Chapter Text
“Mateo?” Tommy calls, frustrated as he balances Tilly on one hip and the laundry basket on the other. “Mateo! What did I say about leavin’ your toys on the floor in the hallway?” Tommy huffs and hikes the basket higher as Tilly starts to sniffle again, one clammy little hand wrapped in the fabric of his shirt and the other in her mouth as she sucks despondently on her thumb, fat tears falling down her cheeks. Tommy softly tries to soothe her, but she’s teething and has been weeping on and off all day.
Tommy pulls her up a little higher on his side so he can give her messy curls a quick kiss while he tries to avoid the toy landmines at his feet. At least there aren’t plastic building blocks. Those fuckers hurt. “Goddamn it, Mateo,” Tommy swears under his breath. He’s having a hard enough day without having to worry about breaking a leg or dropping a child. He huffs when the boy doesn’t respond and continues through the hallway into the living room.
The day was turning out to be a disaster. Maria had left yesterday morning for an overnight trip to a nearby community for a trade agreement issue, leaving Tommy at home with the kids. Normally, that wouldn’t be an issue. But today, everything that could possibly go wrong has. Tilly is teething and the washing machine conked out just as she spilled milk down the front of her last clean onesie. Tommy accidentally burned Mateo’s grilled cheese because of the milk incident, causing Mateo to throw a tantrum, which leads to him and Tilly both being too wound up to take naps. Then, just as Tommy was getting ready to send Mateo outside in the backyard to play so he can get a few moments of peace to try and hand wash the laundry, it started raining. Meaning Mateo has to stay inside, which inspires another tantrum. Tommy is at the end of his rope, and he’s counting the hours till Maria is supposed to get home after dinner.
Dropping the basket of clean laundry on the coffee table to fold later, Tommy makes his way toward the kitchen to grab one of the washcloths he’s got in the freezer for Tilly to chew on and to see if he can locate his wayward son.
“Mateo?” he calls again, and this time, he actually hears some shuffling and scuffing and hastens his steps. “What are ya doin’ in there, Mateo? I swear to god, if you are gettin’ into those cookies like I told you not to, I am…”
The scene he walks into would be comical if they were in a 90’s Friday night sitcom, but unfortunately, they're not so all it does is freeze the blood in Tommy’s veins instantly. Mateo is trying to get up to the top of the refrigerator where Tommy had placed his little toy guitar that he’d taken away this morning after Mateo refused to stop playing it and woke up Tilly from her morning nap. Matteo’s managed to get up on the counter and is reaching out to grab the handle of the fridge when Tommy comes through the door. Tommy watches in slow motion as Mateo’s hand doesn’t quite get a grip and slides off the handle, and because he’s leaning so far forward, he can’t pull himself back before he starts to fall head-first toward the tile floor.
Tommy feels like he’s moving through molasses as he pushes himself towards his son. A squeak of surprise comes from Tilly at his sudden movement, and a shout of terror prizes itself from Mateo’s lips when he realizes he’s going down. Tommy reaches out his free hand desperately towards Mateo and just manages to grab him at the elbow of his trailing arm and yank as quickly as he can upward to try and stop his face from hitting the floor.
Tommy just barely makes it.
He adjusts his grip on his son, pulling the boy to his chest as his legs give way and he crumples to the floor, back resting against the kitchen island. His breath is coming fast from his lips, and he can’t hear anything over the pounding of the blood in his ears.
Once his heart starts to slow down, he finally registers Tilly’s high-pitched cries of fear and confusion and Mateo’s wails of pain.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. He tries to put Tilly down, but she immediately goes to crawl back into his lap, her little nails biting into the skin of his arm as she screams, snot and tears mixing together on her face. “Oh honey, honey, I just need to look at your brother, honey. Please, baby, just a second,” he croones to her, his voice wobbling, but she won’t stop. “‘M sorry honey, I’m so sorry, baby, but I gotta look at your brother.” He ends up having to turn his body away from her so she can’t climb into his lap as he tries to gently manhandle Mateo to look at him. Tommy’s large hands tremble as he cups his son’s face, looking for an unseen injury as Mateo continues to wail between great sobbing breaths.
“Mateo, where does it hurt buddy? Buddy, where ya hurtin’? Tell daddy, baby.” He sees no obvious injuries, so Tommy runs gentle searching fingers over Mateo’s face and head just in case he somehow managed to bump it against something else on his way down, but finds nothing. “Please, buddy, please, tell daddy what’s wrong,” he begs as Mateo continues to scream, his face scrunched up and turning redder by the second.
