the last chapter was rough, I really am sorry! but I hope it proves necessary and that this next chapter makes up for it! I think you are all going to like this one, but make sure to let me know your thoughts! thank you so much for reading!
He thought he was going to throw up his own heart by the way it jumped into his throat when the PC called him. Telling him he heard a disturbance in her flat. Something that sounded like a scream.
He instructed the officer to stay put and call backup, not wanting to escalate the situation until he got there and knew she was safe. He dropped everything, running to his car and blaring the sirens to get there as fast as he could.
He should never have let her go home on her own...
The officer was there, waiting for him outside the apartment building, an apprehensive look on his face as he opened the first door. Steve rushed through, running to her flat and pressing his ear against the door. At first he heard nothing, but then there was a noise. The slightest squeal.
That's all it took for him to run at the door, bursting the lock and breaking in.
His stomach dropped when he saw her on the floor, pinned down by that man, crying out for help.
The man had jumped from her immediately, eyes wide in shock at his appearance.
Steve recognised Hurrell immediately, blood boiling as he moved further into the flat, the man retreating desperately.
There was a brief staredown, the older man glaring at Steve and the officer behind him. Steve made the first move, rushing over to where the man helplessly tried to get away, jumping on top of him to stop him from running. The other officer moved quickly too, helping him to pin the man down as they struggled. They finally won the upperhand, the man relenting as he lost the energy to fight back. As soon as they had him secured, Steve ignored his curses and taunts to finally whip his head around to Lizzie, where she was now sat up, a hand pressed against her head as she stared at the ground, dazed.
He hastily approaches, sliding along the floor to kneel in front of her and reach out his arms to hold her shoulders before he can stop himself. He regrets the sudden movement when she flinches, her arms beginning to hit at his own.
He keeps his hold there, trying to ground her, allowing the hits to come until she realises. She is clearly unfocussed, lost in the attack.
The young woman looks so helpless. A blooming bruise on her jaw and throat, a sharp cut on her cheek, her lips dry and cracked. Her hair is matted. She is pale, frighteningly so. And her shirt is torn on one side, a few busted buttons laying around her. Her bra is partly exposed, the waistband of her trousers torn too.
His heart breaks.
Shit. He should have been here.
"Lizzie?"
He watches as her vision begins to focus at the sound of his voice, gaze rising slowly to meet his own.
Her eyes widen slightly as they look up to his face, a relieved recognition flitting across her pale features.
She falls into him immediately, body flopping fraily against his own. Her arms remain hanging limp by her sides as she sobs against his chest, his own arms encircling her shoulders to draw her closer.
One of his palms comes to rest against the back of her head, cradling it to him.
"You're safe now, Lizzie," he whispers, with all the calmness he can muster despite the way her wailing worries his stomach, "You're safe."
She sniffles, body wracking against his as she cries.
"I'm here," he assures, gripping her tighter for emphasis, though not too tight as to hurt her.
Steve can hear the man yelling somewhere behind them as he struggles with the officer, so slightly turns his body so that Lizzie does not have to look his way over his shoulder. He is unsure what the man is saying, the yells incoherent and slurred - and ultimately, they don't matter to him. What matters is Lizzie is safe, in his arms.
The other officer gives Hurrell another push, forcing him more harshly against the ground, twisting his arms tighter behind his back. Steve feels his blood boil more fervently as he watches, feeling compelled to go over there. Shout at him. Beat him. Avenge what he has done to her.
But he stays, holding her as she cries. She is his priority now, not that fucker.
How could he forget that man was still out there? After what he did to Lizzie over a year ago at that bar, when he had to step in. He would never forget the image of her panicking while he touched her, making an advance. Lizzie had been angry at him for it, for 'ruining her mission'. But this is what he had feared.
Just then, Steve turns as the door opens slightly wider, a group of three officers walking in and surveying the scene.
Steve goes to stand, slowly, encouraging Lizzie to do the same as he loosens his hold on her and takes her hands to help her up. He immediately pulls her back into him once they are standing, concerned by how easy it is to do so with her body now limp. He presses his body against her more, not only to continue comforting her but to save her the humiliation of them seeing her ripped shirt and exposed bra.
