A knock on the door brought Tim out of his brooding. He stepped into the main room in time to see Lucy glance through the peephole and turn the lock. Swinging the door wide so Tim had a visual, she thanked the "pizza delivery guy" who happened to be an undercover cop. Nodding toward Tim, the cop turned and headed back down the hall after pocketing the cash Lucy handed him. Shutting the door, she turned and smirked in Tim's direction.
"This is so fun!" she half-whispered, gliding into the kitchen to deposit the pizza on the counter. Rolling his eyes, Tim started digging through cabinets in search of plates and they served themselves, Lucy picking off the pepperoni and tossing it his way, just as he knew she would.
Pizza stacked high, Lucy flipped on the TV and flopped down on the couch with her plate. Giving her an incredulous look, Tim made his way toward the dining table.
"Oh, come on! Live a little, Tim. Pizza on a couch in front of the TV is probably the best thing ever."
"I am not paying for property damage from your pizza sauce."
"I'm a very clean eater, you know that. Come on," she gave a pat to the couch cushion beside her, "you can choose what we watch."
Letting out a huff, he made his way to the pristine couch and sat next to Lucy. She obediently handed him the remote and he began navigating through the channels. He selected a comedy that looked like something she would like, but not something so dumb that he would hate it. Leaning back into the sofa, he endeavored to take his mind off of his predicament and just enjoy this time with Lucy.
And surprisingly, he did enjoy it. They laughed late into the evening watching a variety of shows. They even watched the late night news when he became so desperate to avoid going to sleep that he would delay it with just about anything. But eventually, Lucy stood and stretched, gathering their plates and taking them to the kitchen.
Feeling his heartbeat start to increase, he clumsily called out, "just- just leave them there. I'll do clean up."
Raising an eyebrow in his direction, Lucy challenged him, "I thought for sure kitchen duty would be relegated to the boots."
Reaching for calm and authoritative, Tim nodded firmly, "that was a test. You passed."
Briefly catching her eye-roll, Tim made his way to his bedroom with a short "night" thrown over his shoulder. Changing into a t-shirt and boxers, he stretched out on his bed and stared at the ceiling. Silently, he prayed to all gods everywhere that the nightmares that had plagued him every night for the past three months would miraculously disappear tonight.
Rolling to his side, he buried his head under his pillow. Maybe it would help muffle his screams. Not likely.
Lucy awoke to a sound she couldn't identify. Eyes wide, sitting up slowly, she reached toward the bedside table for her gun. Without checking, she knew Tim would be doing the same. His bat ears had probably notified him of the soft sound way before it reached her. She could just picture him with his back against the wall by his door, peeking his head around the doorjamb to assess for danger.
Quietly, she made her way toward her door to do the same, hand reaching for the knob. Startled, she jumped when the sounds of running feet met her ears. Shaking off the shock, she threw her door open and stepped out into the hallway, gun out in front of her.
The hallway was clear and she threw a quick glance toward the door that housed the hall bathroom. The door was open and the light was on, streaming into the hallway. It took her brain entirely too long to catch up to what was actually happening in the hallway. And that was two things. First, there was no threat to her life. And second, there were clear sounds of heaving coming from the open bathroom doorway.
Blinking, her mind catching up, she slowly lowered her gun. Lucy was now fully aware that if she wasn't currently puking her guts out, the only other option was Tim. Wanting to give him space, but also incredibly concerned because Tim Bradford did NOT get ill, she crept quietly toward the light.
Softly calling his name as he continued to dry heave, she got no response. Peeking around the corner, she was shocked by the sight that met her. Tim was bent over the toilet, shirt sweat-soaked and clinging to his back. He didn't seem to register her presence, nor was he being particularly quiet with his efforts to rid himself of whatever his body was rebelling against.
She cautiously took another step forward when there seemed to be a pause in the sickness. Moving closer she saw that his whole body was vibrating, shaking violently with tremors. Sweat was pouring down his face, mingling with what looked suspiciously like tears.
That's when she knew. She had seen it before. She saw it every night after Tim pulled her from that barrel. Every night a haunted, sweat-soaked face stared back at her in the mirror. She gasped out a breath as she realized Tim was currently trapped in his own horrors and she was an accidental witness.
He hadn't moved, seemingly frozen in place. She thought quickly and determined that it would be a very bad idea to touch him unless he was fully aware it was her doing so. Words it was then. That, at least, she was good at.
Slowly, so as not to startle him, she knelt down in the small space next to him. Looking at his profile, tracking his uneven, gasping breaths, she began a quiet litany of words. She told him who she was and that he was safe. She told him where he was and what was happening. Unsure if he was hearing any of it, she continued to softly talk for the next ten minutes about anything and everything, letting her voice and his breaths fill the room.
Twitching slightly, Tim eventually slowly turned his head in her direction. Attempting to catch his eye, Lucy reiterated his safety, "Tim it's Lucy. You had a bad dream, but you are safe. Everything is okay. Do you understand?"
His soft, "Lucy?" nearly broke her heart. Nodding, she moved closer to him, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder.
"Yeah, Tim. It's Lucy. Everything is okay. How about we sit down?" Flushing the toilet, she guided him out of his kneel to sit against the wall behind him. His knees were bent, elbows resting on them. His head was bowed into his hands and slight tremors continued to course through his body.
She sat down next to him, gently pressing the right side of her body against his left, reminiscent of the elevator earlier in the day. She desperately hoped he would gain the same comfort as she did from the gesture. Slowly, she slid her fingers up toward his wrist and let them rest lightly against his pulse point. She briefly registered a heart beating much too quickly and breaths still coming at an uneven pace.
"Match me, Tim." She slowly inhaled deeply and held her breath for a count of four before slowly releasing it. She wasn't sure if he was paying any attention to her rib cage expanding and deflating against the side of his, but after a few minutes she noticed he had started to try to match her. She continued to keep her hand lightly resting on his wrist as she breathed deeply. After a while, Tim's breathing was even and his tremors had turned into goosebumps and shivers. His heartbeat under her fingers was slowing and she heard him give an audible sigh, bowing his head further into his hands in what she presumed was embarrassment.
Slowly, she moved her hand from his wrist up to entwine with his cold fingers and gave a small squeeze. He turned his head slightly in her direction and she could see a path down his cheek that tears had recently taken. He let out a gravely, "I'm sorry," and she leaned in to bump her head lightly against his shoulder.
"You're not indestructible, Tim, and I don't expect you to be. I'm here to listen when you're ready to talk. And I think you should talk. To me. Soon. But first, warm clothes and hot chocolate. I saw some in the pantry and I know you only pretend to not like piles of marshmallows, so I'll be sure to add extra for you," she smiled at him compassionately.
He had not broken his gaze since she started talking and it felt a bit like he was holding on for dear life. She squeezed his hand again and moved to stand without releasing her grip.
"Come on, old man, up you get," she tried for levity and was rewarded with a small grin from him as he let her pull him to his feet.
Once standing, she couldn't help herself. The haunted look was still there and she wrapped her arms around him tightly. A bit nervous to be so openly hugging her T.O. and just now acutely aware that her pajamas were not the most modest, all thoughts left her head when she felt his arms wrap around her back and his hands twist tightly in her shirt.
He was looking for an anchor. Anything to ground him, that she vividly recognized. She just hoped she could be that for him.