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Tim Bradford had a way of trying to break rookies on Day One. Getting paired with Sgt. Grey’s proclaimed “hot shot,” Probationary Officer Lucy Chen, meant very little to him. She was just another rookie that would end up washing out; if he had any say, she would be lucky number twelve. Seeing Isabel at the convenience store, immediately after forcing Officer Chen to handle a suspect herself, broke him; Chen being privy to his vulnerability on Day One was his fault. He knew better and told himself he wouldn’t let it happen again. After all, he hadn’t seen Isabel in almost a year. He probably wouldn’t see her again until after Chen either washed out or made it through probation.
Tim certainly hadn’t expected the phone call from the hospital about Isabel’s overdose. He hoped this time he’d be able to get through to Isabel, but when that proved impossible, he put his fist through the hospital wall, needing to vent his frustration away from other people. Of course, Chen immediately popped into the room to ask if he was okay, and he stayed silent; he was afraid of what would come out if he opened his mouth.
He didn’t think those instances of vulnerability, however, signaled to Chen that he would tolerate her disobedience, but he supposed he should have known better. He told her to stay in the shop when they pulled up to Isabel’s building, and he figured it was her flagrant disregard for authority that pushed her to confront him, an argument on her lips for every angry statement he made.
“I’m your rookie. And I need you to train me, not put me in danger because you can’t handle losing your wife.” These were the words that stopped Tim, though his anger and latent fear simmered below the surface. He was trying to come up with another retort when Chen continues. “Look, at least let me go up. If you do, it’ll just confirm your worst fears. Do you really want to see how she’s living, or who she’s living with?”
It was the question he had asked himself, and he hates that she had plucked it from his brain so easily. It takes him half a beat longer to tell her which apartment it was and toss her the Narcan. Waiting in the shop, though, was the hard part. He couldn’t stop wondering what Chen was saying to Isabel; or, worse, what Isabel was saying to Chen.
He tries to pretend that he hadn’t been anxiously waiting for Chen to get back, trying to force himself to relax. It hadn’t worked when he was in-country, and it sure as hell was not working now. He wants to know everything, badly, but he can’t bring himself to ask.
“She was a cop.” They were not the words that Tim wanted to hear, and his chest tightened painfully, remembering how he and Isabel came up through the Academy together.
“I - I, uh, thought she was having an affair. Staying out late, making excuses. I didn’t realize it was the drugs until the hook was in deep.” The words ease his pain, barely. Everyone important in his life knew what happened; they were there when it had all blown back in his face. But this rookie had gotten thrown in the middle of it, all because of a random lesson he intended to teach her. It was uncomfortable in the shop for a moment before she spoke again.
“Her apartment is pretty decent.” The words feel like a peace offering; he wonders if Chen knows it’s what he needs to hear to get them moving again. He nods, lips pressed together tightly, and looks over at Chen and her unguarded expression.
“Thanks.” The word feels inadequate, like somehow there should be more to say. He just puts on his seatbelt and gets them back on patrol. No need to make their dynamic even more fucked than it already was.
— o —
Tim had been through his fair share of absolute horse shit since becoming a cop. He thought shit was bad when he was in the Army, but that he soon realized it was just a different level of shit. He’s rolled up to a crime scene too late and found a dead body instead of a still-breathing victim. He’s been puked on, shot, stabbed. Hell, just this year alone he had gotten shot, Isabel had gotten shot, they lived through a nuclear missile crisis (which he knew was a fake alert, but had felt real to everyone else and caused the normal chaos).
Through all that, he never thought he would be sitting less than ten feet away from a corpse full of a virus that could kill him in less than twenty-four hours. It was definitely a new low.
He felt better knowing Chen was safe on the other side of the door; he would rather have one of them get infected than both of them. Her “please be careful” had stirred up a warmth within him that he couldn’t attribute to the overly stuffy room. Tim didn’t read much into it, because Chen would be saying that to whoever was in the room, even if that person had been a stranger.
He could admit to himself that it was nice having someone sound like they cared. He heard the waver in her voice, after Pete had attacked him with the chair, and knew one of them had to keep it together. As the senior officer on-scene, it would have to be him. He had laughed it off as a bit of entertainment in what would have otherwise been a boring, endless quarantine.
What Tim would never outright say to Chen is how terrifying it was, watching Pete die the way he did. Tim had been through war, and watching Pete shudder and bleed out while crying for help hit him in a place he had long since thought buried.
He sits against the door, breathing slowly, trying not to fall asleep, when he hears Chen start talking through the door. “Hey, I, uh — I just checked with Dr. Morgan. The vaccine’s minutes away.”
He feels the wry smile pulling at his lips; leave it to his ridiculously optimistic Boot to try and lie to him to keep his spirits up. “You know, you’re good at a lot of things — lying isn’t one of ‘em.”
“You think I’m good at things? Can I get that in writing?” Her voice sounds as wrecked as he feels, but the words still get his lips to tilt into the smallest smile he’s been able to manage all day. “It’s going to be okay. I really believe that.” The thing is, he knows she does believe it. But she hasn’t seen the world as he has. She doesn’t know just how bad it can be, not yet. He wishes she was a shitty cop; he could blue slip her out of the program and she would never lose that ability to see good. She wasn’t a shitty cop, though.
“I’m sure you do.” The words hurt, pulling at his parched mouth, his hoarse vocal cords. “But if it isn’t —”
“Don’t think like that. It’s —” He hates that she interrupted him, so he interrupts her right back, continuing his thought.
“If it isn’t,” he states more forcefully, needing to say the words, needing to get the fear off his chest, “I’m not going out the way my man Pete here just did.”
There’s a brief pause, shorter than he is expecting before Chen asks “what are you saying?”
He inhales shakily, forcing the words out of his mouth. “When the time comes… I’m going out on my own terms.”
Chen is quiet, for once, and he wishes that she was babbling instead, to distract him from the hell inside his mind.
— o —
You have changed me already. I am a fireball
That is hurtling towards the sky to where you are
You can choose not to look up but I am a giant orange ball
That is throwing sparks upon your face
— o —
Coming face to face with a fatal hemorrhagic virus and not dying was probably a reason for Tim to celebrate. Unfortunately, the virus might not have killed him, but the vaccine almost did. The mandatory two-week administrative leave was just the icing on the cake. Anyone else would love to have the two weeks off, to recover from his ordeal with the virus and everything that happened after.
Tim was not anyone else.
His first day back coincided with the second half of Chen’s probationary period, and he made sure it was going to be a memorable day for her. He was almost looking forward to the baby powder IED he had a friend rig up for training purposes. Passing her exam didn’t mean her training was complete, and she would know it by end of shift.
He was not expecting her to be bold enough to call him out on his tactics.
“Um, what are you doing?” Her words catch him off guard, and he thinks the best answer is the obvious one.
“Clocking out and heading home. Rio Bravo’s on cable.” He glances at her as he walks around the shop to go into the station, figuring that will be that.
“No, no.” He pauses at the sharpness of her words, turns towards her, ready to rip into her about respecting her superior officers. Her next words continue almost immediately. “Why are you treating me like it’s Day One all over again?”
