When they arrived at her apartment, Riley forced a smile, trying to act like everything was fine. "I'm okay, really," she said as she unlocked the door. "Thanks for bringing me back."

Luke frowned, unconvinced. "Riley, you don't have to—"

"I'm fine," she repeated, more firmly this time. "I just need some rest."

She stepped inside and closed the door behind her. As soon as she was alone, her mind went completely blank- she stood still, taking in her apartment. Everything looked the same, and yet, everything looked unfamiliar.

Suddenly, the door burst open again. Luke stood there, his eyes filled with worry and determination.

"I didn't hear you lock it," he said quietly, stepping inside. "And I know you're not fine."

Riley wanted to tell him to leave, to push him away, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, she collapsed into his arms, the weight of her terror finally breaking through.

After a moment, Luke pulled back a bit and looked down at her. "Do you want to sit down?"

Riley didn't say anything, she just nodded and sat down on the edge of her bed, staring blankly at the wall. She hadn't realized how tightly she was clutching her jacket until Luke crouched down in front of her, gently prying it from her stiff fingers. His eyes were filled with concern, but he didn't push her to speak.

Instead, he gently grabbed her chin and tilted her head to the side, inspecting where Cole had hit her earlier.

His jaw clenched and he cursed. "That son of a bitch was wearing brass knuckles."

Riley was too drained to say anything as Luke disappeared into her bathroom and returned with a cool, damp cloth.

She tried not to flinch as he reached up, gently wiping away some of the dried blood. She hissed at the cold sensation, looking up to meet his eyes.

"Riley," he said softly, his voice low and steady, pulling her focus back to him. She blinked, her breath catching in her throat as she noticed the blood smeared on her arms, her shirt, her hands. Her stomach turned.

"I-I didn't..." she stammered, unable to finish. Her mind was spinning, images flashing back to her—the man's face, the glint of the knife on the table, the sound of him hitting the ground.

Luke's hand rested on her knee. "Hey, hey, it's okay," he said, his tone calming, but she wasn't listening. Her eyes widened, realizing just how much blood there was. She stood up abruptly, nearly knocking Luke backward as she scrambled toward the bathroom.

"I have to—" Her breath came faster, her vision blurring as she tore at her shirt, but her fingers couldn't work the buttons. The panic was building, suffocating her, pressing in on all sides. She was covered in blood. Her hands shook uncontrollably.

Luke was behind her in an instant, his hands wrapping around hers. "Riley, slow down. Look at me," he said firmly, stepping in front of her, blocking her view of the mirror. "You're okay. You're not hurt."

She shook her head frantically, her throat tightening. "No, I can't—I can't—"

"Riley," Luke said again, his voice soft but insistent. "It's not your blood. You're okay."

She stared at him, still panicking, but something in his voice cut through the haze. Her chest heaved as she gasped for air, and she could feel the tight grip of reality slipping away. Her head spun, and then she broke.

Without thinking, she yanked off her shirt and pants, buttons flying everywhere, and stumbled into the shower in her bra and panties, turning the water on full blast. Cold water rushed over her partially-clothed body, soaking her to the skin, and for a moment, the shock of it stilled her mind. She leaned against the tile, her forehead pressed to the cool surface.

The next thing she knew, Luke was beside her in the shower, not caring about his own clothes, pulling her into his arms. The water soaked them both, but he held her, his breath steady against her hair. He didn't try to pull her out. He didn't tell her she was overreacting. He just held her.

"It's okay," he murmured, his voice muffled against her wet hair. "You're okay, Riley."

She trembled in his arms, her fingers gripping his shirt as the water cascaded over them. Minutes passed, maybe longer. She couldn't tell. But slowly, her breathing steadied, and the cold water numbed her enough to feel grounded again.

"I killed him, Luke," she whispered, her voice hoarse.

"I know," he said, his voice steady. "You had no choice."

"I didn't want to."

"I know."

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the sound of the water hitting the tile.

"I thought I could handle it," she said after a moment, her voice barely audible. "I thought I could handle all of this."

"You're not supposed to be perfect, Riley," Luke said, pulling back just enough to look at her. His eyes were intense, but there was something soft there too, something that made her feel less like a failure. "You're allowed to break."

She swallowed hard, her throat tight. "I don't want to be weak."

"You're not weak," he said firmly, his hands cradling her face now, brushing wet strands of hair from her cheeks. "Not even close."

For a long moment, she just stared at him, the water still falling around them, soaking them to the bone. The anger, the fear, the guilt—it all swirled inside her, but here in the quiet, in the safety of his arms, she could feel some of it unravel.

"I don't want to be alone," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

"You're not," Luke said softly, his forehead resting against hers. "You're not alone, Riley."

The moment felt fragile, suspended in the air between them, and Riley felt a strange warmth spreading through her chest, something she hadn't felt in a long time. The vulnerability scared her, but there was something comforting in it too.

Luke didn't say anything else as she wandered back into her bedroom like a zombie and fell asleep, but he stayed right there, sitting at the edge of the bed, watching over her. When she woke up later that night, she found him sleeping on the couch in just his boxers, one hand resting on the back of it, as if ready to jump up at the first sign of trouble. He had draped his damp clothes over the chairs at the kitchen table to dry. Her heart fluttered amongst the agony of the evening, and she quietly padded over and placed a blanket over top of him.

—--------------Luke POV

Luke sat and stared at Riley as she slept, his jaw clenching and unclenching. Was this too creepy of him? Probably. She'd needed him to be normal tonight, to hold it together, so she could lean on him. But the truth was, his body went numb every time he recounted the day's events. He'd come so close to losing her. Too close.

