Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lucy’s leg jiggles in the empty waiting room of Dr. Rosa Ruiz. The earthly tones of her office should infuse calm and relaxation, but Lucy is nervous about this session: admitting that she freaked out in the middle of Trader Joe’s is not going to be fun. 

Luckily, she’s here alone. 

Nolan, her supermarket shadow, had left her after they paid for their shopping, with a little awkwardness and a lot of encouragement. Jackson and Tim are still on shift, though she kind of expects them to be waiting outside of Rosa’s office when she’s done. 

She might just shove them away, even though she is already drained of most of her energy. It’s not even noon, and she could take a nap right now. Maybe that’s what she’ll do after she meets with Rosa. 

She likes her therapist, she really does, but she’s feeling guarded with her heart today. She knows Rosa is going to pry it open and poke where it hurts. 

Rosa is a middle-aged woman with black hair and deep brown eyes who can read into your soul, though the faint smell of lavender and sage makes her office feel like a relaxing garden Lucy can get lost in. Even though she’s a bit unconventional in her methods, Lucy is glad she also qualifies as LAPD-mandated therapy, so that she doesn’t need to see a bunch of people before she’s even allowed back to work. 

Because there’s one thing that has been solidified in her brain: she wants to go back to being a police officer, so that nobody else will have to face what she had to face. 

It’s so idealistic it sounds like a pamphlet for the LAPD Academy, but she clings to the idea of going back and putting criminals behind bars as therapy for her own trauma. Maybe she’s not ready now, but she hopes one day she can be.

Rosa is her usual self during therapy, and Lucy struggles, using up a bunch of tissues, though neither of them cares. She probably looks wrecked by the time she exits therapy and makes her way home, but she’s glad most of their neighbors are at work and not walking around with their dogs or running errands. 

When she gets home, she does indeed take a long nap, though it feels anything but restful, as she wakes herself up quite often, struggling with nightmares. The afternoon gets away from her in a series of deep cleanup tasks she’s been putting off for weeks and regretting most of it when her injuries protest.

Jackson is still on shift by the time there’s a knock on her door. The sharp rap sounds familiar, and she can’t help the soft smile on her lips at the sight of Tim on the other side of her peephole. 

She slowly opens the door, her grin brightening when she sees he’s got a takeout bag clutched in his hand and another bag from her favorite bakery. He’s standing there in a Henley and soft-looking jeans, unassuming and a bit uncomfortable, but still looking exactly what she would expect from her training officer.

“Dinner and dessert. West insisted.” Tim says, even though Lucy knows dessert was his very own idea. 

“Where is Jackson, anyway?” Lucy asks, allowing Tim to enter her apartment. 

“Stuck babysitting a scene for Armstrong. He and Nolan had no other choice.”

“So he sent you my way with tacos?”

Tim practically shrugs, though Lucy knew he clearly had a choice in the matter. She still appreciates the gesture of quiet comfort from her friends, though, and from Tim himself. 

“Is there enough for you, too?” Lucy asks, motioning for Tim to leave the food on the counter. 

“I can take my order and leave. That’s up to you, if you want some peace and quiet,” Tim adds, his eyes searching hers for confirmation of her answer. 

Lucy thinks about it for a moment, about how the weight on her shoulders suddenly feels less overwhelming since she has set her eyes on Tim, and so she nods. 

“Stay.”

Tim gives her the smallest of smiles, settling on one of her stools, his whole body losing most of the tension he had while he was at the door. 

“How was patrol today?” Lucy asks, as they both unwrap and unbox the food, carefully dividing it. She knows his taco order by now, and when she stumbles upon the carnitas while he finds the shrimp, they’re quick to swap shells without even speaking. 

Tim eases into a tale of misdemeanors and petty crimes, smartly glossing over the fact that he had held her together after a panic attack not even two hours into his shift. 

“How was therapy?” he asks, winning a frown from Lucy. 

“Jackson told you I was seeing Rosa today?”

Tim looks confused. “You told me. Remember?”

It dawns on her that she did, even though most of her panic attack has dulled her own perception of time and shared information. 

“Right.”

“Have you figured out what helps you cope?”

Lucy hesitates. They’re about to talk about something private, almost intimate, and she’s not sure if they’re there yet with Tim. Except the guy has literally seen her dead and in the throes of one of her worst panic attacks to date, so maybe they are there now. 

“Grounding. The way your voice kept me tethered to reality helped.”

“What about physical touch?” Tim continues, his whole body focused on her, taking in her expressions. 