He forces himself not to scoff, but even he can feel how his eyebrows furrow together at her audacity. “Because it is. Today was Day One of Stage Two of your training.”
“So, what? Does that mean I’ve lost all the respect that I’ve earned?” Chen’s face is so earnest, like this is another game he’s playing, another “Tim test” that he was hitting her with, like the fake IED at the park.
“You lost that when you lied on a report.”
He watches her face twist to disbelief, unsurprised when she stutters out a “what?”
“I read your account of what happened at the quarantine house.” He had plenty of time, he had wanted to make sure his Boot had gotten it right, to cover both of their backs. From her reaction to his statement, Tim could see she still didn’t understand the gravity of her omission. “When I thought I was infected, I told you I’d rather take my life than bleed out. You failed to report it.”
“That’s what this is about?” She still wasn’t getting it, and Tim’s patience was wearing very thin, and he feels himself getting worked up again.
“Suicide ideations by a law enforcement officer are extremely serious and should have been reported immediately.” The words tumble from his mouth, watching her shake her head, knowing if he gives her any space she’ll interrupt him.
“I was trying to protect you.” The forcefulness in her words brings him up short; now he was staring at her in disbelief. “They would have put you on leave, required therapy. You weren’t even actually suicidal.”
“Not your call!” That was what it came down to; it wasn’t Chen’s call to make, and she never should have taken it upon herself to make it. That was the lesson he was trying to impress on her; nothing should ever get left out of official reports. “You should have detailed everything, regardless of the consequences.”
Tim hears that disbelieving chuckle again and knows this conversation is never going to end. “Oh, yeah? Like I should have filed a report detailing everything you’ve done to protect Isabel?” Hearing his ex-wife’s name brings him up short; he can’t believe Chen would go there.
He feels chagrined at the same time, because, deep down, he knows she’s not wrong, and she knows she’s not wrong. It’s now changed their entire dynamic in less than a minute. He was correcting her on an omission in a report, and now she was chastising him for doing the same thing, over a longer period of time. He doesn’t even know how to respond, and it’s no surprise to him that Chen continues instead. He presses his lips into a firm line as he watches his rookie, trying not to let the scowl take over his face.
“You know what? You wanna rake me over the coals for the next six months, you go ahead. But don’t pretend like it’s because you’ve got some code.” She walks away before he can even get a word in, not that he even has anything to say in his defense. She’s right, and that’s a hard truth that Tim will have to come to terms with.
How can he be angry at her for protecting him during his moment of vulnerability? Especially when he protected Isabel for a lot longer and for far more serious transgressions?
He sighs to himself, before steeling his face and entering the station. It’s end of shift and Rio Bravo is on cable; it was time to get himself home.
— o —
It wasn’t often that Tim felt the need to work out in the station gym after shift, but this shift had been weird. It left him with an uncomfortable feeling that he was desperate to get out of his system, hopefully by hitting the punching bag. He felt dismayed at Rex’s injuries because the other man knew better than to not call for backup. If he had trusted his gut, Rex wouldn't have been lying in a hospital bed. He was pretty pissed that Rex’s bail jumper got the better of him and Chen, too. That was their mistake, assuming from his slight stature he wouldn't be an issue. Everyone knew what they said about assuming. They should have known better. He should have known better.
But it was also the fact that Chen pushed an idea at him that he now could not get out of his head. A decade ago, Isabel found it funny that he could only learn his Academy material if someone was reading it to him. In the end, it helped her as well, so it worked for them. This time studying for his sergeant’s exam was different, but he was doing fine, getting most of the books on audiobook. It was going fine, at least, until Sgt. Grey threw him a book from the 1950s that had no audiobook; he looked while Chen was getting their war bags ready. So he figured he would make his Boot read to him while he drove to their calls; a win-win in his book.
Until she would not stop giving her own comments and opinions on the material, making it harder for him to focus. The calm way she told him that it was okay that he might have a learning disability rattled him. He grew up with the idea that you didn’t show your vulnerabilities and you certainly didn’t admit your weaknesses. Even fathoming he could have a learning disability was playing with fire on both counts. And even though he told Chen they weren’t talking about it, it didn’t mean he wasn’t thinking about it.
“Training for the rematch with Nico?” The words pull Tim from his own mind, and he pauses his assault on the station punching bag. He huffs out a breath in response, glancing at Chen standing there in her civilian clothes.
“Ah, we got him in the end.” He was ready to continue his workout when Chen starts walking toward him, holding something out. “What’s this?”
“It is… Split Second Leadership: Leading Men in the Line of Duty, the audiobook.” He shakes his head, convinced that she’s yanking his chain yet again.
“This book’s out of print. There’s no audiobook.”
“Yeah, which is why I recorded one for you.” That took him by surprise. “Uh, listen, I talked to Isabel, and from what she said, it’s clear you’re a kinesthetic learner, which just means that you need to listen while you’re being active in order to absorb things. There’s no shame in it. Really.” Her face is open, her words earnest; she had to be one of the most earnest people he'd ever met. But he can’t believe she went to his ex-wife and they talked about him. That… it was way out of line, even if she was doing something nice. He can feel his irritation spike in the way he clenches his jaw. He couldn’t tell if it was because she brought up Isabel or because she was doing something nice for him. It might have even been both. “Honestly, it’s probably why you excel at being a cop.” Despite himself, he huffs out a laugh at her compliment looking away from her, too stunned for words. “Uh… I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He looks back at her, head nodding along. “Yeah.” He watches her walk away, so many things going through his head he doesn’t know which to go with. He feels the way a smile — small, but an honest to God smile — pulls his lips up, and finally chooses the simplest. “Thanks.”
What she did was one of the nicest things he remembers anyone doing for him off-duty. When asked, saving his life when he’d gotten shot was a professional courtesy, not kindness. Recording an audiobook for him because it was the way he remembered things best? It was genuinely kind, the type of thing you did for a friend, not your TO.
He popped the earphones in to begin listening to the book that she had painstakingly recorded, the half-smile still lingering on his face. This rookie was somehow determined to get under all his defenses.
— o —
Oh look at them shake
Upon you like a great planet that has been murdered by change
O too this is so dramatic this shaking
Of my great planet that is bigger than you thought it would be
— o —
Tim was a man on a mission. The focus? Getting Lucy Chen back from the sadist Caleb Wright. Sgt. Grey didn’t even finish the debrief before Tim was walking out of the room, calling the only person he knew would be able to help talk him down to where he was useful, not harmful. “Lucy’s been taken. I need you.” It was one of the few — very few — times that he referred to his rookie by her first name.
The guilt over Chen’s abduction was consuming him and Lopez could see it, pushing him to spill his guts in the worst way possible. Getting to threaten a low life, with the IA commander’s son standing not more than ten feet away, wasn’t even cathartic; it was a necessity to find Lucy. He would burn his career if that’s what it took to find her in time. It was a scary fact to admit to himself, especially when they came to a dead-end at Jerry Havel’s house.
The worst thing was barely getting to Chen in time. The fact that he saw the sunlight glinting off the metal, the only thing in the area out of place, was a goddamn miracle. You couldn’t tell him otherwise. Tim never believed in true life miracles before; someone was trying to make a believer out of him yet. He didn’t even wait for others to join him before he began to dig out the barrel by hand. He paid no mind to the shovels that came within inches of taking off his fingers, laser-focused on uncovering the barrel and getting Lucy to safety.
