Work Text:
“What are you doing here?”
When they opened the door, I had to force myself not to flinch at how rough Sweetheart looked. Over the last few weeks, I had had the pleasure (and sometimes pain) of seeing them sport an array of countenances. I’d seen them smirk confidently as they perched on my barcalounger, ambushing me in my own apartment to hold an impromptu interrogation. I’d seen them grimace at their hand-written notes to make sense of a pattern of the shade’s behavior as we drove back to my place after a stakeout that went nowhere. I’d seen them bite their tongue in frustration when their sergeant complained about their lack of progress with the ‘alleged shade’ case thus far, all while implying that stealths lacked an inherent aptitude for solving crimes or protecting the public. I’d seen them break into a smile when they made a genuine joke over a working lunch we shared at their apartment. I’d seen them twist their face into a scowl as they summoned enough warding magic to keep me safe during my fight once they regained their senses from when that shade had begun to drain their energy. I’d seen them sigh in relief when we finally had that shade in custody before it had that chance to hurt anyone else ever again. I’d seen them grin with teeth when I doubled-down on my flirting after that day and finally asked them on a proper date.
I’d never seen Sweetheart look so impervious as they did when they opened that door. Like someone had taken their gorgeous, expressive face and etched into it indifference and apathy. They stood tall and straight, hand still clinging to the doorknob, ready to slam it in my face.
But then, when I let my eyes look at them a little bit longer, I realized there was something more behind that stark, scary blankness.
They were sad. And confused, maybe. Exhausted. Embarrassed. Most of all, hopelessness radiated from them. I never thought someone as optimistic and powerful as Sweetheart could ever look as hopeless as they did in that moment.
I cleared my throat when I realized they had asked me a question. “We were gonna go on the historical mansion tour tonight,” I answered.
Sweetheart stepped forward to put themselves in front of the door, but their hand lingered on the doorknob, ready to backpedal inside at a moment’s notice. They were wearing their black hoodie with a fading logo of the Department in the corner of their chest. “Oh, right,” they said. “S-sorry. Um, I can’t go. I texted you, but I guess you didn’t get it in time. Sorry,” they repeated. “You should go without me.”
Actually, I had gotten that text in plenty of time. I thought it was weird that they were so straightforward, but I had chalked it up to their getting busy with work. It wasn’t unheard of that we would occasionally have to postpone our planned dates. Even though there had only been a few of them, we both felt comfortable to tell the other what we needed. Sure, we will still new and fresh, in that exciting get-to-know-you stage of the game, but even so, there was a familiarity to it all that helped take the pressure off. There was never a question as to whether or not we’d see each other again after canceling plans. We both understood that we would make it work. At that point, we were already a matter of ‘when,’ not ‘if.’
I knew they had canceled our plans last-minute. When a breaking news story about the Elemental and Energetic Magistrate Town Hall Meeting popped up on my phone an hour later, however, I realized what really prompted them to tell me they couldn’t make our date. My eyes scanned the text over and over again, but I was more interested in what the journalist’s words implied than what was actually written:
A routine Empowered Elementary Prep School after school pick up turned into a terrifying ordeal for all involved when a rogue actor attempted to kidnap a child, whose identity shall not be disclosed for protection. According to eyewitnesses, a male freelancer claiming to be the child's father stormed the school lobby and demanded to be allowed to take the child from their guardian, threatening to render thaumaturgical harm to the child, guardian, and anyone else who attempted to stop him. D.U.M.P. forces responded immediately, though negotiations quickly dissolved into a standoff. Thankfully, a Department investigator leading the response was able to rescue both the child and guardian with quick-thinking and precise magical intervention. No victims, bystanders, or D.U.M.P. personnel were injured. The male freelancer was pronounced dead at the scene as a result of the investigator’s life-saving action. This story will be updated as details become available.
That was the official press-release. It didn’t even mention them by name, but I recognized them in the grainy picture attached to the article. That realization changed the whole text for me. As far as I was concerned, the article read:
Your sweetheart faced down some empowered lunatic threatening two innocent people, one of whom was a child. They bravely intervened, and ended up having to kill the maniac to save the day.
