Lucy whispers it against his chest as he trails his fingers along the curve of her shoulder, her skin warm beneath his hand. Tim shuts his eyes and swallows, the candlelight creating a soft haze he can still feel even from behind closed lids. "What do you mean?"
She adjusts, moving in closer to him. She hitches her thigh over his leg and presses her lips to his chest. He rumbles, soft and slow, appreciatively, then dips his fingers into her hair further, still lazy and dazed with afterglow. "I mean, what if we don't work? Now that we know," she trails her big toe along his calf gently, and he can feel the smile on her lips pressing against his pec, "all of it. What do we do, then?"
Tim exhales in thought, swallowing at the tail end and shrugging his shoulder carefully. He wraps his arm tight around her and pulls her into his side. He doesn't want to think about the idea that this won't work, but she's right: they should probably have at least an idea for what happens if they don't. They should have contingency plans. He feels a buzzing beneath his skin at the idea that she may have learned to do that from him – that he's the thing her instincts are telling her to make contingency plans for. "I would just like to state for the record, if I have anything to say about it: we're going to work."
She hums quietly, smiling, burying her face into his chest for a long few moments. "I know," she rests her chin against his chest and he opens his eyes, looking down at her, taking it all in. She's smiling up at him with her hair mussed and her cheeks warm, candlelight pooling around her in a soft, ebbing glow. One of her hands is splayed over his side, the other arm extended up, her fingers tracing lightly over his neck. "I'm talking...out of our control, it's impossible for us to change things without completely altering the fabric of our lives, lives are on the line kind of thing."
He laughs, low and soft. "Lucy Chen and her hypotheticals," he murmurs, knowing full well this is more than just a hypothetical, but refusing to acknowledge it. They've been playing fast and loose with the rules and regulations of Mid-Wilshire, something that has his stomach twisting in knots day in and day out even though she's worth it in a way he didn't even understand the first time he said it. "Alright," he rumbles, tapping his finger against her forearm gently, once, twice, three times. "Let's say something happens and we can't. I...don't stop caring about you," he raises his brow. "Do you stop caring about me?"
Lucy presses her lips together. "Never," she shakes her head, her teeth digging into her lower lip.
He nods softly, glancing around the darkened room in thought. It occurs to him, absently, that he needs to talk her into getting a sturdier bed. "We wait," he murmurs, after a long few minutes. Lucy looks at him, confused. "We wait for it to work. We try to find a way to make it work, because I'm not," he bites down on the inside of his cheek, looking down at her, meeting her eye. He holds her gaze, raising his brow as he lets out a soft, almost embarrassed laugh. "I'm not giving you up, Lucy. We make it work, because there's...no other way."
He thinks she may deflate a little – because she loves her hypotheticals, because she wants him to think outside the box with her, because they should probably know the answer to this question that's a little less hypothetical than either of them want to believe – and he pulls her all the way on top of him to thwart some of the fall out.
Instead, her face is soft as she gently slides up his body, her chest pressed into his, her hands flat against his neck as she stares down at him. Her voice is so light when she speaks that he thinks he might be imagining it before he sees her lips moving. "There's no other way?"
Tim swallows, shaking his head just once. "There's no other way," he repeats. "It's just me and you, now."
Lucy lets out a strangled sound he wants to hear again and finds his lips with her own, kissing him slowly, making his mind go blank and his arms go numb. When she pulls back, breathing still heavy and heart still pounding, she presses her face into his neck, kissing his skin softly.
She doesn't say it, but he feels it clear as day: tap, tap, tap against his neck with her thumb. He trails his hand along the curve of her waist slowly, deliberately, hoping he isn't imagining it. He taps his index, middle, and ring finger against her skin in a slow, clear succession.
They're not ready to say it, but they both know what it means.
Lucy lifts her head from his neck, pressing her forehead to his. "It's just me and you, now," she breathes against his mouth, and he catches her lips in another kiss before she can come up with something else to say.
Tim's voice is thick with sleep as it filters in from the bedroom. She hums in response, knowing he won't hear it, knowing that even if he did, he'll just repeat himself. "Hey," he says with a bit more clarity, as though he's sitting up. "Come back to bed, please."
Lucy smiles to herself, turning off the tap and taking a slow sip of her water before turning back towards the half-asleep man in her bed. She makes her way back slowly, flipping off the lights and leaning against the doorframe for a long few moments as she catches sight of Tim in the low light of her bedroom. He's sitting up against the headboard, shirtless, blinking slowly like he could fall back to sleep at any second. "You're awake," she speaks quietly, her voice just carrying through the silence. "I'm sorry."
"C'mere," he mumbles, shaking his head as he pulls the blankets back for her. She shuts her eyes for a moment, swallowing hard as she pushes off from the doorframe. After setting her water glass down on the bedside table, she crawls back into bed next to him and presses her face into his forearm, kissing his bare skin gently as his fingers weave loosely into her hair. "Where'd you go?"
