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It wasn’t anything in particular that day.
Well, maybe a few things. But less what actually happened and more just…how his brain responded to them.
He’d woken up with live wire sparking down his spine.
Every time he breathed, his stomach felt like a roller coaster dropping.
And every even vaguely sharp object suddenly glinted at him in lights they never had before.
So, that hadn’t been a great start.
Lucy had asked him if he was okay. Because she knew. She always knew.
He didn’t know how that worked.
He’d opened his mouth to tell her. Then closed it. Shook his head, a small smile on his face. Said he was fine.
Lucy didn’t look convinced in the slightest.
Also not a great start.
But, he’d sucked it up, made his coffee, taken his medication, managed three bites of food before his stomach came far too close to revolting, and packed his bag without exchanging a single word with Lucy.
She, of course, watched him all morning.
Watched the way his shoulders sat an inch higher than the normally did. The way his hands were just a little bit shaky. The way he opened his mouth so many times to say, I’m not safe, but he never did.
He drove them to work that morning. Like he always did.
He didn’t glance over at Lucy the way he normally did. He didn’t reach for her hand across the console. He didn’t squeeze her leg or drag his hand up her thigh to tease her like he normally did.
It wasn’t the first bad day he’d had. Not by a long stretch.
But it was so heavy in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.
He kept a calendar tucked away, in his bedside table.
He’d marked it the last time he fucked up. It had been nearly two years since then.
He drove them to work this morning so that he had something to do with his hands. So that he wouldn’t quietly press his sharpest thumbnail into the skin of his arm just for some relief.
It wasn’t enough. Not by a long shot. But occasionally, it quieted things for a moment until he could find something sharper.
He drove this morning so he wouldn’t do that.
Lucy didn’t put her music on when they got in the car.
She knew. She knew on days like this, he’d be too easily overstimulated. He quietly thanked her for it, without saying a word.
She held his hand as they walked into work. She lingered a moment longer as she watched him go into the locker room. Her face was etched in concern, and he felt bad for making her feel like this.
But if he kept it quiet, if he pretended it was fine, if he made it through the day and got home and slept, it would be fine.
This wasn’t forever, it wasn’t forever, it wasn’t forever.
It was one bad day. One bad day. One bad day.
Except it wasn’t one bad day.
He’d felt like this probably four or five times in the last two weeks. He would have a day like this, and then three normal days. The whiplash was exhausting. He knew he should tell Lucy, but he didn’t. He kept his mouth shut and let her get on with her day.
You’re a coward.
His hands were shaking during roll call.
His voice was, too.
He thought about it then.
Lucy quietly stood beside him.
She didn’t normally do that.
He supposed she thought it might help.
It did.
Enough.
He couldn’t sit still for most of the day. Nothing was comfortable.
He did paperwork for most of the day.
He thought about it then, too.
The live wire in his spine meant he couldn’t focus. Couldn’t sit. Couldn’t concentrate.
(Not that that was much different from normal, but that’s a separate issue.)
He had a meeting with the captain.
He thought about it then, too.
Captain offered him a chair. He opted to pace around the room instead.
The captain didn’t say anything about that.
When he came out of the office, Lucy was standing there, her hands on her duty belt.
“Hey,” she said quietly.
“Hey,” he murmured.
“Can we talk?” she asked.
He dipped his head, swallowed. Nodded.
She gave a half-smile and led him an empty office in one of the quiet hallways.
She pushed open the door, pulling him inside behind her.
She turned to face him once they were both inside, not touching, but too close that this was professional.
“Tim,” she murmured.
He didn’t reply.
She gently reached up and cupped his face with her palm, her other hand settling on his shoulder as she stood on her tiptoes, pressing their foreheads together.
“Talk to me, sweetheart,” she whispered.
Tim swallowed, squeezing his eyes closed, and when he opened them, his breath was much harder to control.
“I—,” he stuttered.
He sucked in another breath, trying to regain composure.
It didn’t work.
“I don’t—“
Another breath.
Lucy squeezed his shoulder, a silent reassurance to take the he needed.
“I don’t feel safe,” he forced out.
Lucy just nodded against him. “I know.”
He waited a minute, sniffling, trying to get out constant breaths.
Another.
Then the dam broke.
He sobbed against Lucy’s shoulder, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, rubbing his back and whispering reassurances against him as his own hands snaked around her.
His knees weakened and Lucy supported him, lowering both of them to the ground, so that his head was pressed to her chest, her fingers threading through his hair.
