Chapter Text
Not really sure how to feel about it
Something in the way you move
Makes me feel like I can't live without you
It takes me all the way
I want you to stay
Ooh, the reason I hold on
Ooh, 'cause I need this hole gone
Well, funny you're the broken one
But I'm the only one who needed saving
'Cause when you never see the light
It's hard to know which one of us is caving
Not really sure how to feel about it
Something in the way you move
Makes me feel like I can't live without you
It takes me all the way
I want you to stay
The ride back is quiet, each lost in their own thoughts. Tim keeps his eyes on the road, but if his grip on the steering wheel is any indication, he is still very much back in the hospice with his father. Lucy feels a tug of deep sadness when the streetlights illuminate his expression, his exhaustion painfully evident on his face.
Lucy wonders briefly if she should remind him that her car is still back at his childhood home, but opts instead to stay quiet, unsure of whether he wants or even needs her around, but certain she wants to be here for him if he’ll let her.
She is still kicking herself for not realizing how deeply her words had hurt him — for not being more in tune with how obviously painful this entire series of events has been for him since the moment his sister had turned up outside of their shop.
If she’s honest with herself, she knows part of it is because she is still barely treading water with her own grief, hesitant to embrace any emotion beyond the unrelenting positivity and humor and playfulness that is seeing her through each day, allowing her to keep her head just barely above water after a year that has tried to break her in the cruelest and most unrelenting of ways.
But she is here now, with him, ready to be there for him in all the ways he has been there for her and then some.
When they arrive, she follows him quietly up his drive and through his front door all the way through to his kitchen, where he grabs a bottle of whiskey off of his bar and pours himself a glass, only then seeming to notice that she is there at all.
His eyes bore into hers, and Lucy can’t quite tell if he is looking at her or through her, but she holds his gaze, unflinching.
Finally, he turns back to the bar, wordlessly pouring her a shot of tequila. He slides it across the counter toward her, lifting his own glass in a silent gesture of cheers before downing the amber liquid in one fell swoop.
Lucy questions momentarily if maybe this isn’t the best idea — if adding alcohol to the intensity of the anger and grief and resentment that is still radiating off of him will result in anything other than regret.
But again, she opts to stay quiet. If this is what he needs in this moment, this is what she will give him.
She follows suit, wincing as the harshness of the liquor slides down the back of her throat.
They move out to the backyard, and she eventually loses count of how many shots of tequila she downs. Tim, who was apparently a bartender in another life, keeps a steady flow of booze in both of their glasses. Her best indication that she’s probably had enough is the light and airy buzz that makes her feel like she’s floating outside of her body. And she finally feels bold enough to say what she’s been wanting to since the moment he had uttered those words to her in the hallway of the hospice.
The Tim Tests — those don't make me like him.
She’s sliding her hand over his before she even fully realizes she’s moving at all, “I’m so sorry, Tim.”
He flinches at the unexpected contact, and she immediately begins to pull back, cheeks heating with the certainty that she has overstepped. He surprises her by catching her hand in his, halting her retreat.
Her breath hitches when he meets her eyes. It’s the first time he’s torn his gaze from the darkened landscape since they found their way out to the yard and he looks so sad, so vulnerable, that Lucy feels like someone is physically crushing her chest. She aches for him.
“I’m so sorry,” she says again. “For what I said — about the Tim Tests, and for all of it, for everything you went through when you were a kid and everything you are going through again now. I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner, Tim. You never deserved any of it, and he was a monster for what he put you through.”
He blinks rapidly and Lucy can see the glimmer of tears back in his eyes before he looks away again. “I don’t know why I do it,” he finally says, his voice brittle.
“Do what?” Lucy asks softly, her grip automatically tightening around his fingers as she works to keep her urge to comfort and console him in check.
“Maybe I’m just broken… I lied for him, covered for his affair. Lied for Isabel, covered for her addiction.”
Lucy shakes her head vigorously, “No, Tim. You’re not. You’re not broken. You —” Her voice falters as her eyes well with the intensity of her emotion, “You would do anything to protect the people you love, Tim. That doesn’t make you broken, it makes you human. It makes you more than human; it makes you wonderful and —” she stops short, feeling suddenly all too aware of her words as the confusing flood of emotion she is feeling toward him causes them to tumble out of her mouth.
