Work Text:
Jake knew something was wrong the moment his phone rang.
It was a little after eleven, he'd just gotten out of the shower to settle in for the night. Little Brisket was already curled up on Bradley's pillow, tail wagging halfheartedly. The pup huffed out a little sigh when Jake trudged tiredly out of the steaming en suite, and buried his cold wet nose further into the pillowcase under him.
The sight made Jake smile sadly as he towel-dried his blond hair into a fluffy mess, and he reached over to tug on a floppy ear. "I know, baby," he cooed, and stopped himself from burying his own face in Bradley's pillow to breathe in his scent, "I miss daddy, too." He turned down the covers on his side and slipped into the sheets with a heavy heart. He wasn't looking forward to another night sleeping in a cold, empty bed.
One of these days he was going to put his foot down and make his husband stop selflessly volunteering to cover extra twenty-four hour shifts. He knew Bradley loved his job, but they'd finally gotten their schedules on a semi-regular routine, and Jake had gotten used to falling asleep next to him.
In fact, he now had trouble falling asleep without Bradley's arms cinched tight around him, his overheating body pressed solid and heavy against his own perpetually chilled one. He missed the raspy scratch of a mustache on the nape of his neck, the soft little sleep sounds he made close to Jake's ear. Even when he snored like a freight train, Jake wanted it all, and he selfishly wanted it every night now, not just most nights.
He glanced over to Brisket, bemused and hopeless. "Don't s'pose you'd want to snuggle 'til we both fall asleep, huh?"
The puppy sneezed into Bradley's pillow and stretched up to stamp in a tight circle. He flopped back down, his back to Jake.
Jake pouted. "Yeah, didn't think so." He didn't take the adorable snub personally, Brisket acted the same when he worked late and Bradley was home. The rescue puppy wanted both his dads home at night, and made his disappointment known by sulking.
He flopped down on his own pillow and reached over to click off the lamp, already hating the unnatural silence. "Night, Briskey. Love you, buddy."
Jake's feet hit the floor before the end of the first ring, before his eyes even opened. Tangled in sheets and the remnants of sleep, he fumbled frantically in the near pitch darkness for his glowing cellphone on the nightstand. His heart dropped into his stomach when he saw the name on the screen.
TRACE.
"Tasha? What's wrong? What happened?" He hated being the husband of a firefighter almost as much as he loved it. The quiet darkness suddenly became oppressive, and he reached over to switch on the lamp.
He listened intently to his husband's best friend, nodding along like she could see him and gripping the cellphone like a lifeline. The sudden surge of adrenaline evaporated almost immediately, and left his heart pounding and his legs weak. He slid off the bed, sat down hard on the carpet and propped his arms up on his knees.
His eyes burned.
"…Oh, god. When did it happen?…And he just left? Why didn't you-… yeah, I know. Too damn stubborn for his own good…But you said he-he's okay, though, right?" He took a deep, shaky breath and tried to center himself. He's okay this time. He's okay. "No, no…I'll handle it. I'll take care of him…Tell Reuben I appreciate him following him, makin' sure he gets home safe… Yeah, I got it…I know. Thanks, Tash."
He hung up and scrubbed his hands over his face, and tried to keep his still stammering heart from breaking. He had to be the strong one tonight.
A child.
A little girl.
"Fuck," he cursed the cruelty of the world.
The outburst startled Brisket to his feet, his collar jingling. The pup jumped off the bed and leaned against him with a whine, and Jake didn't hesitate to scoop him up and hold him close, seeking comfort himself for a moment.
"Daddy had a bad night, baby," he whispered sadly into the warm white fur. "But we're gonna take care of him, aren't we."
Brisket squirmed and licked his face.
He took a few minutes to pull himself together, and then stood up on popping knees and padded down the stairs and into the kitchen, flipping on lights as he went. Brisket trotted behind him, and the quick little tappy-taps of his nails on the wood floors helped to soothe Jake's nerves.
He deftly puttered around the kitchen making a pot of coffee - Bradley's expensive Guatemalan blend - and then pulled out the leftover peach cobbler to warm in the oven. He knew Bradley wouldn't want to eat or drink anything when he got home, but Jake made sure the house was at least bright and smelled warm and comforting and peaceful for him.
Like home.
The mindless tasks also gave Jake something to do while he waited. He didn't need to worry, Fitch was following Bradley home, and the gentle giant would never let any harm come to him on his watch. But Jake was only human, and a high-strung one at that, and he never could completely shut off the undercurrent of anxiety thrumming just under his skin until he heard Bradley's Bronco pull into the driveway.
The warm, cozy scent of baking cinnamon and peaches were just beginning to permeate when Jake heard the muted roar of an engine out front, and he took a deep breath and tried to release the tension in his tight shoulders.
Brisket yipped excitedly.