"I want that man arrested and taken into custody," he instructs the new arrivals, fury punctuating every word as his eyes flick dangerously towards the man still being held on the floor, "Get him out of here. Now."
The officers nod, making their way over to the man. Steve hears them struggle as he turns to look back down at the woman in his arms, still crying quietly as she desperately grips onto the front of his shirt.
He turns their bodies again when the man is hauled past them and out of the flat, so he stands between him and Lizzie, protectively. Steve makes sure to glare at him until he disappears, his rage reverberating in his bones.
Steve exhales when the man is finally gone. He returns his gaze down to Lizzie, pulling her in closer, if possible. His cheek comes to rest against the crown of her head as they stand there in her empty flat.
"Sir," a voice says, Steve turning to see the first officer looking over to him, "What now?"
Steve sighs, voice now quiet as his hold remains on the woman, "I'm going to take her back to mine, get her cleaned up. Make sure he's kept there until I can get to him. No one deals with him until I do. I'll come by tomorrow."
The officer nods, moving to the door to leave. Steve feels Lizzie raise her head, looking to the other man. Her brows crease slightly as she studies him as he leaves, assumably recognising him and only now realising he had been stationed as surveillance for this exact reason.
Her head falls back against Steve's chest once he is gone and the door is closed. He is unsure how long the two of them stand there in that embrace, before Lizzie begins to take a step back. It is only small, though, so she cranes her neck to look up at him, hands still gripping tightly to his shirt.
Steve moves his hands from her back to her shoulders as he waits for her to speak, eyes flitting occasionally to the cut across her cheek, his heart breaking every time he does.
He anticipates whatever she is going to say, but it never comes. Her gaze simply falling to the space on the floor beside them where Hurrell had her pinned down and was going to...
She shakes her head, ridding herself of the thought. The movement aches.
"You ok?" Steve asks her, softly. Scared of the answer.
Lizzie wants to respond, but is unsure how. So simply replies with the slightest shake of her head.
Steve sighs deeper, letting go of her for a moment to pull off his jacket and wrap it around her shoulders. He tugs it across her, carefully not to be too aggressive as well as to keep his gaze appropriate as he covers her ripped shirt.
It worries him even more, the way she stands there almost lifeless as he does that, just looking up at him with big, sad, dull eyes.
She grips the edges of the jacket once Steve replaces his hands on her upper-arms, pulling it tighter around herself so that her arms are crossed over her stomach.
Her gaze then falls to their other side, Steve following it to see her phone, cracked on the floor. He reaches down to pick it up, seeing it is not as damaged as he first feared on closer inspection, putting it into his pocket.
"Come on," he whispers, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, "Let's get you out of here."
The drive to his flat is silent. She still has not spoken. It worries him. But Steve knows she needs time to process it all. She will speak when she is ready.
He opens the car door for her when she shows no sign of moving when he pulls up outside his place. Just staring in a distressed haze at the dashboard, his jacket tucked around her tightly. She is stuck somewhere he isn't.
Steve takes her arm, her flinching slightly as he does, gently pulling her up and out of the vehicle. His arm immediately wraps around her shoulders to guide her shaking legs to the door. He hesitates letting go of Lizzie as he reaches into his pocket to get his keys, hastily opening the door to step back to her again, an arm reaching under hers to steady her somewhat swaying form. She leans into him, her weight almost entirely resting against his shoulder. She stumbles over her feet as he leads her into the apartment, but he catches her, his back pushing the door wide open for her to pass by. He makes a point of locking the door behind them, one hand still enclosed around hers.
He lets go of his hold around her as they step further into the flat, ready to move to the kitchen. A hand tightening its way around his wrist stops him, pulling him back around to face her.
Lizzie's gaze slowly lifts to meet his, her eyes glistening with tears struggling to fall from her aching eyes. Her mouth trembles, opening only slightly before clamping shut, her jaw tight. She is struggling to even speak. Steve's heart shatters, his hand turning to hold hers in his.
