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Everything will change, nothin' stays the same, and nobody here's perfect, oh but everyone's to blame. All that you rely on, and all that you can save, will leave you in the morning, and find you in the day. Oh you're in my veins, and I cannot get you out, oh you're all I taste, at night inside of my mouth.
Tim rounds the front of the truck slowly, the night air biting cold against his skin, though he barely registers the temperature because all of his focus is fixed on the passenger side where Lucy still sits exactly the way she did when he parked.
Her head is slumped against the window, her eyes staring blankly through the windshield as though she is looking at something far beyond the quiet street in front of his house. Under the glow of the porch light he can see the slow, silent path of tears slipping down her cheeks, and the sight squeezes painfully at his chest because Lucy Chen has always been the kind of person who fights to hold herself together, who forces her emotions down until there is nothing left but determination.
Tonight there is none of that fight left in her.
The damage to her face looks even worse now that they are no longer under the sterile hospital lighting. Bruises are already spreading across her cheekbone and jaw in deep purples and reds, the skin around her eye beginning to swell, while thin cuts along her temple and lip have dried into dark lines against her skin. Tim knows the bruising will only get worse over the next few hours because the doctor warned him about that before they discharged her, explaining in a calm, practiced voice that injuries like hers tend to bloom aggressively once the adrenaline fades.
The list of her injuries plays through his mind again whether he wants it to or not. A mild concussion, several badly bruised ribs, a fractured cheekbone, and a slight dislocation in her jaw that thankfully will not require surgery as long as she sticks to soft foods for the next few weeks.
Tim had nodded through the explanation like he was processing the information normally, but what he actually heard in that moment was far simpler and far more terrifying, because every word the doctor spoke only reinforced the reality that Lucy had been beaten badly enough tonight that things could have ended very differently.
The thought makes his stomach twist, and he pushes it down before it can take root. Lucy needs calm right now. She needs steady hands and quiet reassurance, not the storm of anger and fear that has been simmering beneath Tim’s skin since the moment he saw her on that street.
He reaches for the handle and carefully opens the passenger door, the quiet creak of the hinges breaking through the silence of the night.
Lucy does not react immediately. For a long moment she remains exactly as she was, her body still slumped against the seat, until slowly her head lifts a few inches from the glass and her eyes blink sluggishly as if she has only just realized that someone is standing beside her.
The confusion in her expression hits Tim like a punch to the chest. She looks at him the way someone might look at a stranger they almost recognize but can’t quite place, her gaze drifting across his face before sliding unfocused toward the street behind him. It takes several seconds before her attention returns to him again, her eyes moving slowly as though the connection between thought and movement is still lagging behind.
“We’re home, baby,” Tim murmurs quietly as he crouches beside the open door.
His hands settle gently on her arms, rubbing slow circles through the fabric of her sleeves, careful not to press too hard because he knows the skin beneath his palms is already bruising.
Lucy blinks again, her eyes moving from his face to the porch light glowing softly above the front door and then back to him once more, recognition beginning to flicker faintly behind the fog of exhaustion and shock.
“It’s okay,” he says softly, keeping his voice low and steady the way he would with someone coming out of a nightmare. “Let’s get you inside.”
She doesn’t answer, but she also doesn’t resist when he reaches across the seat and carefully unbuckles her seatbelt. Tim guides the strap away from her shoulder so that it does not scrape against the bruised ribs the doctor had pointed out on the scan, moving slowly enough that she has time to adjust as he helps her shift toward the edge of the seat.
Lucy’s movements are delayed and uncoordinated, the sluggishness confirming what the hospital staff warned him about regarding the concussion. When her feet finally touch the pavement she sways slightly, and Tim instinctively reaches out to steady her.
The contact is immediate and desperate, her fingers curling tightly around his palm as though she needs the anchor more than she realizes.
Tim stills when he feels the rough edges beneath her nails. Even in the dim light he can see the faint traces of dried blood trapped there, dark against the pale skin of her fingers, and the reminder of what she was forced to do tonight sends another surge of anger through his chest. As his thumb shifts slightly he also notices the bruises forming along her wrist and forearm, ugly purple fingerprints that mark where someone must have grabbed her hard enough to leave evidence behind.
