Chapter Text
It started with the shower, as Tom heard the water turn off.
Five minutes passed. Then ten. He frowned.
"Sam?"
No answer. He walked down the hallway and knocked gently on the bathroom door.
"...Sam?"
A long silence. Then, very quietly, "I'm okay."
Tom had been married long enough to know the difference between I'm okay and I'm okay.
"...Can I come in?"
"...Yeah."
Tom opened the door carefully. Sam was sitting on the closed toilet lid, wrapped in a towel that wasn't really wrapped around him so much as clutched to his chest.
His hair was still dry. His eyes were red. The bathroom mirror had fogged over.
"I couldn't do it."
Tom leaned against the doorframe, "you did shower?"
"I couldn't...", Sam swallowed hard, "...look."
Tom's heart sank.
"I had to wash...", his voice broke, "...everything."
He laughed once and it sounded miserable.
"I spend every day pretending I'm okay. I wear baggy shirts. I joke. I make people laugh for a living. And then I have to shower."
Another laugh.
"I can't exactly wear an oversized hoodie in there."
Tom didn't move closer, he knew Sam well enough to let him decide the distance.
"I hate it," Sam whispered it so quietly Tom barely heard.
"I hate my chest. I hate washing it. I hate that it exists. I hate that every month my body reminds me it wasn't supposed to be this way."
He covered his face, "and I can't afford to change it."
Tom stayed where he was.
"I keep thinking...", Sam took a shaky breath, "...if I had just been born a man..."
Nothing.
"...maybe existing wouldn't be so bloody exhausting."
The words echoed around the little bathroom, and Tom looked at the floor. When he finally spoke, his voice was gentle, "Can I tell you something?"
Sam nodded without looking up.
"I've watched you apologise to mirrors."
Sam froze, Tom continued, "I've watched you catch sight of yourself in shop windows and immediately look away. I've watched you overheat because you'd rather wear another layer than let your shirt fit normally. I've watched you come home from doctor's appointments and become a different person for the rest of the day."
Sam's shoulders trembled, "I know."
Tom's voice cracked, "I know this isn't just about your chest. It's about brushing your teeth and accidentally seeing yourself. It's about showering. It's about clothes. It's about forms. It's about being called the wrong thing. It's about wondering whether you'll ever have enough money. It's about waking up every morning already tired."
Sam looked at him for the first time, "I feel stupid."
Tom frowned immediately, "No."
"I should just...", Sam gestured vaguely, "...cope."
Tom shook his head, "You're grieving."
Sam blinked.
Tom stepped a little closer.
"People think grief only happens when someone dies. But you've been grieving a life you never got to have. The boyhood you should've had. The body you should've had. The ease you should've had."
Sam's lip trembled, "no one talks about it."
"I know."
"They just...", he rubbed his eyes, "...expect you to get on with it."
"I know."
Tom finally crossed the room, and yet he didn't hug Sam. He simply sat down on the bath mat beside him. Their shoulders didn't touch. Neither of them spoke for a while.
After a few minutes Sam whispered, "I don't want you to see me like this."
Tom smiled sadly, "I don't?"
Sam sniffed
"I've been with you for years. I've seen you laugh so hard you snorted tea. I've seen you with the flu. I've seen you after nightmares. I've seen you after panic attacks because the lights went out."
He looked across at Sam, "I don't love some imaginary version of you that never cries. I love you."
Sam stared at the towel in his lap, "I don't feel very lovable tonight."
Tom answered without hesitation, "I know. And I'm not asking you to."
Silence settled again, not awkward. Just... shared.
Eventually Sam whispered, "I'm scared it'll never happen."
Tom didn't promise surgery. He didn't promise money. He didn't promise the world would suddenly become fair. Instead he reached over and rested his hand on the floor between them.
Not touching. Just there.
"I can't promise when. I can't promise how. But I can promise this. When the grief gets loud enough that you can't hear yourself anymore..." , he looked at Sam, "...you don't have to listen to it by yourself."
For the first time that evening, Sam cried without trying to hide.
And Tom stayed exactly where he was, on a cold bathroom floor, until the silence stopped feeling so lonely. Tom was quiet for a long time, Sam regretted asking almost immediately.
"I'm sorry. "You don't have to answer. I just have a question."
Tom looked at him, "Sam. You've got to stop apologising for asking me questions."
