It’s early when Cyrus gets to his desk, so early that it’s still dark outside. He’d left you in bed this morning, tucked up in his sheets. You’d given a little grumble when he’d slipped away, his lips brushing over your forehead.
Benard trails in a few minutes later, a takeout cup of coffee in each hand. Cyrus thanks Christ because he can tell the pot in the machine has been sitting there all night and he doesn’t have the energy to clean it. It’s when he sits down that he notices the brown A4 envelop resting on his desk. His name is written on the front in block capitals, he looks to Bernard but he’s busy slapping the side of his computer monitor because it’s still on the fritz.
He can’t comprehend what he’s seeing at first, the glossy images sliding out of the envelop, fluttering across his desk. It isn’t until he bundles them together and begins sorting through them that he understands the nature of the pictures, how detrimental they are.
He can only guess they’ve been taken from the fire escape of his apartment, the one that looks into his bedroom. There must have been a gap in the curtains when he took you to bed last night because he’s seeing the event in full colour, playing out in these images. He feels his cheeks heat as he studies them. Your nude form filled with him as he brings you to rapture. Somehow it’s both erotic and humiliating at the time.
He knows whose doing this, what the threat is.
Keep investigating this case and these pictures get released. It’s embarrassing for him but for you, it would ruin everything. He’d get a clap on the back and an atta boy, you’d be branded a whore for enjoying a consensual, loving act. His blood is boiling when he steps into Van Buren’s office, closing the door behind him. He sets the envelop down in front of her before taking up residence in the guest chair, his hands running through his unruly curls.
“I found this on my desk this morning.” He tells her as she flicks through the images. “They’re trying to warn me off the case.”
Her mouth twists up in distaste as she surveys the images before she sets the envelop back down upon her desk.
“Does she know?” Van Buren asks him and Cyrus looks down at his hands, the ones that undressed you last night.
“No.” He says roughly. “L.T, this is…they shouldn’t even exist.”
“You’re gonna have to tell her.” Van Buren tells him, placing her palm upon the envelop. “If these get leaked and she’s unprepared…”
She shakes her head before taking the envelop and putting it into the top drawer of her desk. She takes the key out of her pocket, locking it before she turns her attention back to him.
“Those will never see the light of day.” She promises him before clasping her hands together and leaning toward. “I can take you off the case, give it to someone else but there’s no guarantee that they won’t try to use these pictures to blackmail you into interfering.”
“Gia wouldn’t want that anyway.” Cyrus says, rubbing his palms over his weary features. “She’d tell me to go after them with everything I’ve got, especially after this.”
“She’s a brave girl, a tough one.” Van Buren says knowingly. You’ve been on her team for over three years now and she’s never seen you falter.
“I need some time…” Cyrus begins and Van Buren gestures towards the door of her office.
“Go talk to Gia, make sure she’s on board.” She tells him before picking up the phone and cradling it under her ear. “I’m going find out, who’s been creeping around on your fire escape.”
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Your cheeks were red, as was your nose, and Lupo could tell you were cold. He held back a chuckle as he placed his scarf around you. You were grateful that your cheeks were already red, cause boy were you blushing.
Can I request another Cyrus lupo case, maybe where they're both detectives and are staking out but go check it out to van-buren's orders and lupo gets a bullet to his side. He's alright, just bleeding and stuff but survives and the reader goes down, maybe like she worked with the FBI formerly?
I love Lupo, guys. He’s such a sweetheart and I love writing his character since he’s such a sarcastic, quippy guy. This ended up being too long, so its split into two parts. I’m still working on part two which will be up tomorrow, or Friday depending on time. Please enjoy!
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“This is a waste of time,” A smile played on Cyrus Lupo’s lips at your words, as he stared across the street at the same empty, deserted lot the two of you had been parked in front of for over three hours. Your fingernails tapped on the dashboard rhythmically, as if you were drumming to a song no one else could hear. Even in the dark, he could see the irritation plain as day on your face, lips pursed and nose scrunched in impatience. “If someone was going to be here, they would have showed up already,” Your voice was growing irritated at the lack of any movement at all and at his lack of response to your complaints. One thing about police work was that you had to grind, something you weren’t exactly used to.