Jake heard the engine shut off and he stood still, waited a beat to listen, but there was no distinct metallic slam of the driver's side door.
He waited, pretending to be busy by the oven. He didn't pace near the door, didn't ruffle the curtains to peak out.
Jake knew not to go out and meet him at the Bronco, knew not to watch and hover from a distance. He knew to leave Bradley alone out there to scream and curse and cry and slam his fists into the steering wheel in private for as long he needed.
Jake had only made that mistake a couple times before learning to leave him be until Bradley sought out comfort. His grief-fueled rage was volatile and intense, but he'd always been so careful not to lose control of it in front of Jake. Jake knew he could handle it, especially after almost four years of blissful marriage, but he knew Bradley would never forgive himself if he ever said or did something to Jake in his blind, tumultuous rage that he couldn't take back.
Only Ice and Maverick had the ability to pull him out of it - Jake could only hang back and give him space, and wait him out until the anger faded and left only guilt and grief.
Sometimes he felt useless, helpless, but Bradley had once lovingly called Jake his safety harness, and that had been enough, and that was all Jake ever tried to be anymore. Not a counselor, not a sounding board, not a giver of words and wisdom - he had plenty of that kind of overt support and understanding at the station. Jake was a tether, so Bradley could let go fully and fall apart in peace without fear of losing himself.
Jake was his safe haven, his soft place to land. With him he didn't have to save face, didn't have to be strong, didn't need to be a leader. With him, Bradley could just be.
Brisket's tail wagged furiously, his little nose glued to the front door, and Jake tried not to watch the microwave clock clicking minute over minute. When fourteen minutes passed by, and Jake's shoulders had just begun to tighten anew, Brisket's jubilant bark heralded the slam of the Bronco's door.
Jake waited.
He heard the slow, dejected footsteps stomping up the front porch steps, heard them pause to shuffle by the door. A sigh followed that Jake heard through the door, heavy with the burden of grief.
The door creaked open, hesitant and timid.
Still Jake waited, pretending to be busy at the sink, his back to the entryway. He heard the door click shut, the thump of heavy work boots being pulled off and set aside.
He couldn't wait anymore. He took a breath and turned, and tried bolster himself for what he was about to face.
His brave, beautiful Bradley stood by the door, hunched into himself and radiating palpable anguish, a wounded wild animal braced for the end. He was still in his rumpled uniform, the filthy turnout gear he'd probably just shed in the Bronco.
He smelled of smoke and sweat and sorrow, and his curls were wet and limp over his soot-smudged forehead. His pretty face was much too pale in the soft light, and Jake's heart cracked a little more at the torrents of tear tracks cutting through the grime on Bradley's flushed cheeks.
But it was the look his eyes that had Jake frozen, almost scared him. Those deep, soulful cow eyes that he'd fallen in love with almost immediately, expressed every fleeting emotion that Bradley had ever felt. They were the most expressive eyes he'd ever seen, always shining with mirth and mischief, or glinting with hard steel and determination, or heated with fiery possessiveness, or positively glowing with warmth and adoration and love.
Jake couldn't quite wrap his mind around what he saw in them now, bloodshot and swollen and haunted - a sickening amalgamation of emptiness and fury and shame and defeat. Something had broken within him tonight.
"Oh, sweetheart-"
Bradley's lip trembled.
He shook his head, like he didn't want to hear it, like he couldn't understand what happened, like he refused to believe the cruel reality. He gasped out a gut-wrenching sob, and Jake was at his side a half-second before Bradley's legs gave out.
He caught him in an embrace, and they both went down in a boneless heap on the floor. Jake draped his body over Bradley's trembling back as he curled into something small and vulnerable - to cover, to shield, to protect the raw wound gaping and exposed in his precious husband's soul.
A wail tore from his core, guttural and frightening in its intensity, and ravaged his abused throat to shreds. Jake wondered if he'd screamed and cursed and cried the entire drive home for his voice to be so ruined already. He held on tighter, fought to stay strong, a silent sentinel as the dam burst and Bradley's emotions erupted.
Bradley listed weakly, his legs unfolding loose and limp, but his arms stole around Jake's middle and latched onto him like a drowning man on a lifeline, cinched tight enough to squeeze the breath from Jake's lungs.
Jake still held fast.
"I tried…" Bradley choked, wrecked and wretched and tremulous.
Jake pressed his lips to the damp curls underneath his chin. "I know you did."
"She's…just a baby…If I got th-there f-faster…"
"Trace said nobody could have, B."
"She…she was so small…her little face," he shook his head, a violent thrash of disbelief, "She was so fucking scared…"
"She's not scared anymore, sweetheart."
Bradley shifted under him again, and then a wet face pressed hard into the crook of Jake's neck. The arms around his middle squeezed tighter still. Jake tried to keep his breathless wheezes quiet and let him squeeze however much he needed to keep himself tethered, to not drift away from him to a dark place he couldn't follow.