Sam stared down at the bathroom floor, is voice was barely audible, "...why would you want a husband that's broken?"
Tom's face fell, "Oh… no. You don't get to say that about my husband."
Sam gave a weak, humourless laugh, "I'm literally sitting on a bathroom floor crying because I can't even shower without falling apart."
"I know."
"I hate my body."
"I know."
"I can't give you..."
His throat tightened, "...a real husband."
Tom blinked, then, very calmly, "what exactly is a real husband?"
Sam frowned, "Y'know."
"I don't."
"A man."
Tom tilted his head, "you think you aren't one?"
Sam didn't answer, "I look in the mirror...", his voice cracked, "...and all I see is someone pretending."
Tom let those words sit for a moment, the he asked softly, "when I had pneumonia..."
Sam looked confused.
"...was I less of a husband because I couldn't get out of bed?"
"What?"
"When I cried after our friend, Toby, died..."
"Tom—"
"Was I less of a man?"
"No."
"When I needed help buttoning my own shirt because my hands wouldn't stop shaking after surgery...", Tom held Sam's gaze, "did that make me broken?"
"No."
"It made you ill."
Tom nodded, "so why are you the only person in this marriage who doesn't get that kindness?"
Sam's eyes filled again, "it's different."
"Why?"
"Because...", he swallowed, "...my body is wrong."
Tom's expression softened, "I know your body causes you pain. I know it causes grief. I know it makes ordinary things feel impossible some days."
He reached over, slowly this time, when Sam didn't pull away, Tom took his hand, "but that isn't the same thing as you being wrong."
Sam squeezed his eyes shut, "I feel defective."
Tom rubbed slow circles across the back of his hand, "I know. And feelings can lie."
Sam laughed through another sob, "that's annoyingly therapist-like."
"I've picked up a few things."
Silence, then Sam whispered the question he'd been afraid to ask, "...wouldn't you be happier with... a real man?"
Tom looked genuinely startled, "Easier? Maybe. Happier?", he shook his head, "no."
"Why not?"
Tom smiled sadly, "because I didn't fall in love with a category. I fell in love with you. The idiot who laughs at his own jokes before he finishes telling them. The one who steals my jumpers. The one who cries at animal documentaries. The one who makes my English Breakfast tea exactly the way I like it. The one who somehow apologises when he's the one hurting."
He squeezed Sam's hand, "I don't wake up next to a checklist. I wake up next to my husband."
Sam broke. Not dramatically. Just... quietly.
"I wish I believed you."
Tom moved from the bath mat to sit beside him on the floor. Their shoulders touched this time, "I know. I don't need you to believe me tonight." Sam rested his forehead against Tom's shoulder, "I'll believe enough for both of us until you can."
Neither of them spoke for a little bit after that. Tom simply stayed there, shoulder warm against Sam's, as the grief slowly lost its sharpest edges. And in that tiny moment of quiet, Sam realised something. Tom had never once answered the question by saying, "I don't mind."
He answered it by saying, "you're already my husband."
Luke didn't even look up as he knocked once on the open bathroom door, "babe?"
Silence. He frowned.
"...Sam?"
Still nothing. He stepped inside. Tom was sitting on the floor beside the bathtub. Sam was curled up against him, eyes swollen from crying. Luke's expression softened immediately.
"...Love?"
Sam wiped his face quickly.
"I'm okay."
Luke gave him the exact look that meant we both know that's rubbish. He crouched in front of them, "I actually came in here because..."
He scratched the back of his neck, "...your boxers are on the bedroom floor again."
Sam blinked, "...seriously?"
Luke nodded, "I nearly died."
"You nearly died because of pants?"
"I stubbed my toe."
Tom snorted and Luke pointed dramatically, "I have been attacked by laundry."
For the first time in what felt like hours, Sam let out a tiny laugh.
"There he is," Luke whispered.
"There who is?"
"My boyfriend."
Sam's smile disappeared almost as quickly as it'd come.
"...Am I?"
Luke frowned, "what?"
Tom looked over at Luke, "Can I ask you something?"
Luke nodded.
"Is Sam...", Tom hesitated, "...a real man?"
Luke stared at him, "...Come again?"
Tom repeated himself, "Is Sam a real man?"
Luke looked between the two of them, then back to Tom, "...yeah…"
"No hesitation?"
Luke looked genuinely confused now, "why would I hesitate?"