“I suppose the FBI didn’t have you do many stakeouts,” Cyrus commented lightly, as he peered through his binoculars at the ever vacant lot the two of you were assigned to. “You never did tell me what you exactly do in the FBI, besides this,”
“Cy, you know you need security clearance for that information, and you don’t,” You rolled your eyes, as he broke his gaze away from the lot for the first time tonight to give you a teasing smile.
“We got engaged, we’re going to be married soon, doesn’t that count for anything?” You shrugged, before giving him a grin. Just the thought of marrying him brought a smile to your face, but that didn’t mean you weren’t a tease.
“It accounts for my love,” You said in a mocking manner.
“Funny, they didn’t cover than in law school or in the academy,” He rolled his eyes before going back to his binoculars.
The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, and Cyrus couldn’t help but sneak half-glances at you. He tightened his fingers around the binoculars. He was on edge. And, though you complained, you were as well. The Chinese and Italian Mafia were breaking ground tonight with a new deal that could mean disaster and mortal danger for many New Yorkers if it went through. However, there was no way for a multi-man sting to go down without alerting them
And that’s where you two came in.
The two of you had never been assigned on a case like this, much less together. You were working with NYPD on this sting operation, functioning as the go-between for both departments. Van Buren was hesitant to put the two of you in the field together given your relationship status, but in this case, she had no choice, since the case warranted your FBI training, and Kevin was busy overseeing the entire operation with Van Buren. Van Buren had you both agree to talk this case, forewarning that it would most likely be the most danger either of you have been in this far. And though you both agreed to, Cyrus shifted in his seat, half-glancing at you sitting beside him. He couldn’t help but worry about you. Of course, you were capable of taking care of yourself, perhaps more than him. But that didn’t stop him from worrying.
“Cy,” You tapped him, shaking him from his reverie, your eyes narrowed as you held the binoculars to your face, “There’s movement,” Several men had gathered with large cases, their shapes ambiguous, “You think they might just be selling Girl Scout cookies?” He snorted at your remark, continuing to monitor the situation, when he heard a click. You had unbuckled your seatbelt, raring to go, your body tense with bottled up adrenaline, eager to explode. “We should move in,”
“Whoa, whoa, we should wait and see,” Taking his cellphone from his hands, but you began to open the door, giving the signal to move in. Cyrus sighed, chasing after you, as you held up your gun and badge.
“FBI!” You shouted, causing the men to scatter as police and FBI agents surrounded them, one of them lunged for one of the cases. He pulled out a modified AK-47, unlike the ones seen in the U.S., as Cyrus almost could have sworn he was back in the warzone he had left behind years ago. He spotted you ahead of him, right in the line of fire. His heart practically burst out of his chest, his eyes only concentrated on you. He couldn’t lose you, he couldn’t bear it. He sprinted towards you, his body thrumming, the only thought in his mind was getting to you before you left him. Left him like his brother, like everyone eventually did. He shut his eyes as he reached you, wrapping his arms around you as he pushed you to the ground, covering your body with his own. He swore he would protect you when he proposed only three short nights ago, under the stars. He had taken you out to your favorite restaurant, the two of you taking an after dinner walk to very place you first met: a cop bar around the corner from your office. He had offered to walk you home after scaring off two drunks. He joked that he only prevented two homicides so those men should be thanking him. And it was true. You didn’t his protection, you damn well deserved it. And he damn sure wasn’t going to break his promise.
The rapid fire of bullets had your ears ringing and aching. Your eyes were blurry, you could hear indistinct yelling and gunfire, as your head tried to make sense of what happened. Then it was quiet. Dead quiet. Blinking several times, your vision cleared and you saw Cyrus’s face hovering inches from your own, and you smiled, confused and disoriented. “Cy,” As you shifted, you heard Cyrus groan, and he rolled over, revealing a blooming patch of red on his shirt.
“Cyrus?” You looked at your clothes only see your shirt drenched a crimson red, your hands covered with your fiancée’s blood. He had taken a round in the stomach. “Officer down! Officer down!” You screeched, catching their attention as they rushed to his side, but you refused to leave it.