Tim thought he felt terrified when Isabel was shot in the head, but it didn’t compare to pulling Lucy out of that barrel and her not breathing. The CPR took seconds, less than a minute, but it felt forever long. Everything faded away until the moment she gasped for air. At any other time, her sobs would have made him turn away and let any of the other people surrounding them comfort her.
But he was right there, Lucy already in his arms, and it was instinctual to pull her to his chest, to cradle her as her terrified sobs racked through her body. For the first time all day, Tim felt the tension release from his body, glad that no one else could see the shaking of his hands as he held Lucy’s head to his shoulder. He would have no explanation for the tremors.
Just as he would have no explanation for his innate need to stay all night in the hospital with her. Hearing her laugh at his dumb joke, even if it was a little pained, was worth it. They didn’t get to laugh often on the job, but it was a sound he had come to look forward to hearing. He had no idea when that had happened.
“Have you been here all night?” Even though he tried to play it off, Chen’s too good a cop to not see right through his pitiful attempt to deny it. He’s grateful the doctor interrupted before Chen could try and get him to answer her. He did have a pretty foolproof plan to get her mind off the subject; having her interrogate him with Nolan and West in the room would be so embarrassing.
“You hungry?” The words are so gentle, even to his own ears, and he is lucky that the words trigger the response he was looking for, not the teasing that he thought would come. As Lucy’s pushing herself up in her bed, he’s leaning down to grab the take-out bag he had Rachel stop for before she headed into work. “Oh, veggie burger and fries, extra pickles?” His smile is pulling uncomfortably at the under-used muscles in his cheeks, and he knows that it’s only for Lucy. If Angela was in Lucy’s place, she would have already hit him for being too sentimental.
“You know me so well.” The words and her smile make everything well worth it, and he feels lighter than he has in over forty-eight hours. He knows it’s because Lucy is safe, and that she will eventually be okay. He can take a deep breath and finally feel like the panic isn’t going to suck it right back out of him.
“Too well,” is his reply; at any other time, he would sound sarcastic, an eye roll added for good measure. Instead, he lets them linger in the air as Lucy reaches for the bag that contains her lunch, unwilling to put his hardass Bradford facade back up. There will be time for that later, after he hits patrol without her by his side while she heals.
But for now, Tim will sit with her as she eats, and try not to wonder how and when his rookie slithered her way from his professional side to his personal side, a feat that had taken Bishop years to achieve.
— o —
Not riding on patrol with Chen, after waiting for it almost anxiously for weeks now, is a letdown. Not that Tim would ever admit it to anyone. He would also never tell Harper she was right. He could never deny Lucy anything that would help her. And Harper was right, much as it pained him, and Lucy’s unique situation was one that Tim had never been in and would never be in.
Going to see Chen at the end of shift wasn’t the original plan, and he almost chickens out when he sees the DOD tattoo on her ribs. He looks away to compose himself, knowing he was not supposed to see the stark black ink on her skin. He debates turning around and leaving, pep talk be damned. But as she brings her shirt down, she sees him anyway, and he’s never run away before so he isn’t going to start now. He hates how shaky she sounds, hates that he can tell it’s not from hitting the bag, and so he leads with a joke.
“You got no quit in you, do you, Boot?”
She replies quickly, in typical Lucy fashion. “No, sir. I get that from you.” The words pull a smile out of him, and it’s easier this time around, to let it linger, to let the smile warm his words.
“I don’t think so. You walked in the door this way.” Of course, he can only be so nice and has to throw a little dig at her, to see her reaction. “It’s what makes you so aggravating.”
Her aborted laugh, the bright smile makes the quip worthwhile. “I’m taking that as a compliment.”
“It was meant to be.” It’s not what he wants to say but she no longer looks like she’s exorcising her demons, so Tim’s willing to call it a win. “You have a good night.”
“Yeah, you too.”
He wasn’t even out the door before he hears her hitting the bag again, and against his better judgment, he turns around, struggling with where to start.
“You know…” He sighs as she turns to look at him once more, gesturing towards her. “I got half a dozen scars. Bullet wounds, knife wounds, broken bottle. Then there’s the ones you can’t see — Isabel’s addition, a dad who would tune me up on the regular. And whether I like it or not, they’re a part of me.” He never was the most elegant at this heart-to-heart thing people were so fond of, which is why he usually didn’t try.
“I-I know what you’re trying to do, and I appreciate it, but this is different. I was tattooed by a sadist who etched my day of death into my skin.” Her words gut him in a way he wasn’t expecting, and he steps closer to her, wishing he could remove the anguished look from her eyes.
“Okay, but you didn’t die. Okay? You lived. And now he’s the one in the ground.” He can see Lucy hasn’t thought about this part, and he keeps going, emboldened. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do with it. Okay? Burn it off, keep it, whatever gives you peace. All I’m trying to do is give you some hard-won perspective. You can choose to see that tattoo as your greatest failure.” That was how Tim saw it: that tattoo was a reminder of the time that he failed her. “But I see it as proof that you’re a survivor. It wasn’t your day of death, Officer Chen. It was the first day of the rest of your life. And no one can take that away from you.”
Even from feet away, he can see the tears gathering in her eyes, the way she won’t look directly at him in the hopes that he doesn’t see them. Tim wishes it was as easy as pulling her into his arms again if that was what she needed. They might not be on shift, but there was still a line of professionalism that he could not — would not? — cross. Comforting her after his resuscitating breaths brought her back to Earth? That was a no-brainer. But that was, hopefully, a one-time-only situation.
“Thanks.” Her voice is small, quiet. It’s so unlike her that it throws Tim off balance a bit.
“Yeah. You’re welcome.” He pushes his hands into the pockets of his jeans, so uncomfortable after what turned out to be a mini-speech. He asks the question that’s been on his mind since Harper took over Lucy’s training this week. “You riding with me tomorrow?”
Her laugh is a little watery, almost like it’s startled out of her. Her “yes, sir” is just what he needed to hear, and a wide smile comes to his face as she finally looks up at him.
“Good. Get in early. War bags need restocking.” Tim can’t help but tease her, hasn’t been able to in longer than he cares to think about, and it’s easy again. It isn’t their typical banter, not after such an emotional conversation, but they’ll get there.
He pulls out her ring from his pocket, the ring that led him to her. It was the breadcrumb that Lucy left behind that saved her, and he held onto it all these weeks, waiting for the right time to give it back. He holds it for a moment longer, turning it in his hand, before tossing it the short distance to Lucy. There’s nothing more to be said, even though he can see the realization on her face. He gives her one final small smile, before turning away to finally go home.
He will always feel guilty for what happened to her, will always blame himself for what happened. But the wonder he saw on her face, right before he walked away from her, will get him through the worst of his nights.