Since that story broke, more articles and posts popped up with more details, speculation, and even interviews. There was a lot of celebration and relief surrounding the event, with good reason. Tragedy was avoided, and for that, I and the rest of Dalia were grateful.
Except for Sweetheart, it seemed. Unlike the excited emojis found in the comment sections of those articles, their face lacked any sort of joy. The world was busy extolling a newly minted hero’s courage, strategy, and magical power. Meanwhile, the hero in question had retreated away from the public eye and into their home alone.
I didn’t expect that reaction, nor did I quite understand it. Maybe Sweetheart was experiencing some sort of delayed shock effect from a high-stress situation? They didn’t seem to be in the midst of a panic-attack, but they also didn’t seem right. I needed to fix this. I needed to get them out of whatever this post-traumatic stress funk was so we could revel in their outstanding performance.
It drove me nuts to know that they made a career out of putting themselves in danger, but I knew being an investigator was something they’d always wanted. They had once shared with me that it seemed like the perfect career. It gave them a chance to put their powers to good use. It gave them a chance to be the first stealth to work as an investigator, which meant just by clocking into work every day, they’d be busting down all those assumptions that stealths were unfit for fieldwork. And Sweetheart never stopped at just clocking in; they were a force of nature and, in my very informed opinion, the best investigator the Department has ever seen.
“I saw the story,” I told them softly, taking a bold step forward. My front foot landed at the threshold of the doorway, preventing them from slamming it without injuring me. It was a trick I picked up after a few years working security gigs. “You did a good job.”
“I did my job.” Their eyes dropped to the hallway floor. Creases pulled at the corner of their blurry, dull eyes. “Don’t you have something better to do than hang out in front of my front door?” They said it like an accusation.
I let the sting of their questions dissolve with a deep breath. “Don’t you have something better to do than hang out in behind your front door?” I quipped, quite pleased with how light my voice sounded even as a heavy weight formed in my gut.
Sweetheart shrugged before fixing me with a stony glare. “No. I’m home now because my supervisor placed me on temporary leave. That’s protocol after using lethal thaumaturgy during an incident response. In two weeks, I’ll meet with a Department counselor, answer a few scripted questions, and I’ll be back at it in no time.”
I ignored how distressed I was to know they planned to skirt around the Department’s bare-minimum regulations for mental health support because it didn’t surprise me. I knew how flimsy D.U.M.P.’s promises to support their employees were. The only reason that mandate even existed was as a way for D.U.M.P. to cover its own ass and to prevent lawsuits. Not only that, but I was getting to know how Sweetheart operated when it came to, as they would say, ‘touchy-feely mumbo-jumbo.’ It wasn’t as if they denied the importance of mental health. On the contrary, the empathy and compassion they extended to the people in their life was unmatched. I’d experienced that first hand. One look from them made me feel like I was the only man in the world. One word from them had me pouring out my heart for hours upon hours. And I knew they had the same effect on their friends, family, and hell, even the perps they arrested.
That’s why I was so surprised when I learned about how they approached their own mental health.
”I take care of myself,” they had told me between spoonfuls of minestrone soup when we visited a diner for a bite to eat after a late-night session of shade hunting. “That’s how I roll.” For good measure, they broke off another piece of garlic bread to dip into their soup. “It's a good system for me.”
I knew there was something more to what they were saying, even then, but they had sounded so confident. Like they were so certain, and nothing in the world would change their mind. Maybe they preferred to be alone in times of crisis? That was what they were claiming, after all. But the more I got to know them, the more I began to see the cracks in that wall, splintering and growing no matter what kind of plaster they threw over it. That’s when it dawned on me that they were alone and pretended that it was by choice as a means to cope with the reality of being alone.
Choosing to be alone was an empowering act of strength and self-reliance.
Being alone because it was your only choice, less so.
Sometimes, shit like that could get murky. I knew that. Sometimes, the line between choice or not blurred so much that you couldn’t even tell one from the other. And this time, I decided it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered to me was being there for Sweetheart, however they needed me. Because they did need me.
“So tonight’s a stay-in kind of night. I get that,” I said quickly as I pushed past them, carefully skittering over their fuzzy-sock covered feet. It was a bold move on my part, encroaching on their territory. I felt my wolf snap to attention, evaluating the situation.
Stunned, Sweetheart swivelled their head back and forth from where I had stood to where I was. Bold had its advantages, I suppose. Their confusion gave me just enough time to plop myself down on their sofa.
“We can go to the historical mansion tour anytime we want,” I said. “They run them monthly! How often do we get to celebrate your heroic deeds? We c-”
The sound of the door slamming silenced me.
Damn. I knew it couldn’t be that easy. Sweetheart was too stubborn for that.
“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but don’t,” they commanded emphatically, striding over to stand in front of me. “Really, Milo. Just leave it be today, okay?”
I gave them my best attempt at an innocent expression. “Leave what be?”
“Leave me be,” they scowled like it was the most obvious answer in the world.
I hated how they believed solitude was the ultimate antidote to any problem they faced.
“No,” I replied simply. Truth be told, I felt like I had to actively keep myself in place on that sofa. Every single muscle in my body was screaming to do what Sweetheart asked. It was like my whole body was primed to do whatever they wanted at all times. It had been like that ever since I met them. Sure, I might put up an attitude and indulge in a little bit of verbal sparring, but at the end of the day, I couldn’t deny that I was head over heels in love with them. It didn’t matter to me that we had only met just a short time ago. It didn’t matter to me that we were still getting to know the ins and outs about each other. It didn’t matter to me that we hadn’t even had sex yet.
I knew in my heart that they were mine, and I was theirs.
“No?” Sweetheart’s lips curled in disdain around the syllable, like they weren’t quite sure how to pronounce it correctly. “What do you mean, ‘no?’ You… You can’t just say ‘no’ to me.” They paced a few steps back and forth in front of me, struggling to figure out how to respond to my blatant refusal as they waited for me to lose my nerve and flee the scene.
As upset as I was to see them grapple with their intense emotions, I felt a little bit of pride knowing I could poke through their defenses and rile them up.
“Looks like I can and I did.” I let my arm drape out over the armrest, taking up as much space as I could. If they were a wolf, they would have recognized my subtle movement as a territorial claim. Body language was a significant, forceful form of communication among shifters, meaning that we were especially attuned to pick up on it.
They scoffed. “Don’t get too comfortable there,” they advised, signaling to me they knew exactly what I was doing by stretching out in the spot I had claimed. “I’m not playing around anymore, okay?” Their tone dripped with exhaustion and their eyes, usually so bright and energetic, grew visibly duller. “Today sucked, and I…” Sweetheart's voice hitched, but they transformed the crack into a grunt. The flicker of sorrow flashed across their countenance, but in a flash, anger once again took hold of their beautiful features. “I don’t need this right now. I don’t need you right now! So just go. Go, before I make you go.”
The hair on the back of my neck stood on its ends. I wasn’t even sure which was more painful to hear: their dark threat or their claim that they didn’t need me. “I’m not going anywhere,” I asserted, somehow mustering up way more certainty than I felt. “I hear what you’re saying, and you know I’d never actually force myself into your space. I respect you too much for that nonsense,” I admitted, finding strength when I reflected on my intentions. “But something's up with you, and I'm trying to understand what so I can help.”
Sweetheart crossed their arms in front of their chest, gearing up for a lengthy, wordy rebuttal, but I didn’t let them intimidate me into silence.
“No, don’t even think about trying to deny it,” I continued. “I’m not that stupid.”
They let the death grip they had on their elbows soften a bit. “You’re not stupid,” they ground out, deliberate and determined. “I think you’re one of the smartest people I know.”
Their quiet digression sent a surge of renewed resolve through my bloodstream. Even as upset as they were, they were too damn sweet to me. I couldn’t let them stay miserable. Not if there was breath left in my lungs.
