It's Too Late in the Day
He had never thought of himself as a physically demonstrative person. He would never be one to be overly open with his emotions, life had taught him people leave and the bottom of the bottle was the only messy constant. The sudden pressure and love for a son he never knew he had, had forced him to change for the better after a long struggle with so many relapses. But still initiating touch and physical affection never came naturally.
And yet he never knew how much he could miss the feel of another till she would no longer let him get close. After everything that had happened, after what that bastard had done to her, he wanted nothing more than for her to be whole again. He was not an idiot; he knew enough about the darker side of life that it was impossible to will people into being fixed, love and support helped them fix themselves.
But the one thing he could offer her was physical comfort, a hug or a guiding hand on the small of her back. Only she wouldn't, couldn't let him. The way she backed away, brittle and terrified, it made his insides constrict like he would never be able to breathe again.
He could use his fists to hurt, his knuckles were still bruised from his attack on Frank and part of him still wished he'd been able to finish the evil excuse of a man off for good. It probably should be no surprise that she would be scared of him after that, it scared him how she was so far under her skin, how he had become her personal vigilante. She was like water and his hands were not watertight. He had no way of making things better and he was terrified the whole thing was his fault.
Every clandestine meeting he was forced to watch her fall further and further into depression, further away from him. And he couldn't even touch her anymore. He was never good at being powerless, that has always been his father, and yet a dark part of his mind knows he is his father's son.
And she was not even his to worry about (she would never be any mans). He had a whole other life, a good life but she was another addiction, finally a chance for him to be a knight in shining armour rather than the eternal fuck-up. She was whiskey straight; each shot startled him and took his breath away. Sometimes he worried that she would be his undoing, mostly he give her the strength for sobriety, or at least that was what he told himself and his wife.
It was all beyond his comprehension but he understands that he needs her as much as she needs him.