— o —
So you ran and hid
Under a large tree. She was graceful, I think
That tree although soon she will wither
Into ten black snakes upon your throat
— o —
After over six months of riding together, Tim loathes admitting he was becoming an expert on Lucy’s faces. Sure, sometimes he’s caught off-guard, like when Lucy started asking him about Emmett Lang of all people. But it didn’t take him long to catch onto her scheme, her large doe eyes giving her away immediately. He shut the conversation down outright, not willing to give her any information he would later regret. It was not a mistake he was making twice. The last time he tried giving his Boot some life advice, it ended with her buried alive in an oil barrel; he told himself from that moment on he would not give her personal advice, solicited or not.
It didn’t mean he was going to sit in the shop and listen to her carry on a conversation with herse— with “Rachel.” Rachel, who he knew was in a meeting. He didn’t even feel bad about literally calling her out on lying, knowing it was necessary for his sanity during this stakeout. He looks at her, waiting for her explanation, and shakes his head when she says “me.”
“I talk things out to process them, and I knew you wouldn’t do it with me, so—”
He looks over at her, eyebrows furrowed together, spouting the first thought that comes to mind. “Why would you even care what I think?” The thought was on his mind from the morning when Lucy was so clearly trying to glean information about Lang from him.
She’s not looking at him so it’s easy to watch her, to see her surprise punch out of her in a disbelieving chuckle. “What?”
“The last time I gave you romantic advice, I-I pushed you towards Caleb, and… you almost died.” It’s… almost a confession. He can’t look at her as he says it, eyes unfocused on the shop dash as he blinks. The guilt he thought he suppressed reared its ugly head, making it difficult to stay in the moment and not go back to one of the worst twenty-four hours he’s ever spent as a cop. After saying it, looking at her is hard, but Tim’s not a coward.
“That’s — that’s ridiculous.” He watches as she turns toward him in her seat, her voice softer than he ever heard. It’s too much, so he looks away, out towards the night that his eyes won’t focus on. This wasn’t the right time for this conversation, but now they were having it and he just had to see it through. “There was no reason to suspect anything. What happened — what happened wasn’t your fault.” But it was are the words that Tim can’t open his mouth to say, not when he can see the openness in her expression, how firmly she believed her words. “W-wasn’t mine, either. Look, I-I wouldn’t ask your advice if I didn’t value your opinion.”
Tim honestly never imagined having this conversation. Hearing Lucy say she didn’t blame him, even if he still blamed himself… hearing that loosened a knot of tension that he didn’t realize was there until he took a breath and didn’t feel like he would choke on it. Since she clearly wanted his opinion, he decided he would give it to her. So he nods a little to himself, pushing past the lingering emotionality of the surprisingly tender conversation to get right to the heart of what was bothering her. “You can do better than Emmett.”
Talking about her personal life may still make him uncomfortable, but he was glad to relieve the rest of the tension between them.
— o —
Tim knew a lot of people liked to joke that he was hot-headed, but the people that knew him best knew it wasn’t the case. Sure, he had moments where he was prone to his tempter flaring, but years in the Army and being a police officer had taught him to control that response and instead use the anger that flares within him for the better: working out.
Hearing Lucy state that she thought he was going to be her Doug Stanton, though, sets off a reaction within him that he can’t even begin to understand. In all the shifts they’d ridden together, Tim never once told Lucy to not talk to him and actually mean it. Sure, he’s thought about it, especially when since she loved to bring up their personal lives. But when he tells her to not say another word to him, he really means it, and she must understand because Chen doesn’t engage in the conversation anymore.
But looking back at their first shift together, hearing how she saw it… he felt nauseous thinking about it now. He never wanted to be that cop, wielding his badge like an infallible sword on civilians that didn’t deserve it. Somehow, between Isabel’s addiction and the disintegration of his marriage, he didn’t only become a hardass: he was an asshole, too. And he didn’t see it until Lucy fearlessly called him out on just how terribly he had conducted himself.
He was supposed to be teaching her, not the other way around. One day he would cease being surprised that Lucy Chen was continuing to turn his world around.
Lucy thought he was mad at her, though, and he knew he had to explain why he was all of a sudden stuck in his head. He owed her that much, as the shop was eerily silent as he stewed in his own thoughts.
“Okay, I’m not mad,” he starts, feeling her eyes on him as they walk away from the woman to look for her ‘porch pirate,’ “but I am upset.”
“I knew it.” He can’t place the emotion in her simple statement, but he can definitely hear more than just her pleasure at being right.
“At myself. You’re right. I used the situation with the gardeners without thinking about the impact I had on them. I can’t undo it, but I can make sure I never do it again.” He looks to Lucy to see her reaction, and he’s somehow not surprised to see her smile, even if he refuses to smile back at her.
“That’s progress. I’m proud of you.” Her words and the easy way she touches his shoulder combine to set off warmth in his chest that Tim knows but hasn’t felt in a very, very long time. He didn’t tell her to boost his own ego, but it was undeniable the effect that hearing her say “I'm proud of you” had on him. He covers up whatever emotion welling up inside of him with a well-timed eye-roll and hopefully flat expression.
“I’m thrilled.” Tim’s never been more glad to see a dog distract the both of them from the conversation. Time to get to work.
— o —
And when she does I will be wandering as I always am
A graceful lady that is part museum
Of the voices of the universe everyone else forgets
I will hold your voice in a little box
— o —
Lucy bringing up undercover work sent a chill down Tim’s spine that he knew had nothing to do with the air temperature in the shop. He knew his hang-ups with UC work stemmed from Isabel’s time spent undercover, and he tried to set aside those feelings and focus on the facts. He mentally reviewed everything he knew about Lucy, everything she’s gone through individually, and everything they’ve gone through together these past thirteen months, and his conclusion was still the same.
“Look, to work undercover, you have to be able to lie to someone’s face — make them believe you’re their best friend and then stab them in the back. I just don’t think you have that killer instinct.” His words were matter-of-fact; he wouldn’t want her to accuse him of making emotional decisions.
“Ouch.”
“I’m sorry. But it’s better you hear it now.” He had been giving her the hard truth since day one. He wasn’t going to stop now, simply because they were coming to the end of her probationary period. He was hoping that would be the end of the conversation but should have known better. This was Lucy Chen, after all.
“I’ve been struggling with being honest with you all day.” These words got Tim’s attention, and he glances over at her, trying to figure out why they were talking about honesty now. “I’ve been hiding behind this stupid closure checklist, trying to get up the courage to tell you something.” Immediately his thoughts scatter to the wind, trying to figure out what Lucy wants to tell him before she can get the words out. Tim blinks, entirely too many times, to focus himself.
“Okay.” The word falls unbidden from his lips as his brain spins with possibilities. “What?”
The longer her pause, the worse Tim feels. He waits her out, though, needing whatever it is she wants to say out in the open. He doesn’t even want to voice the horrible thoughts in his head. He’s still not prepared for what she says, though.
“I have feelings for you.” His eyes slide to look over at her, even though he doesn’t move his head. He can feel her looking at him, and not saying anything else, so he has to look over at her, to see if he can figure out what the hell she’s going on about, but she’s already looking away.
“Uh, like fe—”
“Look, we’ve been through a lot this year. …”
Her words echo in his head, even as he tries to stutter out a response of his own, heart beating entirely too fast considering they are sitting in the shop, not out on the street in a foot pursuit. His own thoughts circle, too quickly. It’s wrong he knows, this confession of hers, and he knows it’s wrong for his body to react like it was: a shock of cold before he began to warm from the inside out as if someone had set a fire within his very soul. He has to focus on the road in front of them, or they would no doubt be in another accident.