Tommy can feel panic sweeping over him like a heavy wave, and his eyes start to burn with his own tears as Tilly continues to scratch at his arm, crying pitifully, desperate to reach him, and Mateo keeps screaming and screaming. Tommy feels himself starting to disassociate, the edges of his awareness becoming fuzzy and faded, so he reaches his hands into his hair and tugs hard at his scalp until it stings and the world around him comes back into view. He can’t do this right now, he can’t slip into his memories. He’s gotta be present here for Mateo and Tilly.
“Okay, okay, we’re gonna be okay,” he says as calmly as he can. “Just… gotta get to you’re Tio Joel, okay?” He settles Mateo against his chest, holding his head momentarily against his shoulder, whispering soft nonsense into his ear. Then securely puts his arm under his butt and scoops up Tilly with his other arm. When he stands with purely the power of his legs and core, he’s afraid he’s gonna fall, but somehow, he manages to keep all of them upright and steady even though Mateo lets out another heart-wrenching sob at the movement. Tommy strides to the front door, kicking it open with a socked foot. He’s suddenly thankful that he’s still so active at 53 years old, riding almost daily, cleaning, training, and working the horses. Because he doesn’t know otherwise if he’d be able to do this. He’s across the street and surging up the steps of Joel’s front porch faster than he’s ever moved in his life. Before he can start to think how he’s gonna get the front door open, Joel spills out of it, eyes wild and shaggy hair flying every which way.
“Tommy, what the hell…” He freezes when he sees the state of the three of them and immediately moves forward to take Mateo from his arms. Tommy stops him.
“No, take Tilly. Mateo was trying to climb the damn fridge an’ almost fell. I caught him, but he’s hurt somewhere, an’ I can’t find it with her needin’ me too.” Tommy explains in a rush as Joel easily pulls Tilly to his chest and starts rocking and crooning quietly to her, using the bottom of his flannel to wipe away the mess on her face. The two men push into Joel’s house, and Tommy gently sits Mateo down on the couch, feeling helpless at the tears still falling and little hiccuping cries pouring out of his baby’s mouth with each breath.
“Baby, what’s wrong? Please, tell me what’s wrong,” Tommy begs the tears he’s been holding back prickling painfully at the back of his eyes. Mateo just shakes his head and whines, his whole body hunched in on itself, his one hand holding his other arm tight to his side.
Joel squints at Mateo and turns to Tommy, “How did ya catch him?”
“I heard him in the kitchen, an’ I…”
“No, no. I mean, how did ya keep him from hittin’ the ground?”
“I-I grabbed ahold of his arm an’ yanked him up.” Tommy looks at Joel, and Joel’s face lightens a touch as he moves to sit on the coffee table in front of the couch. He turns and hands Tilly to Tommy.
“I’m guessin' I know what’s wrong,” Joel says, reaching his big, gentle hands out to lay on Mateo’s face and then sliding down to his shoulders, trying to pull his attention to him. “Mateo honey, is it your arm? Does your arm hurt, honey?” Mateo’s head bobs up and down fast, his eyes glassy and frantic. Joel puts his hands around Mateo’s little face, enfolding it almost completely, and softly wipes away his tears with his thumbs. “Okay, buddy, that's okay. Me an’ your daddy, we’re gonna get you taken care of, don’t you worry, baby boy.”
Joel turns to Tommy and takes Tilly back into his arms, bouncing her on his knees and running a calm hand down her spine. “I think this is a case of nursemaid elbow. We need to take him over to the clinic, an’ they should be able to get him fixed up just fine.”
Tommy vaguely recalls hearing that term before in some book he read or some conversation he’s had, but he can't quite make sense of it at the moment. His heart is still beating too fast, the tendrils of an oncoming panic attack lingering at the back of his brain, and his son is sitting sobbing quietly on the couch, fingers digging into his arm. “What is that again?” Tommy mumbles, running his hands over Mateo’s hair and the back of his neck, trying to soothe him without jostling his arm.
“Means most likely when you grabbed him, you pulled his elbow out of the socket. It’s most likely already back in place, but it can hurt like the dickens, an’ if not, the doc can put it back. It happened to me with Sarah once when she was just a little older than Mateo is now. She tried to run out into the street to grab her soccer ball just as a car was drivin’ by, an’ I grabbed her arm to pull her out of the way.” Tommy’s eyes go wide in horror.
