After what felt like an eternity on the case, you finally stepped off the jet, tired and drained. The long flight home to Virginia to your shared apartment was a blur. You had barely processed the last few gruelling days when the cab dropped you off.

The bruises and cuts still stung, your body aching from hours of physical and emotional stress. The moment the door clicked behind you, the familiar scent of your apartment was both comforting and bittersweet.

You were home—yet, you still felt far from okay.

As you stepped inside, you heard the soft clink of a glass on the counter, followed by the sound of footsteps.

Will's voice drifted from the living room, casual and warm, with that familiar Southern drawl you loved so much. "Hey, babe, how'd the case go—"

Then he saw you.

The second Will's eyes fell on you, his jaw dropped, and a curse slipped out before he could stop it. "Holy shit, darling, what happened to you?" His voice was a mixture of shock and concern, all rolled into one. His eyes searched over your bloodied face and the ugly bruises spreading on your arm.

Will's heart dropped at the sight. The exhaustion in your posture, the visible injuries—it made his chest tighten with an all-too-familiar kind of fear.

Before he could stop himself, he crossed the room in a couple of strides and pulled you gently toward him, his hands moving like he was afraid to hurt you further.

"You're gonna be okay," Will murmured softly, his voice low but with a hint of a tremor. "Tell me what happened, baby." His hands began to move over your arms, feeling for broken bones, making sure you were all still in one piece, his touch light but desperate.