“But you should just go, okay?” Sweetheart half-ordered, half-begged of me. “Just go home, Milo. I… I’m…” They trailed off into a raspy huff, as if reminding themselves that they needed to scare me away as they let their chin drop towards their chest.
“Don’t you get it, Sweetheart? It’s like I can feel your hurt myself. Right here.” I pressed my palm to my heart, feeling it beat in time with the way Sweetheart clenched and unclenched their jaw. My frustration at their pain flared again. It was only through sheer self-discipline that I resisted the urge to shift, even as my hackles rose. “So just stop with this stoic, solitary nonsense already!” I burst, fed up with this push-and-pull game that only seemed to result in their suffering. “Is it some kind of crime for me to care about you?”
“A crime?” They jolted into attention like I had sent an electro-shock into their gut. “Trespassing is a crime,” they reported, using that tone I had jokingly termed their ‘investigator intonation.’ Sweetheart flung out their arm, fingers outstretched in the direction of their room. In a flash, their magic-muting cuffs flew into the room and zipped through the air and landed in their hand. “This is your last warning. Get out, or I’ll arrest you myself.” They squeezed the cuffs so tightly that their first began to shake from tension.
“You’ll what?” I gaped.
“I’ll arrest you for trespassing,” they warned menacingly. “So if I were you, I’d get up and get out.”
I blinked slowly, letting the cuffs come into sharper focus as my pupils flickered from wolf to man for a moment. “Arrest me?” The thought of Sweetheart even considering arresting me was laughable. It had to be a joke. They were talking nonsense. “You’re gonna arrest me for trespassing?” I repeated incredulously. It was ridiculous for them even to suggest I was trespassing, but the whole scenario became absurd when I thought about how we first first after they had broken into my home. “Oh, that’s real rich, Sweetheart.” I stifled a giggle.
Their mouth pulled into a pronounced frown. “Why don’t you believe that I would do it?” they cried, sounding like someone was squeezing the air out of their lungs. “Everyone else would. Hell, I would! That’s what I do. That’s who I am, right? I always uphold the law. I always follow protocol. I always close the case.” Their volume grew as their rant spiraled out of control. “I always do what needs to get done.” The cuffs dropped to the floor with a dull thud. “No matter w-w-what…” Sweetheart buried their face into the crook of their elbow, shielding themselves from me. “I’m sorry,” they squeaked, the whimper muffled into the sleeve of their shirt. “I'm…”
“Sweetheart?” I leapt up from the sofa to stand beside them. I’d never felt a stronger pull to take someone in my arms than I did when I saw Sweetheart start to come undone like that. My palms splayed out as I captured their elbows in my hands. I could feel their rigid muscles flex and constrict under their skin. A sheen of sweat broke out across their forehead, and I began to worry that they were two seconds away from crumpling to the floor. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay…”
“No. it’s not,” they whispered fiercely. “No, it’s not okay. I need to b-be alone. I…”
My heart thrummed in my chest, but I struggled to keep it under control. Clearly, they needed support. And I needed to give it to them. I needed to prove to Sweetheart, and maybe to myself, that I could be there for them, even when they tried to shut out the rest of the world and retreat into themselves. I wasn’t someone they needed to hide from when things got tough. I was someone they could run towards, always, but especially when things got tough.
The quickest flash of long-forgotten memory resurfaced in my mind’s eye. My father’s chair was at the dinner table, empty because he had insisted on staying in the bedroom after arriving home from work. My ma shoved a forkful of ziti in her mouth, still chewing as she followed my father into his room, leaving my sister, Nicolina, to put a helping of food onto my plate as she warned me that the bubbling mozzarella was very hot. At the time, I thought my dad was nuts to want to do anything other than eat the baked ziti my ma had prepared and that my ma was crazy to try to talk to my father at all when he got into one of those moods.
I returned to the present when I felt Sweetheart try to pull away from me. I didn’t have to do much to hang onto them. It was a weak attempt on their part, like they had no fight left in them to escape my arms, but they were trying anyway out of habit.
