Trigger warnings for self harm.
It was 3:27 in the morning, and Garcia's head was a mess of static. He was so groggy, but he really needed to take a piss, and a bit of sleepiness wasn't going to stop him.
In his tired mind, he didn't even register the chair that he pushed out of the way of the bathroom door. He pushed the door open as he tried to blink the sleep out of his eyes.
Suddenly, he was wide awake as the smell of blood hit him hard. He heard a gasp, and his eyes shot frantically towards the source, locking with Lucy's eyes. Something metal clanged on the ground, but Garcia ignored it as he rushed towards Lucy. She was dressed only in a shirt and her underwear, blood running down her legs.
"Lucy, what the hell happened? Are you alright?" he asked frantically, grabbing her waist, trying to examine the wound.
To his surprise, Lucy tried to struggle out of his grip. "Flynn, it's nothing," she insisted. "I can take care of this by myself."
Garcia heard the fear in her voice and gripped her waist harder as she tried to back up. "At least let me help," he replied, flustered. Finally, he got a good look at her right leg, and his heart stopped. Bright, angry, straight red lines marked her skin, covering up old scars. His eyes flickered over to the clinking sound he had heard on the floor and landed on a bloody knife. "Oh, Lucy," he sighed.
His grip loosened, and Lucy broke away, backing up against the wall. "Don't look at me," she pleaded, trying to shrink herself as small as possible.
Wordlessly, Garcia retrieved a towel and ran it under the warm sink water. Lucy had sunk down to the floor, hopelessly accepting that Garcia wasn't going to leave her alone. She hung her head in shame, breaking Garcia's heart even further.
He approached her slowly and knelt beside her. Gently, he began to wipe the blood from her legs, exposing both the fresh and old cuts. "How long?" he asked, keeping his tone soft and neutral as he worked.
"Since Amy," she replied, her voice emotionless.
Garcia closed his eyes as he felt like he'd been punched right in the gut. Her sister, Amy, that had been his fault. It was his actions that erased her from history. He was the monster here, not Rittenhouse. Lucy hadn't explained what happened to her in the diary. He had always just assumed she had died. "I'm so sorry," he breathed out.
"You didn't know," Lucy responded in the same emotionless tone. As Garcia moved to work on her other leg, Lucy kept talking. "Actually, I started in high school. I got bullied constantly for being the history geek. Amy's the one who helped me stop. Once she was gone, I just fell back into old habits."
Done with the towel, Garcia tossed it aside and moved to the medicine cabinet, pulling out an antibiotic cream. He approached her again, kneeling down and squeezing a bit out onto his finger. As he began to rub it on her fresh cuts, he asked, "You do use this after you cut, right?"
Lucy's shoulders slunk further down. "No," she quietly admitted.
Garcia sighed sadly. "Lucy, we really do need you. You've got to take care of yourself."
"Are you mad?" Lucy asked softly, looking into Garcia's eyes with her timid brown ones.
Gently, Garcia reached out and stroked her cheek with his thumb. "I could never be mad at you, Lucy," he replied. "Especially not for something like this."
Once he had finished with the cream, he got back up to put it away and retrieve bandages. He knelt down beside her once more and began spreading them over her open cuts. "You probably don't use these either," he commented.
Lucy shook her head again and looked back down. "Amy was mad," she muttered.
"Well then Amy had never been in so much emotional pain that she needed a physical release," Garcia responded.
"You're very knowledgeable about this," Lucy observed, looking at him with concern.
Garcia shook his head and sighed, unable to believe that she was looking at him like that when she was the one who had been bleeding onto the floor just moments ago. But then again, this was Lucy. She always put everyone else over herself. He supposed if she was going to open up to him, then he was going to have to open up to her.
Setting the bandages aside, he pulled his shirt up, revealing a cluster of cigarette burn marks covering his abdomen. Lucy let out a soft gasp and placed her hand over it, gently tracing the scars there. "Why?" she asked hesitantly.
"Because my family was murdered and I was blamed for it," Garcia responded dryly. "It was the only thing that kept me sane until your journal."
"This is the only thing that keeps me sane," Lucy admitted with a whisper, tears welling up in her eyes. Garcia sat next to her and took her into his arms, holding her tight. The dam inside her broke, and she began shaking and sobbing uncontrollably. She put a hand to her mouth, trying to muffle the sounds. Garcia gently stroked her hair and whispered to her in soothing Croatian.
Once she had cried herself out, she sank against Garcia's chest, drained. "When you were in prison, how did you keep going?" she asked.
Garcia looked down at her curiously. "I still had faith in the journal. In you," he clarified. "How do you keep going?" he asked her gently.
"Because everybody expects me to," Lucy replied, a hint of bitterness in her tone.
"Including me," Garcia responded with guilt. "You're already carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. I've just been adding to it with that journal."
Lucy shook her head. "You're not the only one that finds hope from the journal," she replied. "It gives me hope that one day this fight is going to end."
Garcia nodded in understanding and slowly removed himself from her. He went to retrieve the knife and cleaned it under the sink. Lucy watched in shock as he turned around and handed it back to her. Slowly, she held up her hand to take it. "You're not taking it away?" Lucy questioned.
"Have you seen this bunker?" Garcia asked in disgust. "I don't want you finding some rusty nail next time you want to cut. Although, next time, I would prefer that you reach out to me first."
Still shocked, Lucy met his eyes again, finding the sincerity in them. "I think I will," she replied.
"Good." Garcia smiled softly. He held out his hand to help her stand up, and she took it. She retrieved her sweatpants from the bathroom floor and slipped them back on before turning back to Garcia with a lost expression on her face. "Well one thing's for sure; you are not sleeping alone on that couch again tonight," he decided.
"Well, where else would I go?" she asked, confused. "Rufus has already taken over my old room." Garcia gave her a pointed look. "No," Lucy replied firmly. "I am not stealing your bed again."
"It's not stealing, I'm giving it to you," Garcia argued. "Now wait for me outside the door, I actually did come to the bathroom for a reason.
Lucy blushed. "Right. Of course. I am so sorry," she stammered as she left. Garcia sighed. That girl needed to stop apologizing so much.
Once his business was taken care of, he exited the bathroom and was not surprised to see that Lucy had already curled up on the couch. Garcia shook his head at her stubbornness and walked up to her. She didn't look at him or even acknowledge him in any way. With a sly smile, Garcia slid his arms under Lucy and picked her up bridal style.
Lucy gasped in surprise as Garcia gripped her tight. "Let me down, Flynn," she demanded.
"I plan on it," Garcia replied as he walked. He pushed the door open to his room and gently set Lucy on his cot. Too tired to fight, Lucy simply lay there and looked defeated.
He turned to his chair when a soft voice stopped him. "We can share, you know," Lucy suggested.
"There's not enough room for both of us, and you need the rest more than I do," Garcia stated. Lucy's eyes filled with guilt, and she looked as if she might cry again. Garcia sighed in defeat. "Alright, scoot over."
Lucy happily obliged, practically plastering herself to the wall. Garcia lay next to her as close to the edge as possible and pulled the blanket over them. Lucy's back pressed into Garcia's chest, and his face nuzzled into her hair.
Despite the tight fit, they slept peacefully well past morning.