“You weren’t lying for your dad; you were protecting your mom, and you were put in a position that no child should ever be in. And yes, you may have crossed some lines for Isabel, but she was your wife. Anyone who can’t understand why you did what you did — just — Tim, when it really mattered, you did the right thing for yourself and for Isabel.”
His eyes find hers, and his lips curve slightly upward, “No thanks to my meddling, overstepping rookie, huh?”
Lucy’s heart swells at the fondness in his expression, “I guess some things never change.”
“I guess they don’t,” his voice is different somehow, huskier, and Lucy follows his gaze to their intertwined hands, warmth rushing into her cheeks as she realizes just how intimate the moment has become.
Tim clears his throat, abruptly reclaiming his hand and running it through his hair as he leans back in his chair, eyes returning to the shadowy view. “My dad hated that I became a cop. I guess now I know why.”
Lucy laughs mirthlessly. “My parents hate that I became a cop, too, but I’m pretty sure they aren’t covering up a murder.”
Tim pauses with his whiskey halfway to his lips. “They hate that you became a cop?”
“Uh, yeah. I thought I told you that.”
“No.” He’s watching her closely, like he’s trying to puzzle something out. She feels simultaneously exposed and like she wants to be seen. It takes Lucy a moment to realize she wants to be seen by him.
“The day I became a P2, I invited them over to celebrate,” she confides quietly after a moment, taking a long sip of her tequila. “My dad didn’t bother to show up, and — well, my mom only came to tell me it was time to go back to grad school and find a real profession. Something meaningful, so she can finally be proud of me.” She follows her words with another humorless laugh, her resentment and hurt rising to the surface.
Tim brings his own drink to his mouth, but he’s still eyeing her with that familiar shrewd expression of his. "That egg freezing stuff you were asking me about a few weeks ago —"
Lucy blanches at the mention of the topic, covering her face with her hands. "Oh god, let's not even talk about that."
"That was why you were so upset about it. Because you felt like your mom was trying to decide for you?"
"I — don’t get me wrong, okay, I love my parents. And I know how lucky I am to have two parents that love me and want the best for me. But that’s the thing, ever since I enrolled in the Academy, they have been convinced that I am ruining my life, convinced that only they know what is best for me and I —” Lucy shakes her head, trailing off.
“You what?”
She waves one hand dismissively with a half-hearted shrug. “No. it doesn’t matter. I feel stupid complaining about this after everything you’ve been dealing with. They love me. That’s what matters, and I know that. It just sometimes feels like they are more interested in controlling me than they are in whether I am actually happy.”
He’s frowning deeply, and Lucy hurries to continue, “I’m sorry — I told you, it’s stupid.”
He shakes his head, “We rode together almost every day for over a year and you never even mentioned any of this?”
Lucy sighs, averting her eyes, “You made it pretty clear how you felt about me discussing my personal life.”
Tim scoffs, “And since when did that ever stop you?”
“I don’t know… I guess — I didn’t really tell anyone. Other than Jackson, I mean.” She pauses, swallowing before she confesses, “I, uh, sometimes I think I haven’t really accepted that he’s actually gone.” Her voice wavers as the emotion continues to well in her throat, “And then it’s like something happens and he is the only person I want to tell, and I go to text him or start walking toward his room and it just hits me like a freight train all over again. I — uh, I feel really alone without him sometimes.”
“Lucy —”
She shakes her head, “I’m sorry, Tim — I didn’t mean to make this about me. I think I’m just still having a really hard time; I really, really miss him. But this is not what you need to be hearing after the night you just had.”
She doesn’t even realize she’s crying until Tim is leaning in toward her, his thumb brushing a tear off of her cheek. But despite the unexpected tenderness of his touch, his eyes are stormy and his voice has a harsh edge to it, “Why are you apologizing?”
And he is so close to her now that Lucy can feel the heat of his breath on her face, see the tension in his jaw, “Why wouldn’t you tell me any of this?”
