Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He can hear himself breathe. 

That’s a good sign, right? Breathing? 

Staggering, gasped, whatever it might be. His breath is going in his lungs, then coming back out. Step one of surviving. 

He can’t see. His vision is dark, and that which is close is completely blurry. Maybe it’s for the best. He knows what it looks like to have a gunshot wound. He knows they can be messy and bloody. He’s never been afraid of blood, but it’s far from his favorite sight. Especially when it's pouring out of him like a waterfall of his livelihood. It's a little depressing, in his opinion, to watch yourself bleed out. 

Other than his breath, he can’t hear much else. There’s a thumping noise– maybe it’s his heart? Maybe its the running feet on the floor boards? Maybe it’s more gunfire? He can’t tell. It’s fast and irregular and distracting him from breathing, so he tries to ignore it. He just knows there is noise somewhere out there, and that it was incredibly uncomfortable to be entirely separated from it. He's never felt so oblivious in his life. 

His hands are buzzing with a numbness that typically comes with them falling asleep. It reminds him of the long hours in the NICU, holding his frail daughter, unwilling to put her down. He remembers how it always felt safest-- knowing she was in his hands, she was his to protect and care for. Nothing could hurt her when he was there. Nothing else could go wrong when they had each other. He’d rather have pins and needles for the rest of his life than ever have to let her go. 

Why did he let her go?

Maybe it’s a good thing he can’t feel pain. 

There's some kind of pressure somewhere on his body. A pressure he can’t identify, or source, because his vision is too blurred and dark. When he lifts his head, someone pulls it back down– either that, or it was too heavy to hold up in the first place. His back is soaking with his own pool of blood. He hopes it's only his, at least. 

Is Lucy safe?

He pushed her back– he hoped he didn’t push her too hard. He hoped she was safe. Was she okay? Was her parents okay? Her grandmother? What about the present that was sitting on the counter? He never got a good look at it, but it seemed like it meant something to her. 

Amongst his breaths, he murmured something– he’s not sure if it was audible. He’s not sure if it made any sense. He’s not sure if he actually said it out loud. But he needed to try. 

“Luce?”

“Where the hell is my ambulance?!” Lucy shouted at the nearest officer, pressing so hard into his chest she worried he might break a rib. No one responds to her– it’s too chaotic. “Mom, pulse?”

“I-I’m trying,” she said back shakily, her own hands trembling violently as her fingers felt his throat, then his wrist. “I can’t find one.”

“Try harder!”

“Ambulance is four minutes out-” someone said. 

“Jesus Christ-” Lucy grunted, blood soaking through yet another towel. “I need more cloths!”

She’s not sure who it is that came at her with handfuls of dish rags, but someone helps layer them on, and with the next press, Tim made a sound of pain. 

“I know, I know,” Lucy grimaced. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You’re okay.” He didn’t respond to her voice at all. His eyes screwed shut, and his body twisted and writhed. 

“Lucy,” Lopez said, holding her shoulder. “We know the materials Salazar was using. You need to get back before-”

“I’m not letting him bleed out,” Lucy shot back. “I didn’t take this job thinking it would be safe. I’ll take my chances!” Her attention goes back to Tim, who lets out breaths and small noises without taking any air back in. “It’s okay,” Lucy soothed, fumbling for his hand and squeezing it. His fingers are cold to the touch, and his fingers twitched around hers. “I know, baby. I know. It’s okay…”

His mouth moves, as if looking for words, looking for oxygen, looking for relief. If he was trying to say something, she couldn’t make it out. By the time paramedics arrive, he had given in to blood loss and fell unconscious. Someone else took over watching his pulse, and the moment a stretcher came through the door, they shouted for an assist.

“Victim?” the paramedic asked as they knelt with them, rolling him onto a backboard. 

“Uh-Tim-Tim Bradford.  Forty-Three year old male. Not on any medications or supplements. GSW to the chest, profuse bleeding, uneven breathing and touch and go on the pulse,” Lucy explained, refusing to relent. “I’m-I’m his girlfriend. He pushed me away– he pushed me out of the way and-”

“Okay, okay, well we need to move,” the paramedic said. “So either get with it and hop in the ambulance, or back up.”

“I’m coming,” Lucy said quickly. “I’m with you, Tim. It’s alright.”

In the back of the ambulance, one of the paramedics gave her a wad of alcohol wipes to clean the blood off her hands. She did a sloppy job, resting her hand on his leg as they worked their best to stabilize him. Dressings, hooking him up to every vitals machine possible, working to access a vein in a jostling ambulance… it was all nightmare fuel. Just over a year ago, this was her-- clinging to life by a thread, the paramedics rushing their life saving motions as best as they could while still providing ample care. Lucy wondered if Tim was afraid-- in the haze of unconsciousness and blood loss, if he knew how bad this truly was. 

“I’m with you,” Lucy said softly as they pushed epinephrine. “You’re gonna be okay, Tim. You’re gonna be fine…”

His vitals crash out, and Lucy choked back a sound of horror. Instead, she squeezed his leg, watching them pump another epinephrine and get the AED pads secured to his chest and ribs. Lucy lets go for the brief moment he was shocked before grabbing whatever piece of him she could. Her fingers hooked around his. They start compressions.

“C’mon, Tim,” she plead. “C’mon…”

“Clear!”

She lets go again, desperate for a fix. C’mon, Tim . 

When they arrive at the hospital, his heart rate and his oxygen levels were low, but not zero. She’ll take anything other than zero. 

They run off without her behind a set of doors. Nurses and doctors galore tack themselves onto the case as Lucy stumbled her way through, taking shaky breaths and trying to hold it together. 

More ambulances are behind them. 

Nolan is also wheeled in. Conscious, grimacing, writhing from the pain in his leg. Having driven by car, Wesley and Lopez walk in, arms around each other, his shoulder very clearly dislocated. Another ambulance– body bag. 

Finally, she remembers what she did. 

She fired two bullets. Straight ahead. She didn’t think. She didn’t aim for the knees, or his arm. She didn’t give him a warning. 

She killed a man. For the first time, she had killed a suspect. She had taken a life, rather than saving one. The blood on her hands was more than physical-- Klause Salazar was dead, and she had shot him. What would happen to his body? Would he be released to a paupers grave? Would he be released to the Morelli's? Sent to Guatemala, or maybe Russia, to be buried by his loved ones? Lucy realizes in a cascading descent of thoughts-- she killed one of the biggest hitmen in Los Angeles. What did that mean for her? Who would be watching her now? It's a never ending cycle of a person who made stupid choices getting screwed over by Lucy, and in turn, Lucy being screwed over by their ride-or-dies. 

She can't do it all again. She can't do this again. No more.

Another ambulance rolls into the bay-- more staff runs through the doors to accept the gurney, but within a few moments, half the staff backed away. It was a second body bag. Their job was done. It would be sent to the morgue, just like the previous one.    

She felt her blood run cold. She felt the life drain from her in an instant. Someone else was dead. Salazar murdered someone– a person who was only there because of her . A person she knew well enough to celebrate with after Enzo’s verdict delivery. A person who loved her, supported her, cared for her. A person she loved right back. Someone who made her feel safe in the midst of her world ending. 

Who didn’t she see? Which of her friends and family left her mind in the moments between gunfire and Tim’s blood pooling around her. Someone was dead. Someone she loved was dead. 

“Who is it?” Lucy asked desperately, starting toward them. Someone caught her by the arm, pushing her back. She didn't recognize them. She swung their hands off of her, fighting valiantly against the pressure on her shoulders. “Who is that?!”

“Lucy- Lucy! Stop-“

“Who is that?!” She cried out, her knees buckling under her. The officer heaved her off her feet, forcing her into a corner of the waiting room. He slowly lowered her to the floor, sobs wracking her body in desperation. Someone is dead. She killed Salazar, and he had already killed someone else. 

Head in her hands, fingers tangled in the roots of her hair, she sat alone in the corner of the room, unspeaking, unwilling to make eye contact, unable to move. It could be seconds or hours before someone interrupts her stream of thought. It feels like her mind is screaming with desperation and terror. The world is ending, her mind threatens. The world is ending. They're all dead. 

“HazMat is here,” Lieutenant Grey declared to the waiting room full of friends and those injured lightly enough to wait for a bed to open. “They’re conducting radiation screenings on the victims, don’t go anywhere until we have the all clear.”

Lucy doesn’t budge. Radiation screenings on the victims. Tim was a victim. Nolan was shot, too. Someone was in a body bag. She’s horrified to imagine such carnage. She's so caught up in her loved ones suffering, she didn't care if she would be subject to another restless night of blood tests waiting to find radiation poisoning. She didn't care what her exposure level was, or if she was a biohazard just sitting here. People were dead because of her. Nothing mattered anymore. 

A hand falls on her shoulder. When she looked up, it was Lieutenant Grey. 

“Tell me he’s alive,” she whispered desperately. He squeezed. 

“He’s in critical condition,” Grey murmured. “But Bradford is alive.”

She let out a shaky breath, nodding. 

“Salazar is dead,” Grey said next. Lucy nodded, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “There will be an investigation, but given the circumstances… I expect it to be open and shut.”

“But you have to read me my rights,” Lucy says to herself mostly. “Ask me to turn over my gun. Take a blood sample…” 

“A nurse will come take labs shortly,” Grey confirms. “But the rest… that can wait.” She nods, sniffling. The Lieutenant slowly sank down beside her, the two sitting in complete silence. She hadn't gotten to know Lieutenant Grey the same way she had the rest of her team, but he was still a calming, reassuring presence. His mere existence demands respect and order. Lucy found it incredibly comforting. 

She is pulled to a curtained off bed for labs after a while of sitting, but was sent back into the waiting room after. Her head rests against the glass windows, her mind swirling with possibilities. What was taking so long? What was her labs like? Is Tim still touch and go? Who was in the body bag?

“You’ve been in a shooting before?” Grey asked in the long stretches of silence. Lucy nods. “Topanga?”

“My first year,” she murmured. “I was a rookie. Enzo left my side for five minutes. Active shooter in a plaza. I had a clear shot and four people were already injured.”

“Did he live?”

She nods, swiping her sleeve under her eyes. 

“This is my first… first death,” she confessed. “And I don't know... what to say. Or feel. Or do. I don't know anything anymore."

Grey frowned. 

“I-I felt it the first time,” Lucy said, eyes glazing over. “I remember what it felt like, seeing the shooter go down and fearing I killed him. I remember what it was like to…to think I just did the worst thing a person could do.” Her eyebrows furrow. “And…and I can’t focus long enough to even think about the fact that I killed him. Not when-when someone is dead, and John is hurt, and-and Tim..."

“Chen, people are dead,” Grey said back. “People you love are hanging on by a thread. No one would expect you to have all the answers. Not a soul in your shoes would be thinking clearly, either.”

“But I killed a man,” Lucy said breathily. 

“I know,” he sighed. “I know.” 

Her labs come back quickly. Obviously, she was clean of any drug usage— although, she knew she would be needing to use her Xanax prescription if this night takes any more turns. Her blood alcohol content was below the legal limit, too, although elevated. She knew that wouldn’t reflect well on the review. 

Her attention lifts when the doors open. She thought all the victims had come through, but was unpleasantly surprised as one last set of paramedics roll in, a man greeting them and taking the gurney off their hands. There was no rush to their steps. No urgency to heal a life. It was another body bag. Three. Three people dead. 

“Hey,” Lopez greeted, slowly sinking to the floor, framing Lucy with Lieutenant Grey on one side and Detective Lopez on the other. Lucy was paralyzed in fear. She couldn’t look at her. Lopez’s hand found Lucy’s, and she squeezed. 

“How’s Wesley?” Grey asked. 

“Better than a lot of others,” Angela exhaled. “Hurting but hopped up on morphine while they wait to set the shoulder back.”

“You should be with him,” Lucy said breathily, unmoving. Lopez frowned. “Go… go hold his hand. For me.”

She thinks about how heavy her hand was all day with the weight of someone else holding it. His calloused fingers, his trimmed nails, the veins that run up his arm… How she felt so safe with him there. With all of them there. Between Jackson, and Tim, her parents, and some of the fiercest officers in the LAPD all surrounding her. For a few hours, she felt untouchable, and she was proven so very wrong. 

“He’s gonna make it, Lucy,” Angela said. “He has to.”

Nodding, she swiped under her eyes again, closing them with the image of Tim’s bleeding body painted on the back of her eyelids.

“Lieutenant?” A doctor called as he approached. Grey stood, taking a few steps forward, but still in ear shot. Angela joined him. “Scans are back. Victims are clear of radioactive waste.”

“No radiation? At all?” 

“On the victims, none. On the shooter… we will have to outsource a team to conduct the full autopsy due to his blood toxicity. His body is currently being held in a shielded treatment room in the Oncology unit to prevent any leakage.”

“He was shooting to kill,” Lucy said in a murmur. “Not shooting for victims.”

Grey glanced at her. 

“Detective…” 

“Tim was shot in the chest,” Lucy murmured. “And if he hadn’t stepped in front of me, it would’ve struck me in the throat. He wanted to kill whoever he could as fast as he could. If he used the tainted bullets, he would’ve used a-a semi automatic rifle and hit as many people as possible.”

“Are you saying this might’ve been spur of the moment?” Lopez frowned. “He’s daring, but not stupid.”

“He lost everyone,” Lucy admitted, stuck on the stained blood on her hands. “Katya. Ernesto. Now Enzo's sentencing?” Lucy let her head fall. “I took his family from him. He took mine from me.”

“Okay, we-we can’t talk about this. Not until you’ve been through your review, and…and a proper investigation has been done. Though, I’m short some Detectives now-“

With that, the Lieutenant marched off, a determined look on his face and pulling his phone to his ear. 

It’s a revolving door of people. Lopez sits with her until a nurse came to inform her that Wesley’s shoulder would be relocated shortly. Celina and Lucy sat hip to hip in pure silence, nothing but an old coffee to offer as a peace treaty. Mom called— she hadn’t known what hospital they went to, and made a bee-line for her daughter. When Mom got here, the world went a little quieter. 

Head on her shoulder, breathing in her perfume, the last to know are the Bradfords. 

“Where is he?!”

“Mrs. Bradford, I understand you’re worried, but-”

“I’m not Mrs. Bradford, and I’m more than worried ,” LeAnn spat at the nurse. “Where is my son?!”

It’s Gennifer that noticed Lucy. 

“What the fuck happened?!” she demanded, using her Bradford height to tower over Lucy, who was still wearing the blood soaked blouse. “What did you do?”

“I-I didn’t…” Lucy shook her head, trembling fingers ghosting over her lips, as if feeling the last breath that puffed across them, accompanied by a quiet plea that she couldn’t quite hear. “He just… he was standing with me, and he just…” slowly looking down, she comes face to face with the blood that ruined her blouse that she never changed out of. 

“I don’t care what he did, I care why my brother is back in the fucking hospital. This is, what, the third time with you? What bullshit have you dragged him into this time?”

“Genny-” Tim’s brother– Lucy forgot his name– grabbed her by the wrist, yanking Gennifer back a few steps. Lucy hadn’t realized that Gennifer had gotten so close, that she had cornered Lucy and her mother, that she had been getting more aggressive by the second. The detective and patrol officers march over and get between them. Lucy’s tremors worsened. Sinking back into silence, Gennifer Bradford’s argumentative demands spit past the officers trying to reel her in.

What did she do? What did she do? What did I do?

“Chen?”

She looked up, meeting Angela’s eyes as she whisked in between them. Harper was at her side, her arm in a sling and walking with a limp. LeAnn’s shoulders dropped. 

“Angela,” LeAnn exhaled. “Please tell me you have answers-”

“I’m working on it,” Angela reassured Tim’s mother. “Let me talk to Lucy.”

“Not that she’s of any goddamn use!” Gennifer shouted over the patrol officers. 

“Where were you?!” Lucy’s mom spat back at Gennifer. “Where were you when the boy jumped in front of a bullet? Where were you when Lucy kept him alive for paramedics to get there? What use are you, yelling at her?!” 

“Mom,” Lucy croaked, squeezing her lightly. Mom wrapped an arm around her daughter, hugging her close. The detectives looked between the two parties, aghast, but unable to do anything to cut the tension. They each get to work instead. How they can do that, Lucy doesn’t understand. She feels her head in a haze. 

She hates sitting back and letting other people do her bidding. 

She hates letting the doctors take their time. She hates letting other officers take her arrests. And she hates that Tim took the bullet instead of her. 

The waiting room was tense all night. An officer stood by, just in case Gennifer got angry again. Lucy and Gennifer sat on opposite ends of the room. LeAnn paced the waiting room, drifting from Lucy’s side to ask quietly about what happened, to Gennifer’s side to hold and console her. 

When night became dawn, the dayshift took over for the officers standing point, and the rest of Tim’s family arrived. One step brother became two. LeAnn’s husband arrived with an antsy Hallie. Emily arrived with her husband, son, and Gennifer’s two boys, too. The Bradford-Toscano clan took one another into tight embraces, murmuring reassurances– a nurse came by a few minutes ago. He’s alive. We haven’t seen him yet.  The siblings wept of joy and fear. Lucy kept her head down and stayed out of it. 

“I should call Dad,” Gennifer murmured to her mother. “He’d want to know… right?”

“That's… up to you,” LeAnn told her daughter, stepping back. “If you think it would be comforting.”

Gennifer nodded, stepping out of the room to make a phone call. As she left the room, a little hand rested on Lucy’s. 

Glancing up, she cracked a sad smile at Hallie. Her mother began to stir, waking and moving slightly to allow the toddler space. 

“Hey, Bird,” Lucy whispered sleepily, slowly taking the little girl into her arms. Hallie very easily settled into her lap, head tucked against Lucy’s shoulder. Lucy had to spend all her focus on not bursting into tears. The pressure of a little girl in her lap, of a tiny hand in hers, of big feelings in such a little body, all rested on her shoulders. “Are you scared?” The toddler nodded. 

“Is Daddy gonna be okay?” she asked, fat tears welling in her eyes. Lucy smiled, blinking back tears of her own. “I need him okay.”

“He’s going to be just fine,” Lucy said back, not caring whether or not it was true. Hallie needed reassurance, not honesty. “He’s got… so many people taking care of him.”

“Like Momma?”

“Kinda…” Lucy nodded, making her frown. “Different doctors, but they’re all making sure you can see him again soon.”

“Today?”

“I like to think so,” Lucy nodded. “I bet he’d be really happy to see you. It would make him feel so much better.”

“And you,” she murmured. “Daddy likes seeing you, too.”

Lucy sniffled, reaching up and brushing away a tear before Hallie would notice. Lucy kissed the crown of her head, squeezing gently around her. Hallie nestled in deeper. 

“Were you there to rescue him?” she whispered. Lucy sucked in a breath. “Like you rescued me?”

“I was there,” Lucy admitted, tucking her cheek atop of Hallie’s head to hide the tears falling more rapidly. “I was there with him. He wasn’t alone.”

“Good.” Hallie closed her eyes and listened to the thrum of Lucy’s racing heart. “You make people feel safe.”

“Thank you, baby…” Lucy exhaled shakily, kissing her head again. Her mother rested a hand on her back, watching wordlessly. “It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay…”

Chapter Text

Lucy wasn’t allowed to see him. Immediate relatives only. Siblings. Parents. His daughter. That didn’t mean anything, though. She wouldn’t leave. She wouldn’t leave until she’s seen his face again. She wouldn’t leave until she’s felt his pulse under her fingertips, clear as day and undeniable.  

She wouldn’t go home to a silent apartment. 

Three body bags. 

He was identified by the end of the night. Not by his shining smile or dorky humor. Not by his singing or stupid sunglasses. He was identified by the sweet face that seemed to be sleeping, by the pendant on his chest of Saint Michael, chipped by a bullethole. He was identified by his mother, who walked out in hysterics, with one less son. 

Jackson West died at the age of twenty nine years old. He left behind a brother, his parents, and a whole station of police officers who loved him. 

Lucy was the last to know. It wasn’t until a Commander West and his wife shuffled down the hall, clinging to one another with whatever life was left in them that she realized— her best friend was dead.

Lopez wasn’t seen again after that. When Wesley was discharged, the couple went home silently, grief stricken and lost about what to tell Jackson’s namesake. Lucy’s mother had left by then, leaving Lucy in the solitude of total grief. Her lifesaver, her other half, was gone. In the moments between the first gunshot and Lucy’s last, she had lost her best friend and didn’t even notice. 

The second victim was Maria Morelli. She seemed to be the only accidental death. She had a minor gunshot wound, and as a woman on blood thinners, she didn’t stand a chance. She must’ve made herself of alcohol in her final hours, because she bled booze. Lucy didn’t blame her. She couldn’t help but wonder what was on her mind as she died. Her son? Her husband? Klause? Did she come to the bar as a set up or a suicide? 

Lucy’s lost a child before. She would understand the latter better than most. 

“-do you understand these rights as I have read them?”

Lucy blinked, and she nods. They give her an expectant look. 

“Yes. I understand.” 

Her voice is weak. The only words she’s found herself capable of speaking are the ones to soothe an anxious Hallie when she comes to visit. It’s been three days of sitting on the hospital campus, and Lucy was just as empty as the first. 

“Did you have any less than lethal weapons available to you? Pepper spray, baton, taser?” 

“No, sir,” Lucy swallowed thickly. 

“Was the gun in your possession assigned to you?”

“No, sir,” Lucy said again. “I wasn’t carrying my firearm. Sergeant Bradford-“ her jaw tremors, but she clenches her teeth to power through. “Sergeant Bradford was in possession of a small backup piece that I was trained to use.”

“Did you have cover or concealment?”

“No, sir,” Lucy says once more. “I was in the open.”

“Did the suspect discharge his firearm?”

“Yes, sir-“ her voice cracks. “Several times.”

“When did you decide to use the one in your reach?”

“After Sergeant Bradford has been shot in the chest,” Lucy said. Dry eyes, Chen. Chin up. Get it together. Tim’s confidence in her echoes like a chamber of just his reassurance. Chin up. 

“How many rounds did you fire?”

“Two.” 

“What were you aiming at?” 

Lucy’s eyes close, and she tries to picture the moment she lifted the gun. She tries to remember— what did she do? What did she aim for?

“I-I don’t remember.”

“Yes you do. Where did you aim?”

“At-at him? I-I don’t know. Tim was dying, and I was about to get shot and I-I… I pulled the trigger.”

“Aiming where?!”

“At Salazar!” Lucy exclaimed. “At-at the serial murderer! My attention wasn’t perfect, sir, because people were dying! I aimed at Salazar, and that’s what I remember. Not what quadrant, not a leg or a shoulder specifically. I saw his shape. I knew it was him. I had a moment to make the call, and I did. Another second of focus would’ve cost another life.”

The interrogation felt like forever. She was suffocating the entire way through. Where was Salazar aiming when you shot him? What gun was he using? She’s losing herself in the questions, her head pounding and her heart bleeding. She does her best to stay calm, clear, and present— she already had the flag of alcohol in her system on the docket.

When she emerged from the family room where the interrogation was held, she was told to stay close for follow up. Lucy’s hands ran through her hair, and as tears were pooling on the rims of her eyelids, she turned into a wall to shield the utter agony that she couldn’t hold back much longer. 

She needed Tim here. She needed her sanity. She needed her partner. Her friend. There’s so many people who have held those titles in the last few years, and she has somehow lost every single one of them. 

Someone touches her shoulder, and she startled. She had no weapon in her possession, nothing for protection— just her instincts to whirl around and back herself away— even if all she could do was wedge further into a corner. 

LeAnn. 

“I’m so sorry-“ Lucy sniffled, quickly wiping her cheeks. “I’m sorry. This is-that was inappropriate. I’m sorry-“

“Oh, Lucy…” 

LeAnn wasted less than a moment in folding Lucy up in a tight embrace. Lucy never realized just how much Tim was like his mother— her soothing capabilities were near identical, from the hand running over her hair, the rubbing of her back, the murmur that she understood. Lucy burrowed her face in the knit of her sweater, wishing she was even more like her son— wishing she wore his cologne, used the same scent of deodorant, the same shampoo. Wishing she had his height, his voice, his attitude. Wishing she was him. 

“Tell me he’s okay,” Lucy begged. “I can’t take more bad news.”

“He’s pulling through,” she murmured, patting her gently. Lucy pulled back, nodding to herself. He’s pulling through. “He looks worse than… than a lot of us want to see.”

“Is he alone?” Lucy’s eyes soften. “Is-is he… does he have visitors?”

Smiling sadly, she nodded her along. Lucy furrowed her eyebrows, about to ask where they were going, but with a hand on Lucy’s wrist, LeAnn dragged her through the halls, up and elevator, and finally to a room. The door was cracked open. Lucy could hear the beeping of machinery from the other side. She takes a shaky breath. 

“I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“I don’t want to step on any toes-“ Lucy said. “I-I know Gennifer is upset with me, and-and I know it’s… it’s tense-“

“He needs you, Lucy,” LeAnn said. “He needs to hear your voice. He needs love, and-and confidence. He needs his village.”

Lucy nods, taking slow breaths as LeAnn pepped her up— he needs this. He needs her. 

LeAnn lets her go in alone. 

She was right— he looked bad. A tube down his throat and one in his nose, his chest exposed with electrodes covering it. A surgical scar is taped down his chest, a tube draining free fluid from above his ribs. Lucy slowly slipped her fingers into his. They’re warmer than they were in the ambulance. Nails, once more trimmed. She can picture one of his sisters keeping up on the little things for him to ensure he wakes to his normal self. 

“Hi,” Lucy murmured, squeezing his fingers, tracing up his arm. “I really hope you can’t feel any of this…” Even if I wish you could squeeze my hand back. Lucy sniffled, glancing at his vitals. They all seem steady. “You’re not allowed to die on me, Bradford.”

You can’t leave me like they did. 

“They’re fixing you up. You’ll be good as new soon,” Lucy reassured. “And I’ll never leave your sorry ass alone after that.”

She can picture him smiling that same half smile. The one that reaches his eyes before it falls on his lips. The one that makes him look so sweet, so gentle. Lucy missed his smile. She leans down, resting her lips against his temple. 

Eventually, she sank down into a bedside chair. She rested her head against the railing, eyes closed, listening to the ventilator breathe for him. Her hand held his, feeling the small muscle spasms that radiate down his arm and into his fingers. 

She might’ve fallen asleep there. Might’ve stayed asleep through a few different nurse visits. She didn’t know. She just knows, for the first time in days, she had hope and comfort. For the first time in days, she closed her eyes and didn’t see his blood on her hands. 

She milked every second of staying near him. When she did wake to nurses doing rounds, she watched in silence as they examined his surgical site, the different equipment he was hooked up to, hung new medications, and more. She smoothed her thumb along his inner wrist, smiling at the gentle thrum of his pulse. 

LeAnn comes back with Hallie that afternoon. 

“Hey Bird,” Lucy yawned, smiling as Hallie immediately clambered into her lap with a cup in one hand and a coloring book in the other. “Whatcha got?”

“‘Ama got me a milkshake,” she said with a cheesy grin, showing off her cup. “It’s chocolate.”

“Yummy…” Lucy hummed, smoothing a hand over her hair. “And the coloring book?”

“I’m gonna decorate Daddy’s room,” she said with certainty. “Make it pretty for when he wakes up.”

“I bet he will love it,” Lucy agreed. “Can I see some of your pictures?”

For the most part, the book is filled with toddler scribbles and loosely defined coloring in-the-lines. It’s definitely better than the average three year old. If Lucy were in Tim’s position, nothing would make her happier than seeing the space decorated with art, color, and livelihood. 

They go through page by page, though, and the drawings slowly become defined. Between pictures of Chase and Marshall from Paw Patrol are loose pages of copy paper with almost-faces, and rainbows, and flowers. Hallie explains them like scenes from a movie– this one is Daddy taking me for ice cream. We got so much brain freeze that my eyes were popping out! This is the day you me and Dad went to get breakfast. See? Thats my pancakes. Your hair is really pretty here. Her imagination and her memories transcend into a whole universe beyond this hospital room, beyond the deaths that occurred around them, beyond the investigation into her employment. 

At some point between pictures, Gennifer arrived, standing in the doorway of the room and keeping an eye on the situation. Lucy nodded along as Hallie made an attempt to read the next coloring page’s instructions– it’s supposed to be a maze, but when she did it, she just colored the rows of lines with various colors to make a big rainbow box. 

“You are so smart,” Lucy beamed, bouncing her on her leg. Hallie snickered, blushing to herself. “You need to start reading me bedtime stories, I think.”

“I know some good ones,” Hallie promised. “Next time you come over, we will read them together.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Lucy agreed, chewing on her cheek. “Okay, go finish your drink before it’s all melted.”

Slowly, Gennifer moved into the room. Lucy and her shared eye contact for a long moment before she broke it. Gennifer stood at the foot of Tim’s bed, frowning to herself. 

“How’s he doing today?” 

“Stable,” LeAnn answered her daughter, smiling sadly. “I’m hearing rumors about pulling him out of the coma.”

“Good,” Gennifer swallowed. “His oxygen?”

“Back up,” Lucy confirmed, watching the monitors herself. Genny nods again. A silence falls over the room– one that even makes Hallie stir with discomfort. “When are they thinking of pulling him out?”

“Tomorrow? Maybe the day after?” LeAnn replied, reaching out and touching Tim’s hand with a sad smile. Lucy nods, feeling her face get warm, and an uncomfortable feeling stir in her gut. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Hm?” Lucy glanced up. Gennifer was frowning, and LeAnn glanced at her with face of concern that perfectly matches Tim’s. “Nothing.”

“Something’s wrong. What is it?” Genny pressed. “You got this… look. Like you saw a ghost. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Lucy promised, sitting forward on her chair. “Just... who’s...who’s gonna be with him for it?”

The mother and daughter share a glance. 

“I’ll be here,” LeAnn said. “I mean… I can’t imagine any of us… any of us not being here.”

“Good,” Lucy nods distantly, squeezing Tim’s fingers again. “Good. That’s… good.” Images of her in the same type of bed just over a year ago flash through her mind. The feeling of suffocating around the plastic tube in her throat. The panic that ensued. Not knowing where she was or what happened. The pain. 

The duo were watching her like she might combust. They clearly weren’t amused by Lucy’s inability to “share with the class” per se. 

“It’s… really difficult,” Lucy said finally, looking up at them. “Doing it alone. Coming out of it alone. It’s painful, and scary, and… and I just don’t want him to be any more afraid. I don’t want him to feel that way.”

“You’ve… done it before?” Genny’s voice falls. Lucy felt the breath get stuck in her lungs. She nods, unable to take her eyes off Tim, off the breaths forced through his lungs, then back out. “What’s it like?”

Lucy tries to remember the before. Or, she supposes, the in between. Before she had to face the consequences. After Enzo. 

“Peaceful,” Lucy said. “It’s… like sleeping. Oblivious to everything else in the world. Quiet. You don’t really dream, though… In my opinion, it’s better that way.”

“And… waking up? It hurts?”

“Yeah,” Lucy exhaled. “It’s… it’s painful. And stressful. And disorienting.” Lucy glanced up finally, meeting Genny’s eyes. “I know it would’ve been easier if someone I loved had held my hand through it.”

Don’t make him go through it the way I did.

Lucy woke from her coma in an ICU room with only strangers surrounding her. A nurse held her hand, soothed her when she panicked. Another nurse talked her through her surge of paranoia, explained the little things. You can’t talk yet, but when the tube is removed, you will. While she was grateful for the staff who took such good care of her, she still mourned the ability to have a support system. 

“I don’t want to overstep. I know this is your family and… and I don’t want to hurt that,” Lucy says, mainly looking at Gennifer. “But if you need someone to be here… please call. Any hour.”

“I… might take you up on that,” Gennifer said slowly, frowning. “Thank you.”. 

Eventually, Gennifer sat down at Lucy’s side. The girls had a few inches of space between them, and they were far from being friendly, but it was civil. And when Hallie got bored and needed an activity, all four of the girls could sit together in a comfortability that wasn’t there before. Tim Bradford is one loved man, whether he knows it or not.

Sitting on the floor passing a ball between one another, Hallie laughs each time the ball bounced off their legs and out of their circle. Her laughter in an otherwise dark and depressing space was like light at the end of a dingy, dark, disgusting tunnel. 

“I talked to Dad,” Genny said as she passed the ball to Lucy. Lucy kept her lips glued shut, passing it to Hallie. Hallie passes it to her grandmother, who starts the rotation over again. “Well… talked at him. He was about as helpful as ever.”

“What did he say? What did you say?”

“I asked if it was true,” Genny shrugged. “That he beat Tim. I asked if he really hated us as much as it seemed.” 

“And you didn’t get the answer you wanted,” Lucy presumed in response. 

“No. I got a ‘Be grateful you had a dad at all’ lecture,” she sighed, sitting back against the wall. The next time the ball rolls toward her, she lets it bounce off her thigh. “I believed him. The moment he told us, I-I knew it was true. But… that’s my dad, y’know?” With her shoulders dropping, she watches as Hallie plucks a sticker off a sheet and toddlers over to place it on Tim’s elbow. “He was supposed to be a superhero, and he’s hardly a parent.”

“You can’t blame yourself for… wanting a father,” LeAnn said gently, frowning. “Baby girl your life is falling apart. Of course you want your Dad to make it all better.”

“I guess I’m just… looking at the wrong dad,” Genny sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I love Pete. I love how happy he makes you. I love my siblings. But is it really that evil to… want normalcy?”

Lucy knew she wasn’t part of this conversation, but the empathetic part of her wants to reach out, wrap an arm around her shoulders, murmur that it was perfectly normal. Of course she wants her Dad. Lucy never even met her biological father, but there will always be the inkling in her that begs for the person who made her a person. The person who changed her from two parts to a whole. There is an entire life she has missed out on by not knowing her biological father, and while it’s a fact she has come to terms with, it doesn’t mean there’s no hard feelings associated. 

“I’m… the worst sister ever,” Genny exhaled, sitting back. “We have fought nonstop for months now.”

“You’re siblings,” Lucy says back, offering her best supportive smile. “It would be weird if you didn’t fight.”

“We’re grown adults,” Genny chuckled to herself, a sad, pathetic laugh. “Fighting like we’re eight.”

“Like it’s the good ol’ days?” LeAnn suggested. Genny nods. “I like to think… all this is happening for a reason. It’s bringing you back together. It’s… teaching you a valuable lesson about… appreciating what you have while you have it…” She looks at Lucy with a sad smile. “Teaching us to be more forgiving, and also more protective.”

Lucy felt a tear slip as she imagines Jackson, locked in a freezer in the morgue in waiting for his funeral. They were moments away from Tim being right beside him, from every single person in that bar being another body to be dissected and dealt with. She didn’t appreciate Jackson enough. Didn’t appreciate Tim enough. Didn’t appreciate any of it enough. It slipped through her fingers before she could even remember to say thank you. 

The tears come faster. Then faster. Sniffles, then soft sobs. She leans forward, putting her head down against Tim’s arm, and she felt for his pulse. Appreciate what you have while you have it. She’s keeping him. She won’t let that go. LeAnn moves to her side, and she gestures for Genny to join her on the other. The three women, all of whom love Tim Bradford with their whole selves, sat together, tears flowing, hearts drumming, all to the tune of his monitors, proving he was still alive. 

Chapter Text

“You look like shit.”

Glancing up, Lucy cracked a smile. It might have even been real. She’s not quite sure yet. Sergeant Harper dropped her bag onto the bench and then sank down across from Lucy, reaching out and taking a french fry off Lucy’s plate. 