“Sweetheart, please,” I murmured with more conviction than I actually felt. “Don’t shut me out.” I fell silent, waiting for my words to still their jerky movements.
Soon enough, they ceased their attempts to escape, but their muscles didn’t relax in the slightest.
“I don’t want to push you to talk about something if you’re not ready. We don’t even have to talk. I just want to be here with you, and be here for you.”
They clenched and unclenched their jaw, gaze trained on the floor. I could tell by the way a few creases formed along their forehead that they were deep in thought, analyzing what I had said like if they turned it around enough time in their head, they would’ve found some loophole in what I said. That would’ve been all they needed to send me on my way, their dignity intact and their emotions forever a mystery to anyone but themselves.
After a few moments of intense thinking, they expelled a sigh. I could’ve begun openly weeping when that forlorn, hopeless look returned to their face. Their knees buckled for a split second, but they quickly locked out their legs. “I…” They pointed towards the couch. “Then I guess we’ll sit.”
Even lost and spiraling, they weren’t ready to cede all control. They still wanted to dictate whatever they could, even if all they could handle at the moment was choosing whether we sit or stand.
I obeyed, bringing us to sit on the couch but keeping my hold on them. “Alright. Sitting it is.” I wasn’t going to let them fall. Absently, I wished I could’ve cast a spell that would make them instantly unlearn that insane belief that I would ever want to change anything about them, including their need to be in control. How did they get to be so convinced that falling for someone meant they’d need to change who they were for that person? The idea of them being anyone other than the amazing person they were was ludicrous to me. Just ludicrous. I certainly had no interest in asking them to turn into someone new for my sake. I wanted to know everything they were, and to let them know me. I needed them to see all of my good qualities, all of my flaws, and everything in between. But I didn’t want to risk saying anything that might deflect from whatever sort of crisis Sweetheart was going through, so I tucked those thoughts away to share on another day.
Today, we had other issues at hand. Namely, helping Sweetheart deal with whatever the hell had them so frazzled. “You didn’t think I’d arrest you for trespassing,” they stated hollowly. “Thank you.”
They took a few long, slow, hitching breaths. I could feel them shudder with every exhale, like whatever thoughts were rolling around in their brain threatened to overwhelm them at any moment if they let even the smallest of cracks form in the walls they had erected. I noticed they brought their feet up to rest on the edge of the cushion.
“Well, I know how much you hate the paperwork that comes with arrests,” I rumbled, feeling my core turn itself in circles as it registered Sweetheart's distress.
“I do hate paperwork!” they lamented, as if trying to joke along with me, but they couldn’t keep up that levity when their sorrow was so profound. “I hate paperwork and I hate bureaucracy and I hate protocols that make me… that make me…”
“Sweetheart?” I prompted, treading carefully. Although I didn’t want to force anything out of them or to take advantage of them while they were so raw, I could easily see they needed to talk if they were going to work through whatever was causing this breakdown. Luckily for them, I had always been good at catching a scent and following it until I had it cornered.
“All I wanted to do was help people, and instead I… I…” Without warning, their chest pitched forward and a strangled cry erupted from their throat. I scooted closer, keeping my arm looped around their back. Letting go of them would be the last thing I ever did. They pushed their face into their bent knees, curling into a shaking ball. “And instead… I killed someone today.”
My heart broke at the profound grief contained in those last four words. No wonder they had been acting so distant. They were processing the day’s events, but whereas the rest of the public, myself included, had been focusing on the positive outcome of the standoff, they were stewing over their role in the negative. They blamed themselves for the death of that man.
Killing the line of duty was enough trauma to mess up anyone. But for someone as fiercely committed to helping people as Sweetheart was? This had to be tearing them apart.
“You saved that person and their child,” I reminded, hoping that truth would help sooth them. I gently tipped them into my chest, surprised and relieved to discover that they didn’t resist. I felt Sweetheart rest heavily into me, but they kept shifting their weight, as if they were trying to decide if they should draw back or lean in.
I held my breath and waited, feeling like time slowed down…
… until their head found the crook of my neck.