And she sees it then, the hurt in his eyes, almost like she’s betrayed him, betrayed their friendship by not trusting him with all of the things she herself hasn’t been ready or willing to face.
The tears are pouring down her cheeks now, and she can’t find the words to explain it to him — to explain that she has just been barely hanging by a thread, and being here with him is the first time she has felt fully human in weeks, if not months.
And then he is on his feet, towering over her for only a split second before he is hauling her up and into his arms. She is barely able to register the moisture on his own cheeks before she is wrapped up in him.
And god, he is holding her so tightly and he feels so warm and solid against her skin and he smells like comfort and safety and home, the same way he always has to her since he pulled her out of that barrel, and the only thing she is absolutely certain of is that this is exactly what she needs. He is exactly what she needs.
She’s not sure how long they stay like that, how long he lets her cry into his chest. How long he continues to clutch her to him as his own shoulders shake. How long it is until he is rubbing his hand up her back one final time, pressing a final kiss to the top of her head, and then finally pulling back so he can see her, his voice gruff with the depth of his emotion when he finally speaks, “Lucy, I-I want you to talk to me. I want to be here for you.”
And he is so damn earnest, Lucy knows he means every damn word. He slides his hand soothingly up her arm as she nods and she’s suddenly aware of how good, how right it feels to be in his arms again. A wave of deja vu sweeps over her as their eyes lock, sending her back in time to the last time she was here with him.
Sometimes, Lucy convinces herself she imagined that moment between them all those months ago. She tells herself that the heady mix of grief and exhaustion made her see things that weren't really there. But the longing in his eyes as he stares down at her now is so familiar that it makes her heart skip a beat. And suddenly, the idea that there could be something more between them doesn’t feel all that imaginary.
Her eyes drop to his lips and her cheeks are flushing as soon as she realizes it, forcing her gaze back up to his.
And holy shit, she is not prepared for the answering intensity in his gaze, the heat, maybe even the desire?
What is happening?
“Lucy?” His voice is husky again, and somehow she knows exactly what he is asking.
And then she’s launching up on her toes even as he is already bending down to meet her, his lips finding hers and igniting a fuse that neither has any hope of extinguishing, even as her unanswered question from their exchange in the shop just a few days prior echoes in the very back of her head.
You're seeing someone?
Lucy jolts upright when she wakes the next morning, barely having the presence of mind to clutch the sheet over her bare chest as she takes in first the unfamiliar surroundings and then the all too familiar man sprawled out next to her.
Tim’s upper body is fully exposed to her, her eyes automatically trailing over his pecs and his sculpted abs all the way down until settling on where the perfect V of his hips disappears under the sheet, despite the utter absurdity of the action in this moment.
Her head is spinning; she feels dizzy and nauseous in that way that is specifically intended as punishment for less than stellar life decisions the night prior.
What the hell? How the fuck did she end up naked in bed next to her former TO?
Her brain is still foggy, but flickers of memories from the night before begin to materialize.
A softness in his eyes. And then, a heat. Lips. The sweet, comforting warmth of his mouth against hers. And hands. Oh dear god, his hands. Cradling her face. Sliding up under her top. And later, adeptly working between her legs. Articles of clothing littering the floor. And then his entire body, flush against hers, moving with a rhythm and confidence that — oh dear god. What is she doing? Her body is responding all over again to just the idea.
Fuck. Fuck. This is Tim. Tim. Her boss, her mentor, her training officer. Not her drunken late-night fuck buddy.
Tim who, apparently, may not even be single.
She feels something that resembles panic rise up in her chest, as the certainty that absolutely nothing good can come from this washes over her.
Clothes. She needs to be less naked so she can think straight. She woefully pictures the trail of clothing they had left starting in the yard back through the house, both practically naked before they had even set foot in his bedroom, though Lucy is almost positive her panties are in here somewhere.
She swallows, weighing her options. She can take the sheet and risk waking Tim. Or she can make a run for it, collect her stray articles of clothing as stealthily as possible, and get the fuck out of here while praying that he doesn’t actually remember what happened between them last night.
Steeling herself, she slips out of bed sans sheet, immediately bending to check under the bed for her panties.