“Say you,” Lucy joked. Harper was still stuck in a sling, and her limp only seemed to minorly improve since the last time they saw each other approximately four days ago. “At least I have all four working limbs.”

“A rare win for you,” Harper smirked. “I have a gift.” Raising her eyebrows, Lucy watched as Harper dug through her bag, pulling out Lucy’s badge and duty weapon. She slid it across the table. “Cleared of all wrongdoing as of this morning.”

“Really?” Lucy hesitated. “...but I had alcohol in my system.”

“Legally, in the State of California, it depends on the proportionality of force. The scene showed that you fired less than a third of the times the assailant did, and the only damage you had incurred was on the suspect. So…” Harper leaned forward against the cafeteria table. “You’re reinstated.”

“That’s… that’s great,” Lucy sighed. “But… I can’t be back. Not yet. Not with… with Tim, and-and the funeral…”

“I know,” Harper said back, frowning. “I didn’t expect you to leap back in head first. But I thought it might be a good stress off your shoulders… you keep your job, and no prosecution.”

“That is good,” Lucy agreed. “Any chance you can make it so Tim’s recovery goes this smoothly, too?”

Harper looked away. Lucy understood. Everything was a mood killer these days. There's so little to look forward to. Her best friend is dead. Four others that she loved were hurt. Lucy killed a man. It’s a series of tragedies that take turns at the feel-bad-podium. 

“How’s Wesley and Angela?”

“Wesley is okay. It’s.. not his first time getting injured like this, so Lopez is taking time to care for him,” Harper admits. “Nolan is officially home and recovering. My shoulder is… dramatic, but it’ll do the job for now.” Harper exhaled, shaking her head. “We’re all out of work right now. Wilshire is struggling. They’re down a lot of people so we’re being overflowed into Hollywood.”

“I’m sorry,” Lucy said. “If… if it hadn’t been verdict day, or if… if I’d sucked it up and did it alone-“

“ You would’ve been killed,” Harper pressed. “Lucy, a target was on our backs this whole time. No one can blame you for someone else’s bad choices.”

“I-I feel responsible,” Lucy confessed. “The Morelli’s were my problem. I brought them into it, and I got us targeted-“

“You did your job, detective.” When Harper puts on this tone, Lucy found herself wanting to stand at attention. She takes a breath. “Like the rest of us would’ve done. And unfortunately, there are bad people out there who think it’s personal.” 

She nods, but she ran out of things to say. Harper can’t change her mind that easily. There’s a reason Lucy was in therapy. The women sat together in relative silence, sharing Lucy’s plate of fries. Lucy watched her hand gently massage her own shoulder– the joint bothering her more than she lets on. One day, Lucy will ask about it. She’ll be sure to listen to her, listen to them all, about their qualms and injuries. Today is not that day. That energy is gone.

“How is he?” Harper asked after a long break of silence. “Bradford, I mean.”

“I figured,” Lucy sighed. “He’s… alive. They’re working on pulling him out of the coma today. He’s been awake but they’re working him off the ventilator.”

“Ouch,” Harper grimaced. “How are his lungs handling it?”

“Last LeAnn updated me, they were being slow to start,” Lucy swallowed thickly. “But it was a puncture, and a lot of free bleeding, so… it’s better he takes his time to get used to it, I think? I don’t know. I’m not a doctor.”

“It’s not a race,” Harper confirmed, leaning forward on her elbows. “And you?”

“Me?” Lucy raised an eyebrow. “I am doing beautifully, y’know? Living my… best life.”

“When was the last time you slept?”

Lucy tsked, shaking her head. She’s squeezed in naps when possible– sleeping with her head propped on the guardrail of Tim’s bed or curled up in a vinyl waiting chair. Sometimes she dozed in the cafeteria, too. She hasn’t slept in a bed since the night before the verdict was read. 

“I’m afraid if I go home… it’ll start to feel real,” Lucy confessed. “Seeing his bedroom empty. Knowing his parents are taking his stuff home with them. Throwing away his leftovers…” Lucy’s hand drifted to the chain around her neck, once matching Jackson’s. “I don’t know if I’m ready to admit to myself that he’s gone.”

“But your body is ready for you to sleep in a bed again,” Harper said back. “You’re ready to eat a real meal. Maybe… see some friendly faces outside these walls.”

“I’m starting to think I’ll never be ready to live a normal life,” Lucy scoffed. “Every time I find myself getting close… it's like one step forward and ten steps back.”

“Then maybe it’s time to turn around and run full speed toward the finish line,” Harper suggested. “And… don’t look back. Not for anything. Not for anyone.”

Pursing her lips, Lucy wasn’t entirely sure what that meant. Was Harper suggesting that Lucy abandon all those she loves, leave them hanging when they need her most? Or was she saying that Lucy wasn’t focusing on herself enough? Not trying hard enough to move forward?

“Just… think about it,” Harper declared. “These are yours. Either carry it with you, or go lock it in your safe until you feel like you can carry it again. Wilshire will be there for you when you’re ready to come home.”

With that, Harper pats the table and leaves, taking her exit through the double doors from the cafeteria. Lucy looks down at her badge and gun, frowning as she slowly slipped them into their place– her badge clipped to her belt, her gun tucked under her blouse. Lost in thought on what to do next– sit outside Tim’s room and listen to the chaos until visiting hours end, finish her plate of fries, or go back to her silent apartment, Lucy lets the weight of her duties press her into the bench. Not for long, though. She can’t dissolve into thin air. If she’s supposed to make a dead sprint to her finish line, moping won’t do much. 

So, she goes home. 

At first, the motions feel so calm, so natural, that she doesn’t notice the absence. The drive is filled with the music she played in the car on the way to the courthouse four days ago, filled with guitar thrumming, choral voices, and piano backing tracks. She parks in her normal spot, tucked between Jackson’s sedan and her neighbor’s lifted truck. She grabs her things from the passenger seat, she fumbled for her keys, she moved through the noisy lobby of the building where local teenagers were turning it into a club house. She was too tired to take the stairs, so she waited for the elevator. When it dings at her floor, she takes the same path she always has. And when she pushes open that door for the first time since, she almost forgets what she was so afraid of. 

Almost. 

Sitting by the door are piles of boxes. Half of them are taped shut and labeled– clothes, uniforms, trophies – and others are half-filled with mementos from Jackson’s bedroom. His framed degree from UCLA, a masters degree in Law was bubble wrapped. The book he was in the middle of reading sat open on the island. A signet ring on a chain was being used as a bookmark. 

His bedroom has little remaining. His bed and blankets, of course. They left some of his clothes, too. His LEGO Star Wars death star was still sitting proudly on his bookshelf. 

Her face hot and eyes burning, she leaned against his wall and wished for peace in whatever comes next. Jackson was her peace for the past year— he deserved some of his own. 

She was too exhausted to give into the agony. Too tired to care if she locked the door or check to see if the heat was on. She fell face first into her bed, letting gravity take care of any tears that managed to escape and her breaths the only noise in the home. 

He’s dead, Lucy realized. Jackson West is dead. 

Her nightmares are riddled with images, sour and sweet. The last hug she shared with her best friend, and the necklace he gifted her one year into the job. The last image she has of him, with his radiant smile and the button down he died in. She conjures ideas of what it looked like, felt like, to be him; what he experienced in the last moments of his life. She hoped he was happy, but her nightmares showed fear. 

It’s a phone call at 4:00 the next morning that woke her. 

“Is he okay?” Is the first thing that leaves her mouth as she nearly falls out of bed to answer. 

“He’s lucid,” one Gennifer Bradford says. “And he’s asking for you.”

Lucy has never moved faster. 

She pulled on the first pants she saw, threw on a sweater and dashed out the door with nothing but a claw clip to wrangle her bedhead. She’s not sure how fast she drove, or how she managed to avoid being pulled over, but when she arrives at the hospital, Tim’s mother is waiting for her. 

“How is he?”

“Scared,” LeAnn said, a sense of urgency in her glassy, tearful eyes. She tugs Lucy along. “So are we.”

Lucy folded her arms over her chest, tailing behind her all the way to Tim’s room. She passed through the door, exhaling shakily at the sight of him. Somehow, he looks worse without all the tubes. He’s been moved from a ventilator to an oxygen tank, and his wrists aren't bound anymore, but his skin is cold, clammy, pale, bruised… His eyes are closed, and each breath looks like a chore. 

“Hey,” Genny murmured, squeezing Tim’s arm. “Guess who’s here?” 

Slowly, the room quiets around them. A path opens up and Lucy slipped in the room. Carefully, she caught a patch of his flesh with her fingertips, and a little cubby of space in his palm opened for her. Her nails trace gently over his skin. Her thumb grazed across it gently. She finds the courage to look at his face. 

He’s uncomfortable. She can see that much. But he was also incredibly groggy. His eyes could barely stay open. Each movement was hardly voluntary. Tim closed his fingers over hers, showing the hint of presence. 

His thumb twitched, a light pressure against her hand. She smiled. 

“Hey,” Lucy spoke quietly. “There was no need for the hero shenanigans…” His hand twitched around hers again, and she smiled. Their eyes met, and a flicker of recognition crossed his vision. Unmistakably, he saw her. He knew she was here. “We’re all here with you. You’re in good hands. Just rest, Tim…” 

His chin bobs slightly in an attempt to nod. However much effort he put into staying awake dissipated, his eyes closing again. 

“We’re all here,” Lucy murmured, breathing out. “We got you.”

She stays close— eyeing the crusted tears in the corner of his eyes, feeling a sense of relief with each movement that began to be more and more independent. She squeezes, he squeezed back. 

It’s a slow process. His eyes flicker from open and alert to fluttered closed and spaced out. A quiet chatter falls over the room throughout the rest of the morning. Some people never budge— mainly LeAnn and Gennifer, although Emily and LeAnn’s husband both limit their time away, too. Lucy had no intention of moving with such speed through getting to know the family in her new relationship, but she was finding herself enjoying her conversations with Tim’s step-father, and she thinks her and Genny would be friends if Genny were to give her a chance after all of this. After being tied into the Morelli’s for years, caught in a web of their lies and deceits, it felt beautiful to be in an ordinary family. The Bradford-Toscano’s were complex, and loud, and mean to each other, and laugh together. In pieces, she sees her own parents, and the friend’s houses she used to go to as a kid. All these quaint families, doing the 9-5, have Sunday dinner at Mom’s, raised like a community rather than an army. 

It’s with that thought that she thinks of her former-military boyfriend; thinks of what he said just days ago— being left behind, being forgotten, his sisters getting to live the good life while he takes the fall. It makes her squeeze his hand a little tighter in sympathy. She supposes, no family is ever perfect.

Chapter Text

On day seven, Tim moves to general recovery. 

Lucy spent more and more time at home– helping the West’s organize Jackson’s belongings, deep cleaning the apartment of her grief, and of course, therapy. Dr. Kendall was gracious enough to do a home-appointment for her on day six. Lucy had made coffee for them both, and Lucy let it all go. Her fifty minute session took up three hours, and God it felt good, bad, exhausting, and reinvigorating, all in one. 

On day seven was Jackson’s funeral. 

Her Class A uniform was hung neatly in its dry-cleaning bag, her dress shoes beside it. Crisp white gloves, each of her pins, her cap with her initials scribed inside. Jackson would be buried in his uniform. Lucy had helped Commander West find it in the hall closet two days prior. It was always his dream- to live and die a hero. He would be buried in the badge. If there was one thing Jackson loved more than life, it was the career he was making for himself. 

She sends Tim’s family a text in their shared chat— used mostly for Tim updates and who would be with him when, but occasionally LeAnn tries to use it to bridge any gap between Lucy and Gennifer. It’s endearing. It might even be somewhat effective.

Lucy: I have a funeral this morning. Whoever is with him today— tell him I’ll be there this evening. 

As she puts on the uniform, something she hadn’t done in years now, she finds that it is a little more snug than it once was. The breadth of her hips, the squaring of her shoulders, the bulge to her muscles that she’s trained so intensely over the past couple years since becoming a detective… She realizes how far she is from the little girl who wore this to her graduation from the academy. She hardly looks the same in the mirror— her face has filled out, and her body has changed, for better and for worse. She’s experienced enough to make the uniform appear powerful and commanding rather than boyish and youthful. Her hair is long enough to fit in a bun again, unlike this time last year, when she was finally fitting it into a ponytail with lots of hairspray.

Last she wore this uniform, it was her, Jackson, and Nolan’s graduation day. They were stumbling through downtown Los Angeles, cheering and jeering after the ceremony. They deserved a drink. They deserved a night of fun and freedom. They deserved to feel young and free. They dumped their jackets, caps, and any identifying patches in Jackson’s car— we’re police officers now, we can’t be publicly intoxicated. They snickered as they each took a shot, Lucy letting her hair down and pushing up her sleeves, Jackson popping the top couple buttons, and Nolan getting hit on by the bartender. They were in this now. They did it. 

They thought they would live forever. 

Blinking the thought away, she cautiously slipped on the dress shoes and made her way downstairs, trying to not imagine the little girl who wore them just a few years ago. 

Jackson’s family is very traditional. They held the funeral at a beautiful Catholic church deep in the city. The architecture was plentiful enough, but it was tastefully decorated with florals, photos, a guest book, and many more. Lucy found herself touching the spot over her chest where their St. Michael matching necklace sat, hugged to her heart. 

Passing through the front doors and into a room covered in beautiful stained glass, she finds familiar faces everywhere. Coworkers, former classmates, Jackson’s family, and her friends, of course… Nolan was hovering in the entrance, waiting to take his turn signing the guest book. He was in civies— likely thanks to the chunky brace and crutches he was using for support, but he still had his armband secured. Lucy touched his shoulder with a graze. He glanced at her and, as if they both had it hit them at once, they fell into an embrace. 

Lucy misses those days where they were stupid and untouchable. She misses going out with her boys, Lucy and Jackson ogling the same guy half the night and watching Nolan flounder trying to understand the new age dating scene. She misses them taking refuge in the library together, studying endlessly, motivating each other, and sometimes crying about how hard life is. They had no idea. 

“Are you okay?” She asked with a wobbling voice and a sniffle. Nolan nodded, squeezing her slightly. 

“You?” Nolan asked back. Lucy tucked into his shoulder, letting his jacket catch any loose tears. “Yeah. Me too.”

After they each signed the guest book and grabbed their prayer cards, they walked into the chapel. The pews had filled to the brim. Nolan was saved a spot, however, next to a woman Lucy is sure she’s met before but cannot place for the life of her. Her mind is anywhere else right now. At the front was the active in-uniform officers, stood in formation. Lucy found Lopez and Harper and slotted herself beside them. 

Lucy doesn’t understand much about religion— she doesn’t know half of what’s happening throughout the service. But judging by Lopez’ and the West family’s expressions, it was a beautiful hour. Lucy wouldn’t argue. Other than the Bible-y stuff, the preacher spoke with both enthusiasm and a sympathetic mourning. He spoke about Jackson in so many ways— how Jackson was the light, how he filled every space with radiance, youthfulness, joy, and life. He talked about Jackson’s dedication— how every adversity was considered a learning opportunity, how he pursued this career from the moment he knew what it was, how he loved his job with ferocity. The service was for the family, but it was about Jackson, and they hit the nail on the head at every turn. 

“How’s Bradford doing?” Harper asked as they picked over the grazing table in the West household that afternoon. Lucy wasn’t hungry, but she hadn’t had much of a substantial meal in days. The extent of her energy to cook lately has been no better than Spaghetti-O’s and a granola bar. It fet good to pick at something fresh— grapes, and cubes of cheese, and a wedge of pomegranate. It brought back a little life to her bones. 

“He’s… doing,” Lucy said slowly. “I’m going to visit him after. I’ll… I’ll break the news.”

“He doesn’t know yet?” 

“What am I supposed to say?” Lucy scoffed, her voice falling to a whisper for the second part. “Hey, I know you barely survived, but Jackson’s dead. I-I don’t know how to… to tell him. I don’t know how lucid he is. I don’t know if-if he’ll get it-“

“Breathe, Chen,” Harper said, reaching out and squeezing her arm. Lucy nods, blinking herself back to reality. “The words will find you. Just… be patient. With yourself and him.”

“I know,” Lucy ran a hand over her face. “I know. I just…” Miss normalcy? What is normal? She hasn’t had anything close to normal in years. She takes a shaken breath, turning her eyes to the ceiling to prevent tears from leaking. Lopez slipped an arm around her. Harper’s hand drifted across her back. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

“We don’t, Lucy,” Lopez said in a hush. “We… suffer through it. And hope to god that we come out the other side better.”

It is entirely unfair. 

She spent most of the time with Angela. She has always been a tough brick wall when Lucy needed it, and Lucy couldn’t possibly leave her hanging. The two cried together, grieved together, looked over old photos and told stories together. He’s gone. One of our closest friends is gone. 

Lucy’s been to Jackson’s parents house dozens of times. During the academy, when Lucy was fighting with her parents, it was easiest to go home to his family instead. Eat his Mom’s home cooking, fall asleep in Jackson’s bed, study with true crime documentaries playing in the background… and yet, being here without him? It felt like a betrayal. Like an invasion of privacy. 

The mantle has become a shrine to the West sons. Jackson’s photos take up more space than ever before. Flowers, too. Plenty of well-wishing notes of support in their grief. Lucy skimmed through the hallway and found his bedroom, where his mother was sitting alone. Lucy knocks on the open doorway, meeting her eyes. 

“Lucy,” she cracked a sad smile. “I’m glad you stayed. Come. Sit.”

Lucy does as told and sinks down on the full size mattress at her side. The room still smells like Jackson— like the body wash and cologne he used daily, like his laundry detergent that his mother would drop off, because she didn’t trust any other brand. The sheets were soft. Lucy imagines Jackson ruining his fingers over the cloth in the exact same way throughout his entire childhood. 

“He was very proud to be your friend,” Mrs. West said after too much silence. Lucy scoffed, shaking her head. “You were a good role model for him. Being serious about the job and still remembering to stay true to himself. I can say with certainty that Jackson was always my Jackson. The same little boy who took piano lessons and break dance classes…” her fingers smooth over a token in her hand. When Lucy looked closer, she realized it was his damaged necklace. The one that matches hers, which sat just over his heart throughout every dangerous day on the job.  He was supposed to be protected. 

“I owe him my life,” Lucy murmured back. “And I can’t help but feel lost knowing I can’t ever repay him for that. For… saving me. Giving me a home. Making me feel safe and worthy again…” Lucy glanced up, finding Jackson’s eyes in his mothers. They looked so similar, and she never noticed. “He was a good man.” 

“He is a good man,” Mrs. West corrected. “He’ll always be good. Even if he won’t always be.” Nodding, Lucy looked around one last time. She can’t picture herself coming over without him. She can’t imagine stepping foot in this room ever again. The two women leaned toward one another, shoulder to shoulder. “I’m honored that he had you.”

“I just wish I could’ve done more,” Lucy murmured, an ache in her chest. “I wish I could’ve saved him.”

“Something you learn this far into the world… working the job you guys do?” Mrs West sniffled, swiping her tears away. “You can’t save them all. But that doesn’t make the lives you do save any less worthy.”

If Lucy were in her shoes, she would be livid. She would be ferocious, angry, bloodthirsty. Lucy remembers the feeling— losing her child and only picturing the heinous ways she would destroy the person who did this— anyone who breathed the same air while Lucy lost the greatest part of her life. She can’t fathom the peace that Mrs. West expressed. She can’t fathom doing anything other than either becoming a total grievance or curling up in a ball and dying. 

But she’s not. 

Mrs. West is far from anything angry or hopeless. She holds his trinkets close. She smiles through tears as she speaks his name. She basks in the warmth where he once was. Lucy can only dream being that at peace one day. 

When she arrives at Shaw Memorial, she finds Gennifer and Hallie in the hall, a nurse blowing the toddler bubbles at the charge desk. When Hallie poked her head up, she broke out into a grin. 

“Yucy!” She squealed, abandoning the bubbles and charging toward her. Lucy scooped her into an embrace. Eyes closed, holding tight, Lucy forces herself to put down her grief long enough to love on her. Hallie was in a hell of her own— the last thing she needed was Lucy to fall apart on her too. “I just saw Daddy.”

“You did?” Lucy cracked a forced smile. “Did you get snuggles?”

“We snuggled, we chatted, we ate some snacks,” Gennifer explained, slowly approaching with her hands in her pockets. Lucy met her eyes briefly. “You’re in your Class A’s.” Lucy bit her cheek and nodded. Gennifer’s eyes fall to the black armband, then back to Lucy’s face. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” Lucy said, unsure if she’s more surprised by Genny’s civility or the sneak-attack of grief threatening to push its way forward. “How’s he doing today?”

“Really good,” Genny says, her eyes heavy with dark circles and bloodshot stripes. “He’s talking. Tired, but… lucid.”

“Really?” Lucy pursed her lips. He’s lucid, and he’s going to see her Class A’s. He will know in an instant. “Should I leave you guys to… to keep him company?”

“No,” Genny sighed. “He… has physical therapy. He didn’t want Bird to see him struggle. I think… I think he’d appreciate a visit.” 

“Okay,” Lucy nodded, taking a deep breath. “Well, I’ll leave you two to it. Be good for Auntie, okay?”

“Be good for Dada,” Hallie chirped back, squeezing Lucy with a tight hug and a kiss to her cheek. Lucy felt her face get warm, and she murmured a soft love you Bird as she placed the toddler back on her feet. They part ways, and Lucy forced herself forward. 

His door is open. There was no backing out. The moment he saw her, he knew. 

“Luce?” Tim frowned, grimacing as he tried to force himself upright. Lucy approached, resting a hand on his shoulder. “What are you- what happened?”

“Easy, easy…” Lucy said, thumb tracing his collarbone. Tim grabbed her wrist, a flash of panic crossing his face. “Breathe.”

“Who-who…?” Tim recoiled, looking her over. “Tell me Lopez is okay-“

“Angela is fine,” Lucy reassured, her hand falling into his. “Angela and Wesley are okay. I… I was with them this morning.” 

Tensing, Tim squeezed her fingers weakly. Lucy slowly sank down onto the edge of the bed, grounding herself in the ability to be hip-to-hip with Tim, to be touching him, to hear his voice and see his eyes again. 

“Jackson was shot and killed a week ago,” Lucy said, powering through the sentence with all her might. “Salazar killed him and Maria Morelli as well as wounded a couple others the night you got shot.”

“West?” Tim said, breathless, staring at Lucy— examining her, waiting for her to crack. “Jackson West?”

“His funeral was this morning,” Lucy said, nodding. “I, um…” Lucy swallowed thickly, and when she met his eyes again, she felt her lip quiver. Aghast, uncertain of what to do, Tim gently tugged on her hand, and she hugged him. 

Breathe, Luce. 

“I’m so glad to hear your voice,” she finally says, blinking a few tears free, taking a deep breath while tucked into his neck. “I missed you so much.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into her shoulder, using his minimal strength to squeeze around her waist. “I’m so sorry.”

“And I’m so mad at you,” Lucy sniffled, pulling away again, gently hitting his thigh. “How dare you take a bullet for me? How dare you? You realize how much guilt I’ve been holding for-for a week now? Asshole? I thought you were dead. I thought you got killed for me.” 

“But I didn’t,” Tim said, a soft smile quirking at the corner of his mouth. 

“You could’ve!” Lucy said back, incredulous. “And-and I had to-to look your family in the eye knowing you jumped in front of me? I-I had to-to go through IA, and the funeral, and your family, all while you were in stupid coma— if you ever do that again, I’ll kill you myself.”

“I better start running then,” Tim said with a pained chuckle. “Because… you standing here is what matters to me.”

“I hate you…” Lucy grunts, running a hand over her face, hiding the exhaustion, the pain, the dried tears and the almost-laugh that came with it all. “You suck. You suck so much.”

“I know,” Tim exhaled. “C’mere.”

“You are the absolute worst,” Lucy said, but did as told, letting Tim pull her forward for a very gentle, yet all-inspiring kiss. She lets the tension melt from her shoulders, and gently, she took his face in her hands and kissed him a second time. Then a third. “You can’t leave me, Bradford. I can’t let you.”

“I’m going nowhere,” he murmured back, stealing another kiss. “Literally. I don’t think I could get up if I tried right now.”

“You’re supposed to be doing physical therapy,” Lucy said, her lips brushing against his every few syllables. “Tough guy.”

“I have another minute or two…” he says back. “C’mon. I’ve been half dead for the past week. I think the universe owes me a moment of peace.”

“I have no desire to have a nurse walk in on us making out,” Lucy scoffed, kissing him one last time before pulling back. “Nor do I want you to bust a stitch.”

“Whatever you do, please avoid that,” a new voice said, a man walking into the room and immediately hopping on the rolling stool. “How are we feeling this evening? You must be Lucy. Dr. Hauser. PT and Sergeant Bradford’s new best friend.”

“I despise you,” Tim said back. Lucy pinched him. “I feel like I was shot in the chest a week ago. How are you feeling?” 

“I’m feeling like a guy who’s about to kick your ass back into shape,” the PT smirks. “You wanna do this just us? Or do we have moral support?”

Lucy looked at Tim, eyebrow raised. 

“That’s your call. I get it either way,” she hummed. “There’s a little birdie out there who might want a buddy if you want privacy.”

“Stay?” He requested. Lucy, for a flash, was confused. Lucy knew how demeaning some of this could be— how weak it feels to struggle to sit up, much less stand. 

But maybe that was exactly it. Lucy knew what it was like. 

Either way, she promised to support whichever he chose. So, she does. 

Tim has been awake for three days. He’s been lucid for one of them. So, his progress is about what you would expect of someone who has had no use of their body in a week. Some things come back easily— while his grip strength isn’t at full capacity, he’s easily clenching his fists, moving his joints, following basic cognitive and physical requests. But other things are… hard. 

He cannot seem to sit up much by himself. Half of it is the pain. Lucy stood and watched as he suffered through to a half-way situp, only to request a moment to rest, and lay back down. When he was fully upright though, he maintained his posture well. It’s the same with standing. Moving his legs off the bed are half the battle, then turning his knee functionality on is another quarter. But once his feet were planted under him and the support of a surface in front of him, he was steady on his feet. Dr. Hauser didn’t plan on pushing it with walking quite yet, but Tim seemed comfortable standing, so they did that for a long time. Shifting balance and weight from foot to foot, letting his muscles and bones remember how to engage and support him, he was looking relieved to be upright. 

“Have I ever told you that you have nice legs?” Lucy teased, sitting back in a vinyl chair. Tim flashed her a middle finger. 

“Have I ever told you to shut up?” Tim shot back, making her snicker. She needed the laugh today. It felt easier to breathe when she did. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Chen.”

“Make me,” Lucy shot back, watching with a smile as Tim slowly made himself to sit back down without assistance. Color floods his cheeks and he lets his eyes rest shut for a long moment, head hung. Standing, Lucy grabbed a towel from the counter and dampened it in the sink. “I recommend cold washcloths.” 

“Hm?” Tim hummed back, jumping and relaxing instantaneously as Lucy laid the rag over the back of his neck. “Oh…”

“Helps with the faintness,” Lucy murmured, Tim’s head falling against her abdomen for support. “And the overheating.”

“Where have you been all day?” Tim murmured back. Lucy adjusted the rag so it brushed along his ear, then jaw, then back to his neck. 

“Have you worked in intensive care?” Dr. Hauser asked as he began to pack up any of his things for the day. 

“I was in intensive care,” Lucy said back, making Tim snort out a pathetic laugh. “You learn the tips and tricks after a while.”

“Let’s try not to need them ever again,” Tim murmured, shakily reaching for his neck. Lucy picked the washcloth off his skin and touched it to the base of his throat, then wrists. 

“Alright. If you need anything for the pain, give us a shout. You put a lot of work in today,” Dr Hauser said, patting Tim’s shoulder. “Do you want me to stay until you’re settled?”

“I’m good,” Tim said back, propping up a thumb. “Got everything I need right here.”

Lucy rolls her eyes and mouths a thank you to the physical therapist. He waves back and sees himself out, leaving the two in a peaceful quiet. When the tremors ceased, and he finally caught his breath, he took hold of the cloth and moved it as needed. Achingly slow, he moved himself back to laying down. Lucy grimaced, but kept her mouth shut. 

“Are you going to be okay tonight?” Tim murmured, squeezing her hand. “Being alone?”

“Yeah,” Lucy exhaled. “I’ve… done it for a week now.”

Tim’s face hardens, and he squeezes her hand. 

“Luce…”

She shakes her head. She can’t do it. She can’t have a talk now. They’re in a good place. She had a pleasant afternoon. She smiled today. 

“Another day,” Lucy requested. “We… talk about it another day.”

“Okay,” he murmured. “Can you… sit with me for a little longer?”

Nodding, adjusting herself and her posture, she sunk into the crevice of space beside him. Her arm looped with his, their fingers intertwining. The TV in the corner of the room, playing some game show they loosely paid attention to. They were alive, and that’s what Lucy needed. 

Chapter Text

“This isn’t a wise decision,” Gennifer said, arms crossed over her chest. “They said you could take another day or two.”

“Which my insurance wouldn’t pay for,” Tim grunted as he smoothed clean bandaging over the open wound on his ribs.

 His nurses spent all of yesterday teaching him how to properly care for his stitches and injuries, how to best access them to switch bandaging, and what to watch for incase of infection. Its not Tim’s first surgery. Although, it may be his most intense one to date. 

“Then… I would. I’ll pull from my savings. I’ll make sure Hallie is covered-“

“Genny,” Tim said, his voice both firm and gentle with her. Her eyes met his, and she nods to herself. “Thank you.”

“I’m just… scared,” she swallowed thickly. “I need you to be okay.”

“And I will be,” Tim promised. “Lucy’s staying with me until I’m back on my feet. I have a schedule between all of you guys to come help out with Hal. I think Mom set up one of those stupid Alexa things so I can call you if I’m hurt and alone….” He glanced sideways at her again. “I need to go home. I won’t get any better here.” 

Swallowing thickly, Gennifer nods in agreement. 

“If this is a Lucy thing…” 

“It’s not,” Gennifer said back, shaking her head. “I’m… not fully on board yet. But she’s more than proven herself. I just need time.”

“Time heals all wounds,” Tim said with a stupid half smile. “Evidently.”

When he lowers his arm, he finds himself steadying against the counter and catching his breath. That was the most work his lungs have done in days. He shuffled back into the room and sank down on the bed, slowly pulling a flannel over his torso. Every stretch burned, and simultaneously was devastatingly wonderful after being cooped up for so long. 

“I called Dad,” Genny said, slowly sitting down on the bed beside him. “I… I knew you didn’t care if he… if he cared. But I still wanted to pretend…” The two make eye contact, and tears well in his sister’s eyes. “I’m sorry. That you took it all for me. That I-I wanted to forgive him. That I… That I even tried to get him to care.”

“Hey,” Tim nudged her. “It’s not your fault. You know that, right?”

“Every time I got in trouble, he took it out on you.”

“That still doesn’t make it your fault,” Tim insists. “It’s his. His alone. You didn’t know. Mom didn’t know. Hell, I don’t think I even realized it was as bad as it was until the boys were born.”

That comment makes his sister smile— reminiscing on the “good old years”— when Tim had Isabel, when Genny had Rob. When their marriages were healthy, happy, excited for life. Tyler’s birth was what made Tim realize that, maybe, things weren’t right with how he grew up. He couldn’t fathom letting such a tiny life hurt like that. 

“You got me through it, y’know,” Tim said. “All the times I… picked a fight with the neighbor? And you mopped me up?”

“I just didn’t want you bleeding on my rug,” Genny teased lightheartedly. “I love you, asshat. Now stop trying to die on me.”

“I’ll do my best.”

After a bit of slow moving pieces— paperwork, getting on shoes, more paperwork, collecting his belongings, a final check— Genny and Tim finally leave the hospital, Tim’s steps slow and lethargic, but carrying him forward nevertheless. 

Genny’s car smells like her perfume and fast food. The trash bag in the back seat confirms his suspicions. He can only imagine how chaotic it must’ve been— not wanting to leave his side, surviving off of whatever was close to the hospital and cry sessions in the car. The last time Tim rode with Genny, the boys were still in carseats— they were moving to Ohio in just a few weeks, and they wanted just one day of peace together. Back then, they were doing about the same— surviving on quick meals and tearing her hair out bit by bit. 

They pull into Tim’s driveway— his truck back in it’s spot, the rocker on the porch still swaying from recent use— and Tim feels a breath of relief fill his lungs for the first time since waking. He’s alive. He’s alive and he’s home.  

Genny shouldered the duffel bag Tim had— spare clothes, toiletries, and hospital extras that the nurses had stacked him up on waiting for use. Tim pushed open his front door, and he feels at peace once more. 

His daughter is being crazy— she’s wiggling where she stands in the kitchen while waiting for Lucy to cap off the water bottle filled with juice, curls bouncing with her each and every movement. Some cartoon is on the TV too, long since abandoned by Hallie’s attention span. Tyler and Alex were lounging on the couch with their devices at hand, and Tim’s mother was doing her best to fold a blanket in time. 

“Oh, you’re home already!” Mom gasped, whirling around and abandoning the blanket on the arm of the chair, coming straight to hug him. “Hi sweet boy. How are you feeling?”

“Sore, but alive,” Tim said with a tired smile. “Let me go see Hal.”

“Yeah, yeah… of course,” Mom said, a hand to her chest as she scooted out of the way. Lucy had seen him coming and scooped Hallie onto her hip, containing her excitement in her own arms. Tim just felt himself recompose into himself as he draped his arms around both girls. 

“Welcome home Daddy,” Hallie murmured, squeezing around his neck. “Do you feel better yet?”

“A little bit,” Tim murmured, kissing her cheek. “I’m just happy to be home with you.” He then turned into Lucy’s face, squeezing her waist gently as her hand ghosted over his side, inches from a hole in his ribs that kept him alive the past week. “You staying?”

“If you want me to,” she confirmed, their noses brushing in a brief exchange. Tim pecked her lips as a confirmation and let go, murmuring that he needed to sit down. 

They knew his body would be too heavy to carry— that their first adventure out of the hospital would feel rough, but Lucy still wasn’t entirely used to seeing the almighty Tim Bradford feel weak. He winced as he sank onto the couch, as if the distance between standing and sitting hurt his every cell. Hallie immediately clambered up on the couch after him, consuming herself in his return. 

“Be gentle, Bird,” Tim murmured, adjusting how she lay so none of her weight was on his chest. “I missed you… I got you…”

The toddler weapt in solemn relief for a few minutes, holding her Daddy’s arm tight and smelling his shirt, reminding herself of his presence. His mother sat with them, gently rubbing both Tim’s arm and Hallie’s back. Lucy smiled at the sight— the generations of this family that loved so dearly, all sitting in front of a movie, grateful to all be alive together. The pang of jealousy— of course it waves through— but she found herself being okay with that. 

Gennifer sidles up beside Lucy in the kitchen, leaning against the island to watch her family relax. She seemed to be the only person in the room to feel unsettled. 

“What’s bothering you?” Lucy asked in a whisper, the tension thick as an early summer fog. She glanced up, eyebrows still furrowed. “You’re getting frown lines.” Genny rolls her eyes then turns her gaze forward once more. 

“He declined meds,” Gennifer states quietly, keeping it between them. “When signing off on the paperwork. I saw it. He turned down any pain medication.”

“Huh?” Lucy recoiled. 

“That’s what I said,” Genny whispered harshly. “Is this some sort of PTSD thing? Or-or a sign that… that somethings wrong?”

