Work Text:
Be careful .
Tim distinctly remembered when she said those words to him. In Guatemala, her voice on his phone as they prepared to break Angela out of De La Cruz’s hands and home to Los Angeles.
“Tim,” she said, her voice hesitant. He’d known her long enough to know that she was scared, that she was worried, that she couldn’t stand the thought of losing him and never seeing him again. “Please be careful.”
There was something so oddly intimate about her words that he couldn’t pin his fingers on. It was a bad time, but he reflected on how he had pulled her in for a hug the night before, held her in his arms, his hands finding their way into her hair as she sobbed into his chest. He felt his heart twinge, the same way he used to feel when Isabel left on another one of her month-long assignments and he never knew if he was going to see her again.
He wondered if that was how Lucy felt, sitting in her apartment, monitoring Guatemala’s street cameras, praying for his safety. Had it not been for catching Jackson’s shooter, he had a feeling that Lucy would’ve insisted, fought them to let her come, because no one could have Tim’s back and six as well as she could.
“I always am,” he cocked the gun, and across the phone, he heard her breath catch— she’d heard the gun clicking. Knew— that things were getting real.
Tim Bradford was nothing if not a man of his word, so a few hours later, their helicopter landed on St. Joseph Hospital’s helipad, the wind whipping around them as doctors and nurses ushered Angela and Wesley away for a series of checks. Grey and Lucy had been waiting there for them, and he’d seen Lucy’s eyes flick over Angela briefly, relief rushing her body as she saw the woman in one piece.
And then she was running up to him, and for some reason, he’d opened his arms, catching her as she leapt at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. The old Tim would’ve scoffed and reeled away at their physical contact, but they’d been riding together for so long that Lucy’s touches had become something he was accustomed to.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” she whispered into his neck, not letting go, even though they were both aware of Grey and Nolan in the background. He let his hands curl around her waist, and for a moment, the world was just the two of them. When she stepped back at last, he saw the unfinished part of the sentence in her eyes— I can’t lose you too, not after Jackson . As if confirming that he was real, that he was in front of her, alive and breathing and alive, she wrapped her hand around his wrist, giving it a light squeeze.
Things went back to as normal as they could be, after that. He offered for her to stay with him at his place for a while longer— he knew first-hand how stifling silence could be in an empty home. The first few months after Isabel left had been sheer torture, the house empty and cold, her side of the bed undisturbed. She’d turned him down, but when he showed up at her apartment after work with pizza and takeout, she always let him in.
The night after Jackson's funeral, they sat together for hours on her couch, Tim rising only to open the door for their takeout delivery driver, and to refill Lucy's tea mug every once in a while. He'd followed her wordlessly to her apartment after the service, his truck behind hers as they wove through LA traffic. He settled himself onto her couch, and then she settled himself into his embrace. She had been so strong through the funeral, facing Jackson's parents with a sympathetic smile, and Tim had watched Lucy press Jackson's St. Michael's pendant into Mrs. West's palm, the woman bursting into tears, sobbing into her husband's blazer.
"It was a beautiful ceremony." Tim said quietly, after they'd sat together for what felt like hours. She had cried and cried and cried until the tears weren't coming anymore, and he'd coaxed her into eating a semblance of dinner, making sure she had water and tea before she crumpled back into his arms again. "... Tired?"
"Yeah." she mumbled into his shirt. He wasn't entirely sure why he stayed so long for her, but he knew that she needed him. And he knew that if it were him— if he had lost Isabel, or Angela, she would stay with him, too. "Can you stay? Even if I fall asleep."
"Of course." he agreed, peeling her gently off of him so that he could shut off most of the lights, leaving one dim lamp alight in the corner. He placed his car keys, his house keys and his money clip on her coffee table, and sent off a message to his neighbour, asking him to keep an eye on Kojo overnight. When all was done, he arranged himself beside her, surrounding her with his body and the back of the couch.
"... You'll always be careful, right?" she whispered quietly, her fingers toying slowly with the buttons on the black button-up he'd worn to the funeral. Across the apartment on the kitchen counter was his abandoned blazer.
"Yes. Always." he nodded.
"Promise?"
"Promise."
Satisfied with his answer, she hummed quietly. "Thank you."
The next time she murmured the words to him, they were working an op, two weeks after the funeral, about to charge a house filled with drug peddlers. "Be careful." she met his eyes for a brief second before flicking back to the house their felons were camping out in.
"I always am." he responded— then they were moving, dividing and conquering, yelling "Police!", apprehending the few that tried to fight back. Tim led Nolan into the main room of the house, arresting three dealers sitting around a table playing cards. Making sure Nolan had the criminals under control, hooking them up with his own and a pair of handcuffs that Tim threw him— the sergeant turned down the hallway, his heart easing when he heard Lucy's faraway call: "Clear!"
Some days, Lucy didn't even have to utter the words. All it took from her was a glance up at him, his eyes meeting hers, the worry— and the trust— that she had for him. It was one of (many) things he appreciated about her. She worried about him, yes, but she also knew that he could take care of himself. Be careful. Her eyes read, a month after Jackson's death, as they waited for Grey's order over the radios, and at that point, it was just a sentimental habit.
"I always am." he returned, ignoring Nolan's confused look as he seemingly responded to nobody. Across him, Lucy nodded, and they honed their focus to the task at hand. Time after time, case after case, call after call. Sometimes they used words, sometimes they didn't.