“I-I did this?” Tommy’s vision suddenly tips and tilts as he yanks his hands away from his son quickly. He hurt him. He did this . Joel sees the anguish on his face and grabs onto Tommy’s knee with his free hand, pinning him to the couch as Tommy tries to move away from Mateo, afraid he’ll somehow hurt him again. “Shit, Joel, fuck. I… It’s been such a bad day. Such a bad day . Tilly ain’t sleepin’, which means we ain't sleepin’, and I was tryin’ to pay attention, I was, but the damn washer broke, an’ Tilly she’s been cryin' all day, an’ he got away from me. He just got away . I was just trying to keep him from hittin' his head. I just saw him goin’ down, an’ I- I grabbed him. I did…”
“Tommy, Tommy. Stop, okay, Stop,” Joel says, reeling him back from the brink with a firm squeeze to the joint of his knee. It hurts, but it snaps him back. “Brother, ya did nothin’ wrong. It’s something that happens with kids. They ain’t done growin’ yet, so sometimes it just happens when you grab 'em. I know you wasn’t tryin' to hurt him, Tommy. You were tryin' to protect him.” Joel moves his hand to Tommy’s shoulder and shakes him a little until Tommy’s eyes lock with his, “It’s gonna be okay, hermano. Now go slip on my extra boots, an’ let's get our boy to the clinic, okay?” Joel’s voice is sure and steady, and Tommy’s able to hold on to it to help pull himself all the way back to the here and now. He nods his head, quick and firm. Joel’s already pulling his own boots on with little Tilly laying her head weakly against his shoulder, eyes half closed, and thumb sucked back in her mouth as Tommy cuddles his boy safely against his chest and gets moving.
—
“Tommy.” He feels delicate fingers card gently through his hair, dragging him softly out of the restless slumber he had fallen into. “Tommy, baby.” He blinks his eyes open into the low light of the clinic room and sees Maria standing in front of where he’s sat in the chair next to Mateo’s bed. She’s still dressed for riding: jacket, dusty jeans, and boots, hat off to the side, kerchief tied around her neck. Her eyes are worried, wrinkles standing out around the edges, but her gaze is soft, loving. Her fingers keep gently combing through his hair as he blinks back into wakefulness.
“M’ sweetheart,” he mumbles and pulls her into his arms, pressing his face into her abdomen. Breathing her in, he can smell the early spring flowers from the fields she most likely rode through, the pungent odor of horse and sweat from her long ride, and the lingering hint of lavender she uses in their laundry detergent on her clothing. “M’ so sorry. Baby, I’m sorry.”
“Tommy, why are you sorry ?” she asks, pulling away from him carefully. She squats down in front of him with a tiny grunt, takes his face into her small, strong hands, and makes sure his eyes are fully on her. “You were trying to protect him, Tommy. You were doing what you were supposed to. It was an accident, baby. It could have happened to any one of us. I am not mad at you, not even a little.”
His hands clench at his sides as he feels his skin prick under her fingertips. He knows she’s right, knows it with a certainty that he can’t explain, but a part of him can't help remembering his son's cries. Knowing that it was his hands that caused it… “I swore… I swore I’d never hurt ‘em. I swore it,” he says, his jaw tight, tone vehement.
“And you didn’t, Tommy. You didn’t.” Maria moves her hands to his, pulls them open where they are clenched, and twines her fingers with his. “You are not your father Tommy. This is not the same. You were protecting him, and yes, Tommy, sometimes that means you are going to hurt him. But you did not mean to do this. You did not hurt him with intent. You are a good man, Tommy Miller, and a good father.” Tommy stares at her, her words a balm to his bruised and jagged soul, a salve to hurts he had thought long since buried. “Do you believe me?” she asks quietly, shuffling forward so she can rest her forehead against his.
“Yes,” he breathes into the space between them. Her trust in him has slowly started to make him believe in himself. He has no idea where he would be without her, without this strong, courageous woman by his side. She shifts again so she can wrap her arms around him and squeaks in surprise when he pulls her up into his lap, her arms around his neck, his locked across her back, her dirty boots hanging off the side of the chair. He holds her to him as they watch their son sleeping peacefully in the clinic bed next to them, a brace holding his elbow securely to his side.
Joel is asleep across the room on the old couch against the wall, Tilly wrapped safely in his large arms. Her little face is pressed into his flannel, delicate eyelashes fanned out across her soft cheeks and mouth open, drool soaking into the fabric. Ellie, her hair a ratty mess, looks like she came to the clinic straight from stable duty. She’s camped on the floor, her back against the couch and head lolled back against Joel’s side. Her hand is curled over Tilly’s back, Joel’s hand over the top of hers, fingers intertwined.
Maria runs her nose along his slowly and gently takes his lips with her own. A sense of peace settles over him with the pressure of her mouth on his. She pulls back, and he pushes one of her locs away from her face. Letting a finger trail down the line of her jaw, “Maria, darlin’, you sure do know how to kiss a man an’ make it all better.”
She laughs quietly and lays her head against his shoulder as they watch their little family sleep.