Work Text:
It had been nearly two hours since the ambulance had peeled up the street and the paramedics gently pulled Martha from his arms. He'd stared, transfixed as they'd loaded her onto the stretcher and pulled the thin sheet over her frail body.
Jud had stood there in a lost daze until Benoit loosely wrapped an arm around his shoulders and spoke. Jud registered the low, Southern drawl, heard his own name somewhere in the man's sentence but couldn’t process any of what he'd just said. He shook his head, a feeble attempt to clear some of the fog from his brain. Benoit didn't rush him, his arm a grounding weight against his tense shoulders.
Jud turned to him, tongue peeking out to wet his chapped, pealing lips. "I'm sorry. What?"
Benoit was watching him with a new expression now, something softer, sympathetic. "I was merely sayin' that I believe it's about time you get some much needed rest." Suddenly the mere idea of crawling into his bed had his eyes drooping with exhaustion. In that moment he couldn't care less that his bed was too small, too hard, or that it more often than not left him waking in the morning wincing in pain and having to rubbing the soreness from his back; all he cared about was slipping underneath the warm blanket and laying his head down for the first time in days.
Before he could process what was happening, Jud felt himself being led away from the frenzy of police, paramedics, and curious onlookers. A sigh of relief rattled through his weary body, and in his periphery, he noticed that Benoit was watching him intently. He couldn't find it in himself to care however, and he allowed his mind drift as the detective led him back towards the gentle quiet of his home.
It was the click of the door that jolted Jud from the floaty state he'd been drifting in and he dutifully followed as Benoit led him to the couch and sat him down. Jud was distantly aware of the other man moving throughout the room and moments later was greeted with a cool glass of water being pressed into the palm of his hand. He took it and realized for the first time, just how thirsty he'd been. Jud gulped it down gratefully.
Benoit gently pried the glass from his tightly clenched fingers and disappeared once more. When he reemerged with the refilled glass, Jud immediately reached to take it, only for Benoit to hold it just out of reach. "Careful now. The last thing we need is you makin' yourself sick," he warned not unkindly, before letting the man take the cup.
Jud listened and made a conscious effort to take slower sips. Benoit didn't sit next to him, but instead stood in front of the couch watching Jud. The younger man studied him through the wrapped glass as he drank. He appeared almost out of place, standing there in Jud's humble excuse for a living room, like he didn't know what to do with himself.
Was Benoit Blanc, the renowned detective...nervous?
Jud shook his head almost imperceptibly for the second time in the last half hour. Surely not, his mind supplied, and Jud quickly chastised himself for what he felt was a ridiculous thought.
Steady hands pulled the once again empty cup from Jud's grasp and set it down on the nearby table with a soft clank. "Alright son," Benoit's voice was soft. "Before we get you tucked away into bed, I think a shower's in order. What do you say?"
Jud glanced down and was reminded for the first time since he'd gotten home of the state that he was in. Mud caked his shoes and pants legs, his shirt was littered with holes and tears and now that he was finally examining himself, Jud noticed for the first time the handful of nasty scrapes he'd collected during his fall the night before. He found himself frozen, staring down at the blood stains dotted across the fabric.
"Yeah," he finally got out. "A shower would be good."
Benoit rewarded him with that same warm smile. Jud forced himself to rise from the couch, ignoring the way his body screamed in protest. He was aware of Benoit politely letting him lead the way down the hall. Jud entered his room, where he rummaged through his dresser for a change of clothes. He emerged to find Benoit waiting patiently in the bathroom.
"Where is your first aid kit?" Jud showed him which cabinet it was in and watched as the Southern gentleman quickly got to work, gathering his supplies and setting them out on the small shelf just above the sink.
In his exhausted haze, Jud didn't realize what he was trying to do until Benoit was motioning for him to take a seat on the closed lid of the toilet. He stared back at him blankly for a moment before he caught up. He sat.
"You really don't have to do all this," Jud said. "I know how to patch myself up."
"I know you do." Benoit pinned him in place once again with that same fond look. "But if this is makin' you uncomfortable in any way, I'm more than happy to leave you to it." Jud immediately found himself shaking his head. "No, I think I'd rather not be alone right now," he replied honestly, voice low.