Frowning, Lucy felt another pang of grief— that being the pain of your body learning to be alive again. Lucy took advantage of the medication offers. Every muscle in her body was practically strained to its breaking point, every bone bruised or broken. She couldn’t imagine not having a medication routine; it hurt enough as-is. 

“Did you talk to him?” Lucy murmured back. 

“No- God, no. I only just got back on his good side. I can’t handle another fight right now,” Genny said, rubbing the back of her neck. “Can you… talk to him? Y’know… from experience? See how he’s really doing?”

Lucy took a breath, nodding. Of course— yeah, that’s kinda her expertise— but on the other hand… there is a fragility to Tim right now that cannot afford to be poked and prodded any more. 

They relax, watching on from afar for a while, just because they can. 

Tim’s mother and Lucy made dinner that night. It was a nice bonding experience, and it gave Genny the chance to head home with the boys and take a night off. They ate on the couch— Hallie at the coffee table— and when his mother turned in for the night too, then it was just… them.

“I hate to ask such a huge favor…” Tim said softly, careful not to wake the sleeping child. “But can you… Can you help me out with Hal? Just… so I can figure this out.”

“Uh, that was the plan,” Lucy half joked. “Did you think I was kidding when I said I’d never leave you alone again?”

“Only a little bit,” Tim sighed, giving her a half smile. “Thank you. Really.”

“Anytime. Really.”

With that, Lucy got up, slowly scooping Tim’s toddler into her arms, careful not to wake her. Tim dragged himself back to his feet and followed her toward Hallie’s bedroom. Tim had never been so endeared as he was watching Lucy tuck in his daughter with the most gentle, loving touch. Her hand ran along Hallie’s back while she settled into a new comfortable position. She pulled the blankets up to her shoulders, and when she was peacefully asleep, Tim snuck over to leave a kiss to her head. Lucy squeezed his shoulder. 

“I’ll give you a few minutes,” Lucy murmured. “I’m gonna go clean up dinner.”

Alone in her bedroom, Tim is confronted with a thousand feelings all at once; every regret in his parenting, every tear he’s shed, every moment he worried about Hallie’s safety and happiness… All those hardships, and yet… life was pretty beautiful. 

He sat for a while, just listening to her snores and her sound machine. He imagined what it was like to set up this room as a nursery almost four years ago now. He had such drasticly different ideas of where he would be now, but he couldn’t complain. Everything, right in reach? Sounds pretty lucky to him. 

He emerged from the bedroom to find Lucy setting up a spot on the couch. Tim scoffed. 

“You’re not sleeping out here,” Tim stated. Lucy glanced up, flushed with rosy cheeks. “If this is an intimacy thing, I have a spare bed…” 

“It’s not-“ Lucy began, then stopped, shoulders falling. “Alright. C’mon. Bed.”

“I’m a big boy, I can do the bedtime routine,” Tim scoffed as Lucy trailed after him. She nudged him playfully.

 As they stood in his bedroom, Tim slowly working the flannel off his top half, Lucy found herself drawing closer and closer— as if magnetized. She couldn’t help it. She brushed her fingers along his skin and watched the goosebumps follow. Her cheek rests against his bare shoulder, gently easing the fabric off his arms— his stiff range of motion making the smallest tasks painful. Lucy’s arms slipped around his waist, and for a long moment, they stood there, just like that. Silent. Lucy’s heart thrumming against Tim’s spine. Lucy’s hand feeling every breath rise in his belly. 

“Can I ask how you are yet?” Tim asked in a soft whisper, squeezing Lucy’s wrist. She shook her head, closing her eyes. “Okay. Another day.”

It wouldn’t be the first time they slept in the same bed— their undercover operation a few months back proved it possible. But it would be their first time sleeping beside one another in the same bed. It was the first time Lucy would truly rest in someone else’s bed that wasn’t Jackson’s, in their long nights of recovery. And yet— it felt natural, almost. Tim waiting with an arm outstretched. Lucy slowly laying her head on his chest, careful to avoid applying pressure to any of the wounds or surgical scars from the past few weeks. She can hear the noises in his chest— the inflation of his lungs, the pumping of his heart, the soft growl of digestion… He is startlingly human in this moment, a small sigh of discomfort leaving his mouth as he adjusts to find a position he’ll be able to sleep in. Eventually, though, his hand drawing lazy shapes across Lucy’s shoulders, head tucked atop of hers, he stopped all his excess movements. 

“I’d be dead without you,” Tim whispered in the lull of exhaustion. “Ten times over, probably.”

Lucy shook her head. 

“That can’t be true.”

“It is,” he murmured. “And even if it wasn’t… I feel alive again thanks to you. So that has to count for something.”

An almost ache forms behind her eyes as tears beg to spring free. She won’t let them, though. She leaned up and kissed the bottom of his jaw. Tim glanced down and took a second kiss, directly to her mouth. Chaste. Simple. And yet, all encompassing. 

Tim felt safe— felt alive— with Lucy there with him. Just like everything else— it has to count for something.

Chapter Text

One night became two, which became four, then a week. They wake around the same time— Tim, usually a few minutes before her when the pain interrupts his sleep. Lucy typically finds herself startling to the movement in bed and joins him in the morning routine.

They found themselves so naturally in the same space, it almost felt planned. Every day, Lucy waits for the other shoe to drop. Every day, she waits for an argument— for Tim to think the way she brushes her teeth is stupid, or to be chastised for soap spots on the dishes coming out of the dishwasher. And yet… she’s greeted with a kiss to the lips and a gentle request to help Tim reach an itchy spot on his shoulder, or if she could watch Hallie for an hour while he showered, with an offer to pay her back in, quote, “whatever she asks next time”. 

It was so natural to her, she didn’t think twice about helping with Hallie’s birthday. 

Two weeks after Tim came home— Lucy had slept in her own apartment a total of two times since. The empty bed had begun to bother her. The silence in her apartment was deafening. She loved every second of time at the Bradford residence. Of course she’ll blow up some balloons. It keeps her occupied. 

“Em is going to bring the cake,” Tim said, mostly to himself as he adjusts the cake stand on the island. “Mom has the party favors.”

“Gennifer has pizza,” Genny announced as she managed her way through the door with a stack of boxes that blocked her vision. Tim swiftly crossed the room to take a few off her hands, but she told him to take no more than three— “Don’t ruin her birthday by busting a stitch.”

“The stitches are mostly dissolved by now,” Tim argued, but did as told. “I’ve been good. Ask Luce.”

“I had to talk him out of going for a run this morning,” Lucy said without looking up from the princess-shaped balloon she was struggling to fit onto the helium tank. “But otherwise, yes.”

“Okay, I’m going a little stir crazy,” Tim argued. “It’s been almost a month. I think I’m good.”

“It has not been a month, idiot,” Genny huffed. “Wait until you’re cleared by your cardiologist. For now, you get to be in the pretty little tea party.” She pats Tim’s scruffy face and walked away. “Where’s my birthday girl?”

“Napping before everyone gets here,” Lucy said. “What about the boys?”

“With Joey,” Genny scoffed. “Apparently, they’re too cool for a birthday party.”

“I’ll save them a goody bag,” Tim joked. “You think they’ll want Belle or Tiana?” 

“I’d say Elsa, if you have any.”

The house fills rapidly with the girls in the Bradford-Toscano family, from Tim’s Mom and sisters, to his nieces and step-brother’s wives. Like an army, they all work together to set up a whimsical dream of a birthday party for their Hallie Jay. In the backyard, Tim watched as the bounce-house company set up the very pink castle with a slide and ball pit. Lucy finished up a balloon arch to set behind the kids table. Tim’s Mom had an incredible vision of how the tea party table would look— complete with a floral runner, vases of fake florals, cookies and mini sandwiches, and of course, a very beautiful tea set, just for show. And, as they neared the start of party time, they got Hallie ready, too. Tim wanted that job. He’s finally well enough to get on the floor, help Hallie get dressed, try and do her hair— he’d be damned if anyone else did it. 

She emerges from her bedroom looking like the most darling little girl anyone had ever seen. 

Her dress was ruffled and yellow. Her sleeves were puffy. Her flats were paired with some frilly socks. Her hair was done— an absolute win that Lucy could identify the pride on Tim’s face from. Little pig tails to take the front curls out of her eyes and a little headband to top it all off… she beamed with pure joy at the sight of what her house had become while she slept- a kid’s wonderland. 

Lucy slipped an arm around Tim’s waist, smiling as Hallie went person to person to give hugs and kisses, and then of course, drag her cousins into the bounce house with her. Lucy ran her hand over Tim’s back, eyeing the glassiness to his eyes. 

“You did a good job,” Lucy murmured. Tim looked down and softened, squeezing her a little closer. 

“I can’t believe she’s four,” Tim exhaled. “She was… just this little person who could fit in my hands… who could barely eat an ounce of a bottle without getting sick…” He lifts his gaze to find his child again. “She’s so big now.”

Lucy nods, leaning against his side and watching wistfully. Her fingers found her chest— the two necklaces, hung stacked over her chest. A daisy and a saint— both reminding her to be grateful for this moment, too. No birthdays are promised. 

“You miss Isabel?” Lucy asked, unable to contain the question. Tim bit the inner lining of his cheek. “It’s okay if you do.” 

“I… miss what she could’ve been,” he confirmed. “But I know she’s where she needs to be. We both are.”

Interrupting whatever they planned to say next— a knock on the door announces the arrival of birthday guests. Tim slipped away and told her to go have fun while he answered the door. Lucy did as told— to the best of her ability. She found a lawn chair that was open, grabbed a drink from the cooler, and listened to the beautiful sound of kids laughing together, screaming as they chased each other, twirling in their princess dresses and each getting into their goody bags to pull out their little tiaras. Kids show up in waves— family members, classmates, and other kids of officers at the station. Lucy waves when she sees Sergeant Harper walk in with two little girls, each looking so much like her. 

Oh, to be a kid again. Carefree. The wind against your skin as you practically fly through the grass in the pursuit of tag. The whimsy of twirling and your skirt flaring around you. The delicacy of Mommy tucking a dandelion behind your ear, and picking at the cucumbers on the veggie tray. To watch those you love grow around you so quickly that it’s hard to catch up, and yet, never wanting to blink in case you miss it. 

“Lila’s fourth birthday party was at a trampoline park,” Sergeant Harper declared as she sank down in the chair beside Lucy, a baby on her hip suckling on a pacifier.  “She wanted to go to a monster truck derby, but no one could take that weekend off, so… trampolines.”

“I didn’t know you were a mother,” Lucy said with a soft exhale, scanning to find Harper’s eldest. The girl with gorgeous carmel curls was holding Hallie’s hand and laughing as she was tugged around. She must’ve been, what… ten? Eleven?

“I keep the girls as far away from the job as possible,” Harper said, glancing down and smiling this grand, full-grin that Lucy had never seen before. “Huh, Leah? Gotta keep you out of trouble.”

“They’re beautiful,” Lucy commented, watching with a soft pang in her chest as the baby smiled so big that the pacifier fell from her mouth. “How old?”

“Ten and 13 months,” Harper declared with a soft chuckle. “Lila is from my first marriage. She’s got her Daddy’s eyes and passions, but my attitude.”

“They both look a lot like you,” Lucy said.

“Thank you, I think?” Harper hummed. “I worked hard on them.”

Nodding, Lucy returns to silence. Leah wasn’t much different from the size Daisy would be by now. Daisy would probably be walking, running, picking dandelions and smearing her face in frosting. Hallie would’ve loved her. Just watching how Hallie gets along with the other littles at the party, it took no effort to connect those dots. 

Tim would’ve loved her, too. The same way Lucy loves Hal. With this bursting in her chest that desires to wound her up in bubble wrap and protect her from the evils of the world. Maybe Tim would help put Daisy’s hair in pigtails. Maybe, when Lucy stayed to help out, the girls would’ve become something like sisters in the way they play together, fight over sweets, kiss booboos and read bedtime stories… 

A hand falls on her shoulder. She looks up to see the source. Just Tim. He leaned down and, lips brushing her ear, murmured a soft ‘ you alright?’ . Ripping her from the seams of an alternate reality, she returns to the present— to her friends, to her boyfriend, to Hallie. She nods, turning her face toward the sun, and thus, toward him. He kissed her cheek. 

“You should probably take a break,” Lucy said as he was bent near her. “Before you drop.”

“A few more minutes. Save me a seat,” he requested. Lucy nods, squeezing his arm and letting him disappear into the sea of children, checking in on the guests and his daughter. 

When Lopez arrives, Lucy is startled to see her showing significantly more than she was a short few weeks ago. A hand rests on her belly, another on the small of Wesley’s back to keep him close. They approach Harper and Leah together with a tired smile. 

“Oh look, Uncle Wesley,” Harper grinned, turning the baby toward her. “James is raiding the food table if you wanna…”

“I have a feeling this isn’t a request as much as it is you pawning her off,” Wesley joked but scooped the toddler into one of his arms. 

“Just drop her off with her dad,” Harper waved off. “Give us some Mom-time.”

Rolling his eyes, he did as asked, pecking Angela on the lips and going inside to look for Harper’s husband. Angela sunk down into one of the two remaining chairs, groaning. 

“How far along are you now?” Lucy asked with an impressed smile. 

“God, I don’t know…” Lopez said, looking down. “Far enough that they’re kicking me in the ribs.”

“Are you finding out the gender?” 

“No… I wanna be surprised again,” she smiled. “It was a feeling like no other. Looking down and seeing his face?” Angela glanced at Lucy, and for a moment, her smile faltered. As if she knew exactly what Lucy was thinking, she almost apologized. But Lucy just nods. 

“It’s just… there you are ,” Lucy agreed with a sad smile. “That person you’ve been talking to all this time…”

“Yes,” Angela agreed, reaching out to take Lucy’s hand. For once, she didn’t flinch away, or retract. It was simply a friendly squeeze— a reminder of their partnership, and what they have in common. “What about you, Nyla? Any more little people?”

“God, no,” Harper scoffed. “I got my girls. James has his boys. I’m plenty content with our blend. And I will not buy a bigger dining table.”

“Every time I’m pregnant, I think I could have a hundred of them,” Lopez said with a laugh. “And then I’m very quickly humbled by a newborn.” 

“Newborn is nothing. Yeah, your body is on fire and all, but… honestly I’d take three day old Leah over four year old Lila any day.”

“Please, do not curse me into having a bad four year old,” says the man of the hour, Tim finally taking a moment to sit. He grimaced as he did, the weight of his constant activity finally landing on his shoulders. Lucy reached over and slowly linked their hands together nonchalantly. 

“It honestly depends on the kid. Jack was great at four,” Lopez offered. 

“Lila was a nightmare. That being said, Donovan and I were neck deep into hating each other, and I was undercover most of the year when she was three.”

“Hallie is a fantastic kid,” Lucy said, smiling softly. “She’ll be fine, and you’ll do great.”

“Get a room…” Harper shook her head to herself, looking around for her oldest. “It’s all worth it. Even the tantrums and backsass. They end up being pretty damn great.”

It’s like a haunting— Lila playing with Jack. Jack tackling Hallie in a hug. Holding hands and running through the grass, looking over their shoulders at the person holding their hand. Lucy can almost see it— a little girl with a round face and stumbling legs, two dark brown pig tails sprouting from the top of her head. Four of them, hand in hand. 

Lucy lost a lot of the rest of the conversation. Not out of self pity or pain, but just blissful peace in being witness to such innocence. Adults socializing about their children. Children socializing in whatever way they know how. There’s a space in every corner for a couple more people— for Jackson, and Daisy, and Isabel. There’s a haunting alright, but the ghosts are friendly, and they exude love. 

The Bradford-Toscano clan were gracious enough to stay for cleanup, thank God . When the Toscano boys arrived, their wives were swift to put them to work on taking down the decorations that didn’t get sent home with any neighborhood kids or kept by Hallie. Joey helped Lucy unwind the streamers from all the different posts and ceiling beams, Mike and Tim supervising the pack up of the bounce house and cleaning up the yard. The sisters were divvying up the leftover food between all the households. Lucy glanced over her shoulder at Tim, clearly moving more sluggish than he was just a few hours ago. 

“How… How long have you and Tim known each other?” Lucy asked slowly, cautiously curious about the dynamics. 

“Known of him? Twenty something years…” Joey chuckled. “But he barely saw us those first few years. We honestly… we hardly called each other brothers until we were both well into adulthood.” Joey follows her gaze and frowns. “How's he healing?”

“Slowly,” Lucy murmured. “He says he’s alright but… he denied medication the past few weeks, and he’s putting off PT, but is desperate to be in the field again.”

“Prick has always been that stubborn,” Joey scoffed. “Did he ever tell you the story of Emily being born?”

“No,” Lucy smiled. “Do tell.”

“Well, he was still pissed about our parents being married,” Joey says with a roll to his eyes. “Michael was dead to him . I wasn’t much better off. Can’t blame him– I mean, we were all moved in with his Mom, Michael was on a rival team for football, I was the dorky little step brother that wouldn’t leave him alone. He hated it all. But Emily was born and… I dunno. Something flipped.” 

“He was an adult already when she was born, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah. 20’s, I think? Out of high school for sure. I think he was in the military, and he had just moved out of his Dad’s place, and… I don’t know. Something snapped. He walked into that hospital room– in uniform still, dirt on his face. He washed his hands six times before he held Emmie. It was the first time he said something nice to any of us. The first time he smiled at us.”

“He’s always been a secret softie?” Lucy presumed, making Joey snicker. “I never had siblings. Never got to feel that… life changing air fill a room. But I can imagine it was unlike anything else.”

“It was,” Joey chuckled. “Mike and I were always good for LeAnne, Genny was good for Dad, but it was like… Emmie was this glue that finally solidified us as one unit– even him.” Joey side-eyed her. “How’s it been going with Hal? Is she… settling well?”

“Hmm?” Lucy frowned. “Oh… with me? I-I think so. I mean, she’s four. She tantrums over what socks she wears. But all things considered… I think we’ve set her up to… to be comfortable.” Lucy swallowed thickly. “I’m never going to be Isabel.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Joey hummed. Lucy kept her mouth shut. Something told her that this wasn’t her conversation to have. 

When the house finally emptied, they ate leftover pizza for dinner around the living room. Hallie took a bubble bath and changed into PJ’s, but would only let Lucy touch her hair. Even that was a struggle in comparison to their typical night. Lucy kept it to simple braids. 

“What were you and Joe talking about?” Tim asked, watching Lucy on the rocking recliner with a sleepy Hallie in her arms. 

“Nothing much,” Lucy murmured back. “You. How you were feeling.”

“What did you tell him?”

“You’re nosy,” Lucy snickered. “I said you need to be more patient about healing, but you’re better than you were.”

“You better not be gossiping,” Tim teased with a tired smile. “Last thing I need is Joe tattling on me to my Mom.”

“I would never,” Lucy cracked a small smile. Glancing down, she notices Hallie’s eyes fully shut, soft snores spilling from her lips. “You wanna put her down?”

“You can…” Tim said with a soft smile. “Thank you.”

Hallie sinks into her bed with no hesitation– curling into her blankets and an arm strongly wrapped around a stuffie, she falls asleep on her first night as four with a smile. Lucy returned to the living room, settling down under Tim’s arm and meeting his lips with a soft peck. 

“You did a lot today,” Lucy whispered between kisses. “You tired?” 

“Mhm…” he hummed, but didn’t budge from his spot. An arm around her, he slowly pulls her a little closer, catching another kiss. “Give me a few minutes.”

“Okay,” Lucy laughs, slipping an arm around his neck and meeting him in the middle for every soft, warm, deep kiss. 

Lucy feels like a teenager again– kissing her boyfriend in the living room, hoping no one spots them. But the kid is in bed, and his family left, meaning there’s no one to “catch them in the act”. His hand passes down her spine in the same way it does most nights– a smoothing pressure down her spine to remind her of his presence. Fingers curling into her skin when he’s comfortable and wants her to stay put. She always does. 

Breaking apart to breathe, her head touches against his, and his arm squeezed around her waist, pulling her a little closer. She was halfway to sitting in his lap. Her legs against his sent a shock through her body– her heart skipping a beat, her stomach swirling. She moved closer, while her brain screamed to turn away. Tim’s hand slowly inched its way back up her waist. Hers presses against his chest– over his heart, gentle enough to not agitate his wound but firm enough to know his heart was just below her fingertips. Her hair tangles slightly under his touch. 

An accidental pull is all it takes. 

It wasn’t even his fault. It got caught in the chain of her necklace. A few strands yank from the base of her skull. She jumped in a way she’s never done in the hands of Tim Bradford. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked quickly, watching her hand fly to the back of her neck, tremoring hands trying to work the safety clasp of the necklace. “Lucy?”

“I’m okay,” she lied, backing away and nearly tripping over the coffee table. “Need to pee.”

With lightning speed, she ducks into the bathroom, closes and locks the door behind her before he can see the blood dripping down her face, or the way she nearly breaks the chain of her necklace trying to yank it off in desperation. 

Real chill, Chen. 

Chapter Text

Her body is sluggish as she works her way through a morning that she had dreaded for the past few weeks. She woke before her alarm, able to silence it without making Tim stir. She showered and put on the outfit she brought with her last night, uncomfortably messing with her hair in the mirror in hopes of making it somewhat presentable. However quiet she thought she was clearly wasn’t the case, glancing up in the mirror at the sound of creaking floorboards. Tim slowly leaned against the doorframe, tired eyes matching his smile. 

“Good morning,” he whispered. “What do you want for breakfast?”

“You should be sleeping,” Lucy murmured back. “You’re still on medical leave. That means resting.”

“A bagel?” Tim asked next, completely disregarding her last statement. “Leftover zucchini waffles?” 

Lucy’s shoulders fall as she realizes he had no intentions of quitting. He was relentless with his desire to be good to her. Fine. Jerk.

“Bagel with cream cheese please,” she relented. “And start a pot of coffee please?” 

“Mhm,” he squeezed her side gently, dipping around her to peck her lips before sleepily shuffling down the hall. Lucy was stuck in place, considering the exchange for a long moment, before finishing with her hair and going to find some shoes. 

The bagel is ready for her in the kitchen, and Tim poured some coffee in a to-go mug of his. Lucy murmured a thank you and sat on the counter to eat in the remaining few minutes before she had to leave. Tim was eyeing her as he worked on putting away last night’s dishes. 

“Are you feeling okay about today?” He asked. Lucy shrugged nonchalantly, unsure of what she could say about her feelings. She’s been in and out of therapy since the shooting— she’s had enough of feelings. Tim raised an eyebrow at her. “You’re allowed to be nervous,”

“I’m not.”

“Luce.”

“I’m not,” she insisted, avoiding his eyes. “It’s… about time. And Lopez needs the help.”

Tim takes her by the elbow before she could walk away from him entirely. He pulled her back so they were toe to toe, forcing eye contact. He looked at her expectantly, but she didn’t give in. Unfortunately, however, when Tim fell for her, he also fell for every ounce of stubborn in her body. A little silence and some tension doesn’t scare him off anymore. 

“I’m going to be late,” Lucy said, her voice falling to a whisper out of fear of snapping loud enough to wake his child just down the hall.

“You are damn good at a lot of things, Chen, but I know you too well by now…” Tim’s thumb brushed along the inside of her wrist, where the pulse thrums under his fingertips at a rapid rate. “We’re gonna have to talk eventually.”

“Yeah, eventually,” she huffed, rolling her arm out of his grasp but sliding it up his bicep. “Now I have to go. We’ll… we’ll talk later.”

“I’ll hold you to it…”

“Of course you will,” she sighs, pressing up on her toes to kiss him lightly. “Call me if you need anything.”

“Mhm…”

He watched her leave in a flurry, a piece of him already well aware of what the problem was. 

Her car pulls out of his driveway. Her ride in is silent. Tim is certain that the radio is still playing the same station it was when they drove home from Tim’s doctor’s appointment two days ago. There is a gaping hole in her passenger seat– whether it is supposed to be Jackson, or Tim, or a secret third grief of knowing her old life at Topanga is truly, finally over. 

And most of all, Tim saw it the moment he caught her eye in the mirror this morning– her heart is in the game. After years of hell and torture, she is feeling something warm and fuzzy again, and while her body curls into him each night, her mind must be screaming with the warning to run– run as fast as she can, before the spiral makes its way back around. 

Tim has a habit of falling for people who don’t want to be fixed but desperately want to be loved. He is determined to get it right this time. 

Lucy’s desk has a stack of cards, a vase of flowers, and a basket of mixed goodies all waiting for her when she arrives. 

It’s a stunned silence at first. Luckily, most of the detectives weren’t in the bull pen, but rather out in the field or sitting in on roll call today, giving her plenty of time to react appropriately when she sees her first colleague. A Detective Finch, who she had worked with on a drug bust just in November of last year. She shot Lucy a sorrowful smile and a “Congratulations on your win”. Both of them knew it was a painful statement that wouldn’t ever mean more than a backhanded reminder of what she lost the day she won. She sits and reads a few of the cards set up on her desk– well wishes, condolences, and gratitude. Then, she tucks them into the drawer and logs into work in hopes of forgetting about it. 

When role call lets out, Lopez came back to the desks and sinks down with a huff, a hand resting on her belly and a yawn escaping her mouth. She shot Lucy a half smile before clicking away on her own desktop. 

“How’s little Lopez?” Lucy asked without looking up.

“Creating mayhem. How’s Bradford?”

“Same,” Lucy sighed, sitting back with a random file open on her computer. “Stuck in the same old-same old. Trying to survive.”

“Hear-hear…”

Lucy can still taste Tim’s lips on hers this morning. She can still smell the toaster, and feel the arm around her waist as they slept last night. She carries every interaction between them through her day– from reading old files to catch up, to debriefing with Harper, and sitting in interrogation with a drug trafficker. There is no breath that leaves her lips where her mind isn’t ghosting over Tim Bradford. A horror rises in her, second by second, minute by minute, as she realizes in quick succession: she is feeling love. In the very way she loved one Enzo Morelli. In the very way she loved Jackson West. Charlie Wood. The list of names grows with each memory of feeling full of warmth, followed oh so closely by ache. 

She’s not entirely sure how her first day back goes– mostly because she didn’t feel like she was “back” at all. She felt like she was in another lifetime. She follows the motions. She does the work. But she was far from there. 

Lopez and Lucy take a ride to the Twin Towers together that afternoon to follow up on the lead their interrogation gave them. They stood in the prison entrance as they waited on their credentials to proceed in silence, but after a long moment, Lopez elbowed her in the ribs. Lucy glanced up, blinking herself back to the present. 

“You wanna wait in the car?” she asked quietly. Lucy frowned. 

“No. I’m not scared,” Lucy said back just as swiftly. Lopez nodded slowly. “I’m not.”

“It’s not about that,” Lopez murmured. Lucy shrugged her off, taking the credentials and following their guide down the hall. Lopez was shortly behind her.

They’re paraded through half of gen-pop, earning hoots, hollers, and plenty of cat calls as they passed under the watchful eye of hungry men. They’re shown the cell of the prisoner they were investigating. The room was already turned upside down, every possession in a pile in the middle of the room and the thin “mattress” sawed in half to search its contents. Lucy crouched to check under the bed and the cracks in the walls for any hidden writings or goodies. Tucked in a hole between bricks was a slip of paper torn from a yellowed book– nothing but 14:23 written on it and half a sentence from the original book binding. She had no identifiable significance, but held it up with her gloved hands, inviting over Angela’s attention. She hummed to herself and said something about shipment or correction officer involvement– she wasn’t entirely sure. When they cleared out of the room, they follow a guard to the yard on the other side of the fence. Hands stuffed into her pockets, she takes one skim of the recreation space and spotted him. 

Like a sixth sense, he saw her too. 

Two detectives showing their face around the prison yard– that creates a stir. A handful of boys find themselves slinking toward the fence with piqued interest– one wolf whistling as he does. Lucy didn’t startle or flinch. She’s faced scarier than some idiots who were dumb enough to get caught committing a crime stuck on the other side of some barbed wire. 

“Lucy?” 

Enzo stood from where he was sitting on a rec-bench trying to press out a couple reps.  She felt her stomach lurch— but not from the sound of his voice, or his person moving towards her. It’s from the way he spoke her name— like he still cared for the attention she might give him. Like he was more concerned by her presence than the danger he is in by knowing her. 

“Let’s go,” Lopez said, nodding Lucy along. Lucy hesitated though. Maybe it was the self sabotaging in her, but she… she wanted to see. She wanted to know— who has this man become without her influence? What has he done with himself since the death of his mother and arrest of his father? “Chen.”

“Give me thirty seconds.”

“You sure?” 

“Please,” she insisted. Lopez exhaled, nodding and backing away.

 Lucy approached the fence, hands sliding into her pockets. Enzo waves at one of his peers as he approached the fence. A pocket of space forms around him, leaving plenty of room to stray from eavesdroppers. He’s looking rough. His jaw was covering in a thick layer of stubble— close to becoming a true beard. The circles around his eyes were darker than before. His hair was borderline shaggy. If his mother saw him like this, she would have a heart attack on the spot. Maybe that was the point. 

“I’m sorry about your mom,” Lucy states calmly, flickering her attention between his eyes, trying to spot the inflection of emotion that he’s always been terrible at hiding. There's a slight dilation to his pupils, but nothing else changes. 

“No you’re not.”

“I am,” she insisted. “I… I knew when things started going downhill that there would be fall out. You did, too. But that doesn’t mean I wanted anyone to die.”

“I heard about West,” he says back. “I didn’t order it.”

“I pissed off a lot of people, Enzo. It’s not always about you. Unfortunately, you’re just close enough to me to be caught up in it.”

“It’s karma,” he said back calmly. His adam’s apple bobs as he swallowed his emotion down. “I heard you’re investigating the drug ring in Unit E.”

“We just got here,” Lucy raised an eyebrow. “How did you hear?”

“I’m a cop spending the rest in his life in prison. I either had to assert dominance or get killed,” he mutters, side-eyeing the group around them. “It’s originating from a gang that works the laundry room. Methamphetamines. A batch is supposed to come in with a visitor but rumors say they plan on lacing it for a mass contagion.”

“Are you thinking an attempted escape?”

“Either an escape or a mass-attack. I’ve told my boys to keep clean, but I’m not sure how vigilant the rest of these guys are. Some are so desperate for a hit that they’d take it regardless.”

“You’re not earning good favor for this,” Lucy reminded. “You lost every privilege, and after the stunt with my daughter, you’re lucky I gave you the time of day at all.”

“I know,” Enzo huffed. “But Mom liked you. Even when she hated you, she liked you. It’s a favor for her.”

“Mhm…” Lucy eyed him up and down. “Stay clean.”

“If I’m dead in a week, you know where to go,” he said back before backing away. “Gotta go.”

“Go,” Lucy nodded, glancing over her shoulder. “Thanks.” When she approached the correctional officer and Lopez, they both raised eyebrows. “We have an origin point for the order and a potential motive.”

“That’s it?” Lopez questions. 

“That’s what matters,” Lucy confirms, walking on. “C’mon.”

It feels like every second that she survives the day is like spending the ellusive “borrowed time”. She’s looking over her shoulder waiting for a tap to step aside. She’s waiting for the next bad thing. She’s begun to anticipate that there is no “ease”— just moments of naivety. 

On the drive back to the station, as they round the block for Mid Wilshire, Lopez reached and turned fhe radio down. Lucy glanced sideways at her, watching as she plainly drives past the station. 

“Angela.”

“What did he say to you?” Lopez asked outright. Lucy is wordless, stunned that Lopez would think to drop in on her personal life so suddenly. “Listen, you don’t have to tell me, but if you can’t provide an accurate report on what exchange you had with a convicted felon on prison grounds, then you know IA will come down on you with a steal fist. That’s the last thing either of us want.”

“It wasn’t important,” Lucy said, swallowing thickly. “I… I apologized. For his mom’s death. I told him I was sorry she passed. He… acknowledged Jackson.”

“Did he claim it?” Lopez’s voice dropped suddenly, a darkness clouding her eyes within moments. 

“No,” Lucy exhaled. “He believes it’s karma. Everyone loses a little humanity in the end.”

She swallowed thickly, still picturing Enzo’s face— his tired eyes, his stubbly cheeks. In contrast, she thinks of Tim’s lips on her skin this morning, a soft greeting and a promise to have breakfast ready. She can almost match the sizes of their palms and the way they fit in each of her hands or hold one of her thighs. Lucy felt a nausea rise in her. 

“Do you think I’m ready for this?” 

Lopez comes to a stop at a red light, glancing at her passenger with a bewildered stare. Slowly, she pulled over and flicked off the dash cameras. 

“Spill,” she says, like she’s been waiting for it all day long. “If you’re having doubts about being on the job-“

“No,” Lucy sucked in a breath. “Not-not doubts. And not about the job. I…” she glanced up, chewing on her cheek. “I can’t be one more bad thing that happens to Tim.” 

In the silence between them, a person flies by on their left going far over the speed limit. Neither one paid them any mind. A few cars ahead, a stealth shop whirled out with lights on. 

“And you don’t need anymore bad things to happen to you, either…” Lopez said.

 Lucy couldn’t say anything. It was true. They knew that. Everyone knew that. Lucy was at her most fragile, as much as she tried to shoulder it off as fine. She couldn’t afford another loss. And Tim…? 

“I think you two are built for one another,” Lopez said after a while of letting the discomfort stir. “I think every bone in your body wants to love someone as much as possible. And I think Tim has more than paid the price that comes with being loved.” 

“You believe in soulmates?” Lucy asked. 

“Yes, of course,” she shrugged. “But it’s more than that, Chen. It’s not just an invisible string tying you together. It’s the balance that you bring to the other.”

“You are… talking jibberish,” Lucy declared. “But thank you.”

“Did I save a relationship?”

“That’s dramatic,” Lucy scoffed. “I don’t know. I’m just scared that I’m not ready for what it means to… to love someone again. There’s something so intimate in knowing each other’s coffee orders and favorite pajamas.” 

“I imagine it’s extra intimate without the intimacy part,” Angela suggested with a waggle in the eyebrows. Lucy groaned. “C’mon. Girl talk with me.”

“Clearly you already had a girl talk with him,” Lucy said. “Everytime I think… I think I can do it, I can get back in the game, I can… try something new, there’s this fear that resurges-“

“What does your therapist say?”

“She’s been trying to get me to have sex with anyone with a personality for the past year,” Lucy rolled her eyes with a smile. “I don’t know. I know I’m ready. I know… I know Tim is safe, and I know that… that I’m not in the same place I was a year ago.”

“After I almost lost Jack in Guatemala, I didn’t think I was ever going to be able to come back to work, much less back to this.” Angela gestures to her belly. 

“I… didn’t know something happened with Jack,” Lucy frowned. “Was that… was that when Jackson was shot the first time?” 

Misty eyed, Angela smiled. 

“I remember when it happened,” Lucy swallowed thickly. “Freshly after becoming P2’s. I was in UC school…” She glanced at Angela. “They didn’t think he’d survive, much less come back to the job.”

“We were targeted by a cartel,” Lopez confirmed. “He was collateral. Almost gave his life to save mine and Jack’s.”

“Hence the name?”

“Hence the name,” Lopez smiled sadly. “Can’t name them both after him, though.”

“Asshole had to be all selfless and sacrificial,” Lucy sighed. “I miss him.”

“Yeah. Me too…” Angela glanced sideways at her. “You’re supposed to live, Lucy. After all this… this death? The hurt? It’s supposed to remind you to live, not hole-up quietly.” 