He remembered the way his stomach turned as he kept his eyes locked onto Riley, moving behind the bar in that skimpy, skin-tight outfit. She was a cop, for God's sake, not a bartender or whatever this club made her out to be. It felt wrong, all of it. But she'd insisted on going undercover. Told him she could handle herself.

And maybe she could. She had proven herself time and time again. Still, watching her flirt, smiling at sleazy guys who didn't deserve even an ounce of her attention—it ate away at him.

He'd kept his distance, never letting her out of his sight. He remembered the tight grip he kept on his drink, knuckles turning white, as the target practically breathed down her neck. He'd forced himself to sit still, to not intervene as he watched Riley smile and laugh at a man who was clearly undressing her with his eyes. She was doing a good job. A great job, even. But he knew her well enough to see the tension behind her mask. She'd been uncomfortable. She was pretending. But that was the job, right? Pretending, acting, luring the dirtbags in so they'd slip up.

And then the bastard put his hand on her waist. Something snapped in Luke.

Before he even realized he'd moved, he was already stalking across the club floor, his body stiff with anger. He'd pushed his way through the crowd, his gaze never leaving the hand that rested on Riley like he had some right to touch her.

And everything had gone downhill from there. He should've felt relieved- he'd handled it, and the creep had slunk away into the crowd with his tail between his legs. But instead, Riley had turned to him, her face flushed with anger. He'd had to remind himself that they were working, that she was about to yell at him- because damn if she didn't look beautiful while she reamed him out.

And then she had stormed off. And he didn't follow her.

She needs some time to herself to cool off, he'd thought.

She'll be fine in the locker room for a few minutes, he'd told himself.

Sitting back at the bar, once again clenching his drink, he'd watched the clock and counted the minutes until she came back. Five minutes had passed. Then ten.

Then the club had closed for the meeting.

Maybe she finished up and went home, he hoped.

His hands still trembled as he flexed them in his lap, his mind replaying every moment of that meeting at the warehouse club. It was the first time he had truly felt powerless in the months since he'd started the undercover job. He had perfected his role, made the right connections, earned their trust. But tonight, when Riley had walked into that room, her hands bound and that goddamn bruise marking her cheek, something had snapped inside him.

Luke could still see it—Riley standing there in front of those men, holding a tray of drinks with her wrists bound together, trying to keep her cool. He could see the flash of recognition in her eyes when she spotted him across the room, but she didn't break character. She was strong. She always was. But that didn't change the fact that seeing her like that had nearly destroyed him.

He clenched his fists, his jaw tightening as he remembered how Garrett- the man in charge of the Warehouse Club operations- had nudged her with the barrel of his gun, practically daring her to make a mistake. Luke's heart had pounded in his chest, every instinct screaming at him to do something, anything, to get her out of there. But he couldn't. Not without blowing both their covers and getting them both killed. He had to sit there and watch her serve drinks, bound and bruised, like she was nothing more than a pawn in their twisted game.

The worst part was the way Bill- the man with the scar on his face- had been... nice to her. It sent a chill through Luke's spine just thinking about it. The way he'd smiled at her, patted her cheek, like he was playing some sick game with her. Luke had been forced to sit there, silent and still, while his mind ran wild with every terrible possibility of what could happen next. He had to focus on staying in character, had to remind himself that if he made one wrong move, if he even flinched, they would both be dead.

Every fiber of his being had wanted to intervene, to offer to stay behind when Will ordered him to deal with the crates. He could still feel the tightness in his chest when he'd been forced to leave the room, his footsteps heavy and reluctant as he walked away. Everything in him had screamed at him to turn back, to fight, to protect her. But he couldn't. Not without jeopardizing everything. Not without putting her in even more danger.

Now, sitting here in the silence of her apartment, the weight of those choices hung heavy on his shoulders. He hadn't been able to save her from that room. He hadn't been able to stop what happened, to stop Will from turning her into a tool for his sick power play.

Luke's gaze moved to her sleeping form again, his chest tightening as he thought about what could have happened if he hadn't burst into that room when he did. If he'd been too late...

He shook the thought from his mind, running a hand through his hair and leaning forward, elbows on his knees. He wasn't sure how they'd made it out of that situation alive—luck, timing, sheer force of will, maybe a little bit of all three. But now, as he sat there, the adrenaline slowly fading from his system, he could feel the weight of every choice he'd made tonight, every second he'd had to stand there and watch her with that bruise on her face, bound, defenseless.

He had been terrified.

He hated admitting it, even to himself, but it was the truth. He'd been terrified. Because seeing Riley like that had been more than just seeing his partner in danger—it had been seeing her. The woman who had burrowed under his skin, who had pushed him, challenged him, made him feel something he hadn't allowed himself to feel in years. And in that moment, the idea of losing her had been unbearable.

Luke stood, unable to stay seated any longer, his legs carrying him silently to the doorway of her bedroom. He leaned against the frame, crossing his arms as he watched her sleep, her face relaxed and peaceful in the dim light. He didn't deserve to be here, watching over her like this, but he couldn't leave. Not yet. Not until he knew it was safe.

Luke sighed softly, scrubbing a hand over his face. She would probably kick his ass in the morning for sticking around like this, for hovering. But he couldn't help it. Not tonight. Not after what they'd been through.

Eventually, as the night progressed, her sleep became less fitful, and Luke retreated to the couch. He lay there awake, recounting the evening over and over. What he should have done differently. Ways it could have gone worse.

At one point, he heard faint rustling in Riley's room, and some quiet footsteps. Knowing she didn't need anything more on her mind, he forced his jaw to unclench and shut his eyes, pretending to be asleep. A few moments later he felt a blanket being placed on him, before her quiet footsteps retreated to her bedroom.

*********************

Author Note: 

Another surprise Luke POV! I loved him in this chapter <3 

Got some STEAM coming up for yall ;)

Vote and comment!!!!!