Lucy doesn’t seem to notice them at all. She doesn’t wince when she moves or react to the pressure of his hand guiding her upright, which tells Tim everything he needs to know about the state her body is currently in. The adrenaline is still masking the worst of the pain, holding the full impact of her injuries at bay for the moment.
It won’t last.
Soon the shock will wear off, and when it does every bruise, every cracked rib, every inch of her battered body will start demanding attention all at once.
Which means he needs to get her inside before that happens.
Tim tightens his hold on her hand slightly and slides his other arm around her shoulders, pulling her carefully against his side so she has something solid to lean on.
“Easy,” he murmurs, guiding her slowly toward the walkway leading up to the house. “I’ve got you.”
Lucy leans into him without hesitation, her weight settling against him in a quiet, unconscious act of trust as they begin the short walk toward the front door.
Tim keeps his pace slow and steady, already running through the next steps in his mind as they move, ice packs for the swelling, the pain medication the doctor prescribed, water to keep her hydrated, and something soft she can manage to eat despite the injury to her jaw.
He’ll also be watching for the symptoms they warned him about before discharging her, because if Lucy starts complaining about worsening headaches, dizziness, or increasing confusion then he won’t hesitate to put her right back in the truck and drive straight to the emergency room.
Tonight came far too close to ending in a way Tim Bradford refuses to even imagine, and he has absolutely no intention of letting anything slip past him now that she is finally home.
Once Tim gets Lucy inside the house, he keeps his arm loosely around her shoulders as he guides her toward the living room, moving slowly enough that she can keep her balance without feeling rushed. The warmth of the house closes in around them after the cold outside air, but Lucy doesn’t seem to notice the change in temperature or the familiar space surrounding her.
When they reach the center of the room, Tim gently releases her, giving her the option to sit on the couch or curl up in the armchair the way she usually does when she isn’t feeling well.
Instead, Lucy simply stops.
She stands there in the middle of the living room, unmoving, her posture loose in that unsettling way people get when their minds have drifted somewhere far away from their bodies. Her eyes are open, but they are unfocused, staring past the furniture and the soft lamplight as though she can’t quite reconnect with the world around her.
Tim watches her for a moment, his chest tightening at the sight, before quietly turning toward the kitchen because he knows that hovering too closely right now might overwhelm her.
He needs to give her something steady instead. Something normal. Something small that might anchor her.
The kitchen light flicks on with a soft click, and Tim moves through the space with the quiet efficiency that has been drilled into him through years of routine. He lines up the things Lucy will need on the counter without even thinking about it, the bottle of pain medication the doctor sent home with them, a glass of water, and the tin of herbal tea she always reaches for when she’s sick or stressed or curled up on the couch after a long shift.
The normalcy of the motions almost feels surreal after everything that happened today.
Tim fills the kettle and sets it on the stove, his mind running through the instructions the doctor gave him again while he waits for the water to heat. He keeps replaying the warnings about the concussion and the swelling, mentally cataloging every symptom he needs to watch for in the coming hours because the idea of missing something important where Lucy is concerned feels completely unacceptable.
The kettle finally begins to whistle, the sound sharp in the quiet house, and Tim moves quickly to take it off the burner before it can startle her.
He pours the steaming water carefully into Lucy’s favorite mug and drops the tea bag inside, letting it steep exactly the way she likes it while he adds a small spoonful of honey. It is such a simple thing, preparing a cup of tea, but right now it feels like the only useful thing he can do.
When he picks up the mug and walks back toward the living room, the sight that greets him stops him in his tracks for a second.
Lucy hasn’t moved.
She’s still standing exactly where he left her, her shoulders slightly hunched, her gaze distant and glassy as though the room around her still hasn’t fully registered. Her hands are trembling faintly at her sides, the movement subtle enough that someone who didn’t know her well might miss it entirely.
But Tim notices. Lucy notices it too.
Because as he steps closer, he sees her fingers curl inward as she begins picking absentmindedly at the edges of her fingernails, the nervous habit surfacing as she tries to keep the tremor under control.
The sight twists something deep in his chest.