“Ma’am, you have to let us do our job,” One of the EMTs pried you away, escorting you to the ambulance, as they loaded him into it. You rode in with him, by his side, on the phone with Kevin, who filled you in on what happened. The entire thing had become fuzzy in your memory. You remembered charging in, arresting some of the members, the man lunging for the case… Your eyes widened as Kevin recounted what happened. Cyrus had saved your life. The man managed to fire a spray of bullets just as Cyrus got to you, tackling you to the ground, as another agent took lunatic down. You felt guilt and anger wash over you as you looked at Cyrus hooked up to a million machines. His usual grin was hidden under an oxygen mask, his chocolate irises concealed behind his eyelids, and his conscious body looked paler and sickly than before. Tears rolled down your cheeks, as you covered your mouth.
It should have been you.
Cyrus groaned, as he tried to turn onto his side, only to be unsuccessful in his endeavor. He felt a pain in his side and tensed, his muscles clenching as the pain slowly faded. His eyes fluttered open slowly, the lights were off, the window shades were half open, allowing some of the room to be illuminated by what Cyrus assumed was the early morning sunlight. Where was he? He glanced around the room, and realized quickly what had happened, his mind snapping to one thought and one alone: “Y/N,” He muttered, still groggier than he thought he was, his words uneven as sleep lured him back, but before he fell completely asleep, he felt something move, and spotted you sleeping at his bedside, head against the edge of the bed. He smiled. You were okay, his last thought, before he placed his hand on your head, before falling back asleep.
Again, he woke up, but this time you were awake, on the phone. You stood by the window, staring out. You twirled your hair as you did when you were nervous, and he knew you were biting your lip. “He’s still asleep,” You paused as the other person spoke, and your tone grew agitated. “Of course, I want to, but you haven’t even found them yet, and I won’t leave his side until he wakes up. He’s my fiancée!”
“Good to hear that the wedding is still on,” You whipped around at the sound of his voice, a welcome smile breaking out across your face.
“You idiot,” You strode over to him, throwing your arms around him as your tears stained his hospital gown. “You idiot,” You repeated, voice breaking as you silently cried.
Your bags were dark as if you hadn’t slept in days, your hair was a complete mess tied into a bun, and your face was worn with both concern and relief. But you were still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. “I get all tingly when you talk dirty, babe,” He joked, trying to lighten the mood, but you only choked out a sob. And he held you for several minutes in silence, enjoying the fact he still could, and how right it felt.
After you got the nurse to fetch him a meal and got him his meds, the two of you sat again in complete silence, your eyes trained on him. It felt as if right when your eyes would wander, he would disappear. He would be gone. “Am I that attractive? I could give you my phone, you could take a picture,” You rolled your eyes, ignoring his remarks. Even in a hospital bed, any excuse to pull out that damn phone. He sighed, “Y/N, I’m okay. It would take more than a crazed gunman to take me down. Did you guys capture all the guys?”
“We did,” You lied, without missing a beat. The leader of the Italian mafia had escaped custody in the confusion with the machine gun. Lupo’s gunshot wound was merely a distraction, and his death would have been nearly a benefit. “I was so scared,” You managed to splutter, moving back to face him.
“Me too,” He admitted, but he pressed a kiss to your knuckles. “But we made it through, that’s what matters, and you got them so I suppose it wasn’t a complete waste of time,” He used your words from before, a smile pulling at his lips as he tried to do the same. He was right, and now the two of you could focus on preparing for the wedding. No cases or work for him, and he hoped you could get time off as well, but as he embraced you again, he didn’t see your gaze drift back to your cellphone, eyes narrowing as you spotted your unit chief’s message: We found him. Are you in?
You pulled him into a kiss, his lips warm and comforting, as you smiled for the first time since he had awoken. “No, it wasn’t.”
You don’t want an abortion. Cyrus doesn’t want an abortion. However the two of you are sitting in the clinic waiting to be called through for that exact procedure. He swallows hard, trying to choke back the agony that claws at the inside of his chest as his gaze remains fixated on the wall. He’s too terrified to look at you. He knows the moment he does, he’ll completely shatter and you need him to be strong right now, for the both of you.
He reaches for your hand, his fingers entwined with yours before he squeezes it lightly. You’re shaking, he can feel the tremor underneath your skin as his lips brush over your temple.