“So get back to it?” Lucy asked, heavy with exhaustion and the guilt that comes with being wrong. “Just… step back into life and try again? And again? And again until… I die?”

“Pretty much,” Lopez said, turning the car back into drive and finishing their drive into the car port. “What’s the point of living if you don’t?”

Chapter Text

Dust sits thick on every surface. The kitchen that once smelled of sesame oil and a variety of seasoning now smelled of past-date food in her— the — fridge. 

Keys need to be turned in by noon. 

It’s empty, for the most part. 

The furniture was donated to local second-hand shop. Most of it was in good condition— hardly used by the two cops that worked more than they slept. The worst of it was Enzo’s mattress that he brought with him when he moved in, but still only had a couple years of wear on it. 

When she walks past the bathroom, she can almost smell the old spice. 

“Doesn’t look like much,” Tim frowns as he walked in behind her, glancing at the few remaining boxes, hardly filled. His eyes lift to her back, watching the slow pacing through each room. 

As if seeing through her mind, he imagines what this apartment was like in it’s prime. Empty during long shifts and longer undercover operations. The spot where a bassinet would’ve gone. The bedroom that would’ve been a nursery. He’s sure every crack in the wall has a story to her. 

“It’s enough,” Lucy murmured, arms folding around herself. Tim slowly approached from behind, his footsteps creaking the floorboards. His arms slip around her. She hugged them to herself for stability. 

“What do you want to do?”

“Burn it,” Lucy scoffed, turning in Tim’s embrace and slowly looping her arms around his neck. “Never look back.”

“What would your therapist recommend you do?” Tim chuckled, nose to nose with her. She didn’t have a response prepared. “Say whatever goodbyes you need. I’ll take a couple things down to the truck.”

“Nothing too heavy,” Lucy whispered back with a peck to his lips. “You’re still healing.”

As he collected two boxes— seemingly light enough by the way Tim stood with ease— Lucy was left alone here one last time. 

The island where they argued, and sat around for breakfast, and drank wine or ate a late night pizza. The window she used to sit in when it rained, because she had such a good view of the hills coated in a layer of fog. The fake fireplace that they lit a total of once, when Enzo had really pissed her off and had to pull out all of the cheats to make it up to her. 

There is a sense of relief as she picked up the last box waiting for her. A box filled with her memorabilia from Topanga, the contents of her desk at the station, and funnily enough— a trophy from club soccer in college. They only did a proper tournament one year of the four she played. She was recognized for being the best team player and most daring during the awards, but the trophy— that was for their win against USC, just because they were feeling extra pretty that year. 

That’s where she learned it. To be stubborn until it pisses people off. To be obnoxiously good at what she can do. She lost that along the way, but she thinks she’s finally found her footing again. 

The box fits in the cab with her, so it goes at her feet. Tim was happily awaiting her return in the drivers seat. They drive to the other side of the campus of buildings to the housing office, where Lucy has nothing to do other than turn over her keys to a stranger; one about to pawn this apartment off to some other LA sucker just trying to get by. 

“If you have time to fill out this survey-“

In Lucy’s head, she says something witty or assish— I’d rather die than think about this place for another minute— but all she mysters is a polite smile and ducking out the door as fast as she can. 

When she climbs back in the truck, Tim’s smiling at her. She raises her eyebrows, taking a deep breath as Tim drives them out of the parking lot.

“All done,” She says, without affect to her voice.  

“You feel good?” He asked hopefully. Lucy nods, though her silence spoke volumes. “Luce.”

“We’re just… taking the punches as they come,” she said back, staring out the windshield. “I don’t know. I-I know it’s big, but… it’s never over , you know?” 

“What else do we need to do?” Tim asked, in an effort to be sweet and supportive, but in reality, tearing Lucy in half. 

“It’s not a checklist, Tim,” Lucy said, shoulders tight and her body growing defensive. “I’m not going through a to-do list of things I’ve done since Topanga. It’s-It’s only a matter of time before something comes up again. I mean, just Wednesday, I saw him at the prison, and we-we talked , and I can’t shake that. Knowing it’s never really done.”

“You didn’t tell me you went to see him,” Tim said, frown appearing rapidly, and sparing her a side eye as he drove. “Why didn’t you tell me you visited?”

“I didn’t go see him. I went to investigate a case. It’s looking like something in our hands with a direct tie to a prison gang in Enzo’s unit.”

“I still thought you would’ve told me-“

“I’m not fragile, Tim,” Lucy scolded. “I-I’m cut out for this. I didn’t do all the surviving shit just to-to play victim forever.”

“No one is calling you a victim, Lucy,” Tim says back, a sharpness to his tone as he grows defensive, too. “And I have never thought of you as fragile, either.”

“That’s a damn lie,” Lucy said back. “You were nearly killed and I’ve been coddled every second since. I survived these past few years on spite and hatred and I really want to find normalcy in it. You know, I still haven’t driven through the hills since? I haven’t been back to the station. Haven’t spoken to colleagues that never flipped. But I’m going to. And when I do, I want to just… do it. I want to dive back into life. Not be huddled through.” 

“I’m sorry that you were feeling patronized, but I have zero doubt in your ability to-to jump in. I know your dedication and your commitment. I would be dead if it wasn’t for your instincts— several times over, probably. I have never doubted for a second that you would be okay , but I can’t help but want to make sure you are, too.”

“But you’re not my keeper, Tim,” Lucy says back. “I need to know I can do things without-without having some kinda cheer squad to follow me everywhere I go. I can’t have you scared every time I cross paths with Enzo or someone on his payroll. I don’t want to-to make things celebratory for existing. I want to be us. I want to see what we can actually be.”

Tim takes a breath. He is so very lost. He’s trying, but man is he confused. 

“Can you tell me what this is about?” Tim sighed. “Tell me what exactly you want. I will meet you where you are.” 

“I want to know if you love me.”

There’s almost a vacuum between them of any breathable air. Lucy prepared for the worst, but hoped for the best. However, she’s not entirely sure what was what. 

“I want to know if you pity me, or if you love me. Or even something in between. I want to know if-if you think of me like a kicked puppy every time we visit my past, or if you’re weirded out that we haven’t had sex, or- I don’t know, I want to know what is happening.”

“I-“ Tim frowned. “I-I… don’t know how to respond to that.”

“If it bothers you-“ Lucy began. 

“No- I- No!” Tim tensed up. “I-I don’t— Luce…” he takes his hand off her leg and braces himself on the steering wheel. Lucy felt nausea begin to stir. “I… I grew up in a very catholic household. I have a Dad that shoved me in confession for a B+ on an AP Stats quiz. I-I grew up with a Bible thumper and-and I’m… not used to being asked questions like that outright-“

“Just- yes or no! Does it bother you?”

“No!” He exclaimed. “It doesn’t bother me.”

They took their exit.  Lucy fights with her inner demons on whether or not she should believe him. She didn’t like that feeling— questioning her faith in him. He was supposed to be her bringer of truth. 

“I know you don’t want to hear this-“

“Then don’t say it,” Lucy said.  

“But we’re all so fucking proud of you, Lucy,” he persists. 

“Ugh.”

“Unfortunately, you cannot erase the respect you’ve earned by the trials you’ve survived. In the Army, you get medals, pins and patches, recognition for every sacrifice, and meanwhile you’re sitting on a mountain of it, without so much as a pat on the back?”

“And while the sentiment is sweet, it still feels like you’re viewing me as this inferior little girl who can’t fight for her own recognition, maybe in a less traumatic way.”

“This is becoming a lecture,” Tim stated, running a hand over his head. “Listen– I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m doing. I just know I’m enjoying myself. I’m having fun with you here. Hallie likes having you here. I like to think you like being around, but that’s… a little less clear these days. I mean, you practically run out the door before I can say good morning.”

“Don’t turn this around on me.”

“I’m not turning it around ,” Tim scoffed. “You’re ducking my calls. You’re avoiding eye contact. Hell, even now it feels like you’re skirting around an issue instead of telling me what we should do about it.” Tim shot her a look at a red light. “Are you scared? Or is this some…some commitment thing?” 

Silence consumes them. Lucy looks down at her hands, folded in her lap, hands pink from blood flow. She didn’t expect the question, and worse, she didn’t know the answer. 

“I think it bothers me that… that I’m not scared,” Lucy said slowly. Tim nods to himself, trying to understand what she was insinuating. “At least, not as much as I should be, right? This is real? You and I? We’re not… screwing around and being stupid?”

“I… think so?” Tim frowned. 

“Because… that is somehow scarier than anything… else. Being back in the dating scene is one thing. But I found someone I actually liked. I-I fell for someone and instantly almost lost him. There’s only so many things I can say or do before this is an undeniable reality.”

“This?” Tim repeated. “And we were just… playing for the past few months?”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t,” Tim scoffed. 

“I need to shut up,” Lucy stated, sitting back with her arms folded around herself. “Let me… let me think before I talk.”

“Good idea.”

The rest of the drive is silent. Lucy notes every flex of his fingers around the steering wheel, the redness to his cheeks, the tension in his shoulders. She sees every blink of annoyance or frustration. Jaw tensing on occasion. Eyes shifting extra. Lucy sits straight and stays quiet. 

Tim pulls onto her street, flicking his blinker on to turn into the parking lot. Lucy’s throat was tight. What would be worse— to say something she regrets, to continue talking and start a fight, or to leave things unspoken for the day. Let him go home and both of them settle into solitude for a night. 

When he parks, he gets out of the car to help her bring things in. 

“If you want to go, I won’t be upset,” Lucy said, lying through her teeth, but this time convincingly enough. Tim shook his head. 

“Let’s at least settle your stuff.”

When she walks in the door of her apartment and tosses down her belongings, she realized she would explode if she let it stay awkward. 

“Tim?” 

“Hm?” He glanced up as he set her boxes down. His eyes soften as they fall upon her face— analyzing the tragic expression written across it. “Lucy…”

“It’s not pretend, and it scares me,” Lucy said, ripping the bandaid off. “I’ve been here, Tim. I’ve stood in my apartment with a guy having this very talk, and I’ve met the family and been welcomed in with mostly open arms-“

“This is about my sister?”

“It’s about me ,” Lucy groaned, plopping down on one of the stools and putting her head in her hands. “Why I can’t just-just- I don’t know? Why can’t I just cool off? Why can’t I have more control over what I’m ready to accomplish?”

“Because you’re not there yet,” Tim shrugged. “That's okay, Lucy. No one is sitting here, counting the seconds until your next achievement. You’re not running a race. You’re figuring out your own life again.”

“But what if I have it figured out already? Rinse and repeat? Go for my next life’s event, get jammed up by some inconvenience that will inevitably involve my past, come home to my partner and unload the baggage without any reward? I feel like I’m falling on my face here.”

“Why can’t you trust that your past isn’t your burden to bear anymore?” Tim questioned. “Why are you so insistent on comparing your old life to your current one?”

“Because I had my current life already!”

“I’m not Enzo,” Tim snapped back, creating a crestfallen silence. “We only became us because you trusted I wouldn’t be Enzo. Every conversation we’ve had in the past year? Lucy— how many times were you still feeling like you needed to doubt me?”

Lucy’s silence is all he needed to hear. 

“I think… we both need to take a breath,” Tim decided, shaking his head. “Shelf this conversation. Sleep on it. Come back tomorrow with fresh heads, and-and get through it.”

“Tim-”

“Enough,” Tim interrupted, stepping closer and also leaning against the counter. “Shelf it.”

“Okay,” she agreed, looking down at the island. “Shelved.”

“I’m gonna let you sleep on this,” Tim suggested. “I’ll be here when you’re ready. Right now… you aren’t.”

“But I am-“

“You aren’t ,” Tim said back, firmer. “And neither am I. So… take the night.”

“Are you leaving?”

“I have to pick up Hal from school,” Tim said, standing straight and stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I’ll text you.”

“You’ll text me?” Lucy raised an eyebrow, aghast. “Alright. Fine.”

“Don’t do that,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss the crest of her cheekbone. Even while annoyed, she leaned into the kiss. 

“Drive safe,” she grumbled. Tim squeezed her shoulder before turning to walk out the door. 

Stunned silent, the door echoes in her ears as it closes behind him. In the ripple of the void comes memory, and from there… who knows.

Chapter Text

“I think he’s right.”

The worst words you can hear a therapist say. 

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” Lucy said, head dropping back against the couch cushions. “I do trust him.”

“To a certain point, yes,” Dr. Kendall agreed, fidgeting with her pen. “Let’s run through some scenarios. If you were… in a car accident. Who would know first? Him or your parents?”

“Him. We’re cops, that’s easy.”

“Okay. Fair point…” she hummed to herself. “Do you let him cook for you?”

“Yeah,” Lucy cracked a tiny smile. “He likes to. Acts of service is like a love language to him.”

“And what’s yours?” 

Lucy chewed on her cheek, considering it. She’s always been a gift giver. She could never settle for just a card. She would have to pick out the perfect one, arrange a gift basket by hand, maybe bake some sweets, too. And she enjoyed receiving gifts, too— it felt special when people met her on her playing field. But, the more she thinks about it… the more she realizes her love language was missing. 

“It was physical touch,” Lucy said eventually. “I’m… a hand holder. I liked being hugged. I found value in a stupid kiss.”

“And you have no problem kissing him?”

“Not at all.”

“And why do you think that’s different?” She inquired. “At what point is it too serious?”

She’s not sure how, but Lucy was starting to pick it out— moment by moment. It feels too serious when the lights are off, and she is the little spoon, and he’s fast asleep. It feels too serious when his fingers brush over a scar he doesn’t know exists, because it’s always covered by clothing, and all he was doing was holding her waist. It feels too serious when she’s filling Hallie’s cup with juice, and all she can do is picture a second kid, with the same smile and attitude as Hallie and Lucy’s eyes and coloring. 

It feels too real when she starts to want something. When she realizes she craves it. When she remembers what it was like to want someone this bad. 

“I thought I trusted him,” Lucy frowned.

“I think you still do,” Dr. Kendall laughs lightly. “Listen… you followed your gut all those months ago— deciding he was your source of safety. I believe that gut instinct to be correct. I think it’s doubt in yourself.”

“I made the decision wrong last time,” Lucy agreed. “I… I didn’t notice the signs.”

“But it wasn’t your responsibility to,” Dr. Kendall agreed gentlg. “It’s his responsibility to treat you right. Anything after that is out of your control. Which is scary— but it’s a boundary I think you are trying to push. Why else would you be so worried about it?”

Nodding, Lucy swiped a hand over her face. 

“How do I fix it?” Lucy said. “What do I need to do to get over it?”

“The same thing you did every other time. Attack it sideways. An answer will find you in the loopholes.”

“And once I take the step, I’m cured?” Lucy suggested with a scoff. 

“Oh, God no. You’ll feel this fear for every big and new step you take. But you’ll keep learning from your past. And eventually, you’ll wake up in your bed together, and you’ll realize the switch flipped. You can be there, safe, and happy.”

“And what if it’s… not Tim?” Lucy asked next. “What if this is just a trauma bond, or… or a fling?”

“Then you experience a fling, Lucy. Welcome to adulthood. We’re all thriving.”

She was hardly at her desk today. 

The streets had her running laps around Los Angeles, and with Lopez out for a doctors appointment that afternoon, she was taking on a second load of cases. She found herself driving between three different crime scenes all day, sneaking a granola bar in her during her drives, and awaiting the end of shift. She had never been so busy, so exhausted, so in need of a nice long weekend, in a long time. 

She’s sitting at a stoplight when Tim texts her. Dinner tonight? Short and simple. Lucy’s first instinct was to think of all the reasons Tim might dump her tonight. Her second was to take a breath and remember what her therapist said only two days prior. So what if its a fling? 

So what if she gets dumped? 

So what if she loses Tim? Her boyfriend, her partner, her friend . 

Her heart is in her throat. Of course she’d go to dinner. She isn’t a monster. She made a mental note to respond later, turning the corner on her human trafficking case that fell in her lap this morning. They were the third house on the right. The paint was peeling, the railing to the front stairs was busted, and an old van was being processed in the garage. There are girls everywhere. Cops, too. 

“Detective Chen,” Lucy said, flashing her badge as she crossed the tape perimeter. “Who’s my primary?”

“I was,” Celina raised a hand from the depths of a crowd of women and girls. Celina told them each in Spanish tp find somewhere comfortable to sit, and that she would return shortly. “Nolan and I responded to a noise complaint. We get here and there was a man setting some clothes on fire in the yard, and Nolan spotted blood on the window.”

“How many suspects?”

“Four. Three pimps and a buyer. Most of these girls were abducted or held captive,” Celina glanced over her shoulder. “What’s going to happen to them?”

“I… wish I had a good answer,” Lucy frowned. “At best, any of the minors can be brought back to their families or state care. The adults… we can offer them the chance to call someone, maybe direct them toward the womens shelters…” Lucy glanced at the stairwell where two women were holding each other close, discussing with a police officer. One was bleeding from the head. The other was curled up in an emergency blanket, barely whimpering through a single sentence. 

“I’ll make some phone calls. See how many can get off the street tonight,” Celina sighed, strolling away. “Thanks.”

Lucy takes a walk through the house with TID. They show her where a definite assault took place— a blood splatter on the laundry machines and a spilled bottle of bleach on the floor giving it away. They showed her the kitchen, the stashes of drugs tucked away in teabag boxes, the years supply of various oils. It was a torture dungeon. It was disgusting and horrifying. Lucy felt that much more dedicated to the case. 

“What’s your name?” Lucy asked as she stepped back outside, approaching the woman with the bloody head. She glanced both ways before making eye contact. “I’m Detective Chen. I want to help you find somewhere safe to go. I’m gonna be in charge of this case, tracking down the whole chain of who hurt you girls. I’m here to help, not judge.”

“I’m Lillia,” the younger of the girls said in a hush. “Lillia Chase.”

“Mara,” the older said, unwilling to say more.

“Do either of you have families I can contact? Someone to call and let them know you’re okay?”

“My-my grandma? Maybe? Its been… years-“ Lillia looked up at Mara with a frown. Lucy followed her gaze, watching a stream of blood drip down her neck. “Mara?”

“Control, I need another RA to my location,” Lucy said swiftly, gathering the girl as she began to slump over, her skin turning green and eyes unfocused. “Approximately 5’7” female, significant head trauma, experiencing loss of consciousness– Mara? Hey, honey, I got you…”

Lucy lowers her to the ground, using her sweater as a layer to slow the bleeding in her head. Another officer runs over with their first aid kit from their shop, dropping to their knees beside her. A third comes to pull Lillia out of the way. 

“She’s bleeding fast. I’m worried about a skull fracture,” Lucy said as supplies are offered to pack on top of the bleeding. “Someone radio Shaw Memorial, tell them we need a neurologist on standby and prepped for surgery.”

“Yes, Detective.”

“Does anyone know if she has allergies?” Lucy announced to any of the onlookers– the officers who were responsible for asking everything about her upon arrival, and the girls who had roomed alongside her for years. No one pipes up. Lucy requests an officer search her pockets for any form of ID, to no avail. However, after lifting her sleeve, a tattoo is revealed on her inner wrist. 

Rather than a medical bracelet, she had branded herself with health conditions. Smart girl. 

When the RA arrives, Lucy makes the split decision to go with her. She keeps pressure on the wound– but not too much, out of fear of bone fragments in her skull protruding into her brain– and follows the paramedics into the bus. 

“What do we have?” a paramedic asked as they began hooking her up to monitors and running a line. 

“This is Mara. Unknown age or last name. She was a human trafficking victim. No details on how she sustained the injury, but she was lucid and talking minutes ago. Scar on her left wrist says she has a congenital heart defect.”

“Smart girl,” the paramedic said, reflecting Lucy’s thoughts. “Can’t get your hands on a bracelet, you brand yourself. Can’t tell you how many Type 1 diabetics saved themselves that way.”

“She’s had to be smart, out here on her own,” Lucy murmured, smoothing a hand over her long black hair. Her eyes were rolling back in her head. Her muscles contract. One of the medics called it out immediately– she’s seizing . They push a unit of a benzo, and within a few seconds, the seizure was over. Her breathing is shaky. They put an oxygen mask on her and prepare a tube incase she needs intubation. Despite the girl being firmly unconscious, Lucy smoothed a hand over her clammy skin, murmuring reassurances. “I got you, sweetheart. You’re gonna be okay…”

Upon arrival at the hospital, Lucy is allowed entrance into triage, watching as a half dozen staff surround the girl with equipment, gloves snapping, gauze flying, bags of medication hanging. Lucy watches as a blood sample is collected, watches as they cut back her clothing in search of other injuries. Someone flagged a bruise that consumed her entire lower right quadrant of her abdomen. They scan her stomach, finding plenty of free fluid. 

“Alright, we need to move. Detective, will you stay here?”

“I’ll be waiting for updates,” Lucy confirmed. “I have to place a call to social services, see if anyone can help me identify her.”

“Let me know if you need a DNA sample,” a nurse declared as they rushed out with her. 

Left behind in triage is layer upon layer of bloody fabric and gauze, gloves, splatter of liquids and plastic– the mess of a young girl’s trauma. Lucy paces away, phone to her ear. She places a call to Rachel on instinct. 

“Lucy? Hey,” Rachel greeted. “What’s going on?”

“I have a girl– found in a trafficking raid. I can’t tell if she’s older or under the age of 18. All I have is a first name, and I’m not sure it’s her legal one.”

“Alright. Send me all the information you have, and if you can get me an image of her, please do. You run her through ViCAP, and I will get a social worker to the hospital. How is your raid?”

“In desperate need of children services,” Lucy sighed. “Some of them have families, but others…”

“On it. Text me the address.”

“Will do,” Lucy sighed. “Thanks, Rach.” She hangs up, shaking her head and pacing down the hall toward a waiting room. As she walks, she bumps shoulders with a civilian. “Oh, so sorry-” she glanced up, eyes widening at the sight of one and only Tim Bradford. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” Tim frowned. “Is that blood? Are you okay?” He takes Lucy’s hand, turning her arm over to look at the sleeve. Lucy relaxed under his touch, relaxed for the first time this entire day. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m okay. It’s-It’s not my blood,” Lucy said. “Are you okay? What are you doing here? Are you in pain? Shortness of breathing? Tingling?”

“I had a routine follow up,” Tim said, hand still holding hers between them. “You haven’t been answering my calls or my texts…”

“I know. I-I know,” Lucy exhaled. “I-I had to… to cool off. I had to figure something out.”

“Did you?” Tim raised an eyebrow, his eyes big and glassy, a haze of terror hidden behind his tough exterior. Lucy nods, swallowing. 

“I think so,” Lucy said. “Can I… come by for dinner tonight?”

“I don’t have Hallie,” Tim replied. “She’s with my brother and the cousins for the weekend.”

“That’s okay. I more so… want to see you,” she admitted. “Please.” 

Flickering between her eyes, Tim nodded slowly in agreement. Lucy’s shoulders dropped, pressing on her toes to steal a kiss. Tim was still leaning into it when she pulled away. 

“I gotta run. A bunch of girls are about to flood the ER from my case,” Lucy said. “Tell me what I can bring tonight.”

“Yourself would be nice.”

Rolling her eyes, Lucy squeezed his arm and skirted past him, now shrugging the blood stained sweater off her shoulders. In the lobby was a hoard of the girls she was working with a few minutes ago, ranging from broken bones to stitches and a couple abrasions. Almost all of them had a kit and a pregnancy test on their treatment list.

She goes victim by victim, collecting names, identification information, and when necessary, handing out DNA kits for them to swab their own mouths. Some of the girls didn’t know their own names– a testament to how long they’ve been lost to an evil world. She takes as much time as possible to sit with the girls who were still in tears and afraid. A nurse heps triage the girls in the waiting room and gets them all water and a snack– mostly just the little saltines packets, but some of them were hungry enough that the water alone would’ve satisfied them. 

One by one, the girls are admitted or transferred. The youngest two were transferred to a childrens hospital for critical malnutrition. One of the oldest has a panic attack that revealed a double lung pneumonia that inhibited their breathing. The girls were huddled together in groups, protecting one another, hoping together for something better than this . 

She’s on her feet with the girls most of the afternoon. Both of her other cases get sidelined in exchange. She made a home for herself in one of the private family rooms where she got paperwork done and met with any families that trickled in through the afternoon. There were lots of devastated mothers, angry fathers, siblings who were terrified to be considered “next of kin”. 

A doctor comes in around 7PM– almost six hours after Mara was brought back for surgery. She’s holding a medical file in her hands as she sat down.

“How is she?” Lucy exhaled, closing her file. 

“She’s in rough shape,” the doctor confessed. “She had a brain bleed that took a while to cut off. We’re not sure what kind of damage we’re expecting. You said she was lucid and conversational when you first reached her?”

“Yes. She was in a… crappy mood, but she was aware of her surroundings and talking.”

“Okay. Making my best guess, I would say her speech center was mostly unaffected. What I anticipate seeing problems in is her movement– whether they’re unprovoked twitching, or lack of control of her body, we’re still unsure. We’ll know more over the next week.”

“Thank you,” Lucy exhaled. “Did we make any headway on an identity?”

“That’s what this is,” the doctor stated, patting the file. “I reached out to any of the local pediatric cardiologists to see if any of them have record of her stent’s serial number. The profile I found was one Tamara Collins . She would be 21 today.”

“Would be?”

“She was presumed dead seven years ago. Her parents were found dead in the woods around Big Bear Lake. OD’d. The coroner’s office has held onto a set of remains that they thought were Tamara for years, but never had the funds to actually proceed on a DNA comparison.”

“So this poor girl… has been on the streets for seven years?” Lucy repeated, looking down at the file. Most of the medical information was redacted, but there was a photo of a little girl– approximately ten years old. While the resemblance was weak, Lucy did recognize her eyes– the freckles that coat her nose and highlight the big brown eyes, framed by the longest eyelashes. She was a beautiful little girl. Judging by her photo, she was happy, too. “No one looking for her… Not a soul looking out for her.”

“Thats Los Angeles for you,” the doctor shook her head with a frown. “A tragedy.”

“Yeah…” Lucy closed the file, sitting back. “Is she awake?”

“Not yet. We expect her to come back to tomorrow morning. She needs to be resting.”

“I understand,” Lucy said. “I’ll… I’ll be back tomorrow for her. If social services gives you guys any trouble, or if she wakes up alone… here’s my card. I can be here in thirty minutes.”

“Thank you, Detective,” the neurologist said, nodding curtly. “If you don’t mind, I do have to get going.”

“Please,” Lucy gestured. “Me too. Thank you.”

Tim was starting to think he was being stood up until she texted. Want me to pick up pizza? Tim replied instantly– dinner is already ready. She didn’t respond after that. 

He sat in his kitchen tapping his fingers and clenching his jaw. His every nerve was on fire as he anticipated what was to come. Lucy wanting to talk tonight– that can’t be a good sign, right? Especially as she ran off to go take care of a case. It all rang a little too familiar. She wasn’t ready to be in a relationship. She wasn’t ready for him, and she’s finally decided to cut it off. 

He listened to his door open– he left it unlocked for her– and braced himself for impact. He pours a heavy glass of wine as she approached. 

“Are we celebrating?” Lucy asked, sliding her hands along his back. His eyebrows furrow. Tim glanced over his shoulder as her lips touch his jaw with such gentleness. “You okay?”

“I have been sitting here for hours thinking you were about to break up with me, so I guess that depends on how this conversation goes,” Tim said, his voice soft and fearful. Lucy’s eyebrows pinched together, and she snakes her fingers through his hair at the base of his skull. “We okay?”

“Yeah,” Lucy smiled lightly. “Yeah, I think we’re okay.” Tim lets out a breath of relief, his head leaning against hers. “I’m sorry I had you worrying for so long…” Tim didn’t reply. He wasn’t about to say it was okay. It wasn’t. Plain and simple. He… he loves her. 

He loves her. 

And he’s tired of the people he loves hiding from him. 

“Will you tell me what was wrong then?” Tim asked desperately. Lucy slowly sank down into the stool beside him. Their close proximity results in their legs pressed together. “I’ve been so worried about you.”

“I… I needed a minute,” she confessed. “I was getting scared. And I ran.”

“You can’t do that, Luce-“

“I know,” she took his hand, squeezing tightly. “I know. My fight or flight kicked in, and… I needed to get my head screwed on straight before I fucked this up for both of us.”

“You can’t single handedly fuck it up, Lucy.” Tim sat back in his chair, pulling his hand free from hers to cross over his chest. “I-I was under the impression that we were in this together. We talk about it when we’re having problems. We-we come up with solutions if we can’t agree. We do this stuff together, not by-by running and locking the door behind you. From day one, we’ve built this relationship on trust. It’s not just up to you anymore. You’re not flying solo here.”

Quiet and humbled, Lucy nods slowly, folding her hands in her lap. Tim turns to prop his elbows on the counter, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“I love you, Lucy,” Tim managed out, sounding more frustrated by the sentence than in love with it. Lucy’s shoulders tense. “And-and I don’t need you to say it back. I don’t need you to even want to be loved. But I-I can’t play this game that we’re something casual. I can’t be casual with you. And if that’s a problem, then-“

“I love you too,” Lucy scowled, pushing on his shoulder so he would face her. “Don’t be a prick about it. This is hard for both of us-”

“I know it is!” He exclaimed, face pink and eyes brimming with tears he’d never let slip. Not in front of her. “I know. I know. Okay? I know. And I-I am right there with  you.”

Of course he does— Lucy knew it, too. The both of them have followed a nearly exact same timeline between the two of them and their failed romances. They were on similar healing journeys— from different traumas, but still one in the same. 

“I’m sorry,” Lucy said, voice falling. “Of course you know.” 

Both of them, finally, like the closing bow of a ballet, settle into their seats, the tension rolling off their shoulders. Lucy reaches for his hand again. He meets her halfway. 

“I should have called,” Lucy murmured, looking up from their hands and straight into those beautiful blue eyes. “Or at least told you I was okay and needed a minute.” 

“You should’ve,” he agreed quietly. “And I shouldn’t have doomed that you had one foot out the door.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” Lucy chuckled softly. “Truce?”

Cracking a sad smile, those welling tears once in the corners of his eyes, finally settling back into his head. Lucy met him for a gentle kiss. 

“Do you wanna talk about how the past couple days went?”

“Not… not really,” she murmured against his lips. “I just… I went to therapy, I talked with a couple friends, worked a couple hard days, and remembered… I’m not weak.”

“You certainly are not,” Tim chuckled. “I’ve seen you sparring in the gym.”

Lucy rolled her eyes and nudged him, relaxing against his side, propping her head against him, embracing him wholly. Tim’s hand crawled over her back in a soothing motion as they reacclimate to one another. 

“You wanna try me?”

“Not only is that a terrible idea for your mental health,” Tim said with a soft laugh, moving to stand. “But I would also kick your ass, and I don’t have the emotional wherewithal to comfort you for that.”

“Thank you for looking out for me, but you’d be on the floor. I’m not against fighting dirty,” Lucy shrugged. “Just ask the girls on the wrestling team in high school.”

“You were in wrestling?!”

Chapter Text

Lucy stays the night. 

It felt like it was necessary– to not run out the door the moment they came to a conclusion in their… disagreement? Was it even a fight? It didn’t matter– she woke up that next morning tucked against his back, cozied up under his sheets, morning light filtering through his windows and silence encapsulating the house. 

She’s still first to wake– her lips graze his shoulder with a gentle kiss before she rolls out of bed, pulling on the sleeves of the sweatshirt she slept in– one of Tim’s. She passes a hand through her hair, yawning as she goes to start a pot of coffee. She checks her phone for texts– a couple updates on her case from yesterday, and another text from the hospital saying Mara wasn’t awake yet. She sighed, closing her phone and stuffing it in her pocket. She makes them each some coffee before returning to the bedroom, smiling softly at Tim, who was sat upright and rubbing his eyes. 

“Good morning,” Lucy murmured, sitting on the edge of his side of the bed. He accepted the coffee with a tired smile. 

“Thank you,” he said groggily, meeting her for a chaste kiss. “Surprised you’re not out the door yet.”

“I have a vic in the ICU,” Lucy murmured. “She’s my first appointment today, and she’s not awake yet.”

“The raid yesterday?” Tim presumed, slowly waking up to the discussion of the case. “What’s it looking like?”

“We have some in custody. A lot of girls in the hospital last night,” Lucy said, taking a long glug. “Not sure how high up the food chain we’re gonna be able to get. My oldest was a twenty-one year old girl with brain damage, so I’m not sure what kinda information I can get.”

“I have faith. You’re a never rest type,” Tim said. Silence follows as Lucy leaned against his leg. “We’re gonna be okay.”

“I know,” Lucy nodded, avoiding eye contact. “I just… can’t wait until we are.”

“Soon,” Tim said— uncertain if he was saying it for her sake or his. “We’re figuring it out, day by day.”

“We are.” Lucy cracked a small smile. “I have to get ready.”

“Okay,” he hummed. “Thank you for coffee.”

Tim sits back and watches her get ready— she does her makeup in bed, and she snacks on some grapes while she got her belongings together. At one point, she’s listening to a podcast while doing her hair in the bathroom. Tim finds himself enchanted with how… regular she was becoming. 

Unspoken, there was a new level of comfort in Lucy when it came to Tim’s home. She was becoming a person that functioned with ease, and Tim found himself loving ever moment of it. 

Tamara is slowly waking when Lucy came to her room. 

She sat in one of the chairs by her bed with a visitors sticker and a couple snacks hidden in her purse incase the girl wakes hungry and capable of eatting. Lucy tried not to stare— she knew how uncomfortable it was— and instead worked on typing up one of her reports. A nurse came through to hang a new bag of saline and prepared pain medication and a sedative, just incase. Tamara’s eyes open and land on the nurse, following the motions of her hands as she primed the line before she attached it to her IV. The nurse smiles at her when she noticed her awake. 

“Good morning,” the nurse greets. “How are we feeling?” 

Tamara blinks a few long times, staring off. The nurse was perfectly patient, accepting Tamara’s hand when it inched toward hers. The two women sat together in silence for a long few moments. 

“W-Water?” She croaks. The nurse agreed, grabbing the jug by her bedside and helping tilt the bed for her. Tamara takes a few small sips before noticing Lucy. Lucy sat forward, offering a smile. 

“Hey Mara,” Lucy says softly. “Do you remember who I am?” It takes a long moment, but eventually, she nods. “I’m gonna stick around, if that’s okay. Make sure you’re feeling okay and have somewhere safe to go after, okay?”

“You’re a cop,” Tamara murmured sleepily. “Not my Mom.”

“I’m more than just a cop, Tamara,” Lucy exhaled, standing and moving closer to the bed. Tamara frowned. “I’m a detective. I dedicate myself to making sure people like you make it safely out of danger. I might not be your social worker, but I do have a lot of resources to get you back on your feet, okay?” 

Hesitantly, the girl nods, releasing the nurses hand. Lucy stays put when the nurse excused herself to retrieve her surgeon. When her mouth began to dry again, Lucy got her water. 

It’s quiet for a while. Tamara was in some pain and still waking up, so it took a while before she had the energy to say much more. The surgeon comes in and asks her if she wanted Lucy present while they discuss. With a side eye and a moment of hesitation, Tamara agreed to let Lucy stay. 

“You’re healing beautifully,” the surgeon began. “Your speech is clearer than anticipated. Your control over your extremities is promising. I can’t imagine this causing much permanent inhibition to most of your daily life. However, I warn— TBIs are rarely simple. Seizures, loss of senses, mobility and speech center issues are all common, even if initially presenting as typical. You’ll be overseen by some incredible neurologists during your recovery, and should problems arise, we will handle them accordingly. Therapies and medications can treat long term side effects.”

