Beneath Your Beautiful (A Chenford | The Rookie Fanfic)

Part Ninety-One: The Deep End

Week 6, Day 5: Thursday

"I'm so sorry, Tim," she repeats, the words feeling woefully inadequate. "I can't imagine how excruciating that must have been for you."

He nods, gaze still locked on the ocean in front of them.

"But... she's okay now, right?"

"Apparently," the sharp edge has returned to his voice. "I honestly didn't think she'd ever wake up again after that. But she did. And I was still fucking stupid enough to think, yet again, that maybe that was going to be our second chance, that maybe we could start fresh. But to her credit, she was absolutely clear about what she wanted. Or maybe I should say what she didn't want. She blamed me for what happened to her, and she wasn't wrong."

Lucy feels a bubble of anger rise up in her chest, "What? I'm sorry, Tim, but how is any of that your fault?"

His red-rimmed eyes are angry when he turns to look at her, but she knows it's not directed at her.

"I was her husband. The closest person to her. I was supposed to protect her, and instead I did the exact opposite."

"That's ridiculous —" Lucy cuts herself off when she sees the expression on his face, reigning in her reaction. "I don't believe that," she tries again more calmly, knowing that she's pressing her luck. That Tim is more likely to shut down on her than he is to listen to her challenging such deeply held beliefs. But she can't keep her mouth shut any longer.

Something tight clenches around her heart as she recalls the last time she'd seen this utterly broken expression on his face, his eyes reflecting the stormy blue of the ocean on a different beach. Right after he'd put his life on the line to save her — someone he'd known for less than a week.

"I don't believe you didn't do everything you possibly could have to protect her, Tim. And you have to know that whatever Isabel said to you during that time was the addiction talking, not her."

It's not a revelation that Tim feels compelled to carry the pain of those he loves on his very own back when nothing could be further from the truth. But this feels like a stretch, even for him. How could he possibly hold himself responsible for so many things that were so completely out of his control?

And it's when she thinks about it from his perspective that she sees it the way he must see it, or, more importantly, feels it the way he must feel it — not as the grown man that intellectually knows what addiction is, but from the eyes of the child who suffered abuse at the hands of a father fighting his own battle with addiction. A child that would blame himself for his father's behavior not as a matter of choice, but as a matter of survival.

She stares at him, the words spilling out like they have a life of their own, "Do you —" She pauses, the words transforming from a question to a statement that, deep down, she knows she isn't her truth to speak, "You blame yourself. For her addiction."

Confusion and hurt flicker across his features as he opens his mouth to respond and then snaps it closed. He shakes his head, "What are you talking about, Lucy? That isn't what I —"

But, as Jackson would say, she's like a dog with a bone in her need to follow this thread — to make sense of the man sitting next to her.

"Tim, you know nothing you did made Isabel an addict, right? That's not how addiction works. Addiction is cruel and horrific, but it's an illness. It'd be ridiculous to think..." And she knows as soon as the words leave her mouth — the delivery is all wrong.

He shakes his head, clenching and unclenching his jaw before turning to face her, every single bit of the openness and vulnerability gone from his expression.

His voice is tight, "You think I don't know that? You really think I need you to explain addiction to me?"

She places her hand on his forearm, "Of course not. I just meant that maybe ... because of your dad..."

And this time she has no doubt that the fury blazing in his eyes is absolutely directed at her.

"Are you — my dad has nothing to do with this," he jerks away from her, startling Kojo as he finds his way to his feet, all the while staring at her in disbelief.

And if she'd had any doubt before, she's now certain she has monumentally fucked up — attempting to analyze and diagnose his feelings about the very worst moments of his adult life and then blurting her thoughts without thinking of how intrusive and invalidating and dismissive they must sound to him.

Her chest aches and her eyes fill.

He turns his back to her, clearly attempting to collect himself, if the shaking hand he pushes back through his hair is any indication. Lucy's heart drops into her stomach when he turns back to her, the hurt and betrayal unmistakable in his gaze for only a moment before his mask falls into place.

He'd trusted her.

Lucy swallows, feeling a little bit like she might be sick. "Tim, I'm sorry. I —"

He shakes his head, holding up a hand to stop her. "Lucy, listen, I know you're just trying to help, but I can't do this — I'm sorry, I thought I could — I just I can't talk about this anymore."

He bends to retrieve a rubber football from their beach bag, and Kojo begins to dance and jump in excited circles, apparently eager for a distraction from the emotional turmoil of his keepers.

Tim forces a smile as he meets her gaze, "I think Kojo is ready for some fetch."

She watches as he walks away, unable to stand the idea that she's made him regret being vulnerable with her when she knows how difficult it is for him open up like this. She bites back what feels like a sob rising in her throat and gets to her feet to chase after him, "Tim, wait! Please."