“It’ll be ok.” He whispers in an attempt to sooth you. “We’re going to be ok.”
You nod silently and he can tell you’re trying not to cry.
It destroys the both of you being here today. You’d been trying for almost a year before it happened, you’d been ecstatic when you’d shown him the little blue cross and Cyrus, he doesn’t remember ever being so happy because finally the two of you were starting a family. He remembers being curled up in bed with you that night, his palm resting on your abdomen as he caressed the place where his baby resided.
It’s at the second ultrasound appointment that everything starts to fall apart. He hears the intake of the doctor’s breath as she looks at the screen and he knows that’s something wrong. It’s a couple of hours later that they reveal the diagnosis of the tests they’ve been conducting.
Meckel Gruber Syndrome.
The child you’re carrying, his daughter. She won’t last more than a couple of hours after birth.
It devastates the both of you.
“I can’t do it.” You tell him later that night. You’re tucked under a blanket on the couch, your knees drawn up to you chest. You’ve been there all night, while he walks around the apartment like a ghost, going through the motions. “I can’t carry her all that way and then let her go Cy, I’m sorry I can’t, I just can’t.”
You break down then. It’s the first sign of emotion you’ve shown since the diagnosis, until now you’ve been stoic, numb and now it feels like your heart is being wrenched right out of your chest. He’s relieved in a way because you’re only saying what he’s been thinking, you were just the first one brave enough to say it. He isn’t strong enough to hold his child in his arms, to watch her take her last breath, to feel her slip away.
Choosing to terminate the pregnancy is the hardest decision either of have ever had to make but it’s the right one. He doesn’t want his daughter’s first and last hours in the world to be filled with pain.
It’s the sound of the nurse calling your name that draws his attention back to the present. He raises to his feet alongside of you, his palm smoothing over your back in a show of solidarity. It’s only then that the nurse shakes her head.
“Please…” He whispers, his eyes stinging. “She’s my wife, our baby…”
“I’m sorry.” The nurse tells him and he can tell she means it. When she looks at you, it’s with kindness, compassion. “I promise we’ll take good care of her.”
This, he thinks, this is the hardest part.
Letting you endure the procedure alone, not being able to say goodbye his daughter.
He can tell you feel the same way so he cradles your face between his hands, his thumbs ghosting over your cheeks as he looks into your eyes.
“I’ll be right here ok?” He says gruffly as his forehead comes to rest on yours. “The two of us, we’re gonna get through this.”
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When Ed leaves it sends Cyrus into a tailspin because he feels entirely culpable. He’s the one that dug up the evidence that put Ed in Cutter’s path, he’s the one that found April, the woman he’d been trying to hide, he’s the one that tanked the other man’s career. You watch it happen over a series of weeks. You see how downtrodden he becomes; despite Ed’s parting words he still feels the burden of that responsibility.
When there’s a knock on the door, he doesn’t expect to see you standing there with a bag of takeaway food in your hand from that place down the street, the one he’s always raving about because it’s completely authentic. He’s clad in plaid pyjama bottoms and a navy blue t-shirt.
“I have food.” You inform him before taking a DVD out of your satchel. “And I have Demolition Man.”
He laughs because it’s a call back to the way he used to handle his shit back in the day. The woman he loved, snuggled against him on the couch, the two of you eating Chinese food and watching 90s action movies.
He opens the door to let you in and you’re instantly assailed by Otto wagging his tail and snuffling at you because he wants to show you the new duck toy that Jude got him. The damn thing has been driving Cyrus quietly mad because it honks whenever he bites down onto it. He takes the food from your hands before retreating to the kitchen. He glances over his shoulder to see you crouching down, placing kisses on the top of Otto’s head.
“Have you been looking after him, yes you have? Yes, you have.” You say and he finds the edges of his lips tipping up into a smile because this is how he envisioned his future with you once upon a time.
He’s in the midst of plating up the food when you come into the kitchen, leaning against the counter.
“Ed’s tried to call you a few times.”
“Yea, I know.” He says with a heavy sigh. “I’ve been busy.”
You don’t speak and neither does he, it’s a classic interrogation technique, letting the silence hang so that the perp feels the need to fill it.