“Hey,” Tim murmurs softly as he closes the remaining distance between them.
He reaches out slowly, careful not to startle her, and gently lays his hand over both of hers, stilling the restless motion before offering the mug.
“Tea’s ready.”
Lucy blinks like she’s just been pulled back into the room, her gaze shifting from their joined hands to the mug he’s holding out to her. After a second she wraps her trembling fingers around the warm ceramic, drawing it carefully toward her chest as if the heat might help ground her.
“Thank you,” she whispers. Her voice barely audible.
Lucy lowers her gaze into the mug and simply stares at the swirling amber liquid for a long moment while Tim keeps his hands resting lightly on her arms, rubbing slow, reassuring circles through the fabric of her sleeves.
He can feel the tension in her muscles, the way her body is trying so hard to stay upright and controlled even though exhaustion and shock are clearly dragging her down.
After a minute, Tim speaks again, his voice gentle.
“Do you want to go to bed?”
Lucy nods automatically at first, the movement small and hesitant, but then almost immediately she shakes her head again, her brow furrowing slightly as if the thought of closing her eyes suddenly feels unbearable.
“No,” she says quietly. “No, I think I’m just gonna stay up for a little bit.”
Tim’s expression softens with immediate understanding. He recognizes that fear because he has felt it himself more than once. Sometimes sleep means dreams, and sometimes dreams mean reliving things that your mind isn’t ready to face yet.
“Do you want me to stay with you?” he asks.
Lucy shakes her head again, her gaze still fixed stubbornly on the mug in her hands.
Tim studies her for a second before nodding slowly. He understands the need for solitude in moments like this even if every protective instinct in his body is screaming at him not to leave her alone.
The first time he took a life he had been nineteen years old and halfway across the world in a desert that felt like it stretched on forever, and even though the circumstances had been completely different the aftermath had carved the same hollow ache into his chest.
It never truly gets easier.
Not the first time.
Not the fifth.
Not the tenth.
Some part of you always feels the weight of it. So he understands why Lucy might need a few minutes alone with her thoughts, even though the idea of walking away from her right now feels like dragging his feet through wet cement.
Before he steps back, Tim gently tips his head so she has to look at him. “Hey,” he says quietly. “Listen.”
Lucy finally lifts her eyes.
“Celina’s right,” he continues softly. “It’s gonna be okay.”
The words barely leave his mouth before Lucy’s composure cracks. Her eyes immediately fill with tears, her lower lip trembling as she struggles to keep control of the emotion threatening to spill over.
“I know,” she manages brokenly.
Tim doesn’t hesitate. He reaches forward and cups the back of her head, guiding her carefully into his chest as he wraps one arm around her shoulders in a gentle embrace.
Lucy doesn’t melt into it the way she usually does. She doesn’t hug him back or cling to him for comfort. Instead she remains stiff and distant in his arms, her body present but her mind clearly somewhere else, as though she is trying with everything she has not to let herself completely fall apart.
Tim presses a soft kiss to the top of her head before slowly releasing her.
Lucy doesn’t look at him when she speaks again. “I’ll be in… in a bit.”
Tim studies her for a moment before giving a small nod. He doesn’t argue. He doesn’t push. Instead he turns toward the hallway, resigning himself to giving her the space she asked for even though every instinct in his body hates the idea of leaving her alone with the weight of what she went through tonight.
Sometimes the best thing he can do for Lucy Chen is trust that she knows what she needs. Even when it breaks his heart to walk away.
Tim barely makes it five steps down the hallway before he hears it.
At first it is so quiet he almost convinces himself he imagined it, a soft sniffle drifting from the living room that could have just as easily been the house settling into the silence of the night. But then the sound comes again, followed by the faint hitch of Lucy’s breath as she tries and fails to steady herself.
Tim stops walking. The hallway light casts a dim glow across the wall beside him, but he barely notices it as he stands there listening.
Another breath catches. Then another.
The quiet sniffles slowly give way to something heavier, something deeper, until the sound of Lucy’s muffled sobs finally reaches him. They’re not loud and chaotic the way grief sometimes is. Instead they’re restrained, as though she is still trying to keep control even while the pain tears through her chest. The sound is muted, likely buried in the crook of her arms or pressed into the couch cushions so no one else has to hear it.
