Work Text:
The scream is the first thing that makes his heart stop.
It reverberates off the walls, and in his sleepy state, he can’t figure out where it’s coming from.
The second thing is the cold bed beside him.
He jumps up, eyes darting around the room as he looks for Lucy.
That’s when he hears the scream again.
He runs from her room, skidding to a stop when he sees Tamara standing in the kitchen, eyes wide. His eyes flick to the knife in her hand, and the two empty spaces in the butcher block beside her. She’s panicked, he realizes, but he can’t see why - and he still hasn’t seen Lucy.
He rushes over to Tamara, hands falling on her shoulders, and she drops the knife on the counter with shaky hands. “Are you okay?” He asks, scanning her body quickly for injuries.
“I heard screaming.” She whispers, eyes darting around the apartment. “And I - I don’t know -” She stops, as if suddenly realizing the space next to him is unoccupied. “Where’s Lucy?”
“I don’t know.” He admits, and he watches the color drain from her face. “But the apartment isn’t that big. She’s here somewhere.”
It’s as if his brain finally catches up, and he turns, spotting a mess of pillows in the living room, the contents of the coffee table strewn about. He takes a step towards the couch, holding a hand behind him to keep Tamara back. “Luce?”
He hears a sob, and it takes everything in him not to launch himself over the couch. Slowly, he walks around to the front of the couch, and sees Lucy, knees to her chest, tucked in the space between the chair and the wall, her wild, wide eyes darting around the room. His heart lurches in his chest, and he takes a deep, steadying breath before inching closer to her, kneeling down at her level, a few feet between them. “Luce, hey, it’s me.”
The fear is coming off her in waves, her whole body shaking, and he feels something in his chest - grief, maybe. She doesn’t even see him, her eyes glassy, looking past him, but with the way her body tensed, it was clear she knew someone was there. He catches a glance of silver in her hand, and immediately realizes that’s the other missing spot from the block. Panicked she’s going to hurt herself, he moves forward, just an inch, hands up in surrender. “It’s me, I’m just going to -”
“Get away!” Her voice rips through the quiet space, the panic seeping into her every word. “Leave me alone!”
His chest tightens as her hands shift, and he knows this isn’t her - she’s stuck where life left her two years ago, and she’ll defend herself by any means necessary. He realizes, with a start, that he’s going to have to grab her and disarm her. But he also knows touching her will make things worse. It’s a battle in his head, but the decision is easily made for him when Tamara lets out a sob behind him, and he knows he can’t let her see Lucy like this. “Tamara,” he calls out, running a million apologies in his head as he looks at Lucy. “Come here. I need you to grab this from me.”
She runs over, crouching down next to him, and he murmurs an apology before gripping Lucy’s arms tight enough to grab the knife from her white-knuckle grip. It’s a move he’s done a thousand times, but it’s so much harder when it’s her.
Everything always is.
He hands it off to Tamara, who runs to put it back in the kitchen, and he thinks he tells Tamara to go in her room, but Lucy’s screams, so desperate, so raw, are breaking him into a million tiny pieces. She thrashes against his grip, using every ounce of energy she has left to fight him, and if he wasn’t so scared for her, he’d be proud. He thinks he hears Tamara’s door shut, but the screams turn to sobs, each one filled with more pain than he can take away. He lets go of her, pushing himself backwards, and she immediately curls in on herself, breathing ragged. He wants to touch her, pull her into his embrace until she stops shaking, but he knows that’s not what she needs - not yet. So he crosses his legs, trying to keep his voice calm and steady, hoping to pull her back to him.
“Lucy, it’s me. You’re at home. You’re safe. I just need you to take some deep breaths, okay?”
She barely reacts, and he takes a moment to look around the room, trying to gauge what happened. He sees pillows and blankets on the floor, candles knocked over, the contents of the coffee table knocked on the floor - pictures, books, one of her favorite mugs. When he turns back to look at her, it’s like he’s really seeing her for the first time tonight. Her eyes are bloodshot, there’s a bump forming on her head, and it looks like there’s blood under her fingernails. His heart lurches, knowing that she went through this alone, all while he was asleep in her room.
“Come on, I need you to breathe.” His voice is calm, even though he is anything but. “In through your nose, out through your mouth.” He mimics what he’s telling her, watching as her eyes dart around, looking for danger that isn’t there.
Something seems to click, just for a second, and she takes a deep breath, her hands shaking on top of her knees. “That’s it.” He speaks, keeping his voice steady, eyes locked on her as she takes another deep breath, but her body still trembles, her eyes still searching for something he can’t see. “Feel the floor underneath you.” He says softly. “That’s real.” He mimics deep breathing again, partly for her, and partly for himself. “You hear me? My voice? That’s real.” She clutches her knees tighter, and his heart breaks a little more. “You’re right here. With me.”
