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Tim lies awake, staring at the ceiling, watching the shadows dance as a light breeze rustles the trees outside.
It’s quiet. The silence so heavy he can feel it sitting on his chest.
He doesn’t hear her anymore.
Not that that’s saying much. He knows that she’d been trying to muffle her cries. She’d done a damn good job of it too.
But after years of living alone, even the slightest noise still stands out, no matter how quiet.
For the last few months that’s been a good thing. A subtle reminder any time he wakes up in the middle of the night of the change that’s happened. Of the light that’s come back into his life.
But tonight it’s not a gentle sigh or a tiny creak of the floor boards as she tries to sneak back from the bathroom undetected.
Tonight it’s sounds of agony. And it kills him.
He presses his head further back against his pillow, hands tensing against the blankets. Counts his breaths the way he’d learned in therapy.
He understands why she needed space from him.
Hell, he feels like he needs space from himself.
Today had been his hardest day on the job. And that’s saying a lot.
He’s never regretted pursuing a supervisory role more than he does right now.
They’d put themselves in this position. He’d thought they’d had it handled. And for the most part they do.
But it was never supposed to be like this.
Lucy was never supposed to have to go through this.
Maybe it was naive of him to think she never would.
But with someone like Lucy, it seemed almost unfathomable that they’d ever have to worry about her facing disciplinary action—
That they’d ever have to navigate being under this kind of scrutiny.
But it happened.
And in the moment, with body cams on and the knowledge that both of their every actions would be picked apart by the brass, the media, and likely the public as a whole, the only way he could protect her was to play things by the book.
He’d been acutely aware of every moment. Of every rattling breath. Of every flinch. Of the woman he loved becoming more and more of a shell of herself with every passing minute right before his eyes.
And there’d been nothing he could do about it aside from the occasional reassuring touch he chanced when he was sure the cam angle wouldn’t catch it.
He must have seemed so cold to her.
The complete opposite of what he knows she’d needed emotionally in that moment.
Even back at the station once he’d been able to change out while Lucy was giving her statement to IA, he’d struggled to switch it off.
Because how do you come back from that?
How do you give the cold shoulder to the woman you love more than you ever thought possible during some of the worst hours of her life, then do a total 180 to be soft and reassuring and act like none of it ever happened?
It felt disingenuous. His heart had beat in his throat the whole drive home. His shoulder blades tensed together, fingers gripping divots into the steering wheel.
He’d wanted to hold her hand. The fear of doing the wrong thing had stopped him.
It had become a little easier once they’d arrived back at the house. Their safe space. Their home.
He’d instinctually made her the calming tea she kept in the cabinet. Broached the careful distance between them.
And it’d seemed like they’d turned the corner, his arms wrapping around her, lips finally brushing her soft skin.
But then she’d gone to the couch while he’d gone to bed alone and the chasm cracked wide open again.
He needs to apologize. To explain himself. But she’s not in the right headspace for that right now.
It’s more important for her to have the space to work through her own emotions than it is to add his guilt to her plate. He’ll be fine.
He just needs her to be okay too.
Scrubbing a hand roughly over his hair, he blinks up at the beams of the vaulted ceiling. Lucy still hadn’t come to bed.
He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he last heard her.
Time is doing funny things.
He remembers Lucy murmuring something similar in the truck.
And it’s true. It feels like reality has been coming in and out of focus ever since he heard her half cutoff call for back up come through on the radio.
The fact that he hasn’t slept at all isn’t helping.
But it has to have been a while.
He gives her another few minutes, still at war with himself over what he should do.
But when she doesn’t appear, he makes a decision.
It can’t hurt to just check on her.
The hardwood is cold against his bare feet as he slides out of bed. The shadows twist and morph as he moves, becoming the stuff of nightmares.
He thinks about Lucy alone in that dark tunnel. How scared she must have been to even corner herself down there in the first place.
He’d heard bits and pieces of her statement. How the first attacker came at her from behind. How she’d been slammed to the ground before she could even react. The repeated hits to the head. The way she’d still been dizzy and winded, blinking back stars, when Martin Carpio had tackled her holding a knife.
He’d come so close to losing her.
She comes into view, Kojo curled up on top of her feet, her neck cranked at an uncomfortable angle, tear tracks still shimmering softly in the moonlight streaming through the windows.
She must have cried herself to sleep.
The ache in the pit of his stomach grows deeper.
He steps closer.
The swelling around her eye and temple has gotten much worse, her skin stained in a dark swirl of burgundy and purple. He should have made her ice it when they got home.
Everything had been so weighing so heavily on his mind, he hadn’t even thought of it. He chews into the inside of his cheek.
Another fault to add to his list of regrets.
His chin drops, his eyes squeezing closed. He can’t change past inactions. But he can do better now.
Grabbing a pillow and her favorite throw from the basket by the tv stand, he carefully shifts her, until her head is actually supported and the blanket is tucked in around her shoulders.
A quiet whimper escapes her lips, but she doesn’t wake, curling instead onto her side, the plush fabric clutched against her chest.
He lingers. Without a conscious thought, he curls a silken lock of her hair around his fingertips, tenderly tucking it behind her ear.
The harsh lines carved around her mouth ease ever so slightly.
His shoulders deflate.
Kojo lifts his head, his collar jingling as he tilts it to the side in question.
Tim reluctantly withdraws, afraid any further movement will break her from her hard-won slumber.
She’s finally asleep. If she wakes now he doubts she’ll be able to find any semblance of peace again. And she needs her rest.
He flips off the light, bathing the room in darkness.
But then he doesn’t move, still rooted to the floor.
He can’t leave her. It doesn’t matter that he’d only be going down the hall— Every fiber of his being is screaming at him not to.
He remains frozen in place, at war with himself, torn between wanting to respect her need for space and needing to feel her physical presence.
Eventually his body just gives in.
He sinks to the ground, wedged into the narrow space between the coffee table and the sofa.
It’s already uncomfortable. The floor is hard, he has to twist awkwardly to fit, and he knows that his back will be screaming at him by morning.
And yet it’s the first time anything has felt even remotely close to right since this hell began.
He rests his head against her knee, adjusting until he finds a position that he thinks he can manage.
Kojo’s cold nose presses into the back of his neck, snuffling softly. Tim hushes him, scratching behind his ear until he settles.
Sleep doesn’t come easily.
Every time he closes his eyes, he sees Lucy alone in that tunnel.
Or worse— What could have happened if she hadn’t been able to fight back.
Her presence is a balm. He’s able to slow his heart beat by acknowledging her warmth at his back.
But still it takes several tries before sleep finally takes him.
It’s still fitful. He dreams of running through an endless corridor calling her name. He can hear her scream, and yet no matter how hard he tries, he can’t find her.
He wakes with a start, his heart kicking hard against his sternum.
His skin is electric. It takes a moment for the sensation to calm enough for him to notice the fingertips stroking lightly across his scalp.
He tenses, bracing for impact. If she asks him to leave he’ll understand. It might break him, but he’ll respect her boundaries all the same.
He rolls his head against the cushion— Finds the soulful dark eyes meeting his.
“I’m glad you’re here.” She whispers softly, and he hears the truth in those words.
They wrap around him, filling the cracks in his chest.
He exhales.