“I don’t know what to say.” He tells you, placing his hands on the surface of the counter. “When my brother died, I wasn’t in a good space, he helped me to get my head on straight, took me under his wing and I repaid him by helping them indict him.”
“It wasn’t as simple as that.” You remind him.
“It kind of was.” He snaps at you.
“Do you think Ed would be calling you if he thought that was true?” You ask him. “He knows how tough this was on you, the position he put you in.”
The line of his jaw tenses. He knows you’re making sense, what happened between him, and Ed is a two-way street. If the other man had been upfront Cyrus wouldn’t have gone digging, if Cyrus hadn’t have gone digging Ed wouldn’t have been vindicated.
“I’ll call him.” He says finally.
“You could text him.” You suggest, pushing his phone towards him across the counter. “Like right now?”
“I forgot how pushy you were.” He mutters, picking up his phone and typing out a message before setting it back down on the counter. “Happy?”
“Yea.” You say as you collect the takeaway containers and deposit them in the bin. “Sometimes you just need a little shove in the right direction.”
“I appreciate this you know?” Cyrus says as you wash your hands in the sink. “You coming over here, cheering me up.”
“We’re friends.” You say softly, your shoulder nudging gently against his as you dry your hands. “Friends take care of each other.”
“Is that all we are?” He asks you, his eyes meeting yours. “Because it feels like it’s been heading towards more for a while now.”
“Cyrus…” You begin but the words die away because he leans in close, his lips brushing over yours.
It’s tender, the way he kisses you. His lips soft as they caress yours. It’s a rush, a heady mix of feelings and sensations that you’ve spent the best part of a year trying to deny. He kisses you until you’re breathless, until all you can think about is the press of his firm body against yours. Your hands rake through his unruly curls, and he moans into your mouth at the sensation. You want him, you want him more than you’ve ever wanted anyone. Your fingers trail underneath the hem of his t-shirt…
The sound of your phone cuts through the air, interrupting the moment. You break away unwillingly, your forehead coming to rest on his, your body tingling with anticipation as you withdraw your phone from your back pocket.
“I forgot I’m on call tonight.” You murmur as you survey the message. “It’s Lennie, I’ve got to go.”
“I get it.” He tells you, pulling away reluctantly.
“But I want to do this again.” You tell him, grasping the bottom of his t-shirt and tugging him back towards you.
“Yea?” He asks as he smiles down at you.
“Definitely.” You tell him before raising up on your tiptoes and stealing another kiss.
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Companion piece to Under Pressure - Cyrus and you get in trouble with the local police during a work trip.
The situation goes from bad to worse the next morning when Cyrus is supposed to be arraigned. The expectation is that he’ll be released on his own recognisance, it’s clear this was beef between two different agencies. Usually the cooling off period allows both parties to calm down and rethink their priorities. You’re both after the same thing, to find out who killed William Simmons.
You’re exhausted when you get into the courtroom. You’ve barely slept all night, thinking of Cyrus’s six foot two frame stuck in one of those ridiculously small bunks. You’re fuelled by both caffeine and adrenaline when you talk to Connie and Cutter than morning in the local diner, laying out the story. The three of you barely get to the arraignment on time because the clerk gives you the run around.
The whole thing falls apart. You see Burkhart whispering to both the prosecutor and the judge’s and your heart sinks. You’d hoped they would just kick you out of town but when Burkhart smiles at you, baring his teeth, you know it’s going to be worse than that. He wants to punish you for sticking your nose into his business, for embarrassing him in front of his deputies.
Bail is set at twenty thousand dollars. Cyrus shoots you a panicked look because his finances have been all over the place since he got back to the US. He’s still supporting Tommy’s family, after his brother’s suicide, he lives pay check to pay check.
You however have a small reserve from the sale of your father’s house after he’d died. You can’t stand the thought of him spending another night on one of those lumpy cots, using his suit jacket as a blanket.
“I’ve slept in worse place than this.” He would have argued with you if you’d given him the chance.
You don’t allow him the opportunity. You post bail almost immediately because you know the intention is to keep him in over the weekend and you don’t want to think about what Burkhart has in store for him.