“I think the reason why you’re so protective of me and — and why you don’t want me to be an undercover cop is because… because you have feelings for me, too.” The whole conversation, Tim felt surprised, but these words caused his eyebrows to raise up and his jaw to drop. She couldn’t mean—
“Lucy, I —”
She cuts him off, though, continuing on her tangent, almost as if she had rehearsed this speech of hers. “No, listen. I-I know it’s complicated. You’re my TO. You’re responsible for me. I know that you would never cross that line, but… starting tomorrow, I guess, you’re not and I…”
Tim holds up his hand to stop the flow of her words, his brain absolutely short-circuiting. He sat next to a lot of rookies over the years but never had they caused him to be flummoxed and speechless like the rookie sitting next to him. Then again, no other rookie had wormed her way through the steel plating he kept around his heart, either; he genuinely cared about Lucy and wanted to let her down as delicately as possible. He stumbles over his words a few times, and he holds up his finger, telling Lucy to just give him a minute while he tried to pull his brain back online.
“First of all… I… I just, like…” He squints his eyes; he knows this isn’t the best route to go but he is absolutely blown away. It makes it so much harder, feeling her expectant gaze on the side of his face. “Thank you. Um… you’re… Look, Lucy, I’m — I’m flattered. I am. You’re a great girl. Woman. Woman.” Even he can hear the earnestness in his voice at the correction, and he has to wonder what the hell happened to the war-hardened veteran that lived to have rookies wash out on him. “And I… Uhm…” He sighs, closing his eyes for just a second to get his bearings back. “Crap. Listen.”
And then he hears her burst out laughing, and the overwhelming urge to vomit hits him, but he covers it up with his indignant squawk, the righteous annoyance hopefully coming off him in waves. “Are you kidding me?!”
It was all to prove a point, he gets it. But her words have nonetheless carved out their own space in his brain, burrowing in like they were making a home in him. “I have feelings for you…”
— o —
Lucy doing long-term undercover work as barely a PII, with a day’s worth of training under her belt, made Tim feel uneasy. Did he think she would make it as a good UC? Sure, several years down the line, after extensive training. It took hours upon hours upon hours for most people to go undercover, and here it felt like Harper and Grey were throwing Lucy to the wolves. And he absolutely had no say in the matter.
The whole time she was undercover, Tim worried. Pulling her over, seeing her with those men… he worried. Harper telling him Lucy never checked in, he worried. Lucy could take care of herself, had been doing it for a long time. But she was used to having backup a radio call away. This… this was far different. They had to be her backup when she wasn’t able to call for it.
Words could not describe the relief he felt when they arrived at the warehouse and saw Lucy pointing a gun at La Fiera.
The fact that she was done her UC work in the nick of time for the Lopez-Evers wedding didn’t even cross his mind. Not until he saw her standing over by Sgt. Grey and Harper, wearing bright red lips and a stunning green dress. He wrapped up his conversation, turning to completely look at her. He gave her a very appreciative glance and realized — this was the first time he was seeing Lucy dressed up, not in the casual but professional civvies she changed into after work. They didn't exactly have many reasons to dress up, before this.
She looked beautiful, and it was a startling thought. Not that he hadn’t noticed before, but it wasn’t an active thought on his part. He tried to cover up his slight unease by praising her op, watching that bashful smile light up her face. He wasn’t prone to giving praise; it went against who he was as a person. But it felt natural to praise Lucy because she deserved it and, oftentimes, she earned it. She always exceeded expectations, no matter whose expectations they were.
Tim watched her walk away, debating with himself for a moment, before going for broke. “Save me a dance.”
Of course, that was before Lopez and West went missing, it was before they knew La Fiera’s transport had been ambushed and that the drug lord was in the wind. Tim knew he wouldn’t be sleeping until Angela was found; she was his best friend, and he would do anything for her. If he didn’t love her, he never would have agreed to be her Man of Honor or do half the things he did for her wedding. It was like Lucy being abducted all over again, with a different level of guilt thrown in for good measure.
It was easy to tell Lucy she could stay at his house; sure, he told her she shouldn’t be alone, but… it didn’t feel like his only motive. Perhaps a little selfish, but he didn’t want to be alone, either. If she had been adamant about not coming over, he never would have pushed. But the way she acquiesced, no fight in her at all, told him he made the right call.
He wasn’t going to admit to the fact that he never would have offered his house as a sanctuary to anyone else.
Nor would he have offered them clothes to sleep in, figuring his generosity stopped once they hit the front door. He settles into the couch, having told Lucy he would be taking it for the night. Lucy, of course, chooses that moment to walk out of the bathroom, his borrowed shirt hanging loose around her body. It… was a look, and he tamped down on those thoughts, focusing on her words and not how she looked.
“Wait, I thought you were setting that up for me.”
He thinks about what his mother would say if she heard he let a woman take the couch, and gets defensive. “I’m not going to have a guest sleep on the couch.”
“And I’m not gonna kick you out of your own bed. Come on. Get up.” In any other situation, Tim would have laughed at her thinking she could tell him what to do. Considering everything they had all gone through, though, he wasn’t willing to fight her. If she wanted to sleep on the couch, then he would let her, against his better judgment.
“Okay.” He leverages himself up from the couch, looking at her for a moment, wishing he was better at the emotional side of things so he didn’t feel so lost in front of her. “Do you need… anything?”
“The last twenty-four hours back.” The words are out of her mouth before she realizes and his heart feels like it’s being squeezed in a vice grip. She looks so sad, so lost, and he wishes there was something more he could do.
“I’m afraid I don’t have that power.” It even hurts to say the words, because he can’t do it for her, he knows, and he hates it. He would do anything for her if he could.
She stutters over her next word, as if she's expecting him to immediately deny her. “A hug.” Finally, this is something Tim can do, and he folds her into his arms without hesitation. One hand cradles her head to his shoulder, his other low on her back. He can’t but remember the last time he held her in his arms, the differences and the similarities. He hated that he could only embrace her when something horrible had happened.
Tim’s a realist, he knows that holding her will not protect her, will not keep the horrors at bay. That’s not how it works, but for five seconds, he wishes it were so. He’s so reluctant to leave her, his hand lingering on her arm, neither of them stepping away as the embrace falls apart.
He’s looking down at Lucy and realizes with a sudden jolt — he wants to kiss her. It’s a sudden ache, a yearning void inside of him telling him to do it, they both could use the comfort. It lasts for a long, uncomfortable moment. He knows Lucy wouldn’t even stop him from leaning down into her space, pushing their lips together, letting them take comfort in one another.
But that’s the thought that has him looking away, making the decision he knows he has to, and telling her goodnight. Walking away from her is the right thing, the honorable thing, he knows. But if it wasn’t so damn hard to do. He lays in bed, replaying the moment over and over, trying to figure himself out. He’s hoping it’s only the stress of the day forcing him to need comfort, familiarity. Somehow, Lucy is both of those things in the absence of Lopez.
