We'll have to try it some other time, hm. Lean forward a little.” and he does, a soft chuckle rasping out of him that turns into a sigh as she starts to work her fingers into his hair and scratch at his scalp.
By the time she’s finished washing his hair and running a flannel up and over his back, and shoulders and across his chest and down his arms, the mirror has fogged over and the room is full of steam. Luke wraps a towel around his waist, and as he slowly rubs another over his head in an attempt to dry his hair, Julie runs one over her arms and across her stomach, glad she’d decided to save her clothes from getting too wet.
Julie picks up the first aid kit and wraps her fingers around Luke's hand and then leads him across the hall to her bedroom. There's a clean pair of sweatpants and his favourite faded cut-off laid out on the bed already and when he looks at her, eyes a little wide and brows raised, she just shrugs once, and nods. Julie goes to let go of his hand, to give him time to get dressed, but Luke pulls her close against his side and presses a hard kiss to her temple. He lingers, and Julie doesn’t mind, is glad for the chance to wrap her arms around his waist and hold him, to feel the heat coming from his body and see his chest beating. To know he's okay.
After Luke pulls on his pants and makes a show of pulling his t-shirt over his head, Julie pushes him back until he’s sitting on the edge of her bed, pulling over the little stool she uses to hold her make up and sitting between his knees. She’d pulled one of Luke's shirts on while he’d gotten dressed and now his fingers are playing with the hem, rolling and twisting it.
“I like it when you wear my clothes,” he mutters and Julie laughs lightly.
“I know.” She can still very clearly remember the first time she’d really worn something of his, and he’d made it very clear how much he liked it. “Hand please.”
He puts his injured hand in hers and she holds it carefully as her fingers trace over the jagged cut and bites her lip. It’s really not as bad as she’d thought. It can’t be that deep, otherwise Harrison would have made him go to the hospital but still. Seeing Luke hurt always twists something in her gut and she has to take in a deep breath before she can get to work.
First it’s an antiseptic cream and second a kiss to his wrist as he hisses in pain, and then she starts wrapping the gauze bandage around his hand methodically. When she finishes the fingers off his other hand have twisted themselves into her top, his pinkie finger dipping below the waistband off her clean leggings as his thumb strokes idly at her skin, and Julie knows he’s doing it more to distract himself then her, but she still can’t help but shiver.
“Done,” she murmurs, tying the bandage off and gently tucking the end a little under to keep it out of his way, keeping a hold of his hand, and when she looks up Luke is already looking at her, eyes soft and lips finally finding a way to smile.
“Thank you,” he whispers and she rolls her eyes lightly. They do this every time she cleans up a cut or graze. He thanks her, and she says he doesn’t need to, and then he kisses her as payment.
It’s the same as always, Julie shakes her head and Luke leans forwards, his lips catching hers. But where normally it’s a kiss that turns into something more, she can still feel how tired he is, exhaustion coming off of him in waves and Julie pulls back slowly.
“Let’s go to sleep.” It’s nearly 2am and it’s been a long day, and right now all Julie wants to do is hold him.
She pulls back the duvet with one hand, her other still wrapping around Lukes and he slides under the covers first with a moan of relief, pulling her down to join him. The light is still on and she wants to take off her bra, but Luke has one arm wrapped around her waist and the other still holding her hand and pressed over his chest, and she can feel his heart beating. She shifts in his hold so she’s lying a little further down the bed and can put her head on his chest, hear his heart and feel the way his thumb traces nonsensical patterns on the back of her hand.
“Love you, Jules,” he mutters, and he must be halfway to sleep she knows, because his words are a little slurred and his breathing has gotten deeper and the lips he presses to her hair don’t stay for long.
She’ll get up when he’s fallen asleep, she thinks, to turn off the lights and brush her teeth. But for now she’ll let him hold her, and not loosen her grip on his hand and finally breathe.