“It helps. Keeps me tethered.”

Tim nods, exhaling, then he lowers his eyes and his taco. “That works well for me, too.”

Lucy gasps before she can help herself. Because Tim willingly volunteering such deeply vulnerable information is something she was not expecting from her night. 

“Do you still have panic attacks from the time you served?”

Tim shakes his head. “Only when there’s a very traumatic case. I haven’t had one since I got shot on your second day,” he admits, his cheeks a darker shade of pink at the admission, his eyes focused on the taco wrapper. 

“And here I thought I was the one freaking out,” Lucy jokes, trying to lighten the mood. She does win a chortle from Tim, though. 

“Yeah, the panic arrived after I was all patched up, not in the moment. Adrenaline keeps me sharp and focused.” He admits. “For being only your second day on the job, you did great, Chen.”

Her eyes widen, and she can’t help the grin. “Praise from Officer Bradford? Wow. I really was traumatized,” she adds, but the joke doesn’t land this time. 

The awkward silence stretched for a few seconds, both of them taking a bite of their food to fill it. 

“Sorry, I know you were joking,” Tim says, wiping some salsa from his mouth with a napkin, his exhale shaky.

“I tend to bury my feelings in humor sometimes. Sorry. We’re working on this with Rosa, too. Being open.”

“It’s hard. Don’t worry about it. I usually tolerate your jokes.”

“Unless they turn into spiraling, they’re usually funny jokes,” she replies, winning a smile and a shake of his head from Tim. 

“Whatever you say, Chen.”

She lightly shoves his forearm, winning a chuckle, as they both resume and finish their tacos. The quiet is comfortable now, not charged and awkward, but familiar, something that does keep Lucy grounded. 

The more they sit there though, the more she wants to confess something to Tim, until the secret becomes a ball of feelings lodged in her throat, one she cannot swallow, just spit out. 

So she spits it out. 

“I knew you would find me,” she blurts, and the room stands still. 

“What?” Tim says, his voice barely above a whisper as he stops crinkling wrappers and cleaning up the mess of their takeout dinner, frozen. 

“When I was in the barrel, singing, I knew you would find me. I knew you would go to the ends of the earth to find your rookie, and I was right.”

“How did you know?” 

“Because you’re you. You are honorable, and stubborn, and determined. And I knew you didn’t want me to die.”

“Of course I didn’t. I wanted to find you. Everyone did.”

“And you found me.”

“I couldn’t lose you,” Tim admits, and she can see how he can’t meet her eyes because they’re shining with tears. 

“I’m glad you saved me,” Lucy admits, her voice cracking. “That’s what we talked about with Rosa today: how happy I am to be alive. That I can’t wait to go back to being a police officer.”

“Oh,” Tim says, surprise evident in his gasp. “You want to continue your training?”

“I’m even more determined to put bad people behind bars now. I know what it feels like to be a victim, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone else,” she says, shuddering at the mere memory. 

“I’ll be happy to finish training you whenever you’re fully healed and ready to come back,” Tim says, emotion clear in his voice, even though his eyes have cleared of tears. 

Lucy smiles, small and shy and tentative, winning a similar smile from Tim, who is staring at her, trying to see if she’s lying through her teeth or if she’s telling the truth about continuing with her rookie year. 

“I can talk to Grey about keeping up with your training as you heal, quizzing you on your Rook Book, on procedures, even firearms training if it doesn’t hurt you too much,” Tim says, eagerness and a newfound determination in his tone. 

“It would be a good way for you to review stuff for the Sergeants’ exam, too. Right?”

Tim nods. “That’s true.”

“And you learn better when you listen, so maybe…” Lucy trails off, feeling a bit bold with the offer, but she kind of wants to put it on the table. “Do you want me to help you study?”

Tim thinks about it for a second, even though Lucy can see in his eyes that he had already made a decision the second she had even hinted at the idea. 

“I will not make it easy for you,” Tim says. “Because you’re injured doesn’t mean I won’t let you work you hard, deal?”

“Same goes for you. Don’t believe that trauma will keep me from asking super obscure questions,” she counters. 

They’re both grinning while they shake on it, almost like the sneakiest of pacts. Both of them ignore the way the air crackles and their skin tingles when their hands make contact, or even how Tim’s thumb seems to rub a second too long over the palm of Lucy’s hand while she squeezes his hand for dear life. 

Just two co-workers turned friends, sealing a pact. 

No big deal. 

No big deal.