"I will be back, I'm just going to get you some water," he whispers, squeezing her hand reassuringly.
She just shakes her head, the most rapid movement he has seen from her since leaving her flat. Her eyes begin to water a little more too, his stomach jolting.
Steve nods, tightening his hold around her hand and nudging slightly to get her to move alongside him, "Let's get that cut cleaned up then, that alright?"
The young woman nods, relaxing only slightly, moving beside him as he guides her to his bathroom.
The pair enter the small space, Steve taking his time to release her hand gently, their fingers brushing with reluctance to let go. Without him to cling onto for the moment, Lizzie braces herself against the sink, leaning against it as she watches him open up a cupboard, pulling out some saline solution and cotton wool. He moves back beside her, wetting one of the pads under the tap with warm water before moving to stand in front of her.
"Want to hop up there?" he suggests, nodding to the counter she is leaning against, "Just so I can reach it easier."
She nods slowly, reaching her arms up to brace herself against his shoulders, lifting her feet from the floor to sit on the counter beside the sink. Lizzie lowers her arms from his shoulders once she is stable, Steve taking a step forward to stand between her legs to inspect the cut closer. He cringes as his eyes roam over each mark; the cut on her cheek, the bruise on her forehead and throat, the paleness of her skin, the darkness under her eyes.
Liz avoids his eye as he gazes, sure she looks as terrible as she feels. Liz is certain the cut looks worse, her face too numb to actually feel it. Though, the heat tinging her cheeks flame as Steve flits his eyes over her face, eyes widening and wincing as they move.
She lowers her gaze, not wanting to watch his expression any more, his sympathy stabbing at her. Lizzie hears him exhale, cool fingers coming up to gently brush her matted hair away from her forehead as he takes a step closer.
"This is going to sting," Steve whispers, Lizzie feeling his breath brush her cheekbones at such a close proximity.
She tenses as she anticipates the pain, the cotton pad coming to irritate against the cut. Liz's grip tightens against the counter as she hisses, lips cracking with the movement. She can feel Steve falter at the noise but still persist, knowing it needs to be cleaned.
"Almost done," Steve murmurs, kindly, as he takes a few more swipes at the injury.
His other hand comes to rest on hers, stroking softly to comfort her.
It works. The touch grounds her. Lizzie relaxes immediately, her grip on the counter loosening as her hand turns to grip his, the pair holding onto each other as he finishes wiping the cut.
The soft caress, despite its humbleness, distracts her. The pain of her face is forgotten as she becomes enamoured by the movement of his thumb, and the feeling of her hand enclosed in his.
His cool breath extinguishes the fire of the rubbing alcohol fusing against the cut as it fans across her face.
She had thought she may flinch from him, reject any touch after such a cruel attack. She had a few times since, accidentally; more a result of being broken from her thoughts - replaying what happened over and over and over - rather than a repulsion to the feeling.
In fact, she seems to seek it out as she grips tighter. His touch.
Grounding her, comforting her. Safe.
So familiar, so warm, so gentle - so Steve.
Lizzie had fallen into him immediately upon realising he was there in her flat, saving her. She had hardly allowed him to let go of his hold on her since.
It makes her light-head even lighter. That even after all she has been through, all she can think of right now is him. That there is nowhere else she would rather be than here. With him. In his hold.
Her gaze slowly lifts from their joined hands to his face.
Her cheeks flush.
He is standing closer than she thought, looking at her cut with such an overwhelming tenderness.
Her chest aches.
She wants to cry.
Her hand squeezes even tighter around his fingers.
She can only watch as Steve gives the cut one more press with the cotton pad, lowering it with one last glance-over. His eyes meet hers, looking up at him so reverently. So close.
Lizzie's breath hitches as he sighs into a small, assuring smile - though she passes the strangled noise off as a result of her sore, torn throat.