Tim wonders if he's more surprised or unsurprised by the thought.
— o —
And when you come upon me I won’t look back at you
You will feel a hand upon your heart while I place your voice back
Into the heart from where it came from
— o —
Falling in love with a cop is hard. Tim would know; he’s done it twice now.
Of course, it took him a while to realize it. Between the wedding that never was and the Guatemala rescue mission, there was a lot on their plates. It didn’t help that Tim wasn’t a particular introspective guy; you could ask anyone at Mid-Wilshire and they could tell you that. But even he noticed that there was a change in his exasperated but fond thoughts of Lucy Chen. The feelings -- jealousy, lust, adoration (just to name a few) -- were starting to make a lot more sense. They terrified him.
He felt relieved knowing Lucy would be staying in Los Angeles to help Sgt. Grey; she would be safe. Then came the worry that if anything were to happen to her, he’d be five hours away, minimum. It reminded him of falling in love with Isabel. There was this deep-seated need for him to protect her, even though he knew she could handle herself. It was a dilemma.
He never voiced his worry; Lucy, on the other hand, had no trouble voicing her own. “Tim. Please be careful.” The clear worry in her voice warmed him from the inside out. His responding “I always am” had felt like a promise to her. He wondered if she could hear it too.
They never got a chance to talk about that hug, about the charged moment that haunted him after. He knew Lucy was grieving; they all were, in their own ways. Tim might not have known the kid particularly well, but from the few shifts they had together, Jackson seemed like a good guy. Seeing how devastated Lucy was told Tim all he needed to know: she lost her best friend.
He tried to be there for her; he understood how it felt to lose people in such a particularly violent way. But this wasn’t like his tours in Iraq and Afghanistan, and, unlike with her abduction, Tim didn’t have hard-won perspective to help her through. Her best friend was dead, and his best friend was not, and everyone was grieving. It was something they had to work through in their own way.
He made sure Lucy knew he was there, any time, if she needed him.
The arrival of Baby Lopez-Evers is what everyone was looking forward to.
During her maternity leave, Angela roped Tim into eating lunch with her on his off-day. She claimed it was part of his "Man of Honor" duties since the wedding was once again postponed. He grumbled about it but always complied. He wasn’t willing to give up any time she wanted to spend with him, but he did still have a reputation to maintain.
“We’re planning on naming the baby Jackson, if he’s a boy.” Angela’s words surprise Tim, and he wonders if he missed a segue, something to tip him off on what to say. Nothing jumps to him so he arches an eyebrow at her.
“Wow, not even naming him after the man that saved you. I’m gutted.” The words are said as dryly as possible, trying to make her laugh instead of cry. He misses his mark completely when he sees her reaching for her napkin, and he reaches for her other hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. He waits for a moment, letting Angela get her hormonal tears under control. “I thought you and Evers decided to wait until the baby was born to pick a name?”
“We were,” she agrees, still dabbing at her eyes. There’s a tight feeling in his chest and he doesn’t know what to do about it, doesn’t know what to name it. Long ago, he assumed by this point in his life he’d be picking baby names with Isabel; is he feeling regret? Sadness? He focuses on Angela, not willing to look at more of his feelings too deeply. “But it feels right.” She moves her hand from under his to grab her water, and Tim waits. There's more that Angela wants to say, can see it in the way she tries to get her tears under control. “I need you to tell Lucy when the time comes. I don’t want her to be surprised.”
And that was why she was telling him. If Angela ended giving birth to a boy, Tim would have to be the one to break the news to Lucy. He would ask her why him, but they both knew why. He wasn’t surprised by Angela’s foresight; other than his family, Angela and Lucy were the only two people he knew taking Jackson’s death so hard. He reached for his own water glass, taking a long drink from it before nodding. “Deal. But only if you take Timothea into consideration if you have a girl.”
Her resounding laughter is worth the looks they receive from the rest of the restaurant patrons.
Tim forgets; it was a conversation that happened five weeks before Angela gives birth. When Wesley’s message of “It’s a boy!” comes to his phone, all Tim does is jump up for joy, ready to call the man and see when he can come by to see the baby and Angela. He’s brushing his teeth when he remembers, and his stomach falls to his feet. He has to tell Lucy.
“Tim, is everything alright?” Lucy is breathless on the phone, her voice high and tight, and he can only recall one other moment he’s heard her like this. He realizes that, except for very rare instances, he’s never called her off-duty. No wonder that’s the first question out of her mouth.
“I’m fine, everything’s fine. I should have messaged you first.” He tries to put as much calmness into his voice as he can manage, since he is dreading this conversation. “Are you busy?”
Lucy’s quiet exhale tells him all he needed to know; she was concerned something was wrong. “No, just watching some reality TV. What’s up?”
He debates ripping the bandaid off now or doing it in person. “Angela had the baby; it’s a boy.”
Tim has to peel the phone away from his ear with Lucy’s squeal; somehow he wasn’t expecting the noise and his eardrum is paying the price for his mistake. Even away from his ear, he can still make out her words. “Aw, so exciting! Do you have pictures? Do you know his name? Are you going to see Angela?”
He had been planning on going to see Angela, but Wesley still hadn’t given him the all-clear. “Might not be allowed visitors until tomorrow, Wesley is going to let me know.” He hesitates, hating that he starting the conversation on the phone now. He should have texted he asking him to meet him somewhere. He’s messing this up. “They’re naming him Jackson.”
There’s silence on her end of the call, a silence that is too quiet considering it’s Lucy on the other end of the line. He regrets taking the easy out, palm smacking the arm of his couch in his frustration. “Hey, Lucy…” His voice is soft, his heart full of that soft feeling. That feeling was why Angela asked him to break the news to Lucy. They both knew he had that tenderness for Lucy; he was afraid to ask Angela how she knew about it. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah!” The answer was too bright, too sudden, and Tim is startled to realize that Lucy muted him to have her freak out. She sounds perfectly fine, now, and he knows that if they were face to face, Lucy wouldn’t be able to hide how she was feeling from him. “It’s perfect.”
It sounds wrong, hearing that from her mouth, but it’s too late now. Tim pushes through. “I thought so, too.” He waits a minute, debating with himself. “Kind of disappointed she didn’t have a girl, though.”
He hears her chuckle over the line and waits for her expected question. “Why’s that?”
“Oh, you know…” He waits a beat, trying to draw her in. “I was trying to convince Lopez to name a girl Timothea.” She doesn’t want to laugh, he can tell, because she tries to cover it up with a cough; there’s no use, he’s heard it, and it makes a grin pull at his mouth. “Hey! It’s a good name.”
“Oh Tim… no, it really isn’t.” No, it isn’t, but once again the joke does its job. “Do they know when she’ll be home? I have a basket made up for her and a bunch of things for…”
The conversation lasts for a while. A while while. Conversation with Lucy has always been easy, unless it’s feelings-related or psychobabble. They move from Angela’s baby, to the baby Lucy delivered. They talk about if he ever planned to have kids with Isabel, if he still wanted kids, if he ever thought about fostering. That conversation naturally brings up Lucy’s puppy, Tamara, and all the ups and downs of living with someone so much younger. They haven’t been on shift together lately, so it’s nice to catch up with her, about anything and everything at all. He missed her.