She takes another deep breath, her eyes finally meeting his, and he smiles, just a fraction. “That’s it.” He pauses, body unmoving as he watches her grip on her knees loosen. Slowly, she seems to start to come back to herself. “You’re safe, Luce. You’re okay.”
She nods, slow, her lips moving as if she’s repeating his words in a silent prayer. They stay like that for long, quiet minutes, until her shoulders loosen, her hands finding solid ground. She doesn’t say anything for a moment, her eyes scanning his body as if she’s checking him for injuries. Then, she speaks, one word, but it cracks him open just the same.
“Tim.”
“There’s my girl.” He murmurs, and he waits, patiently, as she moves closer to him, her eyes filled with a pain he can’t take away. She seems to move in slow motion, but he welcomes her just the same, and when she’s just inches from him, close enough that he could see the slight tremor left in her body, he meets her eyes, a silent question, and she nods, melting into him as he ever so gently pulls her close, fingers running up and down her spine as she shakes against him. His hand trails up, cupping the back of her head, his lips pressing against her head as he whispers promises he’s not even sure he could keep. She grips the front of his shirt, holding onto him like a lifeline, a silent plea to not leave her, not yet. “You okay?”
She doesn’t answer, but he feels her shake her head against him. He doesn't say anything at first, rubbing small circles on her back, feeling her sink against him after every passing minute, as if everything has simply become too exhausting. “I’ve got you.” He whispers, mumbling assurances into her hair as he feels her body shake against him. “You’re safe.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks after a while, and she pulls back just enough to meet his eyes.
“I thought -” She stops, a shaky exhale escaping her. “I couldn’t sleep.” She admits softly, and he stays quiet, continuing to trail his fingers up and down her spine. “So I came out here.” Her voice is scratchy, and she swallows before she speaks again. “I thought about waking you, but you need sleep too -”
“Lucy -”
“No, no, it’s fine.” She sighs, her body sagging against him, as if she’s too tired to hold herself up. “I don’t want you to feel - it’s not -” She shakes her head, as if trying to clear out her thoughts, something he’s seen her do hundreds of times. “I fell asleep, I think, but it wasn’t - I mean, it wasn’t restful.” She looks down at her hands, as if noticing them for the first time, her gaze fixated on where his had once been. “I heard voices, I think. Maybe… in the hall. A man. But I - I wasn’t here. I mean, I was, but I wasn’t -”
“I know.” He responds gently, and she seems to relax at the notion that he understood.
“I thought he had come back.” She admits, so quietly he had to strain to hear her. “You know, to finish the job.” Her hands start to shake, and he moves one hand to cover her own. “I know it sounds stupid -”
“No, it doesn’t.” He reassures her, giving her hands a gentle squeeze. “You went through something so awful -”
“Two years ago.” She’s clearly frustrated with herself, and he knows she just needs to let it out. So he stays quiet. “I should be fine. I shouldn’t panic at the sound of -” She looks past him, at the wreckage of the living room, and then meets his eyes, tears swimming. “Fuck, I -” Her breath quickens. “Tamara -”
“Is okay.” He runs his thumb across the top of her hand. “A little shaken up, but okay. I promise as soon as I know you’re alright, I’ll go check on her.”
“I’m fine.”
“Luce.”
She sighs, her eyes flicking down to her hands. “I haven’t had a nightmare like that since -”
“I know.”
A door creaks open, and Lucy scrambles off of him as if they’re teenagers caught doing something they shouldn’t. He rises to his feet beside her, watching as Tamara pops around the corner, her eyes puffy, and his heart shatters at the sight. Her eyes flick between him and Lucy, and when she looks back at Tim, he nods, eyes flicking to Lucy. Tamara practically barrels into her, and he doesn’t miss the way Lucy flinches before she composes herself, wrapping her arms around Tamara. “I was so -” Tamara’s voice breaks, and he watches as Lucy pulls her tighter.
“I know.” She murmurs, comforting her the way Tim had comforted Lucy minutes before. “I’m so sorry I scared you. I’m okay.”
“Are you sure?” Tamara looks to him for confirmation, as if she doesn’t believe her, and he nods.
“I had a nightmare.” She lets out, her hands rubbing Tamara’s back in a soothing motion. “It sucks. But I’m okay.”
Eventually, they pull away, and Lucy startles for a minute when she realizes Tim is still there. But then she smiles, just a little, and the tightness in his chest starts to loosen. Her eyes turn back to Tamara, who lets out a yawn, and Lucy rests a hand on her arm. “Go back to bed. I’m okay.”
Without another word, Tamara turns on her heels and disappears back into her room. Lucy turns, too, to the mess in the living room, and Tim watches her tense as she takes it all in. He steps behind her, resting a hand on her back, and she leans into his touch. “Go take a shower.” He murmurs, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her forehead. “I got it.”
“Tim -”
“Come back to yourself.” He whispers, his thumb brushing against her spine. “I’ll be right out here if you need me, okay?”