Benoit made quick work of the cuts on his legs, rolling up his dirtied pant legs and cleaning each and every scrape with the same dedicated care and attention. When it came time for his upper body, Benoit gave him a moment to decide whether or not to shed his shirt. Jud opted to leave it on for the time being (already feeling more exposed than he was used to), but pulled it up out of the way so Benoit could finish his work.
When Jud's wounds were cleaned to his liking, Benoit stood, face pinching slightly in discomfort from kneeling. He clasped his hands together. "I suppose I'll let you get to it." Benoit pulled the bathroom door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving Jud to shower in private.
He sat there for a long moment still looking at his legs, almost marveling at the job the older gentleman had done. It felt strange, having him there, in his private quarters. But, Jud thought as he began the slow task of peeling his ruined clothes from his body, it's a nice kind of strange.
The feeling of the clean water against his skin was indescribable. Jud bit his lip to stop from moaning. Whether it was from the relief of finally being clean for the first time in days, or the sting of the water against his litany of purpling bruises he'd amassed, he couldn’t tell. He took the soap and scrubbed himself raw, eager to remove any trace of the filth he almost felt was under his skin. It wasn't until he began to feel faint once more that he finally reached down and turned off the water.
Jud climbed out of the shower on shaky legs and hastily wrapped himself in a towel that he didn't remember setting out. A small smile crept onto his face. He dried off and pulled on his socks, plus the black hoodie and gray sweatpants combo that he never allowed himself to wear outside of his rare sick days. Jud opened the bathroom door and sighed as the cool air of the hall rushed to greet him.
He padded back down the hall towards the kitchen. He sniffed and then came to an abrupt halt.
"Benoit?"
"Yes?" came his immediate reply, and Jud watched as the detective stepped into view, holding something clasped between his hands. Jud stared, confused once more.
Benoit rolled his eyes fondly at the younger man. "Well, come on now, before it all goes cold!"
Jud silently obeyed and followed him to the table, where he promptly sat. He stared at the steaming bowl of soup set out in front of him, and Benoit leaned over his shoulder to place a freshly brewed cup of tea before taking a seat in the wooden chair opposite him. Jud breathed in deeply. The tea smelled familiar, likely the lemon honey kind that he always kept stocked in his pantry, but he couldn't get a read on the soup.
He shot Benoit a curious look. "How did you even have time to do this?" he nearly laughed, something his chest squeezing at the thoughtfulness of the gesture (and not for the time that day). Benoit simply winked in response and Jud shook his head, the smile spreading across his lips mirroring the other man's for the first time. "I mean," he motioned at the hot bowl of soup, "I don't even think I own any of the ingredients you must have needed to make this!"
Benoit didn't respond, only continued to watch him with the same warm glint in his eyes as Jud leaned in to take the first sip. His eyes widened. "Oh my-" he caught himself just in time and smiled sheepishly. "Benoit, this genuinely is one of the best things I think I've ever tasted."
Benoit chuckled. It was a low, comforting sound, and Jud almost couldn't help joining in. "An old recipe of my mother's," he supplied, nursing his own cup of tea as he watched Jud work his way through the rest of the soup.
When he finished up, Benoit collected the dishes and placed them all in the sink to be washed. Finally, warm and clean with some food in his belly, Jud couldn't stifle his yawns any longer.
"Now, it's off to bed with you."
Jud stepped into his bedroom to find the blinds already drawn and another glass of water sitting on his nightstand. He wasted no time collapsing into his bed, ignoring the way it shuddered beneath his weight. Benoit bid him goodnight from the doorway, and before the man could form a response, the door clicked shut behind him, and the detective was gone.
Jud slipped into a dreamless sleep for the next twelve hours. When the gnawing hunger in his stomach finally forced him to rise, he padded back into the kitchen where he found the dishes from his last meal washed and dried. Jud opened the refrigerator and blinked in surprise. There, on the middle shelf, was a Tupperware container filled with soup. He chuckled under his breath, and silently thanked God for the kindness of Benoit Blanc, before pulling it out. On the lid, he found a note, bearing a phone number and a signature carefully penned in graceful, swooping font.
Jud's smile grew and he carefully folded the note before slipping it into his pocket so he could reheat the soup.