Steve throws the bloodied cotton into the bin, returning his hand gently to the side of her face, careful not to irritate the injury. He follows the movement with his eyes as his thumb grazes over the cut, eventually moving beyond it to tuck some unruly strands of red hair behind her ear before returning to rest it against her cheekbone.
His eyes return to hers, stomach jolting at the look in her eye. He can't quite place it. The distant, petrified haze has cleared, replaced with something indistinguishable. Eyes wide as they stare up at him, long lashes glossed with old tears. In the quiet and the still, and indulging in being so close to her, Steve notes how the harsh lighting of his bathroom reflects off the flecks of light in her eyes. Still bright despite the dullness of her pallor. How her face is leaning ever-so-gently into his palm. Nose reddened at the tip, cheeks tinged a slight rouge (likely from where he had just stung the wound there).Torn and dry, yet plump lips, parted slightly as she gawps up at him-
He shudders.
Steve's eyes jump back to hers, realising he has been staring too long. She has not taken her eyes off him all that time, still gazing up with that look - whatever it is. Her hand remains wrapped around his own, the other gripping to the counter as if steadying herself.
He cannot help but gaze over her again, her lack of opposition or questioning encouraging him to indulge further. But his eagerness disappoints him.
He no longer finds contentment in her features. His eye is only drawn to the corruption; the cut cruelly cracking the porcelain skin, the purple bruise blooming on the long expanse of her throat, the ripped waistband of her trousers-
He shudders again.
He followed her, threatened her, tormented her. He touched her. He hurt her. That man. That fucker…
Who knows what I will do when I visit that cell-
Feeling him tense, Lizzie raises her hand not already in his to the one holding her face, assuredly placing hers gently over it. His gaze had darkened for a moment, thoughts clearly running wildly behind them. It concerned her, scared her even. Though her touch seems to alleviate any heaviness pressing down on him, as Steve's eyes find hers again and soften almost instantly. She follows his example, brushing her thumb against the back of his hand as she holds it there against her face, the tips of his fingers pressed into her hairline.
He realises his anger, feeling guilty for the moment of weakness. Why is he allowing that man to occupy his thoughts when Lizzie is in front of him so broken? So in need of care?
Steve clears his throat, reluctantly lowering his hand from her face and easing his hold on the other against the counter. He takes a step back.
Lizzie almost whimpers at the loss of warmth their proximity bathed her in. She holds onto the edge of the counter stiffly, feeling unsteady without his hold to stabilise her.
He turns to the shower, turning the taps on before looking back at the young woman. He moves closer again, Liz straightening slightly in anticipation of touch, though deflates as she realises his outstretched hands are to assist her stepping down from the sink. She places her hands in his, revelling in the feeling throughout the brief hold, Steve helping to settle her on the ground before stepping back again.
He takes her demeanour in as he steps back, unnerved by the way her shoulders are slumped and toes tucked inward. His zipped jacket devours her frame, her trousers hanging limply off her hips with little strength left in them after such a vicious assault.
"I'll go get you some spare clothes while you shower," he suggests, heart pounding at the way her eyes widen hopelessly at the idea of being left alone, "I will be just outside the door, ok?"
Lizzie relaxes, even if only by a little, nodding weakly.
He sighs quietly, feet suddenly heavy and struggling to move from her as he makes his way to the door, "Use what you need."
She glances at the shower and to the towel beside it, then turns back to him with wringing hands.
"I will be right here," Steve reassures, pointedly but kindly, the door open to show her, "Just shout if you need me."
He waits until Lizzie nods again, unable to resist the steam beginning to radiate from the water. Steve watches as she goes to unzip the jacket, taking that as his cue to leave, closing the door quietly behind him.
He lets out a short breath, his hand coming to rub at his eyes for a brief moment before heading towards his bedroom. Grabbing the first t-shirt and joggers he can find, he rushes to the kitchen, deciding to also bring her a glass of water like he had intended to when they first arrived at his place. Moving back to the bathroom, spilling a little water in his haste, Steve sets the glass and pile of clothes down on the floor.
That's when he hears her.
His heart lurches uneasily.