“Okay.” She disappears into the bathroom, and he busies himself with cleaning up - he puts the pillows back on the couch, the books back on the coffee table, the candles back in their place. He straightens the table and cleans up the spill from her mug, freezing for a moment when he hears the shower turn off. He watches as the bathroom door creaks open, and she scurries past him with shaky legs, the door to her bedroom shutting softly behind her.
Like second nature, he takes a mug off the hook, placing it on the counter before opening her cabinet and pulling out chamomile tea. Preparing it the way he knows she likes, he leaves it on the counter before making himself a cup of coffee, knowing he wasn’t going back to sleep anytime soon. He leans up against the counter, taking a sip from his mug as her bedroom door opens, and she looks up to meet his eyes. He says nothing, eyes flicking down to the mug on the counter, and she pads over, wrapping shaky hands around it. “Thank you.” She whispers, and he knows she’s thanking him for more than just the tea.
“Anytime.”
She lifts the mug to her lips, her eyes never leaving his. They stay like that for a few minutes - silent, soaking in each other’s presence - before she speaks again.
“I’m sorry about -” She huffs, the sound reminding him of times she would poke fun at herself. “All this.”
“Luce -”
“I know, I know, you’re going to tell me that it’s fine. But I -”
“That’s not what I was going to say.” The words shock her, and honestly, they shock him too. But he’s suddenly fixated on the bruise forming on her forehead, his chest filling with a familiar tightness as he watches her. “I mean, it is fine, but I -”
“You what?”
“Your head.” He’s not sure what makes him say it, and her fingers reach up to touch the bump that must already be there.
“Oh.”
He sets down his mug, taking a step towards her, and when she doesn’t move away, he takes another step. Soon, he’s inches from her, their hands on the counter close enough to touch, and she watches him, eyes scanning his face for what, he isn’t sure. “Do you want to come sit with me on the couch?” His voice is gentle, a tone he doesn't quite recognize from his lips. “Just so I could check and make sure you’re alright.”
She nods, and he lets her lead the way, hands wrapped around her mug as she makes her way over to the couch. She doesn’t let go as she sits, cross-legged, her body turned towards him. He leaves space in between them, not wanting to get too close, and meets her eyes in a silent question before reaching up towards her forehead. His touch is feather-light, and he watches the way she tenses as he gently presses on her head.
“I don’t know what happened.” She whispers, her voice so quiet he barely hears her, and for a moment, his fingers still. “I must’ve walked into something.”
He hums, scanning the rest of her body for injuries, his eyes landing on her wrists as he remembers the marks left there once before. Her breath hitches, and he looks up, brows furrowing.
“Hey, still with me?” He asks softly, and her eyes flick up, hands gripping her mug so tightly he’s worried it’ll shatter. She looks past him, her eyes swimming with haunts he wished he could take away. “Luce?”
She doesn’t respond, blinking like she’s trying to reconnect with the world around her. He reaches out, resting a hand on her knee, and she jumps, moving her leg away like she’s been burned.
“Hey, it’s just me.” His voice is quiet, the way he would talk to a child, and he knows under any other circumstance, she would hate the way he was speaking to her. But it was like she wasn’t even with him, so far in her own thoughts he wasn’t even sure if he could pull her out. “You’re safe. It’s just me.”
Her hands shake, and he reaches out, taking the mug from her grasp and resting it on the coffee table. She doesn’t look up, her gaze fixed on her hands, where the mug once was, as if she could see something he couldn’t, and it takes everything in him not to reach out and take her shaking hands in his own.
“Lucy.”
“Yeah.” It comes out almost silent.
“Look at me.”
She blinks, flexing her fingers as if she was trying to see if she was real. “I’m sorry.” She mumbles, eyes finally meeting his. “I think I’m just…. really tired.”
“Yeah.” He gives her a smile, a small one, hoping it brings some sort of comfort. “Do you want to try and sleep?”
She shakes her head quickly, and he knows she didn’t even think about it. “No, I -” She stops, letting out a sigh, as if the weight of the world was currently too much to bear. “Yeah. I should.”
“I’ll be with you.” He hurries to reassure her, wanting her to know that she won’t be alone, not while he’s around. Her shoulders relax, and she nods, leaning against the couch, suddenly too exhausted to hold herself up any longer. He stands, reaching out a hand towards her, and she latches on, allowing him to pull her off the couch and into his embrace. She practically collapses against him, and he runs his fingers up and down her back, pressing the lightest of kisses to her head. “Come on.”
She shifts, tucking herself into his side, walking with him to her room, only letting go to climb into bed. As soon as he’s next to her, she moves, curling into his side, and he wraps an arm around her, careful not to pull her too close. They lay, silent, until Tim feels her breathing slow, his fingers drawing small circles on her arm. He watches as her eyes finally close, and he makes a silent vow to be there for her, always, whenever she needs.