Deac's

Throwing her arms around you in thanks, Lila smiled up at you with a gap-toothed grin before grabbing her textbook and pencil and pottering back out into the kitchen. With a peak around the corner to assure you that your words had indeed made sense to the kid, you settled back into the couch with a satisfied smile beginning to take over your face.

“Medic, step-parent and teacher? Is there anything you can’t turn your hand to?”

The suddenness of his words make you jump, the familiarness of the voice doing nothing to stop you from reaching for the nearest possible means of defence.

Deacon dodges your poorly thrown cushion and bats it to the floor with a smile. Stepping out from behind the wall he’d peaked his head around in the first place, he treads carefully over a landline of Lego bricks and crayons to make his way over to the couch and sit down next to you.

His hair is still wet from the shower, droplets clinging to stray strands and running down his neck. Stretching his arm out towards you, you take the queue and shuffle across the sofa towards him.

He lets out a sigh as you tuck yourself in under his arm. The warmth of his body permeates his thin cotton t-shirt, soothing you like no other comfort you’ve ever known.

Nimble fingertips trace shapes into the fabric of your hoodie as Deacon presses a kiss to the crown of your head. The sounds of the kids messing around in the kitchen and the cartoons playing on the TV all seem to fade into the background as you two savour this rare moment of peace together, until-

“Jujitsu.”

Deacon’s eyebrows just about shoot up inti his hairline as he looks down at you quizzically. “What?”

Grinning up at him, you wipe a stray head of water away from his hairline. “You asked if there was anything I couldn’t do. That’s my answer - Jujitsu.”

“And how’d you come up with that?” Laughter intermingles with his words, his hand now resting comfortingly on your shoulder.

“Remember that time Luca asked me to come with him to one of those self-defence classes he helps teach?”

He hums in agreement:

“And you remember how it was the last time he asked me?”

It takes a second, but you watch as the gears silently turn in his head until that light goes off.

“You didn’t.”

Your chuckle reverberates through his chest, your smile unmoving. “What did I tell you? He really wasn’t lying when he said I had him walking with a limp for days-“

This time it’s Deacon turn to launch a cushion at you, hitting you squarely in the chest. Rolling back with a look of mock hurt, you yelp out when one of Lila’s pencils sticks you in the side.

With a groan you push the pencils away, along with the notebook and papers you’d been helping her through. Shushing you jokingly, Deacon helps you get comfortable again and pulls you back into him.

“I think we’re gonna have to add teaching to that list of things, honey.” He reaches across you to pick up the notepad, eyes scanning across it with a grin.

“I beg your pardon?” Arching an eyebrow, you make to look at the writing on the paper. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m just saying, if you don’t understand what the words mean then you probably aren’t the right person to be teaching them is all.”

Now your look of confusion is genuine. Pushing yourself upright, you grab ahold of the notepad and look down at it.

“What do you mean?” You trace the words with your finger, between the neatly written ones in your handwriting and the organised scrawl of Lila’s. “Take means to remove something from a person or place, and borrows means to take with th-“

“With the intention of returning it, I know.”

The note of humor in his voice is clear as day, but all it does is confuse you even more.

The more confused you’re getting, the more funny Deacon is finding this. Finally when your confusion is beginning to border on annoyance, he finally cracks.

“I just think it’s funny. Y’know, you explaining to Lila what borrowing means when you seem to have forgotten it yourself.”

You’re about to reply when you catch his eyes drifting from your face, down to your chest. Just when you’re about to chastise him, you follow his gaze.

Oh.

Oh.

“Because if I recall correctly, you told me you were only borrowing this.” Twirling the string of the hoodie around one finger, his eyes glance over the front of the fabric - right over the S.W.A.T. insignia, next to the words “29-David” written in bold font. “And how long ago was that, maybe two wee-“

“Yeah, yeah.” You cut him off, tugging the strings taut and letting the hood tighten around your face. “Smartass.”

He chuckles, slipping his arm back around you as you grumble under your breath. Your irritation is very clearly seen through when you melt against him once more, pressing a kiss to his neck while you sink against him.

“S’okay, though.” His voice is growing deeper and deeper with tiredness, rumbling through his chest like thunder rumbles through the storm clouds overhead. That being said, his next words shine brighter than any sun or star could ever dream of.

Even if he wanted to, he can’t make out the exact time on the clock - due, in no small part, to your bedhead blocking the view from where your head lays tucked under his chin. Your breath ghosts across his collarbones with each slow rise and fall of your chest, and it’s a peaceful pattern that Deacon finds himself being comforted by as he slowly comes to.

Your arms are stilled curled around his torso, keeping him close to you even in sleep. Legs intertwined with his, you really can’t get any closer to him but yet you still seem to try as you cuddle closer to him in your sleep. It makes him smile and he brings you ever so slightly closer to him, just enough so he can lightly kiss the top of your head.

He rubs your back slowly as he draws away. The warmth trapped under the covers clings to your skin, and he can’t help but let his hand rest in the small of your back. Your tank top’s ridden up to expose the curve of skin there, and he starts to absentmindedly trace circles over your back in what he thinks is a soothing pattern - until you tense in his arms, and a low groan escapes your pursed lips.

“Sorry, baby.” He apologises as he cringes internally, soothing a hand up and down your back as you shift in his arms and he gives you a second to come around. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

You shake your head slowly, hands squeezing reassuringly at his waist.

“Don’t worry.” You mumble, sleep still clinging to your voice as you quietly clear your throat. Deacon doesn’t need to see you to know you’re smiling, and it’s only proved for him when you press a kiss to his neck and he can feel the curve of your lips. “M’sure I can come up with a way for you to make it up to me.”

Once you hear the good news from Hicks, you immediately go in search of Deacon. It doesn’t take you long to find him, as when you duck into the locker room you see him at his locker changing back into his work gear.

He notices you almost immediately, and you half wish he hadn’t so you could have a second to think of what to say to him. You wrack your brain as he begins to walk to you, and you can’t think of a single thing that could help - but he must feel the same, as all he does is wordlessly take you into his arms.