But Tim hears it. Every broken breath. Every trembling exhale.
He exhales slowly and lets the back of his head rest against the wall behind him, his shoulders sagging as the sound of the woman he loves crying fills the quiet space between them.
He had never wanted this for her. From the moment Lucy first stepped into his patrol car as a rookie, bright eyed and stubborn and endlessly compassionate, Tim had hoped that the job would never take this particular piece of her. He knew it was a foolish hope because policing eventually demands impossible things from the people who choose it, but part of him had still held onto the wish that Lucy Chen might somehow be spared from carrying this kind of weight.
She had always been the one who softened the edges of the world around her.
Lucy is the woman who smiles every time she sees a dog on the street, no matter how tired she is after a long shift. She is the one who refuses to let him kill spiders or ants inside the house because, as she once explained very seriously, “they have feelings and families too, Tim.” She is the person who has spent years reminding him that empathy and compassion are not weaknesses but strengths.
She does not deserve the kind of pain that comes from taking a life. And yet today she had been forced into that moment just to survive.
Tim drags both hands through his hair, pacing a half step before stopping himself again as the urge to turn around and go back to her threatens to overpower the promise he silently made when he walked away. Every protective instinct he possesses is screaming at him to go scoop her up and hold her until the shaking stops.
But Lucy asked for space. And he will respect that, even if it feels like the hardest thing he has ever done.
The sobs grow louder after a few minutes, the restraint finally giving way as Lucy allows herself to fall apart in the privacy she thought she had. The sound of it tightens something painfully inside Tim’s chest.
He squeezes his eyes shut and slowly slides down the wall until he is sitting on the floor of the hallway, his back resting against the drywall as he listens.
There is no way in hell he could leave the room right now. Not while she is crying like that. Not while she is carrying the weight of something that heavy for the very first time.
So he stays exactly where he is, just on the other side of the wall, close enough that if Lucy calls for him he will be there in seconds.
He doesn’t know how long he sits there.
Time stretches strangely in moments like this, measured less by minutes and more by the rhythm of Lucy’s breathing as the storm inside her slowly begins to ease. The raw sobs eventually soften into broken sniffles, the kind that come when someone is so exhausted from crying that their body is finally running out of strength to continue.
By the time the room falls mostly quiet again, Tim’s legs have gone numb and the dull ache in his lower back reminds him just how long he has been sitting on the hardwood floor. He shifts slightly, trying to bring feeling back into his feet, but the discomfort barely registers because his mind is still entirely focused on the woman a few yards away.
When the silence lingers long enough that he knows the worst of the storm has passed, Tim slowly pushes himself to his feet. He brushes a hand across the back of his jeans and stretches his stiff legs before making his way quietly back down the hallway.
The living room is dim when he steps inside. Lucy is sitting curled into the far corner of the couch, her knees drawn tightly against her chest. Her arms rest across the top of them, and her face is buried in the crook of her elbows as though she is trying to hide from the world entirely.
Even from across the room Tim can see the faint tremble still moving through her shoulders, the lingering aftershocks of grief that often follow a breakdown like the one she just had.
For a moment he doesn’t move. He simply stands there, watching her, the familiar weight of responsibility settling heavily in his chest.
Tim Bradford has always been a protector. It is the role he understands best, the instinct that has shaped most of the choices he has made throughout his life. Protect the people who can’t protect themselves. Step between danger and the ones you care about. Take the hit so someone else does not have to.
But standing there in the quiet living room, watching Lucy tremble under the weight of something no one else can carry for her, he finds himself confronting a question he does not know how to answer.
How do you protect someone from grief?
Tim finally moves. The distance between them is only a few feet, but it feels heavier than any ground he has crossed tonight. Lucy is still curled into the corner of the couch exactly where he left her, her knees pulled tight to her chest and her face buried against her arms as if the world might hurt her less if she simply makes herself small enough.
He approaches slowly and lowers himself onto the couch directly in front of her.
He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t reach for her.
Not yet.