Tom gestured gently toward Sam, Luke's eyes widened in understanding, "Oh."
He looked at Sam. Then back at Tom. Then back at Sam again.
"Babe."
Sam couldn't meet his eyes, Luke reached over and nudged one of Sam's knees.
"Look at me."
Slowly, Sam did. Luke looked almost offended, "who told you you weren't a real man?"
Sam shrugged weakly, "my brain."
Luke rolled his eyes so dramatically Tom had to hide a smile, "your brain's an idiot."
Sam laughed through his nose, "I'm serious."
Luke settled onto the floor opposite Tom, "Do you know how I introduce you? My... My boyfriend. My partner. The love of my life."
He shrugged.
"I've literally never once thought..."
He made exaggerated air quotes, "...'well, technically...'"
Sam's eyes filled again, Luke continued, "Y'know what goes through my head?"
"What?"
"'He's cute.'"
Sam let out a watery laugh.
"'He's stealing my hoodies.' 'He's somehow left his boxers in the middle of the bedroom again.'"
Tom chuckled, "'he's making coffee.' 'He's falling asleep on my shoulder.'
Luke smiled, "I don't spend my day categorising you. I spend my day loving you."
The bathroom became very quiet, Luke tilted his head, "babe..."
"If someone stopped me on the street and asked me if you were a real man...", he laughed once, "I'd think they were asking the weirdest question I've ever heard. Because...", he reached over and took Sam's hand, "...of course you are. It's so obvious to me that I genuinely forget you can't always see yourself the way I see you."
Sam covered his eyes, "I don't understand how."
Luke smiled sadly, "you don't have to. I'll keep reminding you until one day your brain finally gets bored of arguing with me."
Tom looked over at Luke, "Y'know..."
Luke raised an eyebrow.
"I think that's exactly what he needed to hear."
Luke grinned, "I know."
He squeezed Sam's hand again, "and now..."
He pointed toward the hallway, "...once you're done crying..."
Sam groaned.
"...your boxers are still on the bedroom floor."
Sam laughed despite himself, "they're really bothering you that much?"
Luke nodded solemnly, "my toe demands justice."
Even Tom laughed then. And for a few precious minutes, the grief made enough room for something else. A ridiculous argument about abandoned underwear that reminded Sam of a simple truth: Luke hadn't spent a single second questioning whether Sam was "a real man."
The question itself had never occurred to him. To Luke, Sam was simply... his boyfriend. Luke rested his forehead against Sam's for a second, "breathe with me."
Sam's breathing was shaky, uneven, "I can't."
"I know. Try for me."
Luke didn't argue, "you don't have to stop crying."
Sam squeezed his eyes shut, "I don't want to shower."
"I know."
"I feel sick."
"I know."
"I hate...", his voice cracked, "...having to touch myself."
Luke nodded, "I know."
The silence wasn't awkward, it… it was patient.
After another minute Luke asked quietly, "...would it help if I stayed with you?"
Sam looked embarrassed, "you'd... do that?"
Luke smiled, "I've helped you when you had food poisoning. "I've helped you after surgery. I've helped you wash shampoo out of your hair when you had a migraine." He gently brushed damp hair away from Sam's face, "this isn't different because it's dysphoria. It's just another day my boyfriend needs me."
Fresh tears rolled down Sam's cheeks, "I feel so pathetic."
Luke shook his head immediately, "No. You feel overwhelmed. That's different."
Sam sniffled, "I don't want you looking."
"I won't."
Luke reached over to the shower curtain, "we'll keep this mostly closed. I'll face away if you need. I'll hand you soap. I'll wash your hair if you want. You tell me what you're comfortable with. You stay in control."
Sam took a shaky breath, "...could you..."
He couldn't finish, Luke smiled softly, "I've got you."
A few minutes later warm water filled the room with steam.
Luke rolled his sleeves up, "head first?"
Sam nodded and Luke worked shampoo carefully through his hair.
Gentle fingertips. No rush. No comments. Just.. "You're doing really well."
Sam cried quietly under the water, "I'm literally standing here crying."
"I know and you're still doing it," Luke rinsed the shampoo out.
"There. Hair's done."
Sam stared at the floor and of course Luke noticed immediately, "Eyes up here."
Sam looked up, Luke smiled, "There you are. You've got lovely dark chocolatey eyes."