She is crying.
Steve squeezes his eyes shut, wincing at the noise, before moving to knock on the door. She quietens as he does.
"Lizzie?" he calls, "Everything alright?"
She doesn't answer.
Though Steve is unsure if he simply had not heard her over the sound of running water and his heart thumping.
"Lizzie?"
No answer, only quiet sobs.
"I'm going to come in," he decides, "Ok?"
He hears slight movement then, waiting a moment before finding the courage to open the door. Eventually his concern for her outweighs any worry of indecency.
As Steve goes to reach for the doorknob, it opens, revealing Lizzie wrapped in a towel, a hand holding it tight against herself.
Her face is red, both from apparent crying and perhaps embarrassment at her state.
"You alright?" he asks, softly, taking a step closer.
Her mouth opens slightly, recoiling in pain as she tries to speak for the first time since being at her flat. After a few squeakish attempts, she croaks through sniffs, "Undressing aggravated my arm. Tried to wash my hair-"
She lets out a sob, biting her already torn lips to try and repress it.
It is then that Steve looks downward, seeing the mass of bruising covering her forearm.
He reaches for it on impulse, hesitating when he realises his sudden movement may frighten her, "May I?"
Lizzie raises it for him to take, sighing away another cry as his fingers gently hold it, turning it slightly to inspect the markings.
"Must be from where he pinned me," she whispers, solemnly.
Steve lowers her arm slowly as he begins to seethe again, feeling the need to snap something but not wanting to hurt or frighten her any more.
He looks up to her face instead, feeling himself calm instantly. There are a few suds on her bare shoulders and on the arm that holds the towel, showing she had attempted to clean herself. But her hair, though wet, remains matted and dull.
"Would you like me to wash it?"
Lizzie's breath hitches again, covered by an attempt to clear her sore throat. It hurts.
She nods, feebly, unable to take her wide eyes away from the tender look in his eye.
He gestures with his arm for her to move over to the sink, grabbing the shampoo as he follows. She hesitates once there, looking at him curiously as she waits for Steve to tell her what to do next.
"Sorry," he says, Liz's brow furrowing slightly, "It's that shitty two-in-one stuff blokes use. Hope that's alright?"
She would smile if she could. But the action will hurt too much. She nods instead, turning to face the sink.
Gripping onto the towel tighter, as to not entirely expose herself to him, Lizzie leans over the sink, her hair flopping forward into the bowl. Steve takes a slow step closer, turning on the tap, "Is that temperature alright?"
She nods again, hoping he can see the movement from under her messed matt of hair.
Standing to her side, Steve cups his hands, splashing the water against her head as he lathers in some of the shampoo. Lizzie suppresses a groan as his fingers massage the lotion into her hair, threading delightfully along her irritated scalp. He continues this for a few minutes, hoping to bring her some comfort in the cleansing, as well as, admittedly, enjoying the contact. He cups his hand again, bringing more water to her head to wash away the shampoo, his fingers gently combing through the hair to rid it of the tangles that had formed. Once finished, Steve turns off the tap, nudging her shoulder lightly to signify she can stand again.
As Lizzie does, he turns her around with her back to the sink, reaching from beside her to scoop the hair into his hands and ring off some of the water. Letting go and reaching to the drawers to retrieve his comb, he feels her eyes on him, just watching as he once again steps behind her to brush through her red locks. With each stroke, he sees her relax, even hearing her sigh somewhat contentedly.
Steve does this for a few moments longer than necessary, greedily indulging in the way her back arches as the comb threads through her hair, and the way the water droplets run silkily along the skin of her shoulders before being absorbed by the edge of the towel.
Lizzie finally allows herself to shudder when he steps away to return the comb to the drawer, having repressed one at the feeling of his breath on her exposed upper-back.
"I'll be in the kitchen when you're finished. Need to get you something to eat," Steve announces, quietly, moving to the door with a small smile, "I have some clothes for you."
He picks up the pile and places them on the counter by the sink.
"Steve," she says as he goes to leave again, one hand already on the door.