Instead he simply sits there with her, giving her the quiet presence she seemed to need earlier while she cried herself empty. The room is silent except for the faint sound of her uneven breathing, and Tim keeps his posture relaxed, careful not to crowd her even though every instinct inside him wants to gather her up and hold her.
A long moment passes before Lucy finally lifts her head. The sight of her nearly shatters him.
Her eyes are swollen and red, the delicate skin beneath them flushed from crying, and the rest of her face is blotchy with the lingering aftermath of tears. She looks exhausted in a way that goes deeper than simple fatigue, like the kind of weariness that settles into someone’s bones after they have been forced to confront something they were never ready to face.
Her lips tremble when she tries to speak.
“I… I… I killed someone,” she chokes out, the words breaking apart in her throat.
Tim’s chest tightens.
“I know,” he says quietly, his voice soft enough that it barely disturbs the fragile silence around them.
Lucy shakes her head immediately, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks as the memory crashes over her all over again.
“I d-didn’t… w-w-want to,” she stutters, the words tripping over each other as she struggles to explain something that doesn’t need explaining.
Tim doesn’t interrupt. He doesn’t rush her. He simply sits there and lets her speak, letting the emotions pour out in whatever fractured way they need to.
“I know, baby,” he murmurs gently.
The endearment slips out naturally, filled with quiet reassurance rather than anything else. Lucy’s head shakes harder, her shoulders trembling as the weight of what happened presses down on her again.
“I’m a murderer,” she sobs, the word tearing through the room like something sharp and cruel.
That’s the moment Tim can no longer stay still. He leans forward and wraps his arms around her, pulling her into him before she can spiral any further into that thought. Lucy collapses against him immediately, her body folding into his lap as if she simply doesn’t have the strength to hold herself upright anymore.
Her fingers clutch weakly at the front of his shirt as she cries.
“I feel so dirty,” she whispers brokenly against his shoulder.
Tim tightens his arms around her and begins rubbing slow, soothing circles along her back, the steady motion meant to ground her in something safe.
“You’re not,” he murmurs into her hair. “You’re not dirty, Lucy.”
His voice stays low and steady as he continues to whisper quiet reassurances near her ear, not arguing with her feelings but refusing to let that lie take root inside her.
They stay like that for several minutes.
Lucy eventually goes limp in his arms, her body sagging against him now that the emotional storm has wrung every ounce of strength out of her. She is trembling faintly with exhaustion, her breathing slow but uneven as the adrenaline finally leaves her system.
Tim adjusts his grip carefully before sliding one arm beneath her knees and the other around her back.
“C’mon,” he murmurs.
Lucy doesn’t protest when he lifts her. She simply rests her head against his shoulder, her cheek pressing into the familiar warmth of him as he carries her down the hallway toward their bedroom. Her arms hang loosely around his neck, her body so tired that she barely moves at all.
When they reach the room, Tim pauses briefly beside the bed. For a moment he considers simply tucking her beneath the blankets and letting her sleep, but then he remembers the quiet confession she made only minutes earlier.
I feel so dirty.
He knows she meant it emotionally. But he also knows Lucy well enough to understand that feeling physically clean might help settle some of the chaos still swirling inside her.
So instead of setting her on the bed, Tim carries her into the adjoining bathroom.
He gently lifts her onto the counter beside the sink, making sure she is steady before stepping away to start the bath. Warm water begins filling the tub, the steam slowly rising into the air as he adjusts the temperature slightly hotter than usual, the way Lucy always prefers when she is sore or stressed.
From a nearby shelf he grabs the small bottle of eucalyptus oil she likes and pours a few drops into the water along with her bath soap. The scent begins to drift through the room almost immediately, soft and calming.
Once the tub is nearly full, Tim turns back toward her.
Lucy is still sitting exactly where he left her, her shoulders slumped and her eyes heavy with exhaustion. Her face is puffy from crying, and the skin beneath her eyes has already begun to swell slightly.
He knows she is beyond tired. But he also knows this will help.
Tim steps closer and begins carefully removing the oversized blue LAPD tracksuit she was given after her uniform was taken as evidence. His movements are slow and deliberate, giving her plenty of time to react if she becomes uncomfortable, but Lucy remains still as he gently slides the jacket from her shoulders and helps her step out of the loose pants.