“I can’t afford a neurologist,” Tamara said with a grunt. “Or-or this stay. The surgery. None of this money is getting paid back.”

“That’s not your concern, especially not right now,” Lucy reassured. “I have a friend in public services helping establish you and the others with state healthcare. She’s good, and she’s fast. I imagine you’ll be covered within a week.”

“That doesn’t cover this , Detective,” Tamara said, tears swimming in her eyes as she gestured to her bandaged and shaved head. “Or-or the meals I’m eating, the ambulance ride, or-“

“Then it goes towards the hospital debt,” Lucy interrupted, propping her elbows on her knees. “And when the charges are processed by the DA’s office, they sue those men for every penny they’re worth. The money they made on making your life hell? It will go towards making sure you survived it for a reason. Okay?” 

Tamara hesitated, but eventually, she agreed. Lucy gave a small nod of affirmation. 

“We got you, Tamara,” Lucy said, her voice dropping. “I’m not gonna let you get lost.”

Sniffling, Tamara used her palms to swipe away any tears quickly. She didn’t want to be seen as fragile or weak. She didn’t want to be seen as a girl, crying in her hospital bed. Lucy chose not to acknowledge it, bring attention to her discomfort, or make a show of comforting her, either.  This girl had enough of people . She needed safety. 

“What do I need to do?” Tamara asked finally when she managed to pull herself together. She cleared her throat to sound stronger. She sat up straighter. She was one hell of a badass. “How can I get out of here?”

“You need to stick around. Just until we see how your injury heals. It can take time for the onset of symptoms, and your body is far too fragile to hit the road just yet. But if I can’t find a reason to hold you… I imagine you’ll be leaving in a few days.”

“Then… what? Back to living under the highways? Wait for someone else to-to take advantage of me?”

“That’s something you and I will be working on together,” Lucy said. “You don’t have to trust me, or believe me. But so long as you’ll allow me to try, I would like to help.” 

The doctor and nurse excuse themselves, giving them the space to discuss. Tamara was more confused and upset though, and unwilling to make conversation at this point. Lucy stayed for a while— eventually convincing her to eat something, and when the physical therapist came through, giving the girl her privacy. Lucy returned to Mid Wilshire to work on paperwork, mind adrift to what it is like for hundreds, thousands of girls, lost in a system that was never made to keep them safe in the first place. Dragged in by a force greater than themselves, doing anything to survive. 

She knows a little what that’s like. 

Every form she filled out, each report she wrote, she imagined Harper doing the same for her, just over a year ago. She imagines what life would have been like if she hadn’t been discovered by someone who cared to see her through it, what survival would have felt like without the people she learned to trust. And then, she imagines what it must be like for a young adult who’s never known any differently. 

All these months of working to better herself: its for girls like Tamara. For girls like Harper. For girls like herself, and Isabel. Ones who fall victim to an unjust society. 

She works until late hours— mostly because Tamara ended up calling from the hospital shortly after sunset asking for reassurances that her captors were in custody. Lucy stayed on the line with her for forty five minutes, explaining who the security detail was at her door, offering to bring her something to eat or a better blanket, and eventually, convincing her to let Lucy doordash some ice cream. Then there's more paperwork to document the conversation. 

As she packs up her bag, she sees Sergeant Harper doing the same— tucking her belongings into a sleek tote bag and a jacket hanging from her arm. She flips off the lamp at her desk before closing her office door behind her. 

“Sergeant, if I may?” Lucy called out, catching up at the elevators. “I wanted to pick your brain.”

“Is this about the human trafficking incident uptown?” 

“Yes,” Lucy said before she could stop herself. “Well, no. Kind of?”

“On with it,” Harper chuckled, hitting the button for the garage. 

“I wanted to know how you… how you made the transition,” Lucy stated. “When you realized the only thing left to fear is what’s all just leftover, and you got back into your rhythm? How did you cope?”

“Honest?” Harper raised an eyebrow and smirked. “I went on a ton of dates. Hooked up with whoever. Got a drink whenever. I forced myself back into existing outside the job. I might have even been a little... reckless at times. Why? You think you’re there?”

“Well, mostly for... for my vic in bay 4. But almost,” Lucy nods, the sergeant waving her forward to exit the elevator first. They approached their cars, parked only a few spots down from one another. “I don’t know. This case has renewed my energy, I guess. I don’t know if I’m really ready, but I feel like it’s time to… to get one foot out the door again.”

“Okay,” Harper quirked an eyebrow. “Then lets grab a beer.”

“Hm?”

“You. Me. I’ll invite a friend or two who also works in the UC sphere. Lopez might DD. We’ll grab a couple drinks tonight and… be girls in LA.”

“Are you for real?”

“Hell yeah,” Harper scoffed.

A half smile on her face, shyly agreeing to go along with the plan, she sent Tim the text— a lump of pride sitting in her throat as she thinks, I’m doing it. I’m doing it. 

Lucy: got invited to grab drinks with some girls from work. Any chance you’ll be available tonight if I need a ride? 

As she clambered into her car, she touched up her lipgloss from earlier in the mirror, waiting for the text from Harper on where they’d meet. The stale car air didn’t bother her. Neither did the silence of solitude. She found herself unable to contain her smile. 

Tim texts back first— just share your location please? Harper sends the address for the bar they would meet at. Lucy sat back in her seat for a long moment, thinking to herself— why does this feel crazy? Going out? Being… young and fun? 

Harper followed up on her end— a couple girls Lucy hadn’t met before were all hanging around outside the bar when she pulled up. June and Farah both looped an arm through hers and dragged her in. Lopez was already at the bar, waiting with a couple shots. 

“I have already downed a mocktail and scared an old Christian lady white knuckling a glass of wine,” Lopez teased, passing off the drinks. “Welcome to girls night, Chen. Glad you could join us.”

“You guys do this a lot?” Lucy asked, accepting the shot, examining it first. It was a pretty color– it smelled like sugar and death. She was weirdly excited. 

“We try to meet up once a month. Talk smack about the guys in the department, get away from the husbands…”

“If I’m lucky, I get set up on a date,” Farah joked. “Happy girls night, ladies. And welcome, Lucy, to our own little oasis.”

“I’m honored,” she said back, cheers-ing their shot glasses. She hesitates, just for a moment, before downing her drink. She’s last to react with a wince and a groan, swiping the liquor from her lips, and yet, letting her tongue take a pass over the glass. 

She’s drank enough since the incident. Mostly alone— a quiet bottle of wine in the bath tub, or a shared whiskey between her and Tim in the old apartment on particularly long nights for the both of them. But social drinking felt so foreign— the idea of going to a bar where the bartender knows them by name? Getting dragged to the dance floor with her sergeant? Better yet— finding her footing and falling effortlessly into line with the music, her feet stomping, hips swaying, as if this side of her has been crawling its way to the surface all this time. 

She drinks— and buys the next round of shots for the girls and a refill on Lopez’ soda— until her head spins with a mild buzz and the laughter comes easier. Until she stumbles a tad when she dances, and her voice gets a little louder. She declares final round, getting herself a seltzer and the others their drink of choice, before cutting herself off. They sit at a table together, Lucy’s cheeks hurting from how much she’s smiled, her ears ringing from just how loud the music is— and how loud their voices become to trump it. She makes eye contact with Harper, and while maybe not the most appropriate thing to do as a subordinate, Lucy grabs her hands and bore all her attention onto the beautiful sergeant who very well has saved her life, time and time again.

“Thank you, Sarge,” Lucy says. “I needed this. All of it. Thank you.”

“It’s Nyla out here,” she said back, squeezing Lucy’s hand. “Anything, Chen. Anytime. Anywhere.”

Lopez drops Lucy off at her place that night a little past 1:00 AM. 

She trudged up to her apartment, the world still spinning a little and the taste of her Truly on her lips. Her door was unlocked when she pushed on it. Lights on, Tim Bradford was standing in her kitchen, a glass of water, a bowl of crackers, and some tylenol, all waiting for her. 

“Hey,” Lucy broke out into a grin. “Are you being cute?”

“I’m being kind ,” he corrected, chuckling as his drunk girlfriend slung her arms around his neck. His own arms slipped around her waist, supporting what weight her body didn’t want to. “Did you have fun?”

“Mhm…” Lucy placed a shy kiss on Tim’s chin. 

“Did you drink enough water?”

“Mm-mm.” Another peck. Tim rolled his eyes.

“‘Course not,” he exhaled, slowly dragging her with him.

“I think you’re pretty when you’re annoyed.”

 As she placed another kiss on his jaw, he let out a soft groan and heaved her over his shoulder. Lucy squealed in shock, hooking an arm around him in fear of being dropped. 

“Hey!”

“You are being put to bed,” Tim said, tightening his grip around her thighs. Propping herself up against his back, she frowned, but succumbed to her inability (and unwillingness) to fight back. He’s surprisingly gentle in putting her back down in her own bed— pressing a kiss to the top of her head and telling her to stay put. 

He’s gone for just a moment, but when he comes back, he’s got those things from the counter in his hands, carefully setting them where appropriate. He places the water glass directly in her palms. She takes slow sips.

“Were you worried about me?” Lucy asked, half earnest, half teasing. Tim sank down onto the bed beside her. 

“When am I not?”

“I’m a big girl. I could still put up a fight,” Lucy said, holding up one of her fists, the other still occupied by her glass. 

“I know you could,” Tim said, sliding a piece of hair from her face. “Doesn’t make me any less concerned.”

Breaking out into a grin, Lucy giggled. 

“You’re cute.”

“Ugh.”

“And I need to pee.”

Tim watches in amusement as Lucy launches back to her feet and slid off to the bathroom, half paying attention to if she even fully closed the door. In her face off with her reflection in the vanity mirror, she saw a hundred lifetimes pass her by. Ones of hurt and betrayal, ones of love and lust, ones of camaraderie and trust. She finds herself hopeful going into this new self. 

She changes while she’s in the bathroom– out of her outfit of the day, and into last night’s sleep shorts and a shirt she doesn’t remember the origin of. 

She’s hoping for something when she gets back to her room— a movie night, or stealing kisses in the dark. Instead, lights still on, still dressed in his day clothes, Tim Bradford is asleep in her bed. Suddenly comforted by her mere presence, he had lulled into security. 

Chapter Text

He feels most at home in uniform. 

Crazy, right? He feels it at times— not knowing himself well enough to have favorite clothes. He can feel his best when he’s in duty-wear. When every piece of the uniform has a purpose and importance, and every badge is one of honor. He has his confidence in uniform, and for the first time since before the shooting, Tim adjusted his navy wool collar, preparing for a day on the street. 

He made small talk with a couple of the guys in the locker room. One of them offers to buy him a drink next time he swings by the sports bar on Sunset. Others wanna hear the war stories. A few ask with a nudge how he managed to bag Chen— he doesn’t have an answer for that one, though. 

He meets the Lieutenant in his office before roll call— the two go over the meeting notes, but Tim could sense the urgency to discuss more in the tone of his boss’ voice. There is subtly in his concern—a trust that Tim knows what’s best, but a hesitation that it might still be a mistake. 

“You should take on an aid again,” the lieutenant suggested. “Even if it’s just for today.”

“I appreciate it sir, but I’ve done this before. A few times now. I can handle it,” Tim insisted. 

“But have you died before?” He prompted. “Have you spent this long out of work? Had this severe of an injury? Son, you may have faced some bullets, but you narrowly escaped death the last time. I can’t help but worry if it was too close for comfort.”

“It wasn’t,” Tim said with finality. “I’m meant to be here, sir. I wouldn’t have been cleared if I wasn’t.” He leaves no room for arguments with his guarded, yet unwavering stance.

It’s a standoff of hearts– a man unwilling to lose one of his soldiers, his boys, his sons, to the unpredictability of their day so freshly after his brush with death, and the other unwilling to sacrifice the thing that makes him feel human. 

A knock on the office door interrupts their silent argument. The one and only Detective Chen stands in the doorway, an apologetic look on her face. 

“Am I interrupting?”

“No. Sergeant, check in throughout the day, please,” Lieutenant Grey instructed. Tim gave a curt nod, sending Lucy a slight smile. 

“I don’t have time to talk this morning,” Lucy frowned. “Be safe today. Lets have lunch together.”

“Mhm,” he squeezed her hand on his arm. “See you then?”

“Will do.”

With that, he leaves his girlfriend and his boss in the office on their own, closing the door behind him. There is a feeling of freshness in the air as he returned to his job– as he stepped foot into rollcall and was met with a roaring applause, as he shakes the hands of his friends of decades. This is exactly where he belongs. 

Whatever they were meeting about, it took more time than either must’ve anticipated, because what started as a standing conversation ended in the two sitting behind Lieutenant Grey’s desk, deep into research on a particular subject that had Lucy in a tizzy. If she didn’t look restless before, she was now– hand running through her hair, stance shifting every few seconds, fidgeting with her jewelry. Whatever it was, it was bothering her. 

Tim led roll call alone with the Lieutenant caught up in business. After a little more noise for his return, poppi he doled out cases as he saw fit, tasked the boot and Nolan on a follow up from the night shift, and reminded everyone to stay safe. By the time everyone had filtered out of the room, their meeting still wasn’t over. He waved to them both before he went off to the kit room to order out his supplies for the day. 

Lucy can see him prepping from the day through the glass. Like he’s never missed a day, he fell back into the routine of taking the war bag, loading his rifle and rubber bullet ammunition. Her heart is racing in her chest as he disappeared through the door to the sally port for his shop, all on his own. No aid. No partner. Not even a rookie to keep him company.

“He’s gonna be alright,” Grey insisted, noticing her inability to pay attention. “He’s been here before.”

“I know,” Lucy nodded, trying to convince herself more than him. “He can handle it.”

She’s not sure if she can, though. 

God forbid something happens today. God forbid something takes him down once more after he barely got up the last time. How many punches can one person take before they learn to stay down? She doesn’t want to discourage him, but she also felt far from ready to see him throw himself back in front of bullets when the last ones almost took him from her. 

“She’s got an undercover cop surveilling her at all hours,” Lucy said, blinking herself back to the present moment, where her concern is Tamara Collins, not Tim Bradford. “I have around the clock unmarked security posted in the neighborhood, and I scheduled a sit down breakfast with her in… half an hour.” She glanced at her watch, frowning. “I don’t know what more I can do, though.”

“You know the business more than most, Detective. Human traffickers are some of the most violent, money hungry, product-consuming law breakers we have in our society. You say the word, and I’ll contact the DOJ to have her enrolled in WITSEC.”

“I hope it doesn’t come to that,” Lucy sighed. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate your support. I’m gonna run before I’m late on my breakfast.”

She has to run upstairs to her desk to grab her purse– when she spots Lopez, she makes a soft request– keep your ear to the ground for Tim today? The detective shot her a thumbs up before returning to her phone call. Lucy hopped in one of the detective’s vehicles and takes off, tuning her shop radio to the general dispatch in the off chance she heard his voice. Is it so wrong to want to keep tabss?

When she arrives at the cafe, Tamara is ambulatory. Albeit, hardly. She was operating crutches in a very disgruntled fashion, but was clearly too stubborn to not suffer through anyways.  Lucy held the door for her and got them a nice table, close to the door while still tucked into a corner. Tamara sank into the booth with a soft huff, staring at the menu for a long few moments. Once she decides, Lucy goes to place their order. Lucy can see Tamara checking over her shoulder every other second. One of the employees assures she’ll bring their orders over shortly and whisks away. 

Once Lucy is sitting across from her, Tamara visibly relaxes. 

“So…” Lucy exhaled. “Are you sleeping?”

Glaring with obvious bags around her eyes, Lucy sent an apologetic smile. Tamara ran a hand over her face, unsteadily finding the words. 

“I have never felt both wide awake and horribly exhausted at the same time until now,” she admits. 

“Never felt so paranoid?” Lucy suggested. 

“Suddenly any car honk or floorboard creak is as loud as a train derailing,” Tamara scoffed. 

“The first couple weeks, all you did was sleep,” Lucy parroted from memory. Tamara nods, as if reminiscing on those days of sleeping. “Sometimes, what, 18 hours a day, just sleeping? The other six are either doing the bare minimum to survive or laying in bed, trying to go back to the dream-world…”

“And now when I close my eyes I just see red,” Tamara agreed. “If I finally sleep, every noise will have me jumping out of bed. I never remember if I locked the door or not… I used to sleep under an overpass, and now I can’t sleep with the TV on.”

“You are sitting in the worst of it,” Lucy agreed. “Which is exactly why I wanted to treat you to a decent breakfast out of the house.”

“To pity me?”

“To help you survive it,” Lucy cracked a sad smile. “I moved in with my best friend when my incident happened. And I know for a fact… I would not be half the person I am if it wasn’t for someone being there to keep me going. Someone other than a couple strangers I share some walls with.”

“I have friends, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I know you do. You’re a very likable person, try as you might to dissuade me,” Lucy shot her a smile. “But I just want you to know… someone’s always gonna be here looking for you.”

Smiling shyly, they sit back to allow a waitress to leave their orders on the table. They clinked glasses and relaxed a little. 

“So these friends,” Lucy cracked a smile. “Tell me about them.”

For the vast majority of the meeting, Lucy lets Tamara talk about anything she wishes. Some of the friends Tamara talked about were guarded close to her heart, while others were detailed and three dimensional. She has a woman she’s living with right now who makes sure there's food on the table for each meal, and there’s also her friends who have made her feel the most normal in the midst of Hell. She’s re-enrolled into school, and most of her professors have greeted her with pure joy to have her back. 

Lucy notices that she stocks up on food, making a mental note to do a home visit soon— glance at how stocked the fridge is, make sure she has enough snacks as well as meals. When Tamara eyed the pastries after their full breakfast, Lucy ordered them each a danish. 

“So, have you spoken to that therapist I connected you with?”

“Lucy…” she groaned. 

“She’s very nice. She comes highly recommended from my therapist, who worked with her a while ago in that same nonprofit. Apparently they have a lot of really good resources— doctors, group sessions, job fairs? I bet she would be a great way to… fill up some empty time? Maybe get somewhere out and about where you can meet people and…and be surrounded by people who get it.”

“I know,” Tamara said, frowning. “I know. I just… I don’t know if I’m ready to jump back into the world yet.” 

Her phone buzzed with a message from Lopez. 

Lopez: He’s at a shoot out in Skid Row. Backup mobilized. Attempted kidnapping in progress. 

Lucy’s heart skipped a beat. Nausea swirled in her gut, a frown appearing on her face before she gave it permission to. Lucy sent back a text. Can’t be there. Keep me posted. One of my suspects?

“Everything okay?” Tamara asked hesitantly. 

“Yes,” Lucy said, turning her phone off and putting her attention back on Tamara. “Yeah. We’re great.”

“If you have somewhere to be-”

“Where I need to be is with you,” Lucy said back, mostly trying to convince herself. She can’t just run off. She has a job to do here. Tim will be okay. He’s always okay. “Are you ready to talk security?”

“Not really,” she sighed, looking away. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Lucy, but I can handle myself. I always have.”

“And unfortunately, you’re only one person,” Lucy shot back. “Listen. The LAPD is happy to be posted in the neighborhood, I just… I want you to consider what you’d like to do when these last few weeks are up.”

“How many threats have there been in the last few weeks?”

“None, but-”

“Exactly,” Tamara pressed. “None. So maybe… we’re both on edge without justifiable reason.”

“Or maybe these people are aware of the standard precautions of our protective custody,” Lucy shot back. “And don’t wanna get stormed by a dozen cops.”

“Even if that was true,” Tamara shot back. “I have spent the majority of my life fending for myself. I can handle a couple shitty people. I can’t afford, what, thousands of dollars for private security?”

“There’s always WITSEC-”

Tamara audibly laughs outloud at the suggestion. 

“No,” Tamara said with finality. “Once my guard dogs back off, I’m going back to my creature comforts of punching creepy old men in the mouth.”

“These are more than just some other unhoused civilians-”

“Enough, Detective,” Tamara declared. “I’m saying no.”

He rode in the ambulance, realizing he doesn’t remember his last trip in one. 

Last time he was inside of a bus, he was half dead with nothing but Lucy’s bare hands keeping him from the veil. He doesn’t remember which paramedics tended to him, or if he crashed on the drive. He just knows there was a before getting shot, and an after, and he doesn’t remember it being like that before. 

This time, at least he’s not the patient. 

Officer Dodge was struck in the thigh approximately two minutes after the shooting started. The bleeding had long since stopped with the help of a tourniquet, and while his officer was green and in pain, he was alive. 

“Hang in there buddy,” Tim instructed. “The morphine will hit soon.”

“Not soon enough,” he grunted, white knuckling the rail. The paramedic pushed a unit through the IV and instructed Dodge to keep his oxygen mask firmly in place on his face. His vitals were going haywire– mostly from the shock of getting shot, Tim imagines. Dodge takes some slow, deep breaths of the canistered air and slowly begins to relax, with the drugs in his system and a promise to be just like new soon. 

When they arrive at the hospital, Tim stays with them until he’s going back for surgery. They take him fast, and Tim is there as the man is prepped for surgery in triage. His wife is fast to arrive, and Tim goes to meet her in the waiting room. 

“Is he okay? Is he alive?”

“He’s going to be fine,” Tim said back quickly, catching her by the arm before she could bull her way through the hospital to watch them perform surgery. She was shaking like a dog in a thunderstorm– her eyes wide with terror. Tim can’t help but wonder if this is how Lucy looked– hardly on her own two feet as she fought her way to him. “Mrs. Dodge-”

“We have kids, Sergeant,” Mrs. Dodge shot back with a desperate plea. “He can’t-”

“He’s going to be okay,” Tim said again, squeezing her arm. “Come on. Sit. Lets take a breath.”

“He’s going to be okay?”

“He was awake and talking the whole way here,” Tim insisted. “They’re taking him into surgery. He’s in good hands. They’ll close up that wound, and he’ll be home in no time.”

“I-I told him I didn’t want him going out on these high priority calls anymore,” she said, shaking her head. “I told him– once the twins were born? We were done with this-this adrenaline-junkie stuff-”

“My partner’s about ready to say the same,” Tim cracked a sad smile. “But he kept a lot of other people alive today. People with kids of their own. Neighborhood children. Innocent civilians."

“At the risk of his own health.”

“He’ll be back on his feet before you know it.”

“And throwing himself in front of bullets again.”

“Most likely.”

The two share a sad smile of living a shared life. Well– kind of. Tim didn’t know Officer Dodge’s personal life past the basics– a school teacher wife, three kids and a retired police dog for a pet. Tim once had a riveting conversation about their oldest’s t-ball game. Tim found himself wondering if he would sign up his kids for t-ball, or cheerleading, or soccer– he should probably get Hallie invested in something soon, right? When is it too late to enroll your kid in a sport?

Within an hour, the hospital was crawling with cops. Lieutenant Grey came straight to Tim to get the briefing before going to get an update on Officer Dodge’s condition and greeting the wife. The shooter was eventually brought in too with a superficial laceration to his side and a bullet hole through his arm. He was smirking and talking shit the whole way back, without an ounce of regret for the pain he caused. A jury will love that. 

Flying in through the emergency bay, after almost two hours of Tim sitting around, four hours since he arrived at the hospital, and five since the shooting started, was Lucy. 

“Oh thank God-” she said with a breath of relief, flinging her arms around his neck. “I saw an officer was down but couldn’t get over here until after I got Tamara home and settled and then I got caught up with inspecting the place and– are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“Not a scratch,” he promised, squeezing around her waist. “You really ran all the way down here just to see if I’m okay?”

“It’s not my fault you aren’t answering your texts,” she glared. “You sure you’re alright? Heart rate looking okay? Do you feel light headed or dizzy? How’s your breathing?”

“Detective?” Lieutenant Grey called, waving Lucy over without looking up. “Since you’re here, I might as well put you to work.”

“Yes, sir,” Lucy exhaled, shooting Tim a look. One with glaring eyes and gritted teeth– the angry girlfriend look. Tim has been on the receiving end of it a dozen times, but never has he actually felt disappointed in himself for earning it until now. “Text me back.”

“Be safe.”

“You first,” she said, pointing at him menacingly before jogging over to Lieutenant Grey to receive her orders. Whatever it was, it ended in her disappearing down the halls of the hospital into her own little world. Tim’s chest swelled watching her leave– like the act of walking through the doorway was her parting ways forever. An ache fills him as he recognizes this feeling all too quickly. He smiles sadly to himself. 

Time to focus up. 

Officer Dodge is out of surgery within another hour. The leg was set with pins, keeping it still for healing, and he was pale as a ghost, but he survived. Doctors explained: with some blood transfusion, physical therapy, and rest, he’ll be alright in a few months. Tim hovered for a while, waiting for the officer to wake. His wife was holding his hand with a ferocity Tim has only seen in his own loved ones. He recalls being in that hospital bed just at the beginning of this year. Being caught in the middle of living and falling; the startle when you realize you’re awake— and more importantly, you’re alive. 

Tim wonders if Mrs Dodge would let her husband return to work as fast as Tim did, in spite of all his loved ones telling him not to. 

Dodge wakes slowly, in a similar daze that most people are in when they are starting to rouse from anesthesia. He rocks his head sideways, testing his ability to move. Then, his hands twitch. It’s almost electrical how the rest of him powers up, until he’s squeezing his wife’s hand back. 

“Sammy,” his wife calls to him, so gentle, like she’d done it a hundred times before. “Are you awake, baby?” 

He nods, eyes staying closed. His hand tugs at hers, and she scoots closer. Tim excuses himself to the hallway to give them some privacy. He joins the officer standing guard at the door with a soft exhale. The image of this morning flashes in his mind; Lucy’s cautious smile when he woke to a 6:00 AM alarm and went for a run. In the same way Lucy dreads the first day back, Tim is dreading the inevitable consequences of being in love with someone on the job— of being Dodge’s spouse, sitting there after getting scary news on a four sentence phone call. He’s been on both sides now— in a way he never had before. 

Walking at a brisk pace in his direction is one Angela Lopez, who greets him with a grin like no other. 

“You really waste no time, huh?” His friend greets, meeting him with an embrace he only half gave into. “Day one after an astronomically short leave and you’re immediately in a shoot out?”

“Throw yourself right in,” Tim shrugged. “Criminals don’t take an easy day.”

“‘Course not,” she sighed. “Well, lucky for you, we’re taking this one off your hands. It’s one of Lucy’s targets in her major trafficking ring she’s working on.” 

“The one from a few weeks ago?” Tim frowned. “I thought they caught the crew who were responsible during the initial raid.”

“Yeah, well, in exchange for lighter sentencing, one of them flipped on their superiors. She’s been running around the city for the past month establishing a network,” Lopez glanced into the room. “Is that the officer down from today?” 

“Dodge. Sam. Good man. He was providing cover fire and was struck near the femoral artery. He’s gonna be fine with a lot of rest and PT,” Tim nodded. “I saw Lucy on the way in. She knows I’m fine.”

“Does she?” Lopez raised an eyebrow. “Because she’s been a wreck today, balancing work and you.”

“We-we might not have had a lot of time to talk this morning…” Tim hesitated. “You know, I went for my run, and took a shower, and by the time I was done, she already had to leave for the day, so we… didn’t say anything.”

“Are you wanting to say something?” Lopez raised an eyebrow. “Or assuming she wants to?”

“I don’t know,” Tim recoils, his expression turning to disgust. “Okay, drop it. We’re at work. You think our shooters were in the network?”

“Without a doubt. Your officer first responded to a report that someone was trying to solicit homeless people into their caravans with the promise of taking them to a shelter. One vehicle escaped with an estimated 8-12 people, and the one that stayed back for the fight are all either dead or here.” 

“Dammit,” Tim frowned. “How’s Lucy doing? Do you guys need any extra support?”

“There’s not much you can do— but if you have any CIs in the area hearing noise of people vanishing, or something weird going on, call them in?”

“Got it.” 

“I’m gonna take over here. You have anything you need to do here?”

“Just… wanted to make sure he was alright.” 

“I’ll keep you updated,” Lopez offered, clapping him on the shoulder. Tim realizes very quickly that his own best friend just dismissed him. 

Low blow. 

He texts Lucy back, finally. 

Tim: So sorry for earlier. Still on for lunch?

He considers staying at the hospital until she responds, just incase  she wanted to ride back to the station together. The longer he wanders the halls, he realizes the waste he is without being busy, and became increasingly aware that Lucy would be off doing whatever she must to run down this network– even if it meant not taking any breaks for the next however-long. He gets back in his shop and takes back to the streets, patching back into dispatch– 7-L-100, I’m Code 4.

Tim is the first one home. He expected as much– while Sergeant’s duties typically result in some long shifts, it had nothing on Lucy’s case load. She didn’t have a chance to respond to his lunch text until it was past dinner, at which point Tim had already eaten and spent half of his break still on the road. 

He and Hallie ate together– he ordered pizza to bribe her after a long, emotional day at preschool. She clearly wasn’t thrilled about Dad going back to work. He won’t lie– he missed her just as much. Too much, maybe. That night after dinner and a bath, the two snuggled on the couch with a movie, and he didn’t even chastise her for sucking her thumb, or move her to bed when bedtime came and passed. She fell asleep nestled into his shoulder, one thumb in her mouth, her other hand rubbing at the tag on Tim’s t-shirt. Tim breathed in the scent of her shampoo– it’s still the baby shampoo he’s used since she was a few months old, coming home from the hospital as fragile as can be. It smells like nothing but soap and gentleness, but it brings him comfort. 

The door opens and closes, making him jump slightly. Lucy mouthed an apology, shrugging her bag off her shoulder and setting her keys down quietly. She leans over the side of the couch, taking his face into her hands and leaving a very intentional, very desperate kiss. Tim reached up and caught a hand through her hair for a brief moment. 

“I was so worried about you today,” she murmured. “And I couldn’t even scrape together more than a few seconds to myself.”

“I know,” Tim exhaled against her mouth. “Let me put her to bed and I’ll stay up with you.”

“If you’re tired-”

“No,” Tim yawned. “I’m wide awake.”

“I can tell,” she snickered. “Go ahead.”

He stands, his daughter koala-hugging him as they move. He carefully placed her in bed, tucking her in with a kiss and remembering to switch on the nightlight. 

When he returns to his kitchen, his girlfriend is sitting on the counter with a piece of pizza in her mouth and her heels from the day dangling from her fingertips. Tim approached, hands on her thighs as he slotted himself between them. One of her arms hooked around his neck, the heels now resting against his spine. He didn’t care that she was still chewing– he pecked her crumby lips with a tired smile. 

“I know you can handle yourself,” Lucy murmured after she swallowed. “But it didn’t make me any less nervous hearing the shots-fired call.”

“We handled it, though,” Tim reminded. “No officer fatalities.”

“Thank God,” she sighs, smoothing a thumb over the back of his neck. “I’m not attending anymore funerals for a long time.”

“I agree,” he hummed, squeezing her legs before backing up again, putting away leftovers. Lucy finishes her pizza, and when Tim offers a beer, she happily accepted. The two clunk their glasses and sip. 

“Can I admit something?” Tim said softly, not looking up from the mouth of his bottle. Lucy glanced up, studying his posture, his grip on the glass, the way his lips purse as he prepared himself for the statement to come. “I think… I think I was nervous today?”

“That’s your confession?” Lucy scoffed. “No shit, Sherlock. Last time you had a gun on your person, you were literally shot dead. I don’t blame you.”

“It’s not that, though,” Tim said, shuffling forward again. He set his drink down, arms folding around himself in a shield of protection. “I-I watched Dodge’s wife come storming in, and-and I watched that man wake from anesthesia… and I knew exactly what it was like. I’ve… I’ve seen the person I love in the same hospital bed, and I’ve been the person there, and… and I realized just how much weight is on our shoulders. How scary it is to… to know we’re always one wrong move from being there again.”

Lucy nods, a small smile forming on her lips. 

“What?”

“You’re just… getting soft,” she smirked. 

“Am not!”

“Oh, you so are,” she laughed. “You’re becoming a softie. I like to take a little credit for it, too.”

“I am not soft,” Tim argued as Lucy reached, pulling his arms away from his chest and forcing them to uncross. She tugs him back in, and because he can’t help it, he lets her. She’s just magnetic. Her hands slide along his skin– up his arms, along the back of his neck, touching his cheek. She’s studying if he still had that thick skin he was so proud of when they first met. “I’m not.”

“‘Course not,” she hummed. “C’mere, big guy.”

He kisses her begrudgingly, and if anyone asked, of course he would say he led the kiss. He leads everything. He takes the initiative kissing her, and he touches her without hesitation, and every motion between the kitchen and his bedroom is spurred by his confidence. 

Not a chance. 

Lucy had murmured against his mouth between kisses– lets move to your room. He knew better than to question her. When they made it to his room, the door closed softly as to not wake his kid, he finds himself sinking back to sit on the edge of the mattress, and her legs straddling his hips, and there is something there– a spark, a thrum to their heartrates, an anxiousness and a desire– that neither of them have become comfortable in for so long. 

“Luce,” Tim whispered, her fingers splayed against his abdomen, touching the bare skin under his henley. 

“I’m okay,” she said back. “If you are.”

“I don’t wanna push-”

“I’m pushing,” she said back. “Because… I couldn’t help it today.” 

When she kisses him again, that confidence fills the hole of anxiety, and suddenly, he had a greenlight. He still was scared to move too fast– like he could scare her off with the wrong touch, the wrong kiss. She laughs when his hands tremor against her blouse. Take it off she says into the night, and he does. Her nails dig into his shoulders as he kissed the bare skin on her collarbone, his teeth moving her bra strap from a patch of shoulder he wanted to mark. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says into her neck as they move– her back against the mattress, only the thinnest of layers left between them. 

“Sounds like you’re cocky,” she said back, taking a grab at his hair and pulling him closer so their mouths were mere centimeters apart. “I’ve had the worst. I don’t think you’re able to hurt me.”

“You trust me?” He asked, cautious as his thumb slipped under the final piece of fabric– the waistband of her underwear. Her body tensed, and her grip tightened, but she nods. 

“With everything in me.”

Not that it’s a competition, but Tim hadn’t had sex in over four years. Lucy in two. While he was desperate to experience something so human again, he was also scared of getting it wrong. His last partner was very different from Lucy, despite all their other similarities. Past the job, Isabel and Lucy were two very different people, different partners, and different lovers. 

Tim waits for her commands– while Isabel liked to be bossed around, there was something so incredibly beautiful about Lucy asking for whatever she wanted. He’d always do what she asked. Always. 

He was scared of hurting her– of not knowing how to find his rhythm again, but as they settled into the dark and quiet, it’s like they’d already done it before. She’s nearly undone by his hands alone. He finds tattoos he’s never had the privilege of seeing before– he kisses every inch of them. Her legs, too. There was once a time where she couldn’t be seen without bruises coating her skin, but now, the only purple splotches are left by Tim’s mouth and teeth, and soothed by his breath and tongue. 

Tim was exhausted before, but revitalized in his bed, as he can’t seem to get enough. He didn’t need to finish– he could spend forever bringing her to her climax, over, and over, and over again. It’s only when she grabs his arm with a desperate plea– let me feel you, Tim… that he thought about himself. 