He turns to her, expectantly, melting at the sight of her.
"Thank you," she whispers, the faintest hint of a gratuitous smile on her lips. The most she can muster through the pain.
He feels himself grin a little too, though decides against responding. Now is not the time to argue that she has nothing to be thankful for. That he should have done more. That he blames himself.
Instead, he closes the door behind him.
A few minutes later, now clean and dressed in his t-shirt and joggers, Lizzie leaves the bathroom to find Steve. Seeing him in the kitchen cooking something on the hob, she slowly moves over to him, his eyes turning almost as soon as she enters the space. They soften from their concentrated gaze as they take in her appearance, finding the bagginess of his clothes swallowing her timid form somewhat endearing. He tries not to focus too long on her injuries, fearing he will become angry again.
"Are eggs ok?" Steve asks as she moves to stand beside him. She looks down to what he is cooking, seeing a pan of broken eggs.
She nods, her continued quiet worrying him a little.
He turns away from her for a moment, reaching for the milk on the side and pouring some into the mixture, before replacing the lid and stirring the eggs.
Lizzie feels her heart jump. He remembered. That her mother always used to add milk into the mixture. That silly, little, non-important anecdote she had mentioned.
"Take a seat, I'll bring it over in a minute," he offers, gesturing to the sofa.
She does so, turning so she can continue to watch him as he goes about the kitchen to plate up her eggs.
Eventually, he brings them over on a plate, also placing a glass of water in front of her.
Lizzie picks up the fork, thanking him quietly. He movies to sit beside her, watching as she stares at the food, slowly pushing it around the plate. Her stomach churns. He sighs.
"I'm sorry," she squeaks out, not quite meeting his eyes as she turns to him, "I'm not that hungry. Just tired."
He places a hand on her shoulder, his thumb immediately moving to caress it slowly, "It's ok, I understand."
"What will happen to my flat?" she suddenly asks, voice hoarse, still fiddling distractedly with the food.
Steve sucks in a breath, moving his arms to rest his elbows on his knees and his hands clasp in front of him, "Well, some officers should be there now, working out how he got in…"
Liz feels bile rise in her throat, having not even considered that yet in the chaos of her mind.
"We will take a statement eventually, take him in for questioning and press charges," Steve finishes, resolutely. He is surprised at his own bluntness, though understands it is his way of beating down the underlying rage he feels.
If it were up to him, the man would never see the light of day again. Steve would see to it. For hurting her. His Lizzie.
"It shouldn't take long," Steve assures, believing that was why she had asked, "I can drop you back in a few hours."
"No," Lizzie almost shouts, the sound cracking. She shakes her head furiously as she drops her fork and turns to him, eyes desperately wide, "Not yet, no."
Steve takes her hands in his, squeezing, and without a thought says, "It's alright. You can stay here. With me."
She stares up at him, eyes even wider as they begin to gloss with tears again.
"If you want?" he adds quickly, unsure for the reason of such a reaction and worried he assumed wrong.
But he hadn't. To be with him? There was nothing she wants more.
She grips onto his hand tighter, using it to pull herself closer, nodding eagerly.
His heart pounds as he wraps an arm around her, pulling her into him so her face rests against his shoulder. Her apparent want to stay with him makes his chest ache with something similar to affection and relief. Though his gut twists in disappointment. Steve had hoped she would not have to ask. That her being welcome would go without saying.
His disheartedness is relieved as Lizzie's arms move to wrap around his waist, her body pushed up against his side in a tight embrace.
"That man," she clears her throat to speak clearer, "You had him watch over me?"
Steve sighs, knowing she must have seen the officer that had entered her flat with him hanging around the apartment before, like he asked, and recognised him, "Yeah. I wanted to make sure you were safe."
He pauses, choking on the words. His hands grip a little tighter to her shoulders as he shakes his head, closing his eyes as to not look at her and the injuries he could have prevented, "I'm so sorry. I should have been there. I should have done something."