Tim hears her yawning mid-sentence and pulls his phone away, making a face when he saw how long they’d been on the phone. “Luce, we’ve been on the phone for over three hours.”
There’s so long of a pause over the line that Tim wonders if she actually did fall asleep on him. He’s about to end the call, send her a good night message, when he hears the most petulant “so?” he’s ever heard uttered from an adult.
It’s so Lucy and reminds him of many memorable, sleepy midnight shifts, and he laughs. He feels contented, warm, and knows he has it so bad for her. There’s an ache inside his chest; it’s longing. This was a feeling he was most familiar with, and never thought he would be happy to feel it again. It's a different circumstance, feeling it now. And Tim can no longer deny it, even to himself. “So, we both should get to sleep. Have an early start tomorrow, Boot.”
The nickname slips out, more tender than he’s ever before said it, and before he can correct himself he hears Lucy grumble. “I’m not your Boot anymore.” She sounds adorable and sleepy, and he wonders, not for the first time, how he managed to fall for the walking mess of contradictions that was Lucy Chen.
“Lucy, bed.” The words aren’t an order, they both know it, but it is direct enough to serve the same purpose. “I’ll see you in the morning.” It doesn't feel right to end the call that way, and throws in an ultra-soft “good night.”
He waits a beat, two, before he hears her sigh. “Night, Tim.” The words are so soft; he lets himself want, for the first time in years.
Hanging up a phone hasn’t been this hard for Tim since the beginning of his relationship with Isabel. He forces himself to end the call, pushes himself up and down the hall to his bedroom. He does his night routine in a rush, suddenly exhausted.
Tim rarely dreams, but when he dreams that night, he dreams of Lucy and of the children he wishes they could have together.
— o —
Tim doesn’t know how, but he’s started smiling more. Not only around Angela and baby Jack, either; he’s smiling more around the station. He first notices it when he’s about to start his first shift with his third sergeant’s chevron. He feels good, for once, happy to be moving up and moving on with his career. For a long time, he was content to stay a TO, to make sure the right cops lasted, to work his patrol beat. He was glad that Deacon Joe had given him a proverbial kick in the ass.
He was happy; it had been a long time since he was truly happy, not content to maintain the status quo. He could feel it in the way Lucy absolutely made him laugh at the end of a very long weekend. He was glad that he was alone in the locker room after their conversation; he couldn’t control his smile if he tried. It was different from what he was used to feeling.
Tim had to admit, he kind of liked it.
Even Lucy’s teasing at work, her knowing smirks about Smitty’s excuses for not doing paperwork, made him smile. There wasn’t much that Lucy did that didn’t make him smile.
He was gone, over the moon for her, and he couldn’t do anything about it.
It’s not long before Lucy’s tapped for undercover work again, in a different department at a different station. He watched from his desk as she and Grey talked. He has to tell himself it’s because he was waiting for her to get done. He wants to ask if she wants to grab dinner like they were doing infrequently, namely when she was at the station as late as he was. But he sees the eager head-nodding and knows dinner is not happening tonight.
After months of being friendly, of being around her more outside of work than ever before, her sudden absence from his life is hard. Work, his only constant, isn’t even the same. He’s looking for her bright face every morning at roll call and is disappointed every time to not see her there. The hardest part is not knowing anything about where she was or what she was doing; before, he had her back on her undercover ops. He hated to admit it, but he didn’t trust anyone from the 77th to have her back like Mid-Wilshire would. Lucy was one of their own; the 77th had no idea how lucky they were.
The weeks go by, pushing into a month, and he’s still trying to figure out how to breathe around the Lucy-shaped hole in his life when he gets caught up in a wrong place, wrong time shooting. He’s not on duty, not wearing a vest, and the bullet is burning in his shoulder. He’s too shocked for the normal surge of adrenaline that comes during a firefight, so the gunshot hurts like a bitch. It’s his shooting arm, of course, and he pushes himself behind cover to call for backup. He doesn’t even draw his weapon, even though he should; he can’t clench a fist to even hold the gun.
Arriving at the hospital in civvies is weird; Tim’s so used to being wheeled into the hospital after an on-duty incident that it’s almost overwhelming being in the bustling ER with every other Moe, Joe, and Larry off the street.
The bullet lodged in his shoulder so, of course, that means he needs surgery and a several nights’ stay in the hospital. He wants to discharge himself after the surgery, wants to lick his wounds in peace in his own house with his dog. But he can’t even lift his arm out from his side without wanting to cry, so he knows he’s stuck in the hospital. There’s no way he can go home and be on his own yet, let alone take care of Kojo.
Images of Mitch flashed in Tim’s head when the doctor told him they had him on Oxycodone; he forces the nurses to wean him off the painkillers pretty quickly. He’s used Tylenol for worse shit; he’ll live with a little discomfort if it meant never having to worry about becoming dependent on a substance again.
He reluctantly takes the “restful” days at the hospital, staring at either the ceiling or the far-off TV. Angela stops by the day after the shooting, a sleeping Jack strapped to her chest. He’s grateful for her company, even if she can only stay for thirty minutes before she has to get back home. As much as he loves his best friend, there’s one person he wants to see, and he knows he’s not going to.
The worst part of being discharged is having no one to call to pick him up. Angela’s the only person he feels comfortable with seeing him so vulnerable, and he couldn’t call her. Tim tries to brush off the ache he feels (an ache that is nowhere near where the bullet hit him) but doesn’t have his normal bluster to fight the nurse who is expectantly holding a wheelchair out for him to sit in.
The whole time down to the entrance of the hospital, the nurse is telling him all about aftercare of the wound, when to come to the hospital, so and so forth. Tim barely listens; he’s done this song and dance enough. With the doors in sight, he tells the nurse he can walk out under his own power. He pushes himself up out of the wheelchair, glad his duffel bag was light so it didn’t jar his entire body when the bag fell from his lap. He takes a few shuffling paces to the outside of the hospital, takes a deep breath, and looks around, hoping for a close bench he can sit on and wait for the cab he still needed to call.
He wasn’t expecting to see Lucy a handful of paces away, leaning back against her sensible SUV with her arms crossed over her chest, foot tucked up against her wheel. He hadn’t seen her in over a month, much longer than the Salonga op. He couldn’t even get any information about it, either. Need-to-know only. He hated it.
Tim wonders how the hell she knew he was even in the hospital.
“You’re so damn stubborn, Tim, I swear.” She pushes forward to meet him, taking his duffel bag from his slack hand, head shaking the entire time. He’s too stunned to fight her. “Why didn’t you call me? Or-or anyone?”
“You were on an op.” He’s still surprised, and it’s the first words that come into his head that pop out of his mouth. “And Angela has the baby,” he tacks on quickly, taking a step closer to her. “I was going to call a cab.”
They’re close enough that he can see her roll her eyes before she turns from him, putting his duffel in her back seat. “C’mon Tim, get in the car.” There’s no reason to fight her on it, so he does, even if her passenger seat is uncomfortably close to the dash of her car. He figures he can let her have this one time to order him around; he’s in too much pain to argue with her. He has to awkwardly reach across his body to close the door, but he doesn’t go far before he realizes Lucy is standing in the open doorway.