“I’m here, baby,” she whispered.
They stayed like that for close to twenty minutes. Lucy held him through his body shaking with sobs, as tears soaked his uniform and as he finally drew some full breaths into his lungs. She kissed his head, over and over, reminding him that she was there, that she wasn’t going anywhere, without having to say a single word.
As he finally returned to some sort of composure, he sat up, with Lucy’s help, leaning against the wall beside her.
She turned her head to look at him, and waited. She didn’t say a word. Just waited.
“I’ve been—“ he scrubbed a hand over his face.
“I’ve been trying not to do something stupid all goddamn day,” he admitted.
Lucy nodded, reaching for his hand.
“I woke up feeling like my body was on fire, Luce, and I didn’t—I had a lot of scary thoughts that…I haven’t had in a while,” he continued, his voice low and his hand firm in hers.
She stayed silent.
“Thoughts that…I want to hurt myself,” he whispered.
Lucy nodded once.
“I don’t—I haven’t thought about it in a long time,” he added. “I don’t want to go back to that, I can’t, I—“ his voice cracked.
“Hey, hey,” Lucy interrupted firmly. “Look at me.”
He did, his blue eyes glossy with tears.
“This is one bad day,” she whispered. “This is not the end of the world.”
She took a breath, squeezing his hand, and dipping her head to meet his gaze.
“This does not mean things are getting bad again,” she continued. “It means you need a little bit of extra help to help untangle what’s in your head. But one bad day is not the same as months of depression, Tim.”
He avoided her eyes, looking down to the ground, his thumb rubbing gently over her knuckles.
She let out a breath as she realised what he wasn’t saying.
“It’s not just one bad day, is it?”
He bit his lip, swallowing, then shook his head.
She closed her eyes briefly. “Two weeks.”
His head snapped over to look at her. “How did you—“
She lifted an eyebrow, her expression gentle.
“I know you, baby.”
Tim looked at the floor, leaning his head against his knees, which were hugged to his chest by now.
Tears were falling silently down his face now.
“I keep…imagining…cutting,” he whispered. “Planning what—what part of my body, so—“, he swallowed.
“So no-one can see it,” Lucy finished quietly.
Her eyes were wet now. He avoided her gaze. He couldn’t deal with her sympathy right now.
“I think about it every second of every day Luce,” he let out a wet laugh completely devoid of humour. “I’m so…I’m so fucking scared.”
She nodded, swallowing.
“And I don’t know how much more I have in me before I just give in and do it,” he whispered.
“I’m so damn tired,” he confessed, his voice breaking.
“I know,” Lucy whispered against his hair, pulling him in close to her as fresh tears from him stained her chest. “I know. I know. I’m here, baby.”
It was another ten minutes before his breathing evened out again.
He slowly sat up when he needed to, his face red and blotchy, and he rubbed at his eyes, trying to clear the tears around them.
“Sweetheart,” Lucy murmured, running her hand through his hair.
He leaned into her hand, and moved to sit beside her so their hips and shoulders were touching.
“Can we make a plan? To get you through right now and the rest of the day?” Lucy asked quietly.
Tim hesitated, then nodded.
“First things first,” Lucy whispered, squeezing his hand. “Stay at work or go home?”
Tim’s shoulders dropped. “I should stay,” he responded.
“You should,” Lucy repeated. “Or you want to?”
Tim closed his eyes, and shrugged.
“Are you safe here?”
He shrugged again.
“Will you be safe at home?”
He swallowed, and nodded.
“Okay,” Lucy replied. “We’ll go home.”
He leaned into her, his fingers tangling with hers.
“Do you want to text Grey?” Lucy asked. “Or do you want me to?”
He squeezed Lucy’s hand. You.
She nodded. “Okay.”
She pulled up her text thread with Grey, typing out a short message to him.
Tim’s had a really rough day. I’m going to take him home shortly, and we’ll be out for the rest of the day. Maybe tomorrow too. Sorry for the short notice.
His reply came almost instantly.
Take tomorrow, too. Tell him thank you for telling someone. Let me know if either of you need anything.
She texted back a single thank you, and looked back to Tim.
“I’m gonna call my therapist when I get home, I think,” he whispered, staring at the wall in front of him.
Lucy nodded. “I think that’s a really good idea.” She held up her phone. “We’re approved to get out of here.”
He nodded, and she stood up, pushing off the floor, before holding a hand out for him.
He just gave her a grateful look, and took it.