"Steve, please," Lizzie whispers, her head moving back to look at him and a hand coming to rest on the side of his jaw, comfortingly. He melts into the touch, eyes meeting hers as they begin to cloud over, "I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't-"
He shushes her, reaching out to wrap his arms around her shoulders and pull her tight against him, her wet cheeks pressed into his shirt. He closes his eyes as he hears her broken sigh, feeling the way she eases in his arms. Steve presses his cheek harder against her forehead, careful of the bruise there, "Let's just get you to bed, yeah?"
He feels her nod against him, his arms slowly unwinding themselves so they can stand. He holds out a hand for her once he has moved, pulling her up gently with him before guiding her to the bedroom. Pulling back the covers, he stands to the side to allow her to crawl inside.
He stands by the side of the bed as he watches her settle into it, unsure what to do with himself.
"I'll call Hastings, let him know you are safe," Steve says, placing the duvet over her as she leans back against the pillows, "Just get some rest."
She is gazing up at him, arms wrapped around herself as her head lifts slightly from the pillow.
Before he can stop himself, he leans down.
And places a quick peck to her forehead.
HIs lips linger there for a moment, careful to have avoided the bruising and to not press too hard as to aggravate her skin. Revelling in the comfortable sentiment of it.
The intimacy.
As if burned by the thought of that, Steve stands quickly and turns for the door.
What was he thinking?
Before he can go and take the time to regret that action, a hand gently wraps its way around his wrist, pulling him back to look at her.
His breath catches as he peers down at her, looking up at him so hopefully.
"Stay," Lizzie pleads, quietly as if nervous, "Please."
It does not take any moment of thought for him to take her hand in his and ease back the covers. With his hand wrapped in hers, Lizzie shifts over, making room for him to lie down. Pulling the cover back over them as he does, Steve makes sure to lie as subtly distant from her as he can, not wanting to alarm her or overstep. His fears of that are quashed when Lizzie uses their joined hands to haul herself closer to him, their faces only a few breaths away as they rest their heads on the same pillow.
Steve holds his breath, whether purposeful as to not make her uncomfortable over their proximity or not, he is unsure. He can't stop looking over at her, curious as to her call for contact and wary for any sign he is crossing a line. Lizzie has not yet met his eyes yet, only shifts her legs so that one comes to move on top of his. Her eyes finally flicker to his, as if asking permission to rest there. He responds by twisting his leg to wrap around hers, inadvertently pulling her closer as he does. Their joined hands lay between them, pressed up against their chests, the only things stopping them from touching as they breathe in the quiet of his room.
Steve is unsure where to place his other hand, but finds himself slowly lowering it against her waist under the covers, relieved Lizzie shows no sign of resignation. Lizzie is bolder, moving her hand carefully to rest against his cheek, rubbing the pads of her fingers tenderly against the stubble on his jaw.
The pair just look at each other. Staring. Thinking.
She knows now. How much he cares about her. Lizzie supposes she has always known, or should have. But she can see it. In the way he has looked out for her. The way he has cared for her. The way he is looking at her now.
So kind, so reassuring. Making her feel so… not alone - in the way only Steve Arnott can.
This man can be brash. He can be impulsive, and, hell, he can be arrogant. But she has the privilege of seeing this side of him too. It is what has her defending him time and time again, so assured in her view of him as the most loyal and compassionate man she has ever known. He wants to make the world a better place for everyone else, while often forgetting to include himself in that benefit. How can she not care for a man like that?
No, that sounds too simple.
He means more to her than that.
Steve listens. Even to the small things - like her mother used to add milk to her scrambled eggs, or stories about her childhood cat. Those are not relevant, rather unhelpful pieces of information she has spilled out at him. He has that effect on her. She wants him to know her.
And Steve does. More than anyone.
Not only does he listen and learn about her, but he helps her to know herself. What she is achieving, what she is worth. Lizzie spends so long trying to understand others, that it is a relief to have someone understand her. That helps her to understand herself.
He tries. After all the mistakes and the errors and the consequences, Steve is trying. To better himself. Again, he listens to her. Encourages and appreciates her help. Taking her word as something valuable to him.
