too soft for all of it — terry bruno
fandom: law & order svu
wc: 1364
warnings: canon typical violence, mention of crimes regarding children
summary: He wants to take care of you. You might just let him.
ao3 / masterlist / buy me a coffee
author's note at the end <3
The case is brutal.
The precinct is a mirror of Bruno’s mind, grey and quiet and uneasy. The drapes to Liv’s office are drawn shut, not even Fin dared to go in before he bid you, Velasco, and Bruno goodbye. Joe left not half an hour later, throwing a halfhearted invitation to the bar a couple blocks away over his shoulder, though not looking very open for company.
That leaves only the two of you, desks away and glaring blankly at the case reports that you’ll dream about for weeks to come. It’s usually so different from Bronx SVU around here, but tonight reminds him too much of long nights in the old office; helpless to do anything for anyone, growing more restless when no one else seemed to have his urgency to do their damned jobs.
He takes a look at you, wilted and tired, and makes up his mind.
Bruno does his best not to spook you, but you jump a little when he places your coat on top of the files you’re working with. You blink up at him, slow and unfocused, and it takes you a second too long to realize it’s him looking down at you expectantly.
“What are you doing?”
“We’re leaving,” he says, hoping for your compliance but realizing himself foolish when exhausted amusement settles on your features, defiant.
It’s never been easy with you in all the right ways. He can’t get enough of it.
“‘We’ sounds like a team effort,” you quip, raising your brows.
“You close your eyes longer each time you blink,” he quips back. “Next time I look at you you’ll be drooling all over your important policework. I’m tryin’ to save you from yourself here.”
You smile at him and it’s brittle, a little too long a day to keep up with joking appearances. “As much as I appreciate your valiant effort, if I don’t do this tonight then I’ll have to do it on Monday and I just… can’t.”
Bruno’s fingers twitch with the need to reach for you, touch your cheek and try to soothe the corners of your mouth so it loses its tension, but he doesn’t dare. He’s already being too brave for his own good, he thinks as he sneaks a look at Liv’s office, which remains closed and quiet.
“I know,” he says, trying to convey the affection that’s brimming inside him with his voice alone. God knows there’s enough paperwork on his own desk to keep him awake and working through the weekend, but his vision’s blurry and his back is aching. Bruno’s seconds away from getting on his knees and begging for a mattress that hasn’t been in the break room since the dawn of time.
His voice is quiet and hoarser when he says, “It’s awful, when it’s kids.”
At the explicit acknowledgment of the working case you seem to age decades between a blink and the next, but other than a hearty sigh you don’t discourage the conversation.
“Yeah,” your laugh is humorless and short, eyes suddenly growing wet. You look down at your desk and fuss with your stuff in a failed attempt to stop your tears from gathering his attention. “I can’t get it out of my head. You know, the crime scene.”
Bruno exhales through his nose. He feels only slightly guilty that he was moved more by your reaction to the abandoned building with abandoned bodies than the crime itself. He’ll have nightmares about it for longer than he’d like, sure, but he remembers the feeling that took over him when you fled out of there, desperate to put as much distance as possible between yourself and the scene.
You’d thrown up behind a police car and Bruno hadn’t been able to do a damned thing about it other than stare longingly at your retreating figure before Liv called him over. He’s been trying to get you alone ever since but its proven itself to be a difficult task; you’re all so very busy, and he’s not the only one in the squad who feels protective of you. Both Liv and Fin have been keeping a careful eye on you in case there’s something they can help with, and it leaves Bruno a little sidelined.
“Come on,” he says softly, terribly inviting as he offers you his hand. You stare at it like it’ll hurt you to accept any kind of comfort right now, but there’s very little you want more than to let him take care of you.
“I’m not done,” you try again, less and less insisting each time.
“We’re never done,” he says, something he learned the hard way through Bronx SVU and his lawsuit. It’s not something he likes, let alone something he’s learned to accept, but it’s easier when he doesn’t have to carry the burden alone. “But we can’t fix the world, baby. Let alone overnight.”
You, after all your years in this business, know it, too. He takes the last step forward, lowering his hand to touch your fingers where they clutch tightly at your pen, featherlight. “Come on. Let’s go home.”
You search for something in his face then sigh, deep and weary. Hook, line, and sinker, he’s got you right where he wants you.
Nodding, something in your own expression softens: your shoulders lose some of their tension and Bruno wants nothing more than to put his mouth to the skin, spend the night at your place and strip you down of both your clothes and worries.
He wants to take care of you. A year ago, wanting that much from someone would’ve sent him running for the hills, or, well, the strip club. Now, it fills his chest with warmth, which expands to the rest of his body when you take his hand and rise, fight done. “Alright, handsome, you win. Take me home.”
Bruno does. He stays close while you pack up your things and you leave side by side, one of his hands on the small of your back as you enter the elevator. He wouldn’t be so daring and you wouldn’t let him linger this close if there were anyone else in the room, but the precinct is a ghost town and the B shift isn’t as interested in gossip as the rest of your coworkers are.
As soon as the doors close, you turn and rest your head on Bruno’s chest, sighing heavily. He rubs your arm leisurely up and down, not trying to keep you warm but rather just keep you in good company. You hum, appreciative and so, so tired.
“Chinese tonight?” he wonders against your hair, suddenly fighting the urge not to bury his nose in it. It’s awfully domestic, which is something he’s getting used to again, but he feels something dangerous and brave thrum under his ribcage at the thought of doing it outside of the walls of his or your apartments.
“I’ll settle for anything quick and edible,” you reply, muffled by his coat.
“In New York City?” he jokes, and finds himself rewarded with your nose tucked in the underside of his jaw, breath warm.
Your days of riding the subway are far less than before now that you two started- whatever this thing between you is. The chances to leave work together are few and far between, but Bruno likes you in his passenger seat; his hand on your thigh and the streetlights facing your features just so, music playing lowly from the speakers.
It’s interesting, he’s never been one to be comfortable in silence. With Rose, it usually meant he’d done something wrong and was supposed to figure it out by her pointed glances alone. But you, there are days in which you’re content to hum along to the music and Bruno’s come to learn that doesn’t mean there’s anything he should be worried about. On the contrary, you keep his hand between yours and bring it to your cheek, brushing your skin tenderly against his knuckles just because you can.
He won’t say love, but you’re way beyond the casual stage, and you both know it. He finds himself not minding at all.
- end -
author's note: an old draft that is NOT proofread for you lovely people. love bruno and would thoroughly enjoy kissing him on the mouth MUAK
hoping to write more this summer. hope you guys enjoyed!