You’re waiting for him on the steps of the courthouse when he’s eventually released, with a coffee and a Danish. They draw the process out as long as possible, first they lose the paperwork, then it’s filled out incorrectly, it isn’t until Cutter threatens them that their ducks fall in a row.
Connie and Cutter are still inside fighting with the locals over material witness warrant when the two of you sit down alongside each other on a bench outside. Cyrus practically inhales the pastry before chasing it down with the entire cup of lukewarm coffee. You can tell he hasn’t eaten since the diner yesterday.
“Thank you.” He says as his arm coming to rest upon the back of the bench. It’s the closet he can get to touching you without giving away your relationship. “I know you paid the bail.”
“You saved me from small town jail.” You remind him as he leans forward. His elbows come to rest upon his knees as he rubs his palms together grimly.
“It would have been worse for you.” Cyrus tells you, shaking his head. “Burkhart would have made sure of it, I couldn’t let that happen.”
He dips his head, his fingers running through his unruly hair before he tilts his head to look at you. You resist the urge to brush those curls off his forehead, pressing your hands between your knees instead.
“I know, we haven’t been together that long…”
“This time around.” You remind him and he gives you that smile, the one that makes your heart beat just a little faster in your chest.
“I just want you to know I appreciate what you did.” He tells you, squinting just a little against the sun. “And to assure you that I won’t be skipping bail.”
You tip back your head and laugh. There’s a relief in the act, you feel the heaviness you’ve been carrying since he was arrested slip away as the sound carries throughout the street.
“You’re still protecting me after all this time,” You say finally, nudging his shoulder gently with yours.
“Yea.” Cyrus says simply, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s my job.”
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Cyrus prides himself on keeping his calm under pressure. It’s what got him through some dicey situations during his time abroad in the Intelligence Unit, chasing down terrorists. He had no weapon, no partner, no back up, he’d had to rely on his wits and clear head to ensure he made it home alive.
“I was self-destructive,” he had told you when you were discussing it over dinner last week. “I was trying to find redemption by putting myself in the most dangerous situations I could just to see if I survived, it became a game…”
It’s the most honest he’s been about his time away. The two of you have only been seeing each other for a couple of weeks this time around but already it feels like a lifetime. He wonders if it’s fate, the two of you always ending up in each other’s spheres. It’s happened a couple of times over the years, the first time you got together, and then running into each other the night before he left for Morocco. This time you had been working his brother’s case when he got boots on the ground and now the two of you work together in the same division, usually with different partners.
The trip up to Dargerville is the exception, Benard had been injured when a perp had gotten a little unruly in holding and Lenny was vacationing up in Florida with a couple of old fishing buddies. You’d been assigned to make drive instead, which Cyrus doesn’t mind. You used to take roadtrips the first time you were together, staying at B&Bs around the country, he’d enjoyed it immensely. You bring the snacks and he brings the music, that was always the deal.
The thing is Cyrus loves small towns, he always has. He loves the vibe and the quaintness, he spends two hours in the local dinner eating chilli and tasting a variation of the pies they have on offer.
“You miss a homecooked meal.” You inform him as the two of you share a slice or key lime.
You aren’t wrong, his shifts have been chaotic over the past few weeks. He’s been living off takeaways and the hotdog stand outside the precinct.
“Let me cook for you when we get back.” You say and his gaze flickers up to meet yours, his cheeks colour just a little because he knows where the offer usually leads.
A good meal, a couple of glasses of wine, hours tangled up in your sheets making love to you until the sun comes up.
“Yea?” He asks, his eyebrows raising as he shoots you that sinful smile. You throw your napkin at him in response.
Despite the fact the NYPD has booked you two separate rooms in the local motel, you know you won’t be sleeping alone tonight.
It’s when a Dargerville sheriff tries to put his hands on you that everything goes to hell. The moment you pick up Linz with the material witness warrant it all goes sideways. When the local sheriffs blockade the car you’re out of the passenger seat before Cyrus can stop you. He’d been getting a bad feeling about this case since the moment you started to meet resistance at the stationhouse. There’s something going on here that the local PD don’t want you know.