“Luce, I have to shut the door,” he finally says, when it’s obvious that Lucy’s not moving and not saying anything. That seems to snap her out of it, but she leans closer to him, her long hair practically in his lap as she looks at something on the seat. But when he feels the seat sliding back, his legs stretching out in front of him, he gives Lucy a small, tired smile. She doesn’t smile back, looking over his face before nodding, carefully closing his door and getting in the driver’s side.
The ride to his house is quiet and Tim knows Lucy well enough to know that isn’t a good thing. He’s still a little groggy from the pain medicine coming out of his system, so he doesn’t break the hold the silence has on them, lest he says the wrong thing. He has so many questions about her op, but it feels as if that’s the wrong thing to be worried about right now.
His truck has been parked in the street in front of the house, leaving Lucy to pull her car into the driveway. It’s an easier walk for Tim this way, but he’s a bit annoyed; he’d rather his truck not be sideswiped by some asshole going way too fast down the residential street. Before he can think to open the door, Lucy is there to open it for him. It’s different, being on this side of things, and Tim didn’t think he’d even let Angela baby him like this.
“Did Lopez call you?” Somehow, this is the thought that clears his brain, and Tim leans back against the closed door while he waits for Lucy to grab his bag, his keys already dangling from his left hand.
“Yeah, she did. Someone had to tell me you got shot.” She snatches the keys from his hand on her way to his front door, and he’s stunned. It’s not until they’re both in his house, Lucy already puttering around his kitchen, that he finds his voice.
“Chen, are you mad at me?” His disbelief is palpable, and he walks into the kitchen behind her, seeing her filling a glass with water. There’s a bottle of Tylenol already sitting on the counter, lid holding two of the gel tablets. He was due for another dose soon; how did she know already?
“Yes! Yes, I’m mad at you for getting shot.” Her voice has taken on that stretched-too-thin sound, and Tim’s moving towards her, hating that tone in her voice. Yes, Lucy was saying she was mad at him, but he knew her too well by now to accept that. She’s scared, and she refuses to look at him.
“Luce.” He never called her Luce before today, but it falls from his lips softer than her given name does. He’s giving himself away, too strung out on missing her and being in the hospital to cover his ass. “Lucy. Look at me.”
They both know it’s not an order, but she turns to him slowly anyway, eyes cast downwards. He can hear her sniffle, knows she’s either crying or holding back tears, and he wishes his one arm wasn’t held to his chest in a stiff sling. He wants to pull her into his arms and get her to see he was okay. “You got shot, and I wasn’t there. I can— I can’t lose someone else, Tim. I can’t do it.”
The words broke his heart, and Tim reached out for her, his hand curling over his shoulder. She finally looks up at him, and he can see the tears and the stress and the worry. It had been one thing to hear her worry over the phone, but it was staggering to see it in person, and his breath gets stuck in his chest.
“I wasn’t on-duty.” It feels important to say, so she knows. “There’s nothing that you could have done. You wouldn’t have been there, anyway.” It’s not… exactly true. The shooting happened outside the diner that has her favorite fries. They’ve gone there for dinner before. He had needed a little comfort. It ended with him in a hospital bed. “Lucy, I’m okay.” His hand slides down from her shoulder to her hand, giving it a squeeze. “How did your op go?”
He’s desperate to push the conversation past his hospital stay and wants to know if the month she was out of his life was worth it, if she did what the 77th needed her to do.
Lucy moves away from him, his hand dropping to his side; he didn’t even realize he was still holding her hand. He felt his face heat up, and he was glad Lucy had turned her back on him to look out at his yard. “I don’t know; I pulled the plug.”
It wasn’t like Lucy to not see an op through to the end, and Tim’s jaw dropped open in response. “What, not getting what you needed from the gun runners?”
He’s still staring at her back when she turns back to him; her expression is so earnest, he’s reminded of the time that she told him he had a “learning difference.” “You got shot, Tim.” He waits for her to elaborate because he doesn’t understand how they’re back on this topic. She’s in front of him again, and her hand is against his cheek and he’s thought about being this close to her again, but never thought it’d be like this. “You got shot, and I couldn’t focus on the rest of the op. Nyla pulled me out before anything bad could happen.”
Before anything bad could happen to her. Lucy didn’t say it, but Tim knows. He will have to thank Harper for pulling her out before anything could happen; she’d be insufferable for it.
He closes his eyes, breathes for a minute, feels her hand stroking over the few days’ worth of stubble on his cheek. His eyes fly open at a sudden thought, but he has no chance to say anything because Lucy’s pressing the rest of the way into him, mindful of his injured arm. Her lips are pressing against his before he fully processes what she’s going for.
As far as first kisses go, it could be worse. She’s a little too short, even in her boots, to press her lips carefully to his, but it makes it all the better to him. Tim puts his hand on her hip, pulling her closer to him before he tilts his head down farther to kiss her better this time. He wants so much more than this, every nerve firing in his body, but Lucy shifts in his arms, and it sends a shooting pain through his body. He can’t stop the pained groan, panting against her lips both from the breathlessness of the pain shooting through him and their kiss.
“Tim,” Lucy chastises, pulling away from him, “you need to take your medicine. And eat.”
He could think of much better things he could be doing with his time, but he knows she will not relent. They are both protective, in their own ways. He takes the medicine she offers him, drinks half the glass of water under her watchful eye. All he wants to do is pull her back into his arms, to kiss her over and over and over. They order food instead, from his favorite Mexican place.
She pushes him towards the couch, puts on a game for him, and says she’s going to pick up Kojo and their food. The pills have taken the edge off the pain, and it’s easy to circle her wrist before she walks away from him. She comes back to him easily, her eyebrows furrow together, and he’s feeling so sentimental that he slides his fingers between hers, leaning down to press a long, lingering kiss to her lips.
Tim forgot how sweet these first kisses can be and all the emotions he’s been feeling are sitting in his chest, ready to come spilling out of him.
“Not a mistake then?” Her words surprise him, and he drops her hand to reach up to cradle her cheek, thumb brushing underneath her still-closed eye.
“Not a mistake.” The words are breathed out over her cheek, and he presses a kiss there, and then one against her forehead. He feels her sigh against his neck, and he shudders.
“We’ll have to talk when I get back.” Her words feel like a warning, but Tim has grown used to having these hard conversations with Lucy. There was a well-rooted seed of trepidation, all the things he has convinced himself as the reasons they could never be together.
He presses another kiss to her lips, unwilling to stop himself from indulging in the urge when he knows he can, for the moment. “We’ll talk.” He takes a step back from her, tucking an unruly curl behind her ear, knowing everything he is feeling has to be written all over his face and in his body language. He’s always been expressive, if only to the right people.
“Go get your dog. And our food.” He tries to inflect sternness into his voice, to pretend he’s not the marshmallow he feels like on the inside. Lucy takes the next step backward, her keys dangling from her hand, and smirks at him. He knows that face; it’s the one he’s learned that means he’s the one in trouble.
“Yes, sir.”
— o —
And I will not cry also
Although you will expect me to
I was wiser too than you had expected
For I knew all along you were mine