Tim comes home later than usual one night, slumps on the couch, head in his hands. Chris stands by the couch, unsure what to ask. "Tim?" he finally ventures.
"I'm okay," Tim says, muffled from behind his hands. "It's..." He drops his hands and looks at Chris. His eyes are tired, mouth drawn, and when he lowers his hands a little farther, then sag down between his knees.
"You can tell me," Chris says, sitting next to Tim, putting an arm around his shoulders. "You think you can't, but you can." He nudges Tim's shoulder when Tim doesn't look at him. "Remember how we met, after all."
Tim laughs and looks surprised, and then his shoulders slump, his head droops, and he leans into Chris, bussing a kiss across his neck. "My first case. Did I ever tell you about my first case?"
Chris thinks back. "A little. It was a kid? A little girl?"
"Adena. Adena Watson. I didn't solve it. I've never...the lead suspect died a few years ago. I thought...I thought I'd made peace."
"What happened?"
"Got a call today. It was the same tenement block. We were a block over from where I found her. It took me...I didn't realize it until we'd gotten back to the station."
Chris twines his fingers in Tim's hair, leans them both back so they sag against the couch. "It doesn't make you less of a person because you didn't realize. It's okay. It's been--what? Ten? Twelve years?"
"Ten."
"If you'd forgotten a week after, you might have wanted to consider what kind of man you were. If you'd forgotten a year after, maybe. But ten years? And you still thought about it? You still remembered?" Chris pulls Tim closer, kisses the top of his head. "Tim," he murmurs into his hair.
Tim sags against him, slides an arm around his waist. "Thanks," he mutters. He lifts his head to kiss Chris on the mouth. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," Chris tells him, and he strokes his hair as Tim's breathing evens out, as his head presses heavier against his shoulder. He'll give him twenty minutes, Chris thinks, and then he'll feed him. Ask him about Adena. Ask him about the cases he knows Tim doesn't like to talk about.
no subject
"I'm okay," Tim says, muffled from behind his hands. "It's..." He drops his hands and looks at Chris. His eyes are tired, mouth drawn, and when he lowers his hands a little farther, then sag down between his knees.
"You can tell me," Chris says, sitting next to Tim, putting an arm around his shoulders. "You think you can't, but you can." He nudges Tim's shoulder when Tim doesn't look at him. "Remember how we met, after all."
Tim laughs and looks surprised, and then his shoulders slump, his head droops, and he leans into Chris, bussing a kiss across his neck. "My first case. Did I ever tell you about my first case?"
Chris thinks back. "A little. It was a kid? A little girl?"
"Adena. Adena Watson. I didn't solve it. I've never...the lead suspect died a few years ago. I thought...I thought I'd made peace."
"What happened?"
"Got a call today. It was the same tenement block. We were a block over from where I found her. It took me...I didn't realize it until we'd gotten back to the station."
Chris twines his fingers in Tim's hair, leans them both back so they sag against the couch. "It doesn't make you less of a person because you didn't realize. It's okay. It's been--what? Ten? Twelve years?"
"Ten."
"If you'd forgotten a week after, you might have wanted to consider what kind of man you were. If you'd forgotten a year after, maybe. But ten years? And you still thought about it? You still remembered?" Chris pulls Tim closer, kisses the top of his head. "Tim," he murmurs into his hair.
Tim sags against him, slides an arm around his waist. "Thanks," he mutters. He lifts his head to kiss Chris on the mouth. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," Chris tells him, and he strokes his hair as Tim's breathing evens out, as his head presses heavier against his shoulder. He'll give him twenty minutes, Chris thinks, and then he'll feed him. Ask him about Adena. Ask him about the cases he knows Tim doesn't like to talk about.