Sex used to feel almost clinical. Like it was a necessary action to meet each other’s needs, like it was a task on the chore list. Have we had sex yet this week? This month? In the moment, though– this felt like communicating. It felt no different than if they were sitting on the couch eating ice cream and unwinding from their work day. It felt no different than a dinner date. No different than a phone call. He felt like every twitch was a whole new sentence. Without words, he had discovered more about Lucy than he thought possible. He discovered that she was ticklish– her lower stomach, especially. He discovered that she had phantom pain in one of her hips, and that a gentle kiss to the bones would make her relax. He discovered that she liked his hands, and did not like being told to wait. He learned that she liked to be spoiled– finally, a place where he can spoil her without complaint. 

He learned that she smelled like a margarita at the end– the lemon scent of her shampoo mixed with the salt of sweat; her body perfectly enveloped in his arms, his fingers twirling loose pieces of hair and tracing the tattoo down her spine. 

“You okay?” he confirmed. She nods, lazily kissing the underside of his jaw. “Didn’t expect this today…”

“Neither did I,” she whispered. “But then I saw you in uniform again, and…” Her eyes glitter as she met his. “And it was… different.”

“Aw,” Tim pouted. “You think I’m pretty?”

“The prettiest,” she rolls her eyes. “A pretty, pretty boy.”

Slowly, they kiss again, under moonlight and sheer curtains, nothing between them but skin and sweat, both feeling like they could float away in the other’s embrace. 

Chapter Text

Sometimes, it’s nice to sleep in her own bed after staying at Tim’s. She likes sleeping next to him at night. She also likes not sleeping with him at night. She likes making coffee together in the morning, and sometimes, Hallie wakes up early enough for them all to sit outside on the patio with their breakfast together, watching the sun come up over the hills with a gentle sea breeze whistling in their faces.  

In fact… maybe she likes it a bit too much. She’s found herself at peace in his kitchen, and not walking on eggshells down his hallways at night. She knows the floorboards and where they creak. She’s practically at home– she knows his house like it were her own. 

But sometimes, when you’re pulling long shifts and not getting a lot of rest, it’s nice to sleep in a big empty bed, with no obligation to share it. She can kick around the comforter however she chooses, scatter pillows sideways, crank the AC as low as it goes— it was all for her. And damn, it was some good sleep. 

Until the phone rang, that is. 

Well— more like chirped. Her notifications for Tamara were set to play aloud even when on Do Not Disturb, just in case. The cricket chirp cried out right by her ear in the dead of night, and Lucy shot up. Drool had dried to her cheek, and her eyes barely opened as she looked for her phone. It chirped again, vibrating this time too. It was on the floor. She nearly fell out of bed trying to reach it, squinting at the screen to see the text. 

Tamara had texted her eight times tonight. The first three were about a murder documentary she was watching. The next three were about regretting watching it. The seventh was a goodnight text, around 2:00 AM, and most recently: something woke me up. I think someone is in the house. 

Lucy frowned, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She called Tamara, but was sent to voicemail. She calls again, and Tamara answers. 

“Hey,” Lucy said, voice thick with exhaustion. “What’s happening? Do I need to send backup?”

“I don’t know. I’m hearing noise downstairs— my housemates went to San Diego for the weekend, I’m home alone and I’m scared-“

“Okay,” Lucy stood now, slipping on a pair of shoes and grabbing her keys. She went to the gun safe and tucks a thigh holster under her shorts. “I’m on my way to you. Are you in a room you can lock?” She doesn’t even bother locking her own door, she’s too fast to run down the stairs and out to the parking lot. 

“I’m-I’m in the closet, under a bunch of stuff. My bedroom door is locked.” She breathes a little heavier, a sniffle sounding. “Lucy…”

“You’re going to be okay. I’m on my way now. You’re going on CarPlay, so keep talking to me, okay? Tell me you’re alright.”

“I’m alright,” she lied, both to herself and Lucy. “I’m alright.”

Lucy lives in a whole different district, so it takes a few minutes to get there, but when she does, she passes by one of her UC officers parked down the street, watching the house. 

“Luther,” Lucy greeted as she pulled up alongside him. His attention darted to her, window rolling down and leaning against his door. “Have you seen any movement? I have the occupant reporting noise inside.”

“Nothing detectable from out here,” Officer Luther scowled. “You want backup?”

“If you can.”

Lucy parks, gesturing for Officer Luther to take the back entrance while Lucy covers the front. The door is locked, so Lucy uses her key to slip in. She scopes the building, room by room, frowning. Eventually, she meets Officer Luther by the stairwell, both suggesting the downstairs is… clear. A loud crash declares otherwise though, making both officers jump and pull their weapons. They inch into the dining room, and Lucy drops her gun back to her side. 

Sitting atop of a rather tall bookshelf was a beautiful cat, complete with glowing green magical eyes and thick orange fur. At it’s feet lay all sorts of trinkets. A book, a potted plant (and the sprout it was attempting to grow), and a cup full of pens sit together. Lucy relaxes. 

“Found our rascal,” Lucy sighed. “I’ll do a sweep of upstairs, find the girl. Stay here unless I need help?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Lucy climbed the stairs, clearing the bedrooms and bathrooms until she finally comes upon Tamara’s. Lucy knocks on the locked door. 

“It’s me,” Lucy reminded. “You're all clear.” 

“Did you get him?”

“Yes,” Lucy said, smiling as Tamara creaked open the door. “Your intruder was a very ginger man with a bell around his neck.”

Her eyebrows furrow, then she deflates. 

“Freddy…” Tamara winced. “I-I’m so sorry. I’m so embarrassed. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pull you all the way out here for nothing-“

“Please,” Lucy squeezed her arm. “I’m this close to asking to stay the weekend with you until your housemates are back.”

“I’m okay,” she said, declining as she wrapped a sweater around herself. She climbed into the middle of her bed, clearly unnerved still to take up that much space on it. She pulls her knees to her chest, chin resting atop of them. “That damn cat…”

“I used to have a panic attack when my roommate used the blender,” Lucy empathized, sitting on the edge of the bed and offering Tamara her hand. Tamara slips her own into it, squeezing. Tears well at the corners of her eyes, cheek pressed against her knees as she stares off into the darkness of night– past Lucy, and the windows, and the stars. She was in a new world, all by herself. 

“When does it get easier?”

“I wish I could tell you,” Lucy sighed. Lucy notes how much better the view is of her room from this spot on her bed. All the posters are hung with care at an eye level that isn't straining. Any clutter finally looked like something artistic— even her books were stacked into what could’ve been a sculpture. There was personality in this room that Tamara refused to exude herself. At least, not yet. “You feeling comfortable here?”

“I’m… working on it,” she shrugged. “Still figuring out what spaces I belong in.”

“It’s your home too. You can occupy all of the space.”

“But I can’t,” she scoffed, looking away. “You know that.”

Lucy frowns, but nods, “I do.” She understood the feeling all too well. 

When you’ve walked on eggshells for so long— it’s not as simple as ‘taking up space’. Every inch outside your self-made enclosure feels like a leap. It starts in bed, when the laundry starts piling up around you, and your sheets are full of crumbs. Then eventually, the bedroom is a disaster of your mind— half attempted art projects in the name of therapy, every book you pretended to read, all the meals you tried finishing. At least you have a plate this time. 

Then slowly, you open the kitchen cabinets more. You don’t scope out the bathroom for fifteen minutes just to make sure no one was in there to avoid knocking. The goal is to avoid any human contact. The goal is to be isolated. It never works, and Lucy won’t lie— she still does it to this day. 

“I want to take you grocery shopping,” Lucy decides. “In the morning. Or at some point when it’s daylight and I’m more awake.” 

“I have snacks…”

“I know. I just think… it would be good for you to leave your room.” 

Frowning, she nods. Lucy murmurs that she would set up camp on the couch downstairs— just until dawn, Lucy warned. She waits for Tamara to settle back in bed, hair hanging past her shoulders on one side, the buzzed half steadily growing in on the other. Tamara’s scar is bold and pink, enveloped in a slow growing field of black. Tamara pulled her blankets up, muttering a thanks, Lucy before turning over. 

Downstairs, Lucy apologizes to the other officer, offering him the rest of the night off. He waved her off and returned to his car, driving a few laps around the neighborhood before parking in a new, nondescript spot. Lucy set up shop on the couch– unfolding a fluffy throw blanket and propping a few stiff, flat throw pillows on the couch where her head would lay. One arm tucked behind her head, she pulled out her phone and spent a while looking through the community resources in this neighborhood. The foodbank would be stocked every Monday and Thursday, and it was a walking distance from the house. The free college courses at UCLA start up in a few weeks, which would be nice for her, too. She’s deep in a rabbit hole of the student aid and scholarships she could apply for when she falls asleep under the glowing light of her cell phone. 

“Sounds like you got yourself a puppy,” Tim teased, sitting on her desk with his arms folded over his chest. “Does she do tricks?”

“Oh, shut up,” Lucy rolled her eyes, hitting his thigh with her binder. “She’s not just some puppy. She’s… a scared kid! She’s been through a lot.”

“She has. And you set her up as best as you can to work through it. You even got her a job at the community center with government benefits,” Tim scoffed. “I have no doubt that you care about her. She’s just… y’know. She’s your puppy.”

“Chen got a pet project?” Harper asked as she approached, not looking up from her own binder at hand. “Let me guess… ex junkie juvenile?”

“Worse. Homeless abducted trafficking victim,” Tim glanced at the Sergeant with raised brows. “Help me out here?”

“Oh, no… I stopped getting involved with pets after my last,” Harper said defensively. “I’m just here to pass along some info your boy in lock up gave us last night. Specifically a list of clubs your victims are getting sold in.”

“So I get to spend my day in strip clubs chasing down pimps? Sounds like fun for me…” Lucy accepted the folder Harper offered from the binder, glancing at the headlines of her suspects. “What’s the obligation with the girls?”

“Direct them to social services, render aid if necessary, but otherwise… they’re free to go. Have their information though to reach out when it comes time for trial.”

“All due respect, Sergeant, but we’re gonna be putting a whole bunch of girls on the street tonight if we don’t have somewhere to put them.”

“It’s either the street or with their abductors. I suppose it can be their decision as to what sounds worse,” Sergeant Harper frowns. “I understand your predicament, but you cannot sit idle while a gang moves in on at-risk kids every day under our noses. We have to be willing to take some falls.”

With that, Harper disappears, leaving Lucy at an impasse at her desk. She glanced at the files with a frown, wondering what hell all these victims are going to go through, just to end up in the same predatory schemes in no time. What good is she doing them, taking them from an uncomfortable bed and abuse, only to end up sleeping on the sidewalk without a soul out there to watch their backs. 

“What are you thinking?”

“I think I need to deep drive on every open shelter in the area before I leave,” Lucy huffed. “Talk to you later?”

“Yeah,” Tim frowned. “Give me a shout if you need extra hands.”

“Expect a call when I head out.”

Tim takes that as his cue to leave— her head officially in the pages and out of reality. 

He tried to drop off breakfast this morning at her apartment. He and Hallie were in the neighborhood for bagels and wanted to get Lucy a coffee while they were at it— just to discover Lucy spent a little less than half of her night at Tamara’s house. They ate breakfast together at her desk instead. 

He’s been there before. Only talking on the clock. Bumping shoulders and stealing kisses when they have the time. Isabel and Tim made it work with quickies in the bathroom between shift change and lunches overlapping by fifteen minutes. He knew he’d suffice on just eye contact with Lucy if he had to. 

It’s weird to be in love again, knowing how it ended last time. Knowing what poison this job can be if they let it. He sees Lucy slipping into the jaws of work and wonders how long it will be before his partner has time for him again, how long until they will be sleeping in and making pancakes for breakfast, or showering together to “save time”. 

Worst of all: he wonders if he actually cares. 

Because Lucy working doesn’t bother him. Quite the opposite. There was something so endearing in the way she wrapped herself in these cases with pure heart and dedication to the victims. She’s not riding this wave for the fame of catching prolific killers or interesting cases; she does the job to save girls like herself from a system of predation. That might be what he loves most about her. He knows there is no limit she has for protecting innocent lives, regardless of status, race, gender, gratitude. 

Tim gathers his belongings at the Kit Room window, signing them out accordingly, with a daydream in his head of all the things Lucy has done and will do to keep his family safe. Visions of her teaching Hallie how to tie her shoes, or fixing Tim’s collar before an event, they nestle in his mind like a warm fire. She wouldn’t stop there, though. Once Lucy loves, she doesn’t stop for anything. Tim knows Lucy will be there when Hallie needs driving lessons. He knows Lucy will be there when Hallie has her first heartbreak. He knows Lucy will be there when Tim decides to move for promotion, or when he decides to retire. 

He’s taking a warbag over his shoulder when the girl on his mind appeared at his side. A smile cuts across his face, even if its been hardly five minutes since they said goodbye. 

“Forget something?”

“I need to talk to Isabel.”

The ride was silent. 

She knew it would be a big ask from the moment she saw Isabel’s name on the website. Lucy didn’t even have to scroll. It was one of the first shelter non-profit organizations she thought of contacting, and towards the top of their Staff Directory was one Isabel Monroe, Registrar. 

However, when she said it outloud, she can’t help but dread every morsel of hurt that flashed across her lover’s face. The way his smile, bright from seeing her, collapsed into defeat. 

He didn’t argue. Once Lucy explained the correlation, he gave in, with the compromise to go together. Lucy hated every moment of the day since. Their drive was long and silent— the radio was even quiet today. The world was at a standstill, waiting for Tim to suddenly explode, turn the shop around, and decline letting the two cross paths. 

Lucy studied him from the passenger seat. Tim’s hands were tight on the steering wheel. His jaw was tense. His eyes darted around a little extra, but he blinked less. These are the random behaviors Lucy tended to notice. All those considered, she still didn’t feel unsafe. Just… unhappy. 

“Just… do me a favor?” Tim murmured. “Let’s not… rub it in. About you and I.”

“Don’t tell the woman I arrested that I’m dating her ex-husband? Sounds great to me,” Lucy exhaled. “I don’t think it’ll come up.”

“But if it does?”

She stopped short, turning with wide eyes and an incredulous expression. 

“If you want to lie to the mother of your daughter, that's on you,” Lucy stated. “But if it were me, already having lost everything? The last thing I’d want is to be oblivious to who was involved in my kid’s life in my place.” Lucy glanced back toward the building, nodding him along. “I’ll dodge it however I can.”

“Luce.”

She climbs the front stairs and snags the door, offering kind smiles to anyone she passed in the hall. She knew seeing a uniform following her would scare off some of the population, so she attempts to be low profile. 

“Hi, can we help you?” A frazzled woman approaches, hesitant and off put by the police presence herself. “Officers?”

“Detective Chen, I’m looking for Isabel Monroe?” 

“In what capacity?”

“Diana,” a vaguely familiar voice called from down the hall. “They’re okay. That’s my ex husband."

If it weren’t for the context, Lucy might not have recognized her. In the flesh, standing tall, clean faced, well rested, was Isabel Monroe— once, Bradford. She was rather beautiful like this. She appeared clean, healthy, smiling. Her hair hung in similar loose waves that inspired Hallie’s blond ringlets. In fact, there is a vague ghost of Tim’s daughter in everything Isabel does. Suddenly, Lucy sees what Tim had said— how Hallie was once “all her mother”. 

“Isabel,” Lucy greets with a smile. “I’m not sure if you remember me-“

“Detective Chen, yes,” Isabel sighed, her smile faltering as she turned and led them down the hall and into an office. “What trouble am I in now, detective?” 

“None, ma’am,” Lucy appeased, glancing back at Tim. “I have been spearheading a taskforce working on destabilizing and hopefully abolishing a network of human traffickers targeting the homeless population in Los Angeles.  As I’m sure you’re aware, most shelters and community centers are less than eager to work with us, but given your ties to this unit… I was hoping both for your insight into the network and cooperation in helping me house these people when they’re brought out of hell.”

“Right out with it, okay,” Isabel nodded, arms crossed. “And Tim is here so I don’t turn you away?” 

“Tim is here because he’s afraid I’ll be mean to you.” Lucy says back, point blank. They’re clearly not in the lets be friends stage. Lucy imagines how weird it must be, seeing her arresting officer and her husband in the same room: her office. 

“Will you be mean to me?” Isabel rose an eyebrow. 

“Only if you choose to abandon a bunch of helpless at-risk kids over our personal past interaction. You’ve been doing well. I don’t have a reason to harass you.”

Considering Lucy’s options, Isabel nods to herself. Tim’s eyes dart between the two of them, on the edge of a cliff that descends into a whole new world of complicated. He doesn’t need them to like each other. They hardly need to get along. But it would make the healing process for all of them significantly easier if they can at least be civil. 

“Fair trade. Take a seat. What do you need to know?” 

“Thanks,” Lucy nods at Tim to sit with her. Lucy and Isabel sit on opposite sides of Isabel’s desk. She looks good here— her name engraved on a placard on her desk, little trinkets decorating the empty spaces. A photo of her and Hallie as well as Hallie’s most recent school photo are taped to her desk. “Well, most importantly, I am moving in on a target today, meaning I’m likely going to come across some people who need a bed tonight. What do you have for availability?”

“Honestly? Minimal. Let me look into satellite locations though,” Isabel says, pursing her lips as she clicks through her different sites information in Los Angeles. She frowns as she tallies the numbers, shaking her head. “I have four beds stretched across the surrounding four neighborhoods.”

“I can push to the city limits, so if you have more, keep me posted,” Lucy exhaled. “But what I’d really like is to pick your brain. I know it’s been… a while. But you know the Los Angeles trafficking systems backwards and forwards. What have you seen on Skid Row especially?”

“Honey, everything,” Isabel sighed. “It is the hub of a lot of suffering, meaning the hub of criminals looking for easy labor. I need you to be more specific.”

“Three weeks ago, I raided a home in Montecito Heights. Nine girls were recovered, some with families who were tiptoeing the line of being unhoused, and others who had been abducted from homeless camps and shelters. One of the girls was in critical condition, but luckily survived.” 

“Something tells me it's not just the nine.”

“No. One of these girls was abducted from the scene of an OD as a child. I’m thinking there is an entire collection of people based in Los Angeles targeting kids between the ages of fifteen and twenty five, likely focused on the social class that primarily lives on the streets or out of their cars. A few days ago, there was a shoot out between suspects and police on Skid Row. An unknown number of civilians were abducted, I have a few of their families willing to come forward and give me information on them, but plenty who don’t have anyone to report them missing. I went back about a decade, and apparently there’s been several sightings of similar workers vans taking people from their camps on Skid Row, and never coming back to gather their belongings. At least once a month, a work van approaches, a handful of people leave the streets, and the city is left to either clean up their campsite or let it be taken over by someone else.”

“Now that’s a problem,” Isabel frowned. “When you don’t have a steady place to live, all you have is the things you carry with you.”

“My point exactly.” Lucy opens up one of her files, turning it toward Isabel on her desk. It was a photo of Tamara as a child. “Do you recognize her?”

“I do,” Isabel said slowly, taking the file and glancing through it. “I don’t remember where from, but… she’s got a very familiar smile.”

“This is Tamara Collins,” Lucy said. “You were the Detective assigned to her parent’s deaths-”

“The bodies at Big Bear,” Isabel recalled. “We tried to notify next of kin, only to realize the kid was gone, and there were no surviving family members.”

“What do you remember about the search for Tamara? Anything could help.”

“It was cold from the start,” Isabel admitted, glancing at Tim with a frown. “You remember, don’t you? I spent that whole week living out of the briefing room. The only evidence she even existed was a birth certificate and an issued Social Security Number. I didn’t even have a school registration to go off of.”

“Is that the week we arrested Pleaky Venice?”

“Yes!” Isabel sat up faster. “Pleaky Venice. His real name is… uh…” she snaps her fingers, trying to bring back the memories. “Dennis Rodman? I brought him in on drug charges. He was the dealer to the Collins family, but he gave me no information on the kid. I figured… homeless teenager with dead parents? I thought she just ran in whatever direction she could and kept her head in the sand.”

“Dennis Rodman,” Lucy repeats, scribbling the name down. “He’s still in jail?”

“He was supposed to do ten years, but got bumped up to life after killing a guard in prison,” Isabel nodded. “Does that do anything for you?”

“It gives me more than I had before,” Lucy agreed. “Thank you, Isabel. Any chance you have a contact card, or anything else I can give these kids when I bring them out of their holding?”

“Yes, yeah– of course,” Isabel stands, turning and flipping through some of her cabinets before pulling out a wad of cards. “These ones are mine, but once we’re full, you can reach out to my contact in San Bernadino. It’s a nonprofit that will bus them from the inner city to an available shelter as far as two hours out of Los Angeles.”

“This is amazing,” Lucy praised. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” Lucy jumps to her feet. “I’m gonna go call Sergeant Harper and Lopez and give them the greenlight. Meet me in the shop in five?”

“Go,” Tim nodded her along. “I’m gonna hang back for a quick second.”

Lucy murmured another thank you before disappearing out the door with her phone to her ear and a beaming smile. Tim couldn’t help but watch until she was out of sight. 

“She’s cute.” Tim’s eyes dart to Isabel, watching his ex-wife settle down behind her desk again. “Does Hallie like her?”

“What?”

“Tim,” Isabel scoffed. “You have always been a loverboy, and you’ve never been good at hiding it.” Isabel glances down at her calendar, folding her cardigan tighter around herself. “Does Hallie like her?”

Tim takes a slow, deep breath. Hands resting on his belt, shifting his stance, he dreads this conversation. 

“Hallie loves her,” Tim confessed, his shoulders dropping, face falling. “My Mom loves her. Even Genny likes her a bit.”

“Now that’s impressive.”

“Right?” Tim raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“Always the protector,” Isabel rolled her eyes. “Over my heart, over her peace of mind, over Hallie… There’s nothing you won’t do to keep people safe…” Finally, they made eye contact again. “Is she the one?”

“If she’s not…” Tim shook his head. “Then nobody is.”

“Does she have kids?” Isabel asked next. “Does she want kids?”

“She has a daughter,” Tim smiled sadly. “I think we’d make a good family together.”

“I hope so,” Isabel nods. “You and Hallie… you deserve it.” It felt like being shot in the chest again. Tim couldn’t respond to that. Of course they deserved it. They deserved it the first time, too. “Can I see Hal soon?”

“Soon,” Tim nods. “I’m… really proud of you. I bet she will be, too.”

“Okay, and a little bit of salt. Just a pinch,” Lucy murmured in her ear, a hand on her back to keep her steady on the stool. Hallie’s hand digs into the little bowl of salt, grabbing some salt in her hand and sprinkling it in the bowl. “Nice job. You want to mix it?”

“Yeah,” Hallie snickered, her hands holding the beater while Lucy controlled it. Cookie batter splattered up, but then swiftly settled back into the mixture, swirling itself into a creamy consistency. Hallie laughed maniacally as the beater clinked against the glass bowl, making the bowl rumble and ring out loudly. “Can I taste it?”

“Mhm, once this is done,” Lucy agreed, helping finish mixing the dough. “Okay. Blender off, watch your fingies.”

“Hands up!” Hallie agreed, holding her floury hands high so they wouldn’t touch the blender as Lucy pulled it out and unplugged it from the wall. “Now taste?”

“Yes, love. Now you can taste.”

Before Lucy could even finish the sentence, Hallie’s fingers were dipping into the bowl and scooping up a heaping pile of cookie dough, plopping it straight into her mouth. Lucy laughed and shook her head, reminding Hallie to sprinkle in the chocolate chips, too. Hallie stole a few of the morsels before dumping them in. 

“OK, I have us scheduled to visit the Twin Towers tomorrow after roll call to meet with Pleaky,” Tim announced as he walked back in the room, tucking his work phone in his back pocket. “What on Earth are you two up to?”

“We’re makin’ cookies!” Hallie squealed, whirling around with both chocolate and cookie dough on her face. “I helped.”

“I can see you helped,” Tim laughed, leaning down and kissing his daughter’s cheek. “And now, the helper needs a bath.”

“Not yet!” Lucy argued. “We still need to scoop them onto the trays, and thats a lot of work for one person…” Shooting a wink at Hallie, the little girl hid her giggle behind her dirty hands. “Tell Daddy to get you a spoon so we can get these in the oven.”

“Daddy, get me a spoon!” the princess demands. Tim raised an eyebrow. “Please?”

“There we go.”

Tim watched from the sidelines as the girls lined two trays with dollops of cookie dough, one by one. Hallie also licked the bowl clean, and then asked to throw some sprinkles on some of the cookies, and who tells a kid no when they’re experimenting? As Tim ran a bath for her, he listened to the girls dance, sing, and celebrate a successful bakery opening in Tim’s kitchen with a soft smile. How lucky is he?

Bubbles and melatonin bath oil gets mixed into the tub, and Tim tossed a couple toys into the water for her before hollering down the hall for his kid to come get clean. Lucy ushers the child into the bathroom via Conga-Line, letting them have the privacy of getting undressed and climbing into the tub. Hallie waved Tim off when he tried to sit and play with her. 

“It’s relaxin’ time, Daddy,” she instructed. “Go relax.”

“Oh, I need to relax?” Tim laughed. “Okay, well I will relax right outside the door with Lucy, okay? I’ll still be able to see you.”

“Goodbye…” she said, shooing him away. Tim shook his head ridiculously and exited the bathroom. 

He could still see his daughter playing with her water toys under all the bubbles from the kitchen, where Lucy was sweeping up flour and wiping down his counters. Eyeballing his kid one more time, Tim slipped his hands over Lucy’s waist, dipping under her clothes ever so slightly. Tim pressed his mouth to the back of her neck along the tattoo under her ear, earning a soft breath of ease from his lovers lips. 

“What a day,” Tim mumbled against her skin. Lucy murmured a ‘right?’ and leaned her weight against his chest. His hand fully slipped under her shirt, earning a chill down her spine. “Iz knew.” 

“Mothers intuition,” Lucy sighed. “Is she upset?”

“Surprisingly, no.” Tim settled against her, as she relaxed back into him. Secretly, Lucy needed to feel that sense of approval. In an inexplicable way, Isabel will always mean something fundamental— even if Isabel wasn’t legally fit to be Hallie’s parent, she will always be Hallie’s Mommy. She will always be Tim’s first wife. She will always be a tragedy in their hearts. After a long pause of thought, Tim continued. “You’re so good with Hal.”

“I’d hope so,” Lucy chuckled. “She’s kinda one of my favorite kids.”

“One of?”

“Angela and Nyla have some pretty cool ones, too,” Lucy defended, her breath hitching as Tim teased the waistband of her slacks. “And I’m… I’m sure ours will be pretty cool, too.”

He couldn’t help it. His teeth nip her skin, and she jumped slightly. At the thought of ours in that context– it felt crazy. Ours. Our kids. Our family. 

“I think so too,” Tim whispered against her skin. “Whenever that day may come.”

Having enough of his teasing, Lucy pulled away from him, turning so her back rested against the counter. Those doe eyes look up at him in a way that makes him melt under her gaze. He has to remind himself– look at Hallie’s direction again. She was still playing, happy as can be. 

“If you want that day to come,” Tim said breathily, unable to hold it in. Lucy chewed her cheek, examining his expression with piqued curiosity. She slid her floury hands over his waist, down to his hips, hooking her fingers in his belt loops. “I’ve been thinking about… it.”

“It.” She repeats. 

“Us,” Tim corrected. “The future. Life. Us.”

“Us,” She repeats, again. Tim felt like he was being strangled by his anxiety. 

“In time,” Tim said slowly. “I think we… we could do a lot together. When… when you’re ready. I think we could-could live together. I think we could… could have something… something like a family. One day. Not-Not now. I know it’s early, and I know we’re still finding our footing-”

“Tim,” she interrupted, tugging on his waistband so he was forced closer. “I have no doubts in my mind that we will do it all.” 

Breathing heavy, his hands shaking, she smiles up at him and, in a way, seemed like she was almost giggling at his nerves. Tim nodded to himself. 

“All?”

“In time,” she agreed. “But… I feel safe here. I feel loved. I-I’m scared of how much I love you, but… it’s nice. It’s nice to fear that side of things again, instead of fearing the big bad wolf out to get me.” Lucy leaned up, pressing onto her toes, and kisses the corner of his mouth. “I think we’ll… live together. Get a dog or two. You’ll find a ring I like. Hallie could have siblings one day…” Lucy ghosted her lips over hers. “You’re my new dream, Tim. I’ll have it all with you.” 

Chapter Text

For approximately five seconds, she thought she was the first one awake this morning. 

The sun is barely peaking up over the horizon, the first streaks of daylight stretching in golden bands. She took one long breath, squeezing the arm around her waist, when she froze. 

Eyes peeling open, she realizes that someone had joined them in bed. Nestled in under Tim’s arms and tucked against Lucy, Hallie had fallen back asleep, but most definitely squirreled her way into bed at some point last night. Lucy didn’t remember the little girl climbing into bed, and she’s a self proclaimed light sleeper, meaning Hallie was full blown stealth. 

It’s like the end stage of Jenga, trying to pull the two Bradfords off of her so she could go pee, maybe start some coffee. The two both almost wake, but roll in opposite directions, falling asleep in the nest of blankets. It’s almost creepy how alike they are at times. She smiles to herself, free from the enclosure, and watching them drift back into peaceful, blissful sleep. 

She showers when she gets up– get it out of the way. She can feel her hair draping down her back in wet waves, the suds dripping down her spine in a delicate graze. She realizes, after over a year of being back to normal life, her hair had finally returned to the length it once was, hovering just past the shoulderblades in her back. As she twirls it up into a bun to soak in the conditioner, she recalls the long days of it being too short to pull off her neck. She remembers last summer with what her mother would categorize as a “lob”-- she remembers the nurses cutting it after she woke up from her coma so instead of choppy and stringy, it looked purposefully short. She didn’t realize how much of her self confidence, worth, and even just her self-existence, was tied to the length of her hair. Or maybe it was the choice over her hair length. 

Rinse, lather, repeat, she finally climbs out of the shower, a towel wrapped around her body and running a brush through her hair. Tim knocks on the door before cracking it open, smiling sleepily at the sight of her. 

“You showered without me?” he murmured, voice thick with exhaustion. 

“You were out ,” Lucy said back with a chuckle. He swipes her hair over the opposite shoulder to make space for him to kiss her neck. Lucy smirks to herself as his fingers drag down the locks, too; like he was also imagining how far she’s come in every way. “Go put on coffee. I have to be out the door early for Tamara.”

“Mhm…” he puffed out a breath, yawning as he shuffled away.

 She closed the door most of the way behind him to get dressed. She was working her wet hair into a braided style that would tie off into a pony tail to save her the time in drying and styling it. Bringing her makeup bag to the kitchen counter, she gets ready in the daylight shedding through the windows with a slow rising sun. 

Tim makes two mugs of coffee, setting hers down and leaning against a counter opposite of her. They sit in mostly quiet space, nothing but the sound of birds out the window and the Birdie in their bed snoring away to break the silence. It was so comfortable, Lucy forgot to say thank you for the coffee. 

“I’m going straight to Tamara’s this morning. I take her to her neurologist and then I’m taking her grocery shopping, make sure she has enough food of her own. What time are we scheduled for the towers?”

“11:45,” Tim says back, smiling to himself as she downs her coffee in large gulps. “If you meet me at the station, I’ll drive us.”

“Why? Don’t trust me to drive myself?” Lucy tempted with a devilish grin. The idea of riling him up so early in the morning was just an insatiable desire. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, if you don’t want to spend time with me-“ he says, turning it around on her. Lucy gasped. 

“Then let me drive!”

“It’s my shop,” Tim snipped. “And you’re plain clothes.”

“I’ll change into my uniform just to get you going.”

“Doesn’t sound like we’d be very productive then,” Tim retorted. Lucy shakes her head with a chuckle, applying a fresh coat of mascara. “Sorry about Bird this morning. I think she gets nightmares from… everything.”

“Please,” Lucy waved off. “Who am I to keep a girl from her dad at night?”

“You’re a saint, I tell you,” Tim murmured, circling the island and kissing her cheek. “I’m gonna get ready for work. Drive safe.”

“Mhm. You too,” Lucy smiled to herself. “See you for our lunch date.”

“A prison. How romantic.”

It’s only a few minutes before Lucy leaves the house– Tim heard the door click shut behind her and watched her car pull out of his driveway. It looks empty with one less vehicle occupying the space. As he padded into his bedroom, he sank down onto the mattress and gently woke his daughter with a kiss to the face and a gentle coax to open her eyes. She writhed and stretched for a long few moments before rubbing her eyes and sitting up. 

“Good morning, Bird,” Tim smiled. “Let’s get ready for a good day.”

She held her arms out to him, and like the spoiled little girl she is, gets carried back to her bedroom to look for her outfit today. She sat with a stuffed animal tucked in her arms, watching as Tim pulled out his best outfit options for her, letting her dress herself as he dug around for hair supplies. His morning monster resisted the idea of a hairbrush, so he tied her hair into a topknot to keep it out of her face for the day. They eat breakfast together, and she chugs a full cup of juice before riling herself up. Within the hour, she was bouncing by the door with her backpack slung over her shoulder and the demand that Dad hurries up. 

“What’s going on at school today?” Tim asked as he boosted her into the truck. She clambered into her carseat and let him clip her in. “Is it art day?”

“No,” she rolled her eyes. The attitude on this kid. “It’s Reptile Day . Mrs. Clark is bringing in a bunch of snakes and turtles.”

“Oh really?” Tim hummed to himself. “And you’re not scared?”

“I’m never scared,” Hallie declared. “I’m the bravest person in the whole world.”

“I believe it.”

She chose the music on the way to school– it ended up being the Moana soundtrack, accompanied by belting lyrics and dancing from her carseat, and humming as they wait in line to check in at the daycare. Lopez was a few spots ahead of them, dropping off Jack with a kiss to his cheek. She stopped to say hi to Hallie in passing. 

“Why, good morning beautiful Bradfords,” Lopez chirped. “Running behind today?”

“Daddy was being a slow poke,” Hallie tattled. “Does Jack like snakes?”

“I don’t know. You might have to hold his hand if he gets scared,” Angela waggled her eyebrows. “Do you like snakes?”

“Mhm. They say SSSSSSSS.”

Lopez chuckled, murmuring a see you at the station to Tim before wishing Hallie a good day and excusing herself. Tim signed in his daughter, peppered her in kisses, and followed the pregnant detective. The two have the same commute– just a few blocks down into the city to reach the station. Their parking spots are adjacent, and she groans as she climbs her way out of the car. 

“It’s official,” Lopez grunts. “Never getting pregnant again. Twice is fine.”

“I’m sure of it,” Tim lied. “We all know you never change your mind.”

“Shut up,” Angela elbowed him. “When’s your turn to do it again? Huh?”

“Not yet,” Tim chuckled. “Eventually. Maybe a couple years down the road. We’re… we’re still settling.”

“Mhm…” she looked him over as they take the elevator upstairs. “Hows she doing with Hallie?”

“Cut it out,” Tim shrugged her off. “We’re taking our time.”

“Yeah you are.”

Tim has enough paperwork to fill his morning with. He keeps his ear to the ground incase they need him in the field for supervisory purposes, but for the most part, he’s able to keep to himself at his desk as he processed his last shift’s work. Mostly, he wanted to see Lucy when she got back. He wanted to hear about the girl Lucy’s been taking care of, and he wanted to talk about her case before they leave for the Twin Towers, and selfishly… he just wanted to see her . 

What a dangerous place to be– so in love that he can’t fathom missing a moment of their time together. 

He gets a text as they near 11:00 AM– I’m back. Meet me at the SP? And, like a child racing toward their presents on Christmas morning, Tim stood from his desk and wasted no time in heading downstairs to meet her at the port. She was collecting war bags at the kit room when he reached her. 

“How did it go?” Tim asked. 