I let out my breath, draping my other arm around them back to help them press a little closer into my body.
“I killed him,” they squeaked, sounding frailer than I ever thought they could sound. Sweetheart raised their hand in front of their eyes. “Electro-energy.”
Electro-energy was one of Sweetheart’s strong suits. Frankly, as far as I was concerned, the whole magical spectrum was their strong suit, due to their being Fully Certified. Obviously, their stealth powers were incredible, but electro-energy was a close second. I think that they gravitated towards that type of magic because they were so, well, electrifying. Intense. Bright. Mighty. That’s how I always saw them. Just hearing their voice or seeing their face sent a bolt of lightning clean through my chest.
It was lucky they could reach for that type of magic when it counted. Even in difficult situations, it was a small comfort to know they could count on that skill with accuracy and force.
I thought back on that stupid press release, trying to remember any detail that might help me pull them out of their self-blaming mentality. “He threatened to harm innocent people,” I recalled. “You saved them.”
Sweetheart didn’t bat an eye at my answer. Instead, they kept staring at their hand like the sight of it disgusted them. “It’s my fault he’s dead.”
What was I supposed to say to that?
Rather than say anything, I closed my hand around theirs, brought it up to my lips, and kissed gently. What they saw as a deadly weapon I saw as a genuine treasure.
As soon as my lips touched their skin, one single sob burst forth from their lips before they regained that tight control over themselves. “B-But…”
“You did the right thing,” I said with as much authority as I could gather in my voice. “You were so brave and so smart to act how you did. You stepped in, putting yourself in danger, to save innocent people.” I suppressed a shudder as I thought about how close Sweetheart might have come to being the one attacked, if they had only made their move a little bit later or a little differently. I wondered if watching the press release that would no doubt include a video of the event would make me feel better or worse. Still, I had every intention of watching it myself even if it did scare me, because I knew that I needed to know everything I could about what Sweetheart endured. I meant what I said when I promised to do everything I could to protect them from anything. “And it’s really awful and horrible that you were put in a position where you had to choose between helping and harming.”
When my head hit the checkered throw pillow that had been stuffed into the corner of the couch, I became aware that at some point while I was talking, I must’ve scooted myself backwards and taken Sweetheart with me. I held them close, my arms wrapped around their body, as they splayed out on top of me. My thighs framed the trunk of their body as their head came to rest heavily on my chest and they stared out towards their cozy living room. Their long legs tangled around mine, stretching out to hang off the opposite arm of the couch.
Fireworks sizzled through my core at the sight of them in my arms.
I gently rubbed at their back with one palm in hopes that the little bit of pressure and movement might help soothe them, marveling at the realization that after all these weeks of outrageous flirting and deep conversations, I finally had them in my arms. And, much to my utter delight, they were even hugging me back, like they were using all the strength their muscles housed to keep close to me. They pulled tighter to me, as if not clinging to me with every grip they could manage might mean some sort of invisible power would separate us.
One day, I’d show them that nothing in this world, not even all the magic in the meridian, could keep us apart.
Even though I had meant it when I told them that I wanted to take things slow as they haphazardly healed me after the shade hunt, even though they had warned me that they needed time to adjust to the idea of a relationship, and even though I had every intention to honor our shared need for patience, I had to admit that I had imagined holding them close like this many, many times since our first meeting. I wanted to know what it would feel like to have our skin pressed against each other. I wanted to feel their breath on my lips. I wanted my hands to be full of them, tracing every curve and edge until I had the whole of them memorized, only so I could start all over again. I wanted to hear them moan with pleasure and sigh with contentment. I wanted to feel how we fit together, despite the difference in height that people annoyingly seemed so ready to notice about us. My mind wandered into the simple fantasy of holding them quite frequently.
This was different from that. Completely different.