Bradley tried to sniffle but his nose was completely blocked, breath hot and wet against Jake's throat as he gasped and sobbed and shook convulsively.
"She was hiding… she couldn't get out so-so she hid from… from th-the fire," he hiccuped, helplessly out of breath, "I couldn't fucking f-find her. Too late… I was too late…too fuckin' late."
Jake scratched soothing fingers through his curls and bit his lip. He couldn't lose control, too. Not right now.
"She was…holding her little bear out-" he cried harder, and pressed his face harder into Jake's skin to hide from the memory, "-like it could…like it could protect her…goddammit!"
He flailed out of Jake's hold and pounded his fists into the wall behind him, hard enough to send a picture frame shattering onto the living room floor.
Jake caught the fists before Bradley broke his hands, and guided those strong arms back around his own body. He pressed gentle shushes to Bradley's ear, and again found himself cinched tight and squeezed in a vice grip.
He rocked, a little awkward in their sprawled tangle, but soothing enough that Bradley didn't try to pull away again. Hands spasmed at his back and Bradley latched onto his threadbare t-shirt and didn't let go.
Jake lost track of time, just rocking gentle and steady, humming a soft, mindless tune while Bradley cried himself out. He didn't offer shallow placations, no empty vindications, because Bradley hated hearing them when he was like this. No you did the best you could, no I'm so sorry, no it was her time to go.
He sat in silence, rocking and humming and supporting, and waited.
"I can't…I don't wanna do th-this anymore."
There it was. The quiet, anguished whisper at his throat.
Bradley flinched in his arms like he expected a physical blow, like the very thought of quitting triggered a visceral fight response in him.
"Shh," he hushed, and Bradley sniffled and quieted, and finally went limp in his arms and let himself be held and comforted.
For all the hundreds of lives he'd saved over the years as a Navy SEAL, and then as a firefighter, Bradley shook off those feats of heroism as part of the job. But every single life lost on his watch he took as a personal failure. To be so courageous and competent, Bradley's empathetic heart was still much too tender to be worn on his sleeve like he did.
But Jake knew his husband, inside and out. Those words were said in a fit of rage and sadness and utter despair, but he didn't truly mean them. He never truly meant them, no matter how many times he'd cried them into the crook of Jake's neck.
This was the routine they'd had the misfortune to perfect over the years. Bradley would eventually tire himself out, and Jake would coax him into a chair at the table, and they'd sit in silence over untouched desserts, and warm their hands on cups of coffee they wouldn't drink. Bradley would sniffle and collect his thoughts and not meet Jake's eyes, and Jake would wrap his foot around Bradley's ankle and wait him out in supportive silence.
The moment Bradley bent down to pick up and hug a squirming Brisket with a hoarse and gentle "hey, buddy" and an apology for ignoring him, Jake would know it was time to pull him to his feet and head to the bathroom.
He'd bully Bradley into a hot shower, wash his face and his hair for him, and caress his body in search of hidden wounds and to give comfort, and Jake would do his very best to rinse the day away, just for a little while.
They'd dress for bed and curl up under the sheets, and, with steady hands scratching soothing patterns on his sore back and in his drying hair, Jake would hold Bradley as he wept in silence and shook to pieces, and would eventually fall asleep with an ear pressed against Jake's heart. And Jake would text Natasha and Maverick, and then stay awake long after, just in case Bradley needed him.
And in the morning, Jake would rise early and let his worn out husband sleep in - like always - and he'd tiptoe downstairs to make more coffee and whip up a light breakfast. Bradley and Brisket would eventually roust from the homey scent and make their way down to the kitchen, and Brisket would sit in Bradley's lap and they would finally talk while they ate.
Bradley probably wouldn't cry anymore, all his tears shed the night before, but Jake probably would as more details of the tragic night came to light. And then they would leash Brisket and walk the six blocks to the beach and let the salt air and the puppy's excited yips clear their heads and mend their hearts.
And, with toes in the sand and ocean water lapping at their ankles, Bradley would pull Jake close and kiss him - I'm sorry, thank you, I love you, angel - and Jake would kiss him back - no apologies, don't thank me, I love you, too, B - and then they would walk back home, steps a little lighter, and they'd get ready for a new shift at the firehouse and at the hospital.
Because tragedies were an unfortunate inevitability in both their lines of work, and there was never much time to dwell on them for very long. Bradley would piece himself together and move on like he always did, and he would continue stand as a shield against any encroaching darkness. Because for every life lost on his watch, every self-doubt that wormed into his mind, this was still his calling - to protect those who were unable to protect themselves.
But at that moment, trapped in a vice grip, sprawled on the floor with little Brisket leaning against them, and the comforting scents of coffee and cinnamon in the air, Jake just held on as Bradley let himself fall apart, and that was enough for now.