Sam huffed a laugh, "I'm trying very hard to hate myself."
"I noticed," Luke picked up the body wash, "would you like me to hand it to you?"
Sam hesitated, "...could you..."
Luke nodded before he even finished, he helped where Sam asked. He deliberately avoided looking where Sam didn't want him to. He never made Sam feel hurried. Never sighed. Never acted like it was inconvenient.
Every few minutes—
"Still okay?"
A nod.
"We need a break?"
A shake of the head.
When Sam began crying again while washing his chest, Luke simply rested one hand against the tiled wall beside him. Not touching. Just... there.
"I know. You don't have to pretend with me."
Sam whispered, "I wish this wasn't my body."
Luke's eyes became impossibly soft, "I know."
"I wish you didn't have to hurt like this."
He waited until Sam had finished and then he turnt the water off. He wrapped a towel around Sam before Sam even had to ask. Luke gently rubbed the towel over his damp hair. Then he looked him straight in the eyes.
"There."
Sam looked exhausted. Luke smiled.
"There's my handsome man."
Sam laughed through tears, "you have terrible timing."
"I have excellent timing. You've just survived something really difficult." He tucked another strand of hair behind Sam's ear, "and you're still incredibly handsome."
Sam rolled his eyes, "I've been crying."
"I noticed."
"My nose is red."
"It is."
"My hair is sticking up."
Luke grinned, "tt's adorable."
Sam groaned, "I'm trying to have a crisis."
"And I'm trying to remind my boyfriend he's handsome. I can multitask."
When they finally opened the bathroom door... the smell hit them first.
Tea.
Tom looked up from the kitchen table, "I figured you'd both need something warm."
Three mugs sat waiting, one already had honey stirred into it.
Luke smiled , "you remembered."
Tom shrugged, "he always likes honey after he's cried."
Sam's lip trembled, "you made tea."
Tom stood and walked over, without saying anything dramatic, he kissed Sam's forehead. Then Luke's. Then handed Sam the warm mug.
"Bathroom floors are for surviving," he smiled gently, "kitchen tables are for recovering."
Sam looked between the two men. One still damp from helping him shower. The other quietly making tea without being asked. His eyes filled again.
Luke laughed softly, "oh no."
"What?"
"We've reset him."
Tom chuckled, "I'll get tissues."
Sam shook his head, smiling through fresh tears, "I hate both of you."
Luke wrapped an arm around his shoulders, "no, you don't."
"...no…", Sam leaned into him, "I really, really don't."
Tom had just set the kettle back on its base when he froze, "...Sam."
Sam looked up from his mug, "hmm?"
Tom blinked, "...what day is it?"
Luke frowned, "...Tuesday?"
Tom pointed at him, "no.."
He pointed at Sam, "what day."
Sam stared blankly.
"..."
"..."
Luke's eyes widened, "...oh."
Sam looked between them, "...what?"
Tom smiled gently, "...it's T-shot day."
The room went completely still, Sam's face fell.
"Oh... I forgot."
Luke reached over and rested a hand on Sam's knee, "you've had a rough day."
"I know."
Sam looked down into his tea, "I don't know if I can."
Tom sat down beside him, "you don't have to do it this second."
Sam swallowed, "I know it's stupid."
"It isn't."
"I've just...", he rubbed his eyes, I've spent the last hour crying because I hate this body ...and now I have to stab it."
Neither Luke nor Tom laughed, Tom simply nodded, "yeah... that makes sense."
Sam looked surprised, "it does?"
Tom smiled sadly, "you've spent the evening grieving the body you're living in. Of course asking yourself to inject it feels heavier tonight."
Luke squeezed Sam's knee, "it doesn't make you weak. It doesn't mean you've failed. It just means today has been... a lot."
Sam rested his forehead against Luke's shoulder, "I'm tired."
"I know."
Tom stood, "I'll grab your supplies."
"You don't have to."
"I know. But I'm going to."
He disappeared for a minute and returned with the little container he always kept organised for Sam. Alcohol wipes. Bandage. The vial. The syringe. Tom placed everything on the coffee table without a word.
No pressure. No countdown. Just ready.
Luke looked over at Sam, "would you like me to sit with you?"
A tiny nod.
"Would you like me to talk?"
Another tiny nod.
Luke smiled, "Excellent.", he picked up Sam's mug, "so..."
Sam sniffled, "...so?"