You’re polite and calm, but there’s a steeliness in your voice, one that clearly rubs Burkheart up the wrong way. He’s not used to be spoken to like that by a woman, Cyrus can tell from the rage that burns in his eyes when you get between him and your prisoner. He bolts out of the driver’s seat because he gets that feeling, the one he used to get abroad when shit was about to go down.
When Burkhart he issues the order to remove you, it’s with extreme prejudice. It’s a show of authority, one meant to put you back in your place but the thing about you…
You don’t respond well to someone laying hands on you and apparently neither does he. When the deputy grabs you with force that’s completely unwarranted, something just shorts out in his brain. He gets between the two of you, his palm on the other man’s chest shoving him backwards as he comes to stand in front of you.
When the guns come out, he doesn’t expect it and he can tell you don’t either. Whatever is happening in this town, it goes far beyond the death of William Simmons. There isn’t a doubt in his mind about what happens if he doesn’t comply to their demands.
It ends up with him being arrested for interfering with a police officer. When you start to protest, he catches your eye before shaking his head. He can taste the violence in the air, he can tell from the way that Burkhart looks at you that he’s waiting for just the right opportunity to throttle you.
You’re already on the phone to Van Buren as he’s put into the back of a squad car.
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It’s late when Cyrus turns up at your door. He knows you’re up because he can hear the sounds of the TV. He raps his knuckles on the wood, a brief two knock before the locks slide across and sees your face peering at him through gap.
“Can I come in?” He asks and you sigh before opening the door and granting him entry.
“Sorry, it’s a mess.” You tell him, your hand rubbing over the back of your neck subconsciously.
You’re dressed in a pair of NYPD sweatpants and a jumper he recognises as one of his, from the time the two of you were together. Your hair is pulled back into a messy bun, stray tendrils escaping from the hair tie.
You aren’t doing well; he can see that. There’s half a bottle of red wine on the table alongside an empty glass. You drop back down on the couch, drawing your legs up underneath you, your eyes fixing on the TV. There’s a re-run of Frasier playing. He can tell you’re not really watching.
He knows what’s triggered you. It’s the polygamy case.
Michelle Landon’s decision to return to her sect with her unborn baby to trade her freedom for the sake of her children. You knew what Wyatt Landon was going to do to her and that you can’t do a damn thing to stop it.
You’d gotten close to Michelle, worked with her, soothed over her fears. It had been you that realised she was pregnant, who’d gone to Connie with the information, who had put her back in the hands of the man who had been raping her since she was sixteen.
It’s enough to fuck up anyone.
“Have you eaten?” He asks you as he strips off his suit jacket and hangs it on the back of one of your kitchen chairs.
“I’m not hungry.” You tell him.
“Ok then, I’ll just make something for you later and you can heat it up when you’re ready.” He says reaching inside the fridge and pulling out several items.
“You don’t need to do that.” You tell him quietly.
Cyrus sighs before rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.
“I want to.” He says as he sets a yellow pepper down on the chopping board. “This is what we do, we look after one another.”
“You’re not my boyfriend.” You remind him as you push yourself up from the couch. “Not anymore.”
“It doesn’t mean that I don’t care.” He tells you as you lean against the work surface alongside of him. He tilts his head towards you, his eyes meeting yours before he asks. “You wanna talk about what’s really bothering you?”
For a second you don’t say anything, you simply tip your head back and raise your eyes to the ceiling.
“I know what men like that do, the revenge he’ll take. He’ll punish her for running away and I just…”
You purse your lips together grimly as you shake your head.
“I understand why she did it, I just can’t make peace with my part in it.”
“You did everything right.” Cyrus says quietly. “You did everything you could to help Michelle, but she made her choice, probably the last one she’s ever going to be able to make.”
“That’s what I can’t reconcile with.” You tell him, your eyes stinging. “The last choice she made was to go with him and I…”
You press your fingertips to your forehead, rubbing at the crease between your eyebrows. He can see the tears glistening on your lashes before you wipe them away with the back of your hand.
“C’mere,” He murmurs, his arm wrapping around your shoulders and drawing you into the comforting shelter of his body. You bury your face into his chest stifling the sound of the first sob that tears from your throat. He feels it vibrate through your entire body as he clasps you close.
“I got you.” He whispers into your hair. “It’s ok, I’ve got you.”
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