And after tonight, and the way he has cared for her after… Dot, and other misfortunes -
This man has grown to mean so much to her.
It overwhelms her.
Just as it overwhelms him.
This woman has grown to mean so much to him.
When his whole world centres around lies and deceit and corruption - she is the kindness that gets him though. Reminding him of the good out there. What he is fighting for.
Lizzie listens. Even when no one else does. And that's why she knows him, better than anyone. And he wants her to. He wants her to know him as much as he wants to know her. He lets her in, without even considering it. That isn't something that comes naturally to him.
Since childhood, with his brother's apparent favour, he has always struggled to believe in himself. That needs - craving - to prove himself. That bad habit has got him into plenty of trouble across the years, recent events perhaps most disastrously.
He doesn't need to prove anything to Lizzie. Steve knows that.
She knows who he is, who he really is. And she still (somehow) believes in him.
That's enough. It always will be.
She spends so long in other people's heads, she forgets to consider herself most of the time. Prioritising others, even at the detriment of her own wellbeing. Steve can't even count all the times she has stood up for him, even against himself. How can he not care for a woman like that?
No, that sounds too simple.
She means even more to him than that.
Perhaps it was, as he told himself when his gut would twist in admiration of her, a selfish, egotistical desire for someone to fight his battles for him? Fulfilling a sick, twisted yearning for self-admiration.
But it couldn't be. Not with how much he truly does care for her. He wants to be there, looking out for her. Not that he does not believe her capable of doing so for herself, but in return for all the times she has done it for him. Sometimes without even knowing. Because that's who she was. Kind, loyal, selfless.
Seeing her today, so vulnerable and distressed, much like after everything that had happened with Cottan, broke him. Lizzie is who keeps him straight, grounded. He needs to be that for her, even if he feels as though he is going to lose his own mind without her able to assure him things are going to be alright. That she is safe.
That's all he wants. For Lizzie to be safe. Happy.
And yet, time and time again he has failed her. Even putting her in that danger himself. Disappointing her.
How can he ever repent for that?
He knows the answer.
By being better. Doing better. For her.
Steve's hand shifts to grasp tighter at her waist, pulling her, if possible, closer. Lizzie responds, moving to press their chests together, the hand on his face sliding back to gently grasp the hair at the nape of his neck.
"I am never going to let anything like that happen to you again," he suddenly declares, voice low as to not disrupt the comfortable silence that has fallen over the pair.
The corners of Lizzie's mouth turn upward slightly in a small, tight smile, her eyes closing as she blinks back tears.
Steve means it. He only hopes that is enough.
But it isn't enough.
She deserves to know. What she means to him.
Do I even know?
That's what the nagging feeling in his gut implies as he stares at her now, looking back up at him, those bright flecks in her eyes glistening wondrously even in the dim light.
His chest aches as he loses himself in their brightness.
There is something else. Something that has always been there.
More than care, more than admiration, more than the overwhelming compulsion to keep her safe, protected.
He tries to comprehend it, dizzying at the strain it causes.
A word flits into his mind, his heart stopping entirely as it appears - though disappears as quickly as it came. So fast, in fact, he misses it entirely.
His brow furrows so minutely Lizzie does not see it in her exhausted state, as he tries desperately to retrieve the word.
But his thoughts cease at the sight of Lizzie in his arms, eyes fluttering closed and breath softening. Steve remains as still as possible, not wanting to interrupt as she eventually falls asleep, head dropping further into the pillow beside his.
He allows himself to smile, relaxing himself as he studies the momentary peace overcoming her face. He feels himself shuffle just-so-slightly closer, recalling the feeling of her skin under his lips moments ago, and does not resist pressing another gentle kiss to her forehead.
Steve holds it there longer this time, no longer concerned of the intimacy that had frightened him as he did so before.
Something had changed tonight. Something between them, as they held each other so closely in his bed.
It terrifies him. Though, the smile etched on his face as he finally succumbs to sleep would suggest it excites him all the same.