"I think you're a very handsome man."
Sam groaned, "you've already used that one."
"I know. I'm using it again."
Tom chuckled from the armchair, "I can confirm."
Luke looked mock offended, "you aren't helping."
"I wasn't trying to."
Sam actually laughed. A real laugh. Small. But real.
Luke smiled, "there it is."
He waited until Sam's breathing settled, "no rush. The shot will still be here in five minutes."
Sam looked at the syringe, "I hate that I need it."
Tom answered quietly, "I know."
"I wish I didn't have to."
"I know."
"But...", Tom leaned forward, "I also know how much happier you've been since you started."
Sam nodded slowly, "I don't always notice."
"We do," Luke smiled, "You smile more. You laugh easier. You stand a little taller. You've started catching your reflection instead of avoiding it every single time."
Sam blinked, "...really?"
Tom nodded, "really."
Luke reached over and brushed Sam's hair back, "this shot isn't here to prove you're a man."
Sam looked at him.
"It isn't earning you anything. It's helping your body move a little closer to where you've always wanted it to be."
Sam sat quietly for a long moment. Then he picked up the alcohol wipe. His hands still trembled. Luke noticed. Without saying anything, he simply held out his own hand. Sam took it. Not because he couldn't do the injection. Because he didn't want to do it alone.
Tom quietly looked away, giving Sam the privacy to focus. Luke stayed beside him the whole time. When it was over, Sam let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, "...done."
Luke grinned, "there he is."
Tom looked back over and smiled warmly, "proud of you."
Sam shook his head, "I don't feel brave."
Tom's smile didn't fade, "you don't have to feel brave. You did something difficult while your heart was already hurting."
He picked up the mugs, "I'd call that enough for one evening."
Tom looked at the tiny spot of blood, "there."
Sam pressed the cotton ball down, "...done.. actually done."
Luke smiled proudly, "you did brilliantly."
Sam snorted, "I stabbed myself."
"Exactly."
Tom quietly disappeared back into the bathroom cabinet, Sam frowned,"babes...what are you doing?"
"I know I put them in here..."
A pause.
"...Aha."
He returned holding a brightly coloured box which lead to Luke bursting into laughter immediately.
"No."
Tom looked completely serious, "yes."
Sam narrowed his eyes, "...Tom."
Tom peeled the backing off the plaster, a very enthusiastic cartoon puppy smiled back.
Red. Bright. Unmistakably Paw Patrol.
Sam stared, "...you are absolutely not putting a Paw Patrol plaster on me."
Tom gently took hold of Sam's leg anyway, "you've had a very difficult evening."
"I have."
"You've cried."
"I have."
"You've showered despite everything."
"...Yeah."
"You've done your shot."
"...Yeah."
Tom carefully placed the tiny Paw Patrol plaster over the injection site, "there."
He smoothed the edges flat with enormous concentration. Luke was already wheezing.
Sam looked down, "...is that Marshall?"
Tom nodded proudly, "it is."
"I am a grown man."
"You are."
"I have a Paw Patrol plaster."
"You do."
Luke completely lost it, Sam looked at Tom with mock betrayal.
"I hate you."
Tom smiled, "no, you don't."
Then, without another word... he leaned down. Pressed the gentlest kiss over the little red plaster.
"There," he sat back up, "that should help."
Sam blinked, "...you kissed it."
Tom looked utterly sincere, "it had an owie."
Luke laughed so hard he nearly dropped his tea.
"'It had an owie,'" he repeated between laughs.
Tom shrugged, "it did."
Sam covered his face with both hands, "I'm surrounded by idiots."
Tom reached over and squeezed his hand, "you are."
Luke grinned, "but you're our handsome idiot."
Sam peeked down at the plaster again, Little Marshall smiled cheerfully back at him.
He rolled his eyes, "...I'm never taking this plaster off."
Tom smiled, "I was hoping you'd say that. I bought a whole pack."
Sam leaned against Tom's shoulder with a tired sigh, "...thank you."
"For what?"
"...For making me laugh."
Tom rested his cheek lightly against the top of Sam's head, "sometimes," he said softly, "when the world is asking too much of you..."
He tapped the little Paw Patrol plaster, "...you deserve something completely ridiculous."
Sam looked down at the tiny red puppy protecting his injection site. Despite everything that had happened that evening...
He smiled. For real this time.