Beau was known to put his all in his work.

If he was working on a case, he’d put in all his effort and focus on catching the criminal as fast as possible. And sometimes, that included him getting hurt. He would end up either with minor injuries like some scratches and bruises or worse — with bullet wounds or skin torn by the knife’s sharp blade.

Today was one of those days when he came home, slightly limping. At first, you hadn’t noticed the change in his steps as he seemed to try his best to walk casually. However, the moment he stepped into the living room where you were lounging on the couch, a frown on his face and a slight limp to the way he was walking was enough of a clue for you to figure it out. He tried being the hero — again.

He didn’t like it when you were fussing over him as if he was a powerless baby. He was a man and it slightly bruised his ego that you were the one taking care of him and not the other way around. However, he didn’t protest as much as usual and just let you lead him to the couch.

“Don’t ya worry, sweetheart. It’s just some strained muscle. It will pass,” he tried to act dismissive, although as soon as he sat on the couch, he hissed slightly. That’s what he got for jumping on the hood of a speeding car to stop a suspect.

“You’re an idiot. An old idiot at that,” you grumbled under your breath as you tried to make him comfortable, placing plush pillows underneath his back.

“But I’m your idiot, baby,” he gave you a dense grin and then pulled you onto his lap — which he immediately regretted as it put pressure on his injury. “Fuck,” he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut.