multi-fandom imagines

humphrey goodman | you fall while chasing a suspect

"Stop!" You shout, your legs burning as you run as fast as your feet will take you. It isn't easy; the sand beneath you means you keep losing your footing and it weighs down your legs so that you're going much slower than you know you should be, particularly since you're chasing a potential murder suspect. The heat doesn't help much either; you're beginning to see spots at the edge of your vision.

The only comfort to you is that Humphrey isn't going much faster, though even he seems less clumsy than you today. He's only a little bit further ahead and you can tell he's more than capable of catching up to the suspect if he carries on.

You try to speed up, but your legs slip from under you and you end up tripping over, your arms and the sand the only cushion to your fall. Your ankle twists in the process, and you cry out in pain, causing Humphrey to stop in front of you. You barely notice; instead you find your hand cut and bloody from where you must have pressed down on a piece of broken glass on your way down. You try to catch your breath desperately as pain shoots through you.

"[Y/N], are you alright?"

"What are you doing?!" You yell as you notice him still frozen in place. "Go after him! Now!"

He hesitates, shuffling awkwardly as though debating which way to go. His chest rises up and down from lack of breath, but he seems to still have much more energy than you. You try to stand up, to prove to him that you're fine and you can still catch the suspect, but your ankle hurts when you put pressure on it and you collapse back down onto the sand.

Humphrey immediately rushes to your side with a look of concern on his face. "What happened?"

"He's getting away." You watch as he disappears into the foliage at the edge of the beach. "Why did you do that? I'm fine."

"You're not fine," he shakes his head, grabbing your injured hand and examining it. "Besides, we're on an island. How far can he get?"

You roll your eyes, knowing it's pointless to argue but wanting to anyway. "You shouldn't have done that."

"Yes, you're right. I should have left you here on the beach instead. Let you make your own way to the hospital," he says sarcastically, digging in his pocket and pulling out a tissue. He presses it to your palm gently then notices your now swollen ankle. "That would have been good with a sprained ankle."

"I would have been fine. Besides, I don't need to go to the hospital. I'm a quick healer," you lie. You can tell immediately that he sees right through it.

"Even so, I think I'm going to make a quick detour on our way back."

You sigh and meet his eyes for a moment, feeling disappointed with yourself and annoyed with him—and, more than that, confused. "Why did you do it? You hate letting them get away."

"Yes, well," he blushes and looks down, "I hate to see you hurt more. You're welcome, by the way."

"Don't expect a thank you," you say, narrowing your eyes. "You've just let a killer get away because of me."

"A small price to pay." He stands up and holds his hand out. You take it reluctantly, trying to put as little weight as possible on your ankle. Sensing this, Humphrey wraps your arm around his shoulder and you begin to limp back down the beach slowly.

"Sorry I held you back," you finally say quietly, letting your guilt get the best of you.

"You didn't hold me back. I made a choice." He stops and meets your eye again. This time, he doesn't blush or look away, either.

"And I would make it again in a heartbeat."