Now standing in front of him without the heavy fabric hiding her injuries, the full extent of what she endured tonight becomes painfully clear.
Dark bruises bloom across her chest and ribs in shades of purple and deep blue. Thin cuts mark her arms, some already scabbing over while others are still faintly red. There are small streaks of dried blood along her skin that the paramedics must have missed in the chaos earlier.
Lucy keeps her gaze fixed downward, staring at her lap as if she cannot bear to look anywhere else.
Tim leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to her forehead before lifting her into his arms again.Then he lowers her carefully into the warm bath.
Lucy winces softly at first when the water touches the bruises along her ribs, but the tension slowly drains from her shoulders as the warmth begins easing the soreness in her muscles. After a moment she draws her knees up to her chest again, wrapping her arms around herself in a familiar attempt to feel smaller, safer.
Tim doesn’t rush her.
He kneels beside the tub and reaches for the shampoo, working a small amount between his hands before gently massaging it into her hair. His fingers move slowly through the strands, careful and methodical as he washes away the dirt and sweat from the long, awful night.
Lucy remains quiet while he works.
After rinsing the shampoo away, he adds conditioner and carefully works it through the ends of her hair before using a brush to gently detangle the strands. When he rinses it out again, the dark hair falls smoothly against her shoulders.
Then he reaches for a soft washcloth.
Instead of her usual loofah, which might irritate her battered skin, he lathers the cloth with soap and begins carefully cleaning away the dried blood and grime along her arms and shoulders. His touch stays light and steady, making sure not to press too hard against the bruises that mark her body.
By the time he finishes, Lucy’s breathing has slowed considerably.
When the bathwater has cooled enough that it is no longer comforting, Tim pulls the drain and lets the tub empty before giving her one final rinse with warm water from the showerhead.
He wraps her gently in a thick towel once she steps out. Lucy brushes her teeth quietly while Tim slips back into the bedroom to gather clean clothes. From her dresser he pulls out a comfortable yellow pajama set patterned with small flowers, along with a fresh pair of underwear.
Then he grabs something else from his own side of the closet. A soft gray sweatshirt. The one Lucy steals from him constantly because she says it smells like him.
When she returns to the bedroom a moment later, she simply sits down on the edge of the bed, her posture heavy with exhaustion.
Tim walks over and helps her dress without a word.
He guides her legs carefully through her underwear and pajama pants before fastening the buttons of her pajama top one by one. Once that is done, he gently pulls the oversized sweatshirt over her head, the fabric hanging loosely around her smaller frame like a cocoon of warmth.
Finally he kneels down in front of her and slides a pair of soft socks onto her feet.
Lucy has always gotten colder when she is overwhelmed or disconnected from her body. Tim learned that a long time ago.
So he makes sure her feet are warm before standing again, his hands lingering briefly on her shoulders as he studies her face to see how she is holding up now.
Once Lucy is settled on the bed, Tim slips away for only a minute. He moves quietly around the room, pulling open a drawer and grabbing a clean pair of sweatpants and a soft t-shirt before stepping into the bathroom to change. His own clothes still smell faintly like the day, like hospital antiseptic and cold air and fear, and he doesn’t want any of that clinging to her while she tries to rest.
It takes less than a minute before he returns. Lucy is still sitting exactly where he left her, perched on the edge of the mattress with her shoulders slumped forward and her hands resting loosely in her lap. She looks impossibly small swallowed inside his oversized gray sweatshirt, the sleeves falling well past her wrists as the soft fabric drapes around her frame.
Tim climbs into bed beside her. The moment the mattress shifts beneath his weight, Lucy turns toward him instinctively, almost as if her body had been waiting for the invitation. He opens his arms and gently pulls her closer, and she crawls into the space against him without hesitation.
Her head settles against his chest. He wraps his arms around her immediately, one hand resting protectively along the middle of her back while the other cradles the back of her head.
Lucy sniffles softly, the quiet sound muffled against his shirt. Tim presses a gentle kiss into her damp hair before reaching over to switch off the bedside lamp. Before his fingers can touch the switch, Lucy shifts in his arms and shakes her head quickly.