“Good. I made sure she was stocked on both easy foods to eat from bed and some produce to get her full of vitamins,” Lucy cracked a smile. “Her neurologist is hopeful that she can make a complete recovery, but they’re going to do a sleep study just to see if they can catch any seizures in her sleep to be safe.”

“Sounds like you’ve got everything under control…” Tim said, eyebrows raised. 

“Always,” Lucy smirked. “I’ll have you know, I’ve always been a rockstar. I made my first arrest before clocking in on my first day as a rookie.”

“Now that is a story I’d like to hear,” Tim hummed, grabbing one of the bags. “

 Lucy nodded fondly at the memory. God, she was so cocky walking in on that first day… “Okay, so I was driving this hunk of junk car– my baby, mind you. I don’t want to hear a word about it. She’s still sitting in my apartment parking lot to this day-”

They sit in the parking lot of the prison, Lucy sinking deeper into her seat as reality dawns on her. Another visitation. Another day where she will inevitably run into Enzo. Another confrontation, featuring an uncomfortable trade of information and an unknown intention behind it all. Tim glanced at her, his hand falling upon her thigh with a gentle squeeze. She flickered her attention toward him in the driver's seat. The sun is creating a halo of light behind him, and his smile is almost as warm as the rays. 

“We don’t even have to look in his direction,” Tim reminded her. “If you don’t want to.”

“I… don’t,” Lucy said, holding her breath momentarily. “Even if he’s offering something.”

“Done,” Tim reassured. “It’s just you and me in there, then. Got it?”

Just you and me. A familiar version of herself from not too long ago would’ve hated the idea. A version of herself that now feels like eons ago. She laced her hand in his. In through the mouth, out through the nose. The corner of her lips quirk upward. 

“Got it.”

They let go of one another upon exiting the car– professionalism or whatever. They’re still shoulder to shoulder, though. As they turn their duty pieces over and move through security, Lucy doesn’t lose her sense of safety. She can more than take care of herself these days. Hell, she somehow managed to keep the both of them alive through the worst. Her fear is a memory, not a feeling. 

“Detective,” her typical guide greets with a smile. “The usual?”

“No, sir,” Lucy said, following him back with Tim on her heels. “We’re meeting with a prisoner– Dennis Rodman. He’s expecting us.”

“Rodman isn’t much of a talker, I must say,” the guide forewarned. 

“He’ll talk to me,” Lucy shrugged off. “I have good motivation.”

It’s mid-day, meaning Rodman’s unit was in the cafeteria. Tim and Lucy strolled the catwalk overhead, watching the tense exchange of meals and dirty looks. Lucy doesn’t allow herself the chance to look for Enzo. It won’t do her any good, even knowing what he looks like these days. Tim nudged her as they waited in easy view of a room full of violent criminals. She was just looking at Tim. 

“I’m good,” she promised. Tim raised an eyebrow. “I am.”

“Good,” he said back, averting his gaze. If he stared much longer, he might do something ridiculous and unprofessional, like kiss her on the mouth, or pull her into a tight embrace, or hold her hand in a crushing grip.

“He’s ready for you,” the guide announced, nodding them along to the interview room. Dennis Rodman was being walked along in cuffs up the stairs to the catwalk, leading the way while framed by two guards. Tim and Lucy both give curt nods to the guards before they closed the door on them. 

“What can I do for you, officers?” he cracked a smile. A gap sits between his front teeth and molars where they must’ve been knocked free after a riot. He was bruised up from all sorts of exchanges– Lucy imagines he’s unpopular amongst his cellies and guards alike. 

“I want you to tell me about the Collins family,” Lucy stated simply, pulling a chair free and sitting across from him. Tim doesn’t sit– he finds it significantly more comfortable to stand over the threat, making sure every inch of him was seen standing tall behind Lucy. Just in case Rodman got any silly ideas. 

“Why beat a dead horse, Sugar?” Dennis smirked. “How about we talk about you, instead.”

“Or how about I hang an entire human trafficking ring on your neck?” Lucy proposed. Silence follows. “See, Dennis, I found Tamara. She’s safe, now. As are most of the girls you abducted. One by one, they’re flipping, ready to testify that you single handedly sold them on the black market as spare parts, breeders, or sex slaves. Depending on how many bodies I turn up, Dennis you are looking at capital punishment. You were quite skilled at covering these disappearances. I’m honestly impressed you got caught when you did. You could’ve used all that money from those girls and bought yourself some pretty plot of land, disappear forever.”

“I didn’t sell no girls,” Dennis scoffed. “And you ain’t got proof.”

“I have bank statements that immediately follow the disappearance of twelve children, ages eleven to seventeen,” Lucy read, looking down at her files. “And I must say, you made out like a bandit. Nobody got paid quite like you. Was it for the flare of your murders? Or the price of the drugs? Maybe… tipped for doing a fine job?” Lucy turned a few photos in Rodman’s directions– the dead and decaying bodies as they were found– parents, lost to drugs or “natural causes”, each of which missing their child. “I already spoke with your arresting detective. And I have a lot of people willing to testify to your involvement. While I can’t promise the DA will go easy on you, I can make it so you get a nice spot in a federal prison, in exchange for… I don’t know, an employer?”

“You’re LAPD, you don’t have shit to do with the federales.”

“They owe me some favors,” Lucy stares back. “But if you’re not interested, I can give this offer to someone else-“

“You ain’t got no one else!” Dennis spit. Lucy stands to go, instantly uninterested in anything else he could have to say. “Hey! I’m talkin’ to you!”

Jerking forward, he grabs Lucy by the sleeve. Tim stepped forward, but Lucy was faster. She twisted her arm and swung with her free hand. His nose splattered with red. She shook off the ache in her knuckles. 

“I’m not a helpless little girl you steal from her Mommy,” Lucy spat back. “You are easily the most pathetic criminal I’ve seen this week, and one of my suspects pissed themselves in lockup. You don’t scare me, and the world will be a better place without you in it. If you have no desire to make the remainder of your life the slightest bit more comfortable, then you’re wasting my time.” She grabbed her file and began to pack up. “Enjoy Death Row. Sergeant Bradford?”

Tim nods curtly, a hand hovering behind her to guide her toward the door. She knocked on the glass, feeling Tim’s eyes burning through the back of her head. 

“Wait-“ Rodman declared, swiping the blood from his face. “I have a name.”

Lucy held her hand up to the guard through the glass. She turned on her heel. 

“Santiago Herman. That’s who paid me.”

Lucy pursed her lips, considering the tip, before nodding to herself and waving to be let out. They retrieve them quickly, and Dennis Rodman is left behind. Tim takes Lucy’s hand in the hall— turns it in the light to study the split in her knuckles and the quick forming bruises. 

“One hell of a swing,” he murmured. “Remind me to stay on your good side.” 

Pulling her hand free, Lucy’s expression is stealey and determined.

“Let's go. I wanna run a BCI on this Herman guy.”

Tim released her hand, gesturing for her to lead the way to the shop. A woman on a mission, she doesn’t look back to make sure Tim was following. She knew he would be right behind her. He’s never been so attracted to her. 

As they signed out and collected their belongings, Lucy flashed back to all the times she did this before. The motions have become muscle memory– tucking her duty weapon on her side, her secondary at her ankle. Walking through the doors and out to blinding sunshine. Breathing clean air with the intention of knowing it was free to her. Listening to the birds, the wind, the life around her. Typically, visitation meant also stopping to see Daisy. She was only a couple blocks away. Even without seeing Enzo, it felt wrong not stopping for her. 

Back in the shop, Lucy typed in the information onto the box. Santiago Herman, 52, lives in a 15 million dollar home in Beverly Hills. He has prior arrests for all types of low-level crime; drug possession, intent to distribute, an armed robbery that resulted in no deaths… He felt like such an odd character to be ordering hits and placing ads looking for some bodies to sell. It didn’t make total sense. 

“Anything good?” Tim asked. 

“I mean, he’s rich?” Lucy frowned. “And has a history. But parole expired in January, and he hasn’t made a peep in months.”

“Like, laying low?”

“Like, not even been logged as a sighting since last October other than his parole hearing.”

“That sounds… incorrect.”

“I agree,” Lucy clicked her seatbelt into place. “Take me back to Wilshire? I’ll do a deep dive, see if I can find anyone else who knows about him.

“Harper might. She’s been all over the LA area as a UC. There’s very few local traffickers that she doesn’t know,” Tim suggested. “You hungry? Want lunch first?”

“I should really focus on Herman…” Lucy frowned, glancing sideways at him. He sent her this look– big blue eyes, long eyelashes, softened smile and pink cheeks. It was such a Hallie face. “Fine. Quick lunch. You’re buying.”

“Gladly.” 

They pull out of the parking lot, coasting through green lights in relative quiet. Lucy studied her hand in the daylight— her golden skin starting to splotch with green and purple. One knuckle gashed, but it was a shallow graze. She uses a couple napkins from the center consoles to dab herself clean. The next intersection was rapidly approaching. Straight would take them back to the station. Left to the cemetery. Lucy felt her heart hammering in her chest with indecision. She’s already putting off work by taking a lunch. Does she have time to stop?

Does she have it in her to not?

“Can you make a left here?” Lucy murmured, just barely loud enough to hear. 

“The directions say straight.”

“Left, please,” Lucy requested again. “I need to make a pit stop.”

“Is your hand okay?” Tim stopped at the next light and took her hand again, examining the bruise more closely. The light turns green, and Tim turns as she requested. 

“No, it’s not that…” Lucy hesitated. Tim gave space for her to continue. She considered her thoughts before remembering— it's just Tim. It’s Tim.  “The… the cemetery. It’s another block up. It feels wrong to not stop, y’know?”

Tim blinked, staring forward as the entrance rapidly approached. A pit grows in his stomach at the concept. He knew the day would come. Hell, he’s known of the burial place since the incident with Charlie last year. He just… never knew of his role there. Is he supposed to embrace her, comfort her through the most devastating loss of her life? Is his presence even meaningful when she will inevitably hurt the worst pain a person can experience regardless? He turned into the driveway, his speed slowing as he let Lucy point him in the right direction. 

“Do you want me to… to let you go yourself?” Tim asked. What is the norm here? What would be supportive? Does she want space or company? Privacy or community? “Or should I-?”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Lucy recognized. “I-I know it’s my daughter, but-“

“Hey— no. It’s not about that,” Tim flubbered out. “I have nothing against your daughter. I’d- I’d be happy to meet her. I just…” Tim spared her a look before they pulled to a stop in a designated parking zone. Lucy smiled sadly. 

“Have been the parent of a sick baby?” Lucy hummed. “I know.”

With that, Lucy slid out of the shop and strolled through the rows and rows of headstones. Tim gave her a moment— just in case— before sliding out to follow. 

Have been the parent of a sick baby. Even in the depths of Hell, he never felt this. He never confronted the idea of burying her. He came to terms with the fact that he might not have had the chance to keep his daughter if things went even slightly wrong, but he never thought about what life would be after. Visiting her in the cemetery, or making a stone from her ashes? None of it would compromise to the fact that his daughter would be gone. His life would be over. 

And yet, Lucy lives on.

Lucy has asked the groundskeepers to keep the lawn a little longer around Daisy. She likes the dandelions popping up, and the lupines blowing in the wind. It adds a little life to an otherwise desolate place to sit. 

She drops to a knee at her headstone— smoothing the dirt and dust off the crest and fixing the flowers left for her. Some of her neighbors have very giving family members. Lucy’s parents have also visited a lot since learning of her resting place. 

“No flowers from me today,” Lucy murmured. “But still, I wanted to say hi.”

She heard his footsteps approach from behind. His hand falls on her shoulder as an act of comfort. She rested her own on top of it, squeezing gently. 

Tim has never seen a child’s gravestone. 

He’s not sure why he thought it would look different to everybody else’s— maybe its because it is different than everybody else. Daisy Diana Chen had one date written on her stone, but her name was just as big and bold as any other in this cemetery. Her stone is ornate with carved details. He can tell Lucy spent a pretty penny on this. He fears how much of the budget she had set aside for becoming a new mom became the budget for her daughter’s burial. 

Most of all, he’s terrified of how close it was to being him— a sick infant, months in the hospital waiting for better news. His baby not gaining weight or progressing, being told she was considered failure to thrive , being warned of the likelihood that something inevitable and unchangeable could take his baby girl from him. 

That terror he felt for months has been Lucy’s reality for nearly two years. 

“How did you pick out her headstone?” Tim asked quietly. “And… by yourself?” 

“I let the funeral director push me in any direction,” Lucy scoffed, sitting back against her heel. “He could’ve told me to entomb myself and her for the price of one. I was in another world.” Taking a breath, she moves to stand. She brushes the grass off her knees, letting Tim’s arm drape across her. “No one tells you how to do it. They give you pamphlets and support groups, but you’re never really told how to survive it. Just that you have to.”

Tim nods, squeezing her tighter. She looked him over, smiling to herself. 

“I’m surviving it the best I can,” she declared lovingly, pressing a kiss to Tim’s bicep. “And hope one day, my husband will remember to bury me in the same plot.”

“How much space did he scam you into?”

“I was a young grieving mother. Cut me some slack.”

Chapter Text

Giggles and sea breeze; the taste of red wine on her lips and Tim’s chapstick. The scent of salt and Old Spice, curly blond hair and big blue eyes. Her dreams are plagued with memories they haven’t made yet. How lucky is she? Not too long ago, dreaming of her own blood and cement floors, now dreaming of beach days and family vacations. 

Salt water turns into rich black coffee, the flurry of bouncing curls now the scratch of Tim’s stubble against her jaw. Slowly, she stirs, eyes slowly blinking open to feel Tim’s presence over her. He kissed her jaw, then her neck. His hand passed over her waist in a careful graze. She is slowly tugged from the embrace of sleep with a smile. 

“Mornin’,” Lucy mumbled as Tim’s lips touched her shoulder, then her collarbone. She forgot that she fell asleep undressed from last night’s activities.

 His unshaved face tickles her skin as his mouth trails across inch by inch of her body. Her arms slip around his shoulders, but his head dipped down to pepper kisses along her ribcage and belly, evading her arrest. A pleased sigh tumbled from her mouth, and Tim smirked against her skin. 

“Do we have time?” Lucy murmured sleepily, smiling as his hands press against her knees, slotting his own body between her legs. He bit the inside of her thigh. “If we don’t… can we make some?”

Tim responded eagerly with the nip and suckle of her body in whatever way her body reacted best to. His hair was too short to pull– devastating, truly. She might ban him from haircuts for a while. Clearly he doesn’t know what’s best for him. 

“Did you put coffee on?” her eyebrows furrow in a brief realization of what that beautiful smell was. He hummed in confirmation. “Are you buttering me up?”

When he doesn’t respond, Lucy pushed on his head and tugged him up to her level. He pecked her lips, but Lucy didn’t forget the question. 

“What are you about to ask for?” Lucy sighed, a leg hooking around his body. “You don’t have to stop everything. Just talk too.”

Chuckling, he pressed against her with a slow but steady force. Lucy tucked her face into his neck, breathing in that salt and old spice again. Those dreams were rapidly coming to fruition. 

“I can’t spoil you?” he asked in response, his own voice taut and tense. Lucy raked her nails along his spine, earning a shiver. 

“You can. You definitely can.”

Her morning is handed to her on a silver platter. Morning sex is followed by a shower together– his typically rough hands smooth against the suds on her body as they soak in the heat of hot water. The shower turns into a coffee and served breakfast, too. Her kitchen smells delicious, like savory and sweet all in the same. 

They slept at her place last night. Hallie was dropped off at her aunts, and they made a mess of her apartment. You couldn’t tell– Tim must’ve cleaned too. Lucy sat in one of the bar stools, watching with wonder and admiration as Tim made her coffee perfect– as always. 

“So what is it really?” Lucy asked with a smirk. “You can spoil me all you want, but this…?” She raised an eyebrow. “You want something.”

“You expect the worst of me,” Tim declined. Lucy didn’t back down. “Fine.”

“Out with it.”

“I was thinking…” Tim said slowly, looking as though he’s about to propose some incredulous scheme. “We spend the night a lot.”

“We do,” Lucy chuckled. 

“Most nights, in fact…” Tim continued slowly. 

“Yeah…”

“So I was wondering if… just throwing it out there– maybe…? Maybe we should consider… consider living together. Cohabitating. I don’t know-”

She saw the lead up a mile away. She could’ve told you it was coming long before he asked. Still, though, she’s speechless. She hadn’t planned a response for this. She hadn’t considered what would come next. Was that the next step for them? Lucy only just moved into this apartment— it feels so odd to abandon her. 

“Hey, this is… low pressure,” Tim said, squeezing her arm. “If you don’t want to yet-“

“I do,” Lucy said suddenly, blinking herself back to reality. “I’m sorry. I-I spaced. I do. I want to-to do that. I just…” Lucy’s eyes skim her kitchen, and she shrugs. “I don’t know how to not have somewhere safe to go and… get a. I lost my last apartment and stumbled my way in here. We-we just lost Jackson, and I know I’m hardly here, but… but I like knowing here is… here.”

“Okay,” Tim frowned, clearly getting confused but trying to be patient. “Listen, think it over. I just think it would be a good idea if we started having your shampoo in my bathroom. Or my deodorant in yours.” 

“Mhm,” Lucy said with a shy smile. “God forbid you smell like lavender.”

Despite her less than enthusiastic response, Tim hadn’t let up on spoiling her. He washed dishes and cleaned up when she went to get dressed. He made her a lunch, making sure to slip a candy from her sweets jar into the bag.

Wide leg jeans with healed ankle boots highlight her legs, the click of her steps audible as she slid out the door. A sweater innocently tucked into her pants, and a few accessories made her look effortlessly put together and sleek. Lucy sank into the passenger seat and does her makeup in the car while he drives. 

“What would you say if I just… brought my stuff over and stayed, but still kept my apartment? Maybe I can sublet it to Tamara, keep a room for myself there?” Lucy proposed as she swiped on mascara. 

“I… I suppose that would work?” Tim hummed back. He seemed… off. Lucy couldn’t figure out why— he just did. There was an edge to his voice despite his otherwise reassuring statements. “Would you be leaving half your stuff there in case you need to stay? Or split your wardrobe? Make it a vacation home?”

“I don’t know,” Lucy exhaled. “You’re right. I’ll think it through today. I’m on surveillance, so I’ll need something to think about.” 

“On Herman?”

“Yeah. We’ve been watching the residence for a while— two weeks now? No motion in or out of the house until last night when a van showed up. Someone went into the house, no one has come out yet. No noise, either.”

“Okay. If you need any assistance from patrol, I’ll have extra units in the neighboring area,” he offered. 

“I’d appreciate it,” Lucy said, her hand ghosting along the bones in the back of his. He glanced at her, a shy smile appearing on his face, a blush coating his cheeks. 

She’s efficient at doing her makeup in the car, anticipating every pothole and speed bump. He starts off warning her, but soon realizes that she had it covered regardless. What an impressive woman. What can’t she do?

When they arrived at the station, Lucy parted ways with a brief kiss in the parking lot before steering herself directly toward a Sally Port to pick up her vehicle. Tim watched her go straight toward Lopez, wasting no time in hoping in the car and peeling off to hit the road. Tim forced himself to carry on, despite his heart residing in her hands halfway across town. 

Why doesn’t she want to move in with him? Is it a speed thing? Is it too soon for her? Is it Hallie? Is it too much commitment too soon? As far as Tim could tell, they were moving in a direction that was growing unstoppable. Once a subject is in motion, it’s pretty freaking difficult to stop without equal or significant force, and he had no idea how to pull the breaks now. 

She’s a detective. She’s got her career ahead of her. Her life is her work. Is Tim asking too much of her when she’s in the thick of it? Is he expecting too much in the midst of her healing journey? What does he do now?

“12:04 PM, no movement or noise inside,” Lucy said outloud into her recorder. “Utility van still on sight.”

She turns it off and sits back in the drivers seat. She itches at her neck and pulls at her collar– the stress from this morning was finally hitting her. Moving in. Are they there now? Is that really the stage they’re at? She’s anticipating mornings like today's for the rest of her life– breakfast, and perfect coffees. Showering together, lazy sex whenever they can steal the time off the clock. She has no reason to not want any of it. She has no reason to say no. She’s getting handed a beautiful, easy life on a silver platter, and yet her stomach is turning like it was made of mercury, poisoning the meal that should, in theory, fill her desire. 

“You should tell him yes,” Lopez said after a while. Lucy had apprised her of the situation on the drive to the location– Lopez, having little advice to give, just nodded and listened. Finally, though, she had a response. “Sure. Keep your apartment. It’s like a second home. A getaway. It’s closer to the beach than Tim’s. Sublet it or something, make passive income, and use it when needed.”

“Is that weird though?” Lucy groaned. “He seemed… offput.”

“He probably is wondering if it’s your way of getting out of it,” Lopez scoffed. “Honestly? If Wesley told me he wanted to keep his apartment and live with me, I would think he had one foot out the door, but he wanted to let me down gently.”

“But that’s not the case at all,” Lucy argued. “I love Tim. I love him. I just… God forbid something goes wrong. God forbid I-I need a little space to… to not be someone’s girlfriend, y’know? Is retreating into a little bit of silence so bad?”

“Maybe?” Lopez said back. “He might take it as you running from him.”

“Oh.”

But that’s not the case, Lucy wants to argue. She’s not running from Tim. The apartment isn’t to get away from him. It’s to get away from the world. It’s a place she knows where she can lock the door, and a place where she knows all the blindspots, and it’s a place she laid low when the rest of the world felt too scary. Tim can come with her. He can have the keys. He can sit in those blind spots and hold her hand. She just needs to… to still feel safe. 

How does she explain that, though? How does she tell him that it’s not about him? That he’s not her danger to run from? 

“Lights on,” Lopez gestured. Lucy glanced up. Sure enough… Lucy switched on the recorder again. 

“12:10 PM. Movement in the unit. Lights on in the south-east of the home.” Lucy waits for a moment longer, waiting for someone to pass by the window. A minute, then two, then, finally… “Confirmed one subject inside. Male, approximately 5’10, 200 pounds. Identity unknown.”

“We need a name on that guy,” Lopez murmured. “Who do we have for known associates?”

“No one on his good side,” Lucy sighed. “Herman is a… well, a hermit. He’s been out of sight for a while. He’s estranged from his children, most known contacts have disavowed him. The moment I mention the name with our friends in lockup, they spill. Sounds like Herman is a very… controversial guy. Cut ties once his parole was up.”

“Going straight?”

“Never. These guys bleed violence.”

Using her scope, she peered through the window, studying the figure. He passes by the curtain, exposing more features. Recorder clicks on. “Further description of subject. Dark, short hair, full eyebrows. Tattoo on left cheekbone. Undistinguishable mark on neck— possibly a burn or scar.” 

“Running it through the system,” Lopez murmured, typing rapidly, clicking through pages of known associates. “Doug Berger?”

“No, Berger has more tattoos,” Lucy scowled. “I don’t recognize him. Cross reference with arrests that weren’t my investigations.”

“Eliminating your friends…” More clicking. More typing. Lopez scratches her head, using her own scope to take a look at the figure. He disappears from sight after a few seconds. “I don’t know, Chen. He could be anyone. He could be no one.”

“Nobody is no one,” Lucy murmured, pulling out her phone and shooting a text to Tim. 

“What are you doing?”

“Seeing what a little noise does…” Lucy suggested, hitting send and sitting back. 

Within five minutes, she heard the sirens. As asked, Tim sent a unit, full volume, in their direction. Rapidly approaching from around the block, Lucy and Lopez both turn their attention to the house again. The curtains draw. A face pressed to the glass, looking for the source. At the sight of lights approaching, the man dropped down low and out of view. Lucy took a deep breath. 

“If he bails, I’m following. You take the house.”

“Calling for backup,” Lopez agreed, patching into the radio, requesting a few units to stage around the neighborhood. Dispatch affirms the request, and slowly, officers patch into their channel. They watch the side door creek open, and the man pokes his head out. Just enough to see what the commotion was about. The unit was turning the corner sharply, sirens disappearing with it. The man makes a dash for the utility van, ducking behind it in hopes of going unnoticed. Lopez climbed out of the car, nonchalantly walking in the opposite direction to appear unthreatening. Lucy starts her car, watching the van slowly pull out of the driveway and drive into the neighborhood. Lucy waits a few seconds before following, watching Lopez in her rearview mirror to make sure she safely made it to the home. 

“Backup can move in, Detective Lopez making entrance,” Lucy declared through the radio. “I need to be invisible to this guy. Don’t give me any tails.”

“Affirmative. The perimeter is established one mile out. Are we letting the suspect pass?” Bradford’s voice sounds over the radio in response. Lucy felt her heart skip a beat. 

“Waiting on word from Lopez.”

Two lefts, then straight. They hop on a main road, and Lucy falls behind just enough to stay out of sight. Her phone rings with Lopez’s contact as the suspect takes another left. The likelihood of being spotted far outweighed the chance of stealthily surveilling. 

“Hey, be fast,” Lucy requested. “I’m about to be made.”

“I have a body,” Lopez said back, her voice thick with the mucus and disgust of a decomposing corpse. “Been dead a while.”

“And there’s no chance our suspect didn’t see him?”

“I smelled it before I breached,” Lopez muttered. “It’s… it’s brutal. And front and center of the home.”

“At minimum, failure to report a dead body. Thanks,” Lucy hung up, grabbing her radio. “Dispatch, I’m being made. Suspect is turning left on East 61st from San Pedro. DB confirmed on sight in the target house. Move in backup on both my and Detective Lopez’s location. Attempting to stop suspect now— this is gonna get ugly.”

Flipping her lights, she lets the red and blue flash from her windscreen. The detectives vehicles are lowkey with their sirens, but it was enough to signal he needed to stop. At the recognition of what was behind him, he stomped on the gas. His tires squeal to life as he ran, but Lucy was on his ass. Another unit turns onto the street with them. Then two. Lucy keeps close but lets the armored cars take on the van. 

Not far ahead, the suspect sticks something out the window. In a flash, she realizes exactly what it was. He had a gun, and he wasted no time in firing a few rounds at the shop riding on his side. The shop jerked, flipping, and crashing to the side. 

“Officers under fire! Patrol car number 9-0-5 overturned on East 61st. One unit hang behind to assist.” 

“Copy, RA en route.”

“Get me an airship, too,” Lucy demanded. “Before I have no choice but to lose this guy.”

It didn’t matter. Despite her request, at the end of 61st was an intersection, and the suspect showed no signs of stopping. He plowed through traffic, striking a sedan, then an SUV, and landing against a building. Lucy and the neighboring patrolmen swung around to a stop, rapidly clearing the area as best as they can. Lucy kept low to the ground, gun drawn as she approached the van. 

“Suspect! Put your hands out of the vehicle where we can see them!” Lucy ordered. There’s no movement. “Do it now!”

Shakily, a set of fingertips pass through the window. Lucy inched closer. 

“Both hands! Now!” 

It takes no more than a second— the tremor to his hands going still, the lack of movement in the cab. Lucy knew what was coming before it happened. She shouts for everybody to duck, last to move down herself. A spray of bullets rain on the intersection, civilians running and screaming, the other cars involved in the accident shielding themselves with nothing but their broken bodies, and Lucy, forced to take cover against the suspect’s own van. She pants for air, back pressed against the back doors. She yanks on her radio. 

“Dispatch, I need everyone mobilized for a mass casualty event. We’re going to be looking at a lot of bodies of we don’t slow him down now. I need airship, backup, and at least… three RA’s for GSW victims. Standby.”

She’s dangerously close— her back against his taillight, the only thing saving her being the door into the vehicle itself. If she dodges left, she’s out in the open. Dodge right, she’s running in front of half a dozen innocent civilians all scrambling to run away from the scene. Lucy checks her gun for ammunition. Her gastank was full, all she had to do was drive. 

Across the way, patrolmen were lining the edges of the street. If their friend decided to drive off, chances of escape are slim to none. Lucy stole a few deep breaths. 

“I know you wanna get out of here alive as much as I do,” Lucy called out. “But the only way to do that is if you throw out your weapon and give yourself up. Every other scenario ends with you and me both dead. So think really hard about what choice you’re gonna make.” 

Silence follows. Lucy braces herself for whatever moment comes next.

“I didn’t kill him,” the man barked back, keeping low in the cab. Lucy watched a tactical officer move in, a smoke bomb at hand to toss in the window. He damn near crawled toward the passengers side of the truck. 

“I can believe you. But you did just shoot at a bunch of cops, so…” Lucy said with a hint of arrogance, as if to remind the criminal he’s lucky to get this conversation. “My name is Lucy. What’s yours?”

He scoffs. A moment of silence later, he announced: “Randy.”

A quiet murmur over the radio relays that to command to get a search going. Lucy had a feeling this Randy fella was smarter than that, though. He was plotting, and Lucy could hear the cogs turning in his head. She needed to get him in cuffs now, because the longer he has to plan, the more likely it is he comes out on top. 

Lucy flagged the tactical officer on the opposite end of the van, pulling the safety on her gun. The officer pulls the pin and chucks it into the van via the back door. They slam it shut and dive out of the way as bullets start spraying again. His foot laid on the gas, his vehicle thrown in whatever gear he could manage. The back of the van plows into her— hard enough to send her to the ground, but luckily not crushing her. She stays down as the van peels off desperately but is stopped instantly by a barricade, then a fire hydrant, and finally: two tasers shot through the windows. 

Lucy grunted in pain as she picked herself off the asphalt. She was glued there, every inch of her body aching and her skin sticky and warm with blood. She brushed the gravel out of her palms uncomfortably, blinking herself back to reality when the nearest officer ran up to her. 

“Detective? Are you okay? Can you tell me what year it is?”

“I’m fine,” Lucy pushed his attention away. “Help me up.”

“We should wait for EMS to evaluate,” the officer insisted. “Please. I don’t wanna get written up for mistreatment of a coworker.”

Rolling her eyes, Lucy let him call the shots— just long enough to radio his request for an RA unit and the flagging down of the scene supervisor. Lucy glanced up, and her shoulders dropped. Tim took a knee in front of her, taking her arm into his palm. He turned it over and grimaced. Lucy followed his attention, locating a very obvious chunk of flesh missing from her bicep. She was a little past nicked by a bullet, gushing blood down her arm and burning with pure heat. She hadn’t even noticed until he did. 

“Gonna put some pressure on it, it’s not gonna feel great,” Tim warned. Lucy nods, biting her cheek as Tim pressed a thick wad of gauze over her exposed muscle. She hissed through her teeth, but otherwise let Tim do his job. 

“What hurts the most?” He asked, his voice rolling through her like fog. He snaps his fingers to pull her back. “Luce. What hurts the most?” 

Well, her arm hurts now that she knows what's happened to it. Her bicep felt like molten lava, her bones like creaking channels bending to the heat. She blinks a few times, trying to focus her vision in front of her. Tim let out a small sigh as her body leaned forward, head resting against his shoulder for support. 

“Easy. Easy…” Tim hesitated, wondering the line when they’re on the clock, sat in front of an army of officers and rescuers alike. The feeling passes quickly as he felt some of her blood soak through his uniform. He checked the back and sides of her head for the source, finding a gash on her head, but feeling relatively shallow. She sat back up, wincing away from the touch. Tim caught her by the arm to keep her from resisting. “I know. It doesn’t feel great. But stay still, okay?”

Nodding, Lucy felt her head swirl with a rush of dizziness. Helplessly, a giggle bubbled up in her. Tim’s eyes were wide, his jaw tense, and he almost looked appalled that she was laughing about this. Lucy sniffled, wincing at the pain in her arm, but laughs a little harder. 

“Lucy, this isn’t funny,” Tim said back, eyebrows raised, but a smile begging its way to the surface of his face, too. “You’re hurt. It’s not funny.”

“It’s not,” Lucy snickered, running a bloody hand over her face. “Ow.”

“You’re being a freak. Stop,” Tim groaned. “Are you concussed?”

“I got hit by a car,” Lucy stated. “How insane is that?”

“Yeah, it’s insane,” Tim murmured, reaching up and pushing her hair out of her face. He frowned at the pinkness flushing her cheeks. “You’re going into shock. Breathe, baby.”

Nodding, she closes her eyes, trying to stuff the urge to continue laughing at her predicament deep down in her gut. She was lightheaded, and her chest hurt, and she focused on Tim– breathe, baby. His silk voice, his rough hands. Pressure on her arm and the back of her head. She could smell his breath if she really focused. 

“What do we have?” a paramedic asked, setting their bag down and joining Tim beside her. A stretcher accompanied them, but Lucy waved it off just from the sound alone. They didn’t pay her any attention. The paramedic and Tim spoke to one another, trading off hands so Tim could hold hers. When the stretcher came up beside her, she shot Tim a glare. 

“I can get up there myself,” she said, a threatening undertone in her voice. Tim rolled his eyes, offering a hand of support as she pushed herself up. She took it for leverage before sinking down. A wave of ache and discomfort crashes over her, as well as nausea. The adrenaline finally caught up to her. Eyes closed, she lays back against it, keeping a tight grip on Tim’s hand. “Okay. Fine. I’m here. I’m not moving again.” 

“She’s getting pale. Do you have a blue bag?” Tim asked anyone who would listen. A paramedic came in clutch, perfectly timed for when the energy and anxiety of the past hour finally rose in her throat. Tim gathered her hair into a ponytail as she vomited. “There it is. You’re alright.”

“She’s probably concussed. I’ll call in a CT at St. Stephens,” a paramedic said back. Leaning into their own radio, they state, “Dispatch, we have a pedestrian versus vehicle headed to St. Stephen. Victim is showing signs of concussion and some deep lacerations, but otherwise conscious and stable.”

“Respectfully, I’m a detective, not a victim,” Lucy mumbled, her voice hardly audible with the headache pressing through her. Tim chuckled, squeezing her arm. 

“I’ll follow right behind you,” Tim said. “You okay to ride alone?”

“Mhm…” Lucy grimaced. “I’m great.”

“Okay. I’ll see you at St. Stephens,” Tim said, leaning down to kiss a part of her face not coated in blood. Lucy didn’t know just how rough it looked yet, and she couldn’t find it in her to care. She struggled to let go of his hand. “I’ll be right behind the ambulance. You’re in good hands. Jimmy has pulled a bullet out of my ribcage while still under fire.”

“Okay,” Lucy nodded. His desire to comfort her was admirable. He had the best of intentions, even if it meant leaving her with strangers for a few minutes. “Okay.”

This Jimmy guy was plenty friendly the entire ride there— how did you meet Sergeant Bradford? Y’all been together long? Hallie’s a cutie— little things in an effort to distract her while he placed an IV and pushed a unit of morphine for the discomfort. She relaxed into the stretcher and succumbed to whatever it was she needed to do to get out of here. Upon arrival at the ER, she’s whisked into a trauma room with a handful of staff. One was dedicated to her bicep, examining the damage in the limited seconds before it pooled with blood again. She covered it again, murmuring to the note-taker in the corner that they would do standard suture procedure before moving on to the next gash to assess whether it can be glued or even just bandaged. A third individual was drawing unit after unit of blood. They might as well do the full panel for the IA investigations, so Lucy makes a quiet mention of that, too. Her eyes were closed, head hanging heavily. Just breathe through it. She throws up again, this time into a bucket a nurse managed to stick under her in the scrap of time. 

When the novacaine was injected through the skin and muscle around her wound, she grunted softly from the discomfort. She squeezed the padding of the mattress, chewing the inside of her mouth raw, getting wave of dizziness after dizziness, vertigo and complete exhaustion begging her to resume laying down. 