Obviously, never in my wildest dreams would I have ever envisioned their profound sadness. That certainly changed the whole dynamic of our embrace. But, honestly, even if I were able to put that aside for a moment (which I could never and would never do), there was more to it. One of Sweetheart’s shoulders landed square on one of my lungs, preventing me from taking a full breath. The angle at which they bent their legs meant that their stacked thighs pushed into my knee, putting an uncomfortable amount of pressure onto the joint. Their feet, even with those fuzzy green socks, felt like two blocks of ice against my skin.
And none of that shit mattered in the slightest. None of the discomfort, pain, or pins-and-needle sensations mattered, because Sweetheart was in my grasp, reaching out for me. It felt right.
“I’m so sorry about what happened to you today, and you can take all the time you need to process it, in any way you want,” I told them truthfully. “But you can’t go down that road of self-destruction and take on that guilt for something that wasn’t your fault. That’s not your burden to bear.”
“I’m supposed to help,” Sweetheart stated without intonation, their voice husky. “I want to help. That’s all I ever wanted to do. And instead, I had to kill.” They squeezed their eyes shut, tight lines pulling all throughout their face. Their torso shook mightily, like all of the emotions were breaching containment. “I… I… I…” they gasped. “I’m an investigator.”
Their statement hung in the air. The silence unnerved me, but somehow, I sensed that Sweetheart had more they needed to say, as long as I didn’t interrupt.
Sure enough, my patience was rewarded. “I ask questions,” they resumed. “When there’s a problem, my job is to understand it, from every angle and as thoroughly as possible. Research. Interviews. Analysis. I work until I figure it all out, because people are counting on me to solve the problem.” They curled their fist around a handful of my shirt, tugging on it like it was their own lifeline. “But today, I couldn’t do anything like that. No questions, just action. I didn’t have a choice.” They tipped their head, locking eyes with me and sending me the most pleading, pitiful look I’d ever seen. “I don’t know why he did what he did. If I had known, maybe it all could’ve gone down differently.” Sweetheart shuddered. “But that’s not what happened. Instead, I had to act, and I did. I’d do it again if I had to. And if something like that happened again tomorrow, I really might have to.” A trickle of a tear trailed down their cheek, pooling at the edge of their chin. “But I don’t want to,” they squeaked. “I really, really don’t want to.”
I fought hard to keep my jaw from dropping at their vulnerable admission. No wonder this was tearing them apart. It was bad enough that they had to use lethal force at all, but to have to use lethal force in the heat of the moment like that, without a true understanding of the situation beyond immediate danger?
My poor Sweetheart. Too compassionate for their own good, too proud to ever let anyone know it.
“I know you’d never want that,” I rumbled, threading my hands through their thick curls. I didn’t know how I knew it, but it seemed important that I make them believe I didn’t see them as some monstrous ogre. Sweetheart was always so sure they had the rest of the world fooled into thinking they were some abrasive jackass who enjoyed their job just a little bit too much. It was true they loved their job, but it was also true that they loved their job because of the protection and care they provided to Dahlia’s empowered population.
“I’m… I…” More tears spilled from their eyes. I felt their belly quake against me as their breath hitched. Their half-formed words deteriorated into short, strangled cries. Just the sound of their sadness brought my wolf on high alert, ready to pounce and rip apart whatever it was that caused them even the tiniest amount of pain.
“Hey, it’s okay,” I whispered, wrapping myself around them. “It’s okay,” I repeated, willing that simple, honest message to somehow dodge Sweetheart's emotional defenses and deep insecurities so that it would sink into their active, if not overly critical, brain. “You did something very difficult that saved a lot of people.” I spoke slow and low, all while stroking their forehead in hopes the rhythmic movement could grant them a bit of a reprieve from their trauma. “Your job is done. Now it’s time to take care of you. To rest. To heal. It's okay now.”
For a moment, I wasn’t sure if my words even registered in them, but then, I felt them squeeze me tightly and nuzzle closer into me like I could shield them from the entire world. And that was exactly what I planned on doing.
I knew it would take time for them to process this whole tragedy and their unfortunate, though heroic, part in it. They could take all the time they needed, because I knew I’d be right here with them every step of that journey.
My place was right by their side, and my job was to stay there no matter what.