“C-can we… keep the light on?” she asks, her voice small and fragile in the quiet room.
Tim doesn’t hesitate. “Okay,” he murmurs, kissing the top of her head again. “We’ll keep it on.”
He pulls the blankets up slowly, careful not to jostle her bruised body as he drapes the soft comforter over them both. But the moment the weight of the blanket settles across Lucy’s shoulders, her breathing suddenly catches. Her fingers clutch tighter at his shirt. Then she begins to cry again.
Not the violent sobbing from earlier, but something more fragile, more helpless, as if the simple act of being tucked in has reminded her of something she is not ready to face yet.
Tim immediately begins rubbing her back again. “What’s wrong, baby?” he whispers gently.
Lucy buries her face deeper into his chest as another broken sound escapes her. “I don’t want to go to sleep,” she whimpers.
Tim understands instantly.
Nightmares.
He knows they’re coming. He knows the first night after something like this is almost always the worst, when the brain begins replaying every detail the moment exhaustion finally drags someone under. Lucy is terrified of what she will see when she closes her eyes.
But he doesn’t say any of that.
Instead he shifts slightly against the pillows and begins rocking them both in a slow, gentle rhythm, his arms wrapped securely around her as if the motion alone might keep the world from touching her.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs softly. “You don’t have to sleep.”
Lucy sniffles again.
“Just relax with me,” he continues quietly. “That’s all we’re doing.”
She doesn’t answer, but the tension in her shoulders eases just a little as she continues lying against him. Tim keeps rubbing slow circles across her back, occasionally pressing another kiss into her hair while the room settles into a quiet stillness.
Lucy fights sleep for a long time.
He can feel it in the way her body shifts every few minutes, the way her breathing changes as she drifts toward unconsciousness only to jerk herself awake again.
Tim never calls attention to it. He simply stays with her.
Eventually Lucy shifts positions, sliding down the mattress until her head rests in his lap while he sits propped against the headboard. Her damp hair spreads across his legs as she curls slightly onto her side, one arm tucked loosely against her chest.
Tim continues stroking gentle fingers through her hair. Within minutes, despite how fiercely she tried to stay awake, exhaustion finally wins.
Her breathing deepens. Her body goes heavy and she falls asleep.
Tim does not. He cannot. Because he knows exactly what is waiting for her.
The room grows quiet except for the soft hum of the lamp and the faint sounds of Lucy’s restless sleep. Even after she slips under, her body never truly relaxes. Every few minutes she shifts uncomfortably, twisting against the sheets as if trying to escape something he can’t see.
Small whimpers slip from her throat now and then. Each one tightens something in Tim’s chest.
At some point he carefully moves from the bed, not wanting to disturb her. He settles onto the ottoman at the end of the bed, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees as he watches her.
Hours pass like that.
Lucy never fully wakes up, but she doesn’t sleep peacefully either. Her body moves restlessly beneath the blankets, her brow furrowed and her lips trembling as though she is fighting something in her dreams.
Tim stays exactly where he is.
Watching.
Waiting.
Helpless to do anything except be there when she needs him.
Eventually he exhales heavily and runs a hand down his face before standing again. Enough. He can’t just sit there while she struggles like this.
Tim climbs back into the bed and gently pulls Lucy toward him, guiding her until her back presses against his chest. She shifts slightly in her sleep but doesn’t wake as his arms wrap around her once more.
He presses his mouth near her ear and begins whispering softly. Quiet reassuring words. The kind of gentle reminders he hopes her mind might still hear even through the nightmare.
“You’re safe.”
“I’ve got you.”
“I’m right here.”
Lucy’s body slowly stills beneath his arms.
The whimpering doesn’t stop entirely, but the restless movements ease just enough that Tim knows it is helping, even if only a little.
Eventually, sometime in the quiet hours before morning, the exhaustion he has been fighting finally catches up with him. Still holding Lucy tightly against his chest, Tim allows his eyes to close.
And for the first time that night, he lets sleep take him too, making sure the last thing Lucy feels, even in her dreams, is that she is not alone.