They stitch her arm and the back of her head, as well as a slice in her palm from something sharp in the street. They pull more vials to test her for any transmittable diseases and stick her with a tetanus shot— just in case. The second they let her lay down though, she does. She puts her head back against the mattress, and she tried to get comfortable despite her aching… well, everything. The morphine was such a light dose, Lucy wondered if it would ever fully kick in. 

“Lucy Chen? Looking for Detective Lucy Chen. Rescue 18 brought her in a few minutes ago-“ Tim approached the desk. The nurse stammered in an effort to ask his name— patient confidentiality and all. Lucy leaned against the bed rail to poke her head in the doorway. 

“He’s mine,” Lucy called out croakily to the woman at the desk. She breathed a short sigh before gesturing him toward her door. He was already three steps ahead of her. “Hi.”

“Are you okay?” He asked, the glaze over his irises, the redness in the whites— his hand was tremoring as it took hers. “Anything broken?”

“My ego?” Lucy scoffed, closing her eyes. “I hurt. I am not fighting anyone on anything.”

“That bad?” Tim frowned. “Do you want me to see if they can get you something?”

“After all my labs I can get some more,” she murmured. “I don’t know. I feel ancient. The morphine barely touches this headache.”

“You literally got hit by a car. No- a van. You took a nasty fall and a bullet to the arm. You get to complain about it.” He squeezed her hand, sinking down into a chair at her side. He scooted it closer, watching over her studiously. Tucked under the ambulance blanket, she fumbles around for her phone. It’s been lost in the shuffle of her torn up clothes and the hospital gown. “What?”

“My phone. I need to see what’s going on with the investigation.”

“Lucy, Lopez is all over it-“

“I need to know the ID of the body. What if it’s Herman? Where do I go next?” 

“Home. You’re gonna do what they tell you and go home. Let Angela work her magic.”

“Her magic is our magic, first of all,” Lucy winces as another wave of vertigo hits. She closed her eyes, and Tim scoffed. “Don’t say a word.”

“No comment.”

They’re laying there for a while— the staff was busy tending to more urgent cases that followed her in. Eventually, though, a surgical intern slipped in the room, a resident over her shoulder, offering a polite smile. 

“I’m gonna do your stitches, if you’ll allow,” she stated. Lucy sighed and nodded. “I’m gonna have to ask your guest to step out just for a few minutes. You can rejoin us after she’s finished getting patched up.”

“Yeah… yeah, okay,” Tim frowned. “Wave me down if you need me.”

“I’m brave,” Lucy murmured teasingly, welcoming the kiss to her temple. “I don’t need a bodyguard from a few stitches.”

“Mhm. I’ll be in the hall.”

Lucy watched him leave with a sad smile, relaxing in an effort to let the intern stitch her up. The sooner she was cleaned off, the sooner she can get out of here. The resident flicked through Lucy’s paperwork with a frown. 

“Your bloodwork came back funky. The lab wants me to run a few things by you.”

“If it’s the anemia, I know. I’ve been bad on taking my supplements.” 

“Well, yes. Please do that more. But no— your HcG levels— they were hovering around 5,000 units. Your blood test states you’re approximately 4-5 weeks pregnant. Were you aware of this?”

Stunned into silence, Lucy stared at the doctor without an inkling of recognition on her face. HcG levels, 5,000, 4-5 weeks pregnant— the earlier desire to giggle comes back, but she gagged it down. 

“N-No,” Lucy’s hands were crushing in her own grip. “Are you sure? I was told after my loss— it wasn’t supposed to be an easy process.”

“I can rerun the test if it would help you?” The intern suggested. “Or grab you a pregnancy test to administer yourself here.”

“Yeah. Yes, please,” Lucy frowns, suddenly uncomfortable with the idea of Tim’s eyes just at the end of the hallway. He shouldn’t know. Not yet. 

Right? 

Don’t get his hopes up. Don’t broach a bigger topic that might not even be true. They barely mentioned it in passing a few weeks back— kids, down the line. A wedding maybe. He asked her to move in today. These were going to be gradual steps— things they would stumble upon in the future, eventually. 

Her day started with the offer to move in, and is ending with a whole new person involved. 

When they finish off on her stitches, the intern ducks out to the nurses station, grabs a test, and brings it back to bestow upon her. Lucy’s fingers closed around the blue packaging, her grip suddenly familiar with what this felt like in her hand. She did this two years ago. She’s been here before.  

“We’ll give you some privacy, tell your… friend… that he can come back in a few minutes?” The resident offered. Lucy murmured the briefest confirmation before sliding into a bathroom. 

There’s no time to waste. She doesn’t sit and stare herself down in the mirror. She doesn’t let herself picture the possibility just yet. She’s still just Lucy. Clumsy, risky, aching Lucy. 

Who’s been nauseous all day long. 

Who’s more tired than ever before. 

She took the test, but she knew before the answer came up that it was true. She was pregnant again. She was 5 weeks pregnant, and now… and now they have to live with that. She has to live with that. 

She watches the test turn within moments— there was enough HcG in her body to make color wash over the results within the first minute. She caps the test, taking slow, shaking breaths. She turns her face to the ceiling in an effort to blink back tears, but they instead roll down her ears instead. 

She’s… She’s having a baby. 

Stuffing the test into her pocket, she finally confronted her reflection. Using paper towels and handsoap, she washed most of the blood off her skin— the only messes being the back of her head and her arm where a couple fresh bandages covered her stitches. She pulled her hair up in an effort to get it out of the way of her tears, snot, and nervous fingers that were sure to plague her for the next several days. She can already feel the tears returning as she goes to exit the bathroom. Leaning on the wall beside the door was, of course, her sweet man, who was about to have his world turned upside down. 

“Hey,” he stood straighter, frowning. “You okay? Why are you crying?” 

Lucy held her arms out for an embrace, giving into the temptation to let her hurt soak in. She’s sore, and she’s tired, and she’s pregnant. Tim asked her to move in this morning, and she got hit by a car, and she’s seven weeks pregnant. Tim, unknowingly, takes her into his arms, accepting the tight hold and tears on his shoulder. After a long minute, he continues;

“Let’s get you to sit down,” he suggested. “C’mon. Back in the room. Let’s wait for someone to clear you and I’ll take you home.”

“Is Lopez still at the house with the body?” Lucy asked tiredly, letting him guide her back into the ER bay, taking her straight to the bed. She sank down, aching, her eyes slowly lifting to meet his. “Is Lieutenant Grey aware?” 

“Everything is being handled. You focus on you,” Tim insisted, sitting down on the edge of the bed beside her. “What hurts? Do you need pain meds?” 

Lucy shook her head, running a hand over her face. How does she say it? How does she tell him? Will he be happy? Scared? Upset? Will he stay? Will he want to make it work? 

Can they make it work?

“Luce…” Tim reached out, a hand on her thigh. “Talk to me.” 

She reached into her pocket, fist closing around the test. An iron grip on it, she avoided eye contact, avoided even looking in his direction. She’s saying a silent prayer that, no matter what, everything works out. 

“My labs came back with some… unexpected news,” Lucy said shakily, sniffling. Pulling the test out, she looks at it herself. Two lines. Clear as day. She turns it over in her fingers for a few moments, considering the response. Tim was silent, staring down at her palms. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean for this to…” her voice chokes up, and Tim reminds himself to breathe. He slipped an arm around her. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, hey- no,” Tim hushed, hugging her towards his chest. She fell into him without a second thought. “No. You have nothing to be sorry for. You did nothing wrong. Come here.” 

Covering her face with her hands, she lets the test fall in his lap. She cries— quiet, sniffly, scared cries. The cries that come from a woman who’s lost too much. The cries that come from grief, and pain, and fear. The cries that splatter with little pieces of excitement, under the surface. Deep under. Tim set the test aside, arms winding around her fully and focused on pampering her with his attention and affection. He kissed the crown of her head, and he stroked her hair, and she squeezed around him every time she hiccuped. 

“We can do this,” Tim whispered into her hair. “If you want to, we can do it.” 

“I’m so scared,” she sobbed in response. “I-I can’t do it again. I can’t lose her again.”

Tim couldn’t fathom where Lucy’s mind was. Maybe she was back in her Topanga apartment, standing in front of a mirror after her first positive pregnancy test. Maybe she’s celebrating with Enzo, thinking of baby names and nurseries. Maybe she’s in a cold warehouse, alone, even that miracle she had disappeared from her life. Maybe she’s standing at the headstone of her daughter’s grave, terrified of going through it all again. I can’t lose her again. She can’t lose Daisy one more time. She can’t lose something she wants like this. 

“I got you,” Tim exhaled, stealing himself of his own worries and fears. He can think about that later. “You’re safe. I got you.” 

They’re left like that for a while– the staff don’t interrupt Lucy’s moment of weakness, or Tim’s protection over her heart. Officers stay clear of the room, too. Tim focused all his energy on her– on categorizing all her stitches, and polishing his thumb over a bruise, and thinking about the fact that there were, technically, two people tangled up in his embrace. She takes a while to calm down– she focuses on breathing, and on cleaning her cheeks of tears, and she tries so hard to be normal about it. 

“This can be a good thing,” Tim said gently as she pulled back, eyes bloodshot but dry. She nods in agreement. “We can make this a good thing.”

“I want it to be a good thing,” Lucy said back, sniffling. “God– I-I want to be happy. I want to be excited. I just…” Her gaze lingers on his, her jaw trembling. “What if we mess up?”

“Then we mess up, and… and we apologize to them for messing up, and then…” Tim shrugged. “We keep trying to make it work.”

“What if-if we just messed up today? What if I ruined it already?” She continued. “What if it’s too late?”

“We can’t… we can’t start like that. We can’t start off stressing about mistakes or work. You… you’ll take it easy for a while, we’ll keep an eye on everything… and we’ll come out of it.”

“It’s terrible timing,” Lucy reminded. “My-my parents barely met you. We’re still finding our footing.”

“Whatever happens, we’re doing it together,” Tim replied instantaneously. “Whatever you need, whatever you want. We’re gonna make it work. We’re gonna be okay.”

They couldn’t possibly do this right now— not with how chaotic the world is. How are they supposed to raise a baby in this life of theirs? How do they do this? What will happen when she’s relentlessly sick, or when she’s so tired she can barely shower each night? What will happen when Hallie realizes she’s not an only child? What will happen when Lucy holds a baby of her own for the first time, with a mixture of her eyes and Tim’s nose. 

She’s getting a second chance at life– being thrusted into it without a chance to turn back, but antsy to see how it will play out. She’s pregnant– her and Tim are having a baby. Unexpected, but… maybe she’s a little excited, too.

Chapter Text

She’s painted in purple and red. 

Tim took her to his place to stay that night. She didn’t have it in her to argue– she was exhausted, and sore, and she desperately needed to crawl into bed and sleep. Harper gave her tomorrow off, despite her protests. She supposed it was a blessing in disguise, because she woke up miserable. 

The nausea from yesterday that she wrote off as anxiety, stress, and a concussion, hit in full force this morning. She woke after 9:00 AM, which is an impressive feat for her, but tumbled out of bed to make it to the bathroom in time to throw up. Tim heard the commotion and came to find the source of the noise, frowning at the sight of Lucy on her knees in front of the toilet. He came up behind her with a careful raking motion to pull the hair out of her eyes. He crouched down behind her, a hand passing over her spine. She didn’t have much in her system— she wasn’t very hungry last night— but she dry heaved well passed when she had cleared her stomach. She kept her head down as Tim went to get her some water and a wet washcloth. She wipes her face and uses the water to rinse her mouth, too exhausted to stand up. Tim leans against the door frame, eyebrows raised. 

“What can I do?” He asked. Lucy shook her head distantly, putting her head in her hands to block out the light. “I can run a bath?”

And that’s how she got here— soaking in a warm tub. Apparently pregnant people shouldn’t bathe in hot water, which Lucy was not impressed with, but she sufficed for the warmth and relaxation. Tim let her be, and she rested easily with slowly loosening muscles and a relaxing digestive system. 

Her legs were all bruises. Half her torso, too. Her hands are covered in scrapes, and the stitches on her arm were bandaged up. She took care to rinse the stitches in her head, too— gentle rinse with the water, avoiding any aggressive scrubbing, and rebandaging when she climbs out of the tub. She only had the energy for a shirt and a clean pair of underwear, her hair up in a towel and her travel-sized body lotion calling her name from her side of his bed. 

Tim comes in the room shortly behind her, watching her hands smooth the lotion over her aching legs, hands, and arms. He smiled sadly at the sight. 

“Are you going to work today?” Lucy asked with a frown. He approached the bed, nodding for her to lay back and accepting her legs into his lap. His hands effortlessly pick up where she left off. His fingers are precise in kneading around the aches in her knees and swell to one of her ankles from rolling it. She tucked an arm under her head. 

“I took the day to stay back with you,” he said softly.  “I didn’t want to leave you alone right now. I figured it might be a good chance to… y’know… talk?”

Lucy let out a long breath. She knew it would be coming— especially now. It didn’t make her any more excited for the conversation. 

“I can’t get rid of my apartment. Not-not yet,” Lucy said slowly. “I need my hidey hole. I need somewhere familiar while I figure out so much new.” 

“It’s not about whether or not you have the apartment, Luce,” Tim said back, pressing against a muscle in her thigh that makes her whole body shiver when its massaged. “It’s about making sure we’re together. I don’t want you running from me. I understand wanting something familiar but I need to… to see you in the morning when I wake up. I need to know you ate breakfast before work, and if you’re particularly sick that day. You can have your hidey hole but I need to know I can follow you there if I’m worried about you.”

She supposed it wasn’t ideal— running off and sticking her head in the sand whenever she doesn’t want to be a grown up. Her therapist has been on a life mission to make her more trusting, more community driven, make her feel safe in being seen again. And here comes Tim, a man who loves so wholly, and is terrified of being lost without her. 

“Is this how I get to be treated when I move in with you?” Lucy asked with a raised eyebrow, smiling sleepily as his thumb slid along the back of her knee. He leaned down, kissing a scrape on her kneecap, smiling up at her. 

“Is that a yes?”

“Only if you made breakfast.”

“I have fantastic news, then,” Tim broke out into a grin, setting her leg down and crawling his way up the bed to kiss her. She accepted the first peck before whispering a reminder that she had thrown up not even an hour ago. He shook his head, kissing her again. “Breakfast in bed?”

“Because I said yes?”

“Because you’re pregnant, and got hit by a car, and got shot, and maybe a little because you said yes," he smirked. “I’ll be back.”

“Thank you.”

She lays back, getting the pillows comfortable behind her and watching through the doorway, barely a sliver of Tim moving through the kitchen visible from this angle. Still, she could tell he was frantically assembling a beautiful arrangement of carbs, fruits, proteins, and sweetness to satisfy her. She wonders how early he had to wake up to do all this. She wonders if this is what a partner is supposed to do in the face of so many life events— lay on even more love. 

He comes back down the hall a few minutes later with a tray, recently dusted according to the scent of woodpolish, with both of their breakfasts and coffees on it. 

“I wasn’t sure how you felt about caffeine right now, but I can always get you something else if you don’t want coffee.”

“Tim, women have been pushing out babies for centuries. I will be drinking my coffee,” Lucy scoffed. “Three sugars?”

“Always.”

She smiles, taking the first sip of richness, the caffeine seeping into her bloodstream and revitalizing her after a rough start to the morning. She was more careful last time— when she first found out she was pregnant, she became a full blown athlete in an effort to be healthy. It wasn’t until losing Daisy, months into their torture, long after Lucy had already been put through hell, that she realized she wasted those early cravings on trying to be perfect. She’s gonna drink a damn coffee. 

“Okay, so what rules… are we following?” Tim inquired casually, picking at some of his eggs but not yet eating them as he waited for her reply. “What’s your stance on sleepovers? Punishments? Boyfriends and girlfriends when they’re older?”

Rolling her eyes, Lucy pats the bed beside her, forcing Tim to relax just the same. Their food sat between them, and Lucy allows herself to taste the cinnamon roll first, just for the sake of selfishness. Tim settles as he slowly realizes— Lucy wasn’t terrified of these talks. This wasn’t a make-or-break scenario. This is two soon to be parents planning their lives. 

“No drugs or alcohol, obviously. I won’t be riding any caffeine highs, either. I’m just… gonna give myself grace to enjoy it this time. Drink my morning coffee, allow myself to relax a little, and keep living life,” Lucy takes another bite. Tim nods slowly. 

“We’re making sure everyone is vaccinated before they come near the baby though, right?”

“Oh, yeah. Everyone might be wearing masks for the first year. Don’t give me any reason to see this kid in a hospital,” Lucy looked longingly at her coffee again. What will it feel like— giving birth to a baby she can keep? Seeing their baby in a newborn hat and swaddle, full cheeks and puckered lips… “Was… was Hallie’s condition… genetic?” 

“Her heart condition was inherited from her Mom’s side,” Tim sighed. “The lung problems, the prematurity, all of that… was Izzy’s drug problem.”

“How are you not furious about that?” Lucy frowned. “I… I don’t know how you’re able to just… forgive.”

“I don’t. She was a smart woman. She had every out there was. And it still took Hallie in the hospital twice for anything to be done about it,” Tim met Lucy’s eyes. “But that’s still her Mom. And Iz still gave Hallie life. When she’s safe, and stable…? I just… I want Hallie to have all her opportunities open.” 

Her heart flutters in her throat, her shoulders falling and a pout on her lips. 

“You are… the most selfless person I know,” Lucy decided in a hush. “I picked good.”

“You have a good gut instinct somewhere in there,” he teased. “Okay. When do we want to tell Hallie? How do we want to tell Hallie?”

By the end of the day, Lucy had made an appointment with her OBGYN, had an emergency session with her therapist over the phone, and gone through a dozen baby names for both boys and girls. Seven weeks– thats barely anything. She felt silly for being so invested this fast. She sobbed over the news yesterday, but today she found herself staring in the mirror a little longer, and laying in Tim’s lap as they dreamed of a pretty future with a crib and boxes of diapers to fill the spare bedroom. At one point, Tim got a flash of panic across his face, and he proceeded to spend about three hours cleaning the spare bedroom of junk. It hardly made a dent in the room. 

They went together to pick up Hallie– half to get Lucy out of the house, half to establish a little more routine to Lucy’s presence. Lucy spent the drive thinking about the future— about two car seats fitting into each of their cars, about grocery runs with fruit snacks and formula and lots and lots of patience. How will she be getting in and out of Tim’s truck when she’s about to pop? What’s their life going to look like when there’s a newborn involved, and Hallie is a jealous big sister, and Lucy isn’t chasing criminals in the street, but instead chasing away bad dreams and monsters in the closet? 

They arrive at the daycare, and Lucy wakes from her trance. 

“Do you think she’s gonna hate it?” Lucy asked nervously, sunken into the passenger seat. “I’m… I’m taking your attention. I’m-I’m a new woman taking her mom’s spot in the bed. And when there’s a baby in the picture?”

“Take it easy,” Tim murmured, leaning over and leaving a soft kiss to Lucy’s cheek. “Hallie loves you. Try not to stress.”

“My brain has been through a blender in the past two days. I’ll stress all I want,” she retorts, but follows his lead in getting out of the truck. She has a mild limp, but is otherwise looking, in most instances, normal. She’s had her hair pulled up to keep herself from scratching at her stitches, and other than a couple grazes, she could almost pass for uninjured. Tim puts his code into the front door and lets them both in, greeting the secretary with a smile. 

“Paged for Hallie Jay the moment I saw your truck pull up,” she said with a smile. “How was work?”

“Took the day off after a rough shift,” Tim said casually. “How was she?”

“No nap, but otherwise her typical self.”

“Uh oh,” Tim murmured as the door to the school halls opened, his toddler running at them with a backpack half her size jostling on her back. Tim beamed at the sight in the same way he always does when Hallie is looking— like she’s the most special person on the planet, and he wouldn’t dare waste a moment of his time not showing her that. “Hey Birdie— no nap today?”

“They were ‘pposed to keep it a secret,” Hallie scowled, shooting a glare at the teacher who walked her down. The teacher blushed, waved, and walked on. “I wasn’t sleepy.”

“Mhm. I’m sure,” Tim rolled his eyes. 

“Yucy came to get me today?” Hallie said with hopeful eyes as she looked up at Lucy. As if reminded— Hallie’s world has yet to turn upside down— Lucy slowly sinks down to a crouch to accept her demanding hug. “Are you stayin’ home?”

“I’ll be going home with you, yes,” Lucy chuckles. “We can cook dinner tonight together if you want.”

“No— no. You are not cooking. I got that covered,” Tim declares, steering his partner and daughter toward the exit. “But Bird is more than welcome to help me cook.”

“I’m not useless.”

“No, just… resting. For my sake,” Tim holds the door for them both, eyeballing the girls holding hands in the parking lot on the way back to the truck. “For my sanity.”

She didn’t want to give in so easily, but the day caught up to her fast, and by the time Tim started cooking, Lucy was taking round two in the bathroom, between throwing up and taking a hot shower this time. She could hear them through the walls— Hallie’s laughter, Tim’s chirps and remarks of praise, the two of them working together to make something edible. Her independence is admirable, and his patience even more so. If you’ve ever seen a toddler cook… well, you know they’re not very good at it. 

After her shower, Lucy fought her way into one of Tim’s henleys and a pair of shorts. It was comfortable, it wasn’t tight against her skin, and it beat the chill that came with blasting AC and wet hair. She made her way into the kitchen, smiling at the sight of Hallie and Tim setting the table— Hallie was placing forks crookedly around the plates, and Tim lit a couple candles for the cozy energy. They had music playing, and Hallie’s face was messy from taste-testing every step of dinner, but as Lucy approached the table, she won’t lie; it smelled delectable. Savory seasonings like basil and rosemary, the citrus of lemon and creaminess of mashed potatoes. There was a little bit of everything on their plates. 

When Tim noticed her sneaking in, he smiled. 

“How’s your stomach?” He asked hopefully. 

“Moving on from being sick,” Lucy said, her mouthwatering. “Is the bread warm?”

“Is the sky blue?”

“Sometimes,” Hallie shrugs, clambering into her chair and digging in without hesitation. “Si’down, Yucy. It’s yummy.”

“I believe it,” Lucy hums, sinking into a chair beside Tim and grazing his hand under the table. His fingers loop into hers with a gentle squeeze. “You are a master chef, miss Hallie Jay.”

“‘Ank-ooh,” she mumbled through a mouthful of potatoes. 

Tim and Lucy share shy smiles and tuck in themselves, grateful for a first foray into a new life; where they pick up their kids from daycare, and someone gets dinner ready, and they hold hands under the table while they listen to Hallie jabber. It seems like a beautiful life. A possible one, too.

Chapter Text

Act normal. 

That’s been the mantra in her head all morning. Act normal. Be normal. Her clothes fit normal, and her coffee order is normal, and she packed a normal lunch. There is nothing not normal about this. 

Still, walking into work today, she found it hard not to touch her flat belly with whimsical wonder and curiosity. She struggled to make eye contact with her coworkers in the hallway. One of them— Officer Limerick— was six months pregnant, and it took everything in her not to jump down the officer's throat to bond over their shared experience. Every second of awareness of this… life? It was eating her alive. 

 Act normal. 

Normal. 

“Good morning.”

“Hm?” Lucy jumped, meeting Tim’s eyes. He cracked a smile. “Oh. Hi. You left early this morning.” 

“Shift started at dawn,” Tim yawned, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “Coffee okay?”

“What? Yeah. Yes. Of course,” Lucy adjusted in her seat, fidgeting with the first pen she picked up; a pink glitter pen with a puff ball on the cap. Tim raised an eyebrow. “I’m just… nervous.”

“You’re fine,” Tim said, squeezing her arm. “Desk jockey.”

“Don’t make me hurt you.”

“Wrestlemania coming to town? What’s up?” Lopez greets as she approaches her own desk. “Bradford, just who I wanted to see. I need an addendum on the paperwork you filed the other day. It looks like Lucy’s discharge paperwork was missing a page.”

“What page?” Lucy asked, perhaps a little too quickly. Tim squeezed her shoulder, as if a reminder: be chill. “Anything I need to do?”

“It’s just a signature from the ER physician,” Lopez reassured. “If you want to take time out of your day to chase down a signature, you’re welcome to.”

“I got it,” Tim said with a sigh. “Be good. Don’t get hit by any cars today.”

“You too.” 

Lopez raised her eyebrows with an amused expression as Tim walked off on his mission. Lucy stuffed her nose in the file. 

“So… did you move in?”

Stomach swirling, Lucy took a sharp breath. She doesn’t lift her gaze from yesterday’s paperwork— she fears everything would spill out from a look on its own. 

“I did,” Lucy exhaled. “Having someone to take care of me after an injury was nice.”

“Yeah, I can imagine. How's the arm?” Lopez nods to her sleeve. “How are you?” 

“Sore and sore,” Lucy cracked a small smile. “But we’re surviving. Tim made breakfast in bed for our day off, I got pampered. Walked away with only some stitches and a headache. Can’t complain too much.”

“Good,” Lopez exhaled. “Because this kid has been demolishing my insides since end of shift yesterday. I could use the extra hand. Nothing too strenuous— I know you’re still on light duty.”

“Gladly,” Lucy cracked a smile. “Long as you help me dig into the evidence turned over from our DB.” 

“Deal.”

The two sit back in their chairs, Lopez running down a list of tasking that she needs done but knew she wouldn’t have the energy for. Lucy almost wanted to laugh at the idea— almost— until she remembered they would be trading places in just five months time, with Lopez fresh out of maternity leave and Lucy in the thick of her pregnancy. 

She likes it, though. When she’s hunting down someone from the K9 unit, she gets to take a nice walk into the gates courtyard, gets some fresh air and to stretch her legs, gets a moment alone to remember that she was really doing this— she’s really pregnant, working her typical shift, chasing down leads, and trusting her lover entirely. How strange to do it all again… 

When Lopez bribed her with a candy from the vending machine, Lucy got to sneak in an extra bathroom break. Lopez was already slightly aware of Lucy crossing paths with her at the women’s room doorway a few too many times, and she realized how terrible she was at hiding this. How did she do it the first time? 

Well, she supposed it helped going deep undercover, not being constantly surrounded by people she wanted to disclose her deepest, happiest secret to, and then… well, you know the rest. 

“The DB wasn’t Herman?” Lucy scowled. “Did we ever get a positive ID on Randy?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact— Ronald Creit. No priors. Not even a parking ticket. If it wasn’t for the social security card in his belongings…”

“Corroborated with an ID?”

“Do I look like an idiot? Of course,” Lopez scoffed. “I just… I don’t know. I’ve thrown everything at him, and then he lawyered up. DA is pressing charges, and whether he wants to plea out or not… well, we’ll see what happens.”

“So I’m back to square one until he talks,” Lucy sighed. “Okay. Keep the pressure on here. I’m going to go back to the Herman house to see what else is going on.”

“Call if you need backup.”

“I’ll call Harper first, Miss Desk-Bound.”

The pair split off, and Lucy heads downstairs. As she signed out her shop and a kit, she shouldered her way into the sally port, just as Tim was driving in. He caught her eye and frowned. His shop stops a little too quick, and he hurried himself out of the drivers seat to catch her before she left. 

“I thought you would be riding a desk today?”

“I’m just checking out the crime scene. Seeing where they’re at with processing. Is that okay with you?” She asked sassily. Tim opened his mouth to respond, then caught himself, shutting it again. “Thank you.”

“Have you at least eaten today?”

“Bye Tim.” 

“Be safe!”

She understands the concern. Her head still throbs from impact. Her arm aches with most movements. She bled a lot for a woman trying to grow a fetus into a proper person. He was scared, and she was… well, she was Lucy. Stubborn, reckless, and determined Lucy. 

Upon arrival at the scene, she finds that it’s still surrounded by processing, taped off and evidence being collected in troves. She ducked under the tape and flashed her credentials at the door security before entering. The stench hit her instantly, like a punch in the face. She wrinkled her nose, accepting the pot of menthol rub to smear under her nose. It didn’t make her stomach any less queasy, but at least she could think straight. 

“This is where the body was found?” Lucy presumed as she approached the stain in the area rug on the living room floor. A milling employee confirmed it for her. “Have we gotten an estimate on how long the body was dead for?”

“Doc said at least a few weeks,” one of the forensic techs stated. “And it wasn’t the home owner?”

“Nope,” Lucy frowned. “I think he’s in the wind.”

She strolls through the house a while longer, letting her theory run wild. Herman kills someone in his home. Instead of hiding the body, he leaves it to rot and drops off the face of the planet. Most of his belongings are still intact. The dishes are clean, but still in the dishwasher from the last load. The radio is on a timer to play during daylight hours. His closet is mostly stocked— dresser, too. When forensics discovered his artillery in the attic, even that seemed to be in place still. 

She dials Harper. 

“Chen, I hear you’re in the field. Did I clear that?”

“I have a hypothetical question,” Lucy paced back toward Herman’s study. Most things are intact there, too. Even an updated calendar, no attempt to hide scheduled meetings with some rather unfriendly names. “Say you messed up. You need to run. Fall off the grid and leave no clues. What is the one thing you take with you?” 

“…clothes? Food? Probably some cash?” Harper hesitates. “Hang on, I have Lopez. You’re on speaker.”

“Well, the closet is standard. There’s no sign of a rush or a struggle. If he packed a bag, it doesn’t look like anything is missing. Artillery and safes are all in tact and Lopez had bank assets frozen once we got a negative ID on our DB…” Lucy glances at the bookshelves. “I was thinking, you know, family album maybe? But he’s estranged from his family. I doubt he owns a single photo of the kids.” 

“What about the people he trafficked?” Lopez suggested. “Does he have a black book? His own sick little family album?”

“…his laptop is still here.”

“But a handwritten journal isn’t?” Harper frowned. “He’s on the move, and he has no intention of stopping. Something must’ve spooked him.”

“Leading to a… dead neighbor? Maybe the butler? Leave no witnesses to say where I went?”

“I’ll check records on his contractors,” Lopez declared. “Good luck hunting down a ghost.”

“Thanks…” Lucy hangs up, pacing the study again. She knew why Harper wasn’t all too interested in the laptop. The average predator, sure— someone with the money, power, and intelligence to run a trafficking ring, however… Lucy cracked it open with her glove, poking around on the unprotected server. It was so clearly a plant— clean files, tidy web history, cleared cookies… 

Alone in the study of a predator, Lucy felt that bile rise in her again. The nausea of knowing someone as gross as this lives in her city— thrives in her city. Gets away with hurting kids and adults alike, targeting whoever is easy to pick off the street. She’s already lost one baby— what will she do when this one inevitably gets into trouble? Maybe not on the same scale as Daisy or Tamara, but… what if some older kid lures them into a false sense of security? What will they do when this kid decides they want to experiment with alcohol, marijuanna, or worse drugs? What will they do when their kid doesn’t come home by curfew, and Lucy is plagued with the panic of losing her baby all over again? 

“Detective, I found some scrap paper in the garbage outside— it’s mostly chicken scratch, but I think we could take an impression of the writing before it?” An officer suggested. Lucy blinked herself back to reality, nodding. 

“Yes. Yeah. Get it to forensics. Have we pulled any prints yet?”

“No fresh ones. Subject has been gone a while…” 

“And are we any closer to figuring out how long a while is?” Lucy exasperated. The officer declined. “Great. Thank you.”

She’s there a while, managing the scene, asking questions as the tech’s work and answering calls as they come in from various sources— Lopez, with updates on their suspect. The DA waiting to hear more on how to charge Randy. The coroner giving the piece by piece update on the body. It was unsettling, and slow, and unfortunately, not much good came from it. 

Pulling out her phone again, Lucy sent Tim a text that she was leaving the scene as her day came to a close. As much as his concern was at times extreme, she knew it came from a good place. Its haunting; being loved so ferocious and selflessly. 

He responded quickly with a positive affirmation and a reminder to drive safe. Sinking into her seat, she hovered over Tamara’s phone number. She tries not to tell her too much— the stress wasn’t good for her, and Lucy was sure to have her well protected regardless. But still— after particularly disappointing days at work, it felt nice to hear her voice and remember what it was for. 

She doesn’t answer. Sent to voicemail. Lucy frowns. 

“Hey girl, it’s me,” Lucy exhaled. “Thinking of you today. Let me take you out for lunch this week, I wanna talk something over with you. Text me when you have time.”

She ends the call. It’s only a few minutes before Tamara sends a text— CarPlay announcing her words for her— sorry, spending the night with friends. Chat tomorrow? Lucy’s smile returns, ever so slightly. Good. She could use a night out, being young. 

Lopez is already gone for the day when Lucy returns to the station. Most of the day shift had turned in their punch card for the night, with just Sergeant Harper left in her office as Lucy scrambled her things together. Tim won’t love her coming home this late on her first day back. She still stops in the Sergeant’s doorway, though. 

“Unfortunately, no leads on Herman. I’m gonna mull this through tonight, see what I can think of. Maybe bounce some ideas off Tim,” Lucy sighed. “I have someone scanning through files going back about two months, seeing if maybe an arrest spooked him into hiding.”

“I’ve also made a request to add additional units to the neighborhoods of known victims for the next few days. If he’s smart, he skipped town and made a new identity, but I’m not taking any chances,” Harper sighed. “I also called on a couple contacts, seeing if anyone’s heard of him. If I hear back, I’ll give you a call.”

“Please. I want him off our streets by yesterday,” Lucy puffs out a breath. “Goodnight, Sarge.”

“Night, Chen.”

Her eyes are glued to the street as she drives, as if she’s see her suspect walking in the back alleys or using a crosswalk. It’s not until she’s unlocking the front door of Tim’s place that she realized she could let her guard down. 

She slips inside, closes the door behind her, and frowned at the sight of Tim pacing the hallway with a pink Hallie asleep on his shoulder. Lucy set down her bag, approaching quickly. 

“Is she okay?” Lucy asked, carefully touching Hallie’s cheek, then her forehead. Tim gave her a tired, tragic smile. 

“She had an asthma attack at school,” Tim whispered, “The smoke from the fires down south meets a common cold.” 

“Did she get checked out?” 

“Her pediatrician fit her in,” Tim nodded. “I left work so fast, I didn’t have time to tell you.” He bends slightly to kiss her cheek. “How are you feeling?” 

“Not like I would be of much help. Today was a shitshow,” Lucy said, not taking her eyes off his pale daughter. “What can I do to help?”

“She’s gonna sleep it off. My mom will be here in the morning to take over when we leave,” Tim said, then asking again; “How are you feeling?” 

“I’m fine,” she excused. “I feel like I should know where her inhaler is if she’s having regular attacks. Or-or her action plan. Does her heart condition affect how she takes the inhaler-?”

“Lucy?” Tim interrupted. She stopped, looking at him expectantly. “Go take your shoes off.”

Her mouth opens and shuts, stammering for a response, before doing as told. She kicks off her boots and shrugs her jacket off her shoulders. Tim uses one of his hands to help pull her arm free— as if he needed to touch her with a grazing hand, just to remind himself she was there. Now unburdened by the extra weight, she realizes just how tired she really is. 

He was watching her, satisfied as she suddenly recalled the purpose of coming home: to refuel, to relax, to come back into her own skin again. She made herself dinner from what was in the fridge, and the three of them laid on the couch together after— his hand rubbing her back gently. 

“This is… so hard,” Lucy exhaled. “How much longer until we’re done?”

“Another… 18 and a half years?” Tim murmured back., chuckling. “We got this.”

“We do.” False confidence has become her thing as of late. Maybe he is a good influence.