“Lucy?” Tim’s groggy voice reaches her ears just as she straightens, freezing like a deer caught in headlights, too mortified at first to even attempt to cover herself.
His eyes go wide in surprise at her naked form, fully on display in front of him, and then both of their gazes are following the movement as his dick becomes fully erect under only the cover of the thin sheet.
“Oh my god,” Lucy gasps as Tim goes crimson. Finally jarred into motion, her arms go up to cover herself as she stammers, “Sorry, I-I’m just looking for my clothes.”
She flees from the room without waiting for a response, deciding that underwear is a luxury she cannot afford right now.
She hears the sounds of Tim waking, the sound of the shower very briefly running – cold, if she had to guess – as she collects and yanks on her jeans and t-shirt from the night prior.
She spots her bra flung on the dining table, briefly distracted by the memory of him lifting her onto that very table, his reaching around her to undo the clasp and then his mouth — oh god his mouth — just as Tim emerges in only a pair of basketball shorts.
She hastily grabs the undergarment and stuffs it into her bag, before finally meeting his eyes. And his gaze is shockingly steady.
He is holding something out to her, and Lucy’s face flushes all over again when she recognizes the pale pink fabric of her panties.
She drops her gaze as she grabs them, futilely attempting not to mentally extend the brief touch of their fingers to all the other ways he had touched her the night prior. Abruptly yanking her hand back from his, she turns away from him to stuff the underwear into her purse next to the other critical piece of clothing she is currently not wearing.
His expression is concerned when she finally looks back up at him, “Lucy — I — look, can we talk? Are you okay?”
Lucy nods, even though, for once, she is the one that would rather be doing just about anything else other than talking.
“I’m fine,” she finally manages, biting her lip as she tries to get her arms around the magnitude of what they’ve done — all of the lines they’ve crossed. And then there’s that nagging concern that is suddenly back front and center in her mind. “Tim…what you said to Genny the other day — are you really seeing someone?”
He lifts his eyebrows in surprise, like it’s not what he expected her to say at all. “I — yeah. Ashley, Jerry’s daughter.” His jaw tightens as he says it. “I asked her out a little over a month ago. After the treasure hunt.”
Lucy’s face falls, and for a second she feels like she might be sick. It’s not like any affirmative answer to the question could have been good, but the idea that he’s seeing someone she actually knows twists her gut with guilt. “I-I don’t… Shit, Tim, I’m so sorry.”
“You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Lucy.”
She lets out a sound that is halfway between a scoff and a strangled sigh. She tries to find something to say and ends up landing on a feeble, “She seemed really nice when I met her.”
Now it’s Tim who looks like he might be sick. “She is,” he says quietly.
They stare at each other for a few moments, the weight of everything that has happened over the last 24 hours heavy in the air. Tim’s expression is stoic and unreadable, a sharp contrast to the way he looked at her last night with such open, raw vulnerability. He clears his throat to speak, but suddenly Lucy feels like she needs to be the one to say it.
“Look, last night was a mistake, Tim. It shouldn’t have happened. We were drinking and we were both upset.” Lucy takes a deep breath, trying to keep her voice steady. “And I would never want to do anything to jeopardize your relationship. Or to mess up our working relationship. I’m your aide and —”
Tim nods slowly, brow crinkled in concern, “I could put in a request for a new aide —”
“NO. No. I don’t want that. I think — this was just a one-time thing. Neither of us was thinking straight. We don’t have to make it into more than it was. Can we just put it behind us?”
Lucy’s gaze is pleading. Tim looks briefly conflicted — he opens his mouth, then closes it again. Finally, he simply says, “If that’s what you want.”
She nods slowly, hoping her expression isn’t as deeply sad and disappointed as she suddenly feels, unable to process the wave of incongruous emotion she is feeling about every single bit of this. This is for the best, she reassures herself.
“Lucy…” Tim steps toward her, reaching for her, and she stumbles back out of his reach.
She chokes back the emotion rising in her throat. “I should go,” she tosses over her shoulder as she whirls on her heel, not trusting herself to be here, with him, in his space for even a minute longer.