Lucy laughs. "I was thirsty," she shrugs, knowing he'll be able to tell she's lying. "I didn't think I'd wake you."
"You have a heavy step," he rumbles, and even though she can feel him smirking into her hair, she swats at his shoulder with a huff. They're quiet for a long moment, long enough that she thinks he could've fallen back asleep, before he lets out a slow rolling breath. "You were tossing and turning. Bad one?"
She sighs louder than she means to. Her nightmares haven't been as frequent as of late, but when she does have them, they're all-consuming. Her skin pricks with goosebumps as he slides his hand over the curve of her waist, still clammy with sweat. "Bad one," she affirms, nodding once. She hadn't intended on mentioning it, but there's no point in lying if he's already called her out on it. "I wasn't a fan."
Tim hums, nodding slowly. He leans in and kisses her forehead, letting himself linger for a long moment. "I'm right here," he murmurs, and she nods because she knows that. The nightmares aren't rational – they're annoying, they're moronic, they're unrealistic, and they've been keeping her awake more nights than not over the last few months.
She'd assumed there were only so many scenarios where she could stumble upon Tim's dead body, but apparently there are thousands of varieties. She's gotten the standard dose of: discovering your boyfriend's dead body in a dumpster, identifying your boyfriend's dead body in a morgue, opening the trunk of your car to find your boyfriend's dead body staring back up at you, all of which are slightly less terrifying than the more niche flavors.
Tonight had been a combo: a fake out version of your boyfriend's doppelgänger's dead body in the back seat of your car when you got out of work mixed with the sudden revelation of your actual boyfriend's dead body in his office, waiting for you to come find him.
He pulls her from her thoughts, tugging her hand to his chest and pressing it down over his left pec. His heart beats slowly beneath her palm and he tugs his other hand free from her hair, sliding it over the top of hers and tapping his fingers against her knuckles. "See? I'm right here."
He's made a habit of this on the nights he wakes up, which is almost every night, much to both her anguish and relief. He presses her hand over his heart, doing his best to remind her that this, here, now is real.
She hums softly, tipping her head to the side to kiss him where she can reach. Her lips brush his shoulder and she finds his eyes, holding his gaze for a long moment. He taps his fingers over hers slowly, deliberately. One, two, three.
They haven't said it yet, but she isn't sure they have to.
Lucy kisses his skin lightly three times, then rolls into his side and untangles their arms just to tangle them back up. His hand slides up her body to cup her left breast through her t-shirt the way it does every night, and her right foot presses lightly, tenderly against his calf, her toes brushing his skin as she hums. "You're right here," she breathes, and he yawns against the back of her neck, nodding.
"Sleep, sweets," he murmurs, and if she'd had any doubts she could fall back asleep before, they melt away at the sound of his deep, husky voice against her ear. "No dreams, alright?"
She's not sure if she nods or simply thinks about nodding, but if she has anything to do with it, she'll be listening to his instructions.
Chenford + “Did you get my note?” / “Of course I got it. You taped it to my forehead while I was sleeping.”
“Did you get my note?” Lucy’s voice is frantic through the crackling phone line, her movements audible and near-constant as Tim holds the crumpled up neon purple post-it in his hand. Her scrawl is even frenzied, the loop of her L rushing off the corner of the tiny square of paper.
Call me when you wake up!
PS – don't even think about touching my leftovers. ♡ L
He scans over at again, rubbing his eyes as he listens to her sharp breathing, something dragging along the ground as she walks. "Yeah," he manages, his voice thick with sleep. "Of course I got it. You taped it to my forehead while I was sleeping."
"It's a post-it, Tim," she says, matter of fact. "It doesn't need to be taped."
Tim laughs, rolling his eyes. "What are you doing right now?"
"Unimportant," she breathes into the phone, then pauses. "Hold on one second, I need to put you down."
He nods, knowing she won't wait for his answer to drop the phone on the nearest surface. Instead, he sets the post-it note down on his nightstand and presses it flat with his palm, then gets up out of bed and puts the phone on speaker. He's sore, but that's nothing new these days. Metro puts a strain on his body that Patrol never has, but the ache in his muscles is well worth it. Even through the pain, he stretches his arms over his head and rolls out his shoulders, then quickly makes the bed while Lucy clunks something loudly through the phone line.
Tim's putting toothpaste on his toothbrush when Lucy returns to the phone, a little more breathless than before. "Are you brushing your teeth?"
"Almost," he chuckles, running the brush under the faucet and then turning off the tap. He glances at himself in the mirror, wincing at the bruise he's got on his shoulder – he'd taken a suspect down yesterday at the wrong angle, and he figured he would be paying for it, but it looks shittier than he imagined it would. "You alright?"
"Yeah," she laughs, and suddenly the noise dissipates. "How'd you sleep? You were tossing and turning all over the place when I was getting ready."
Tim hums, taking a slow breath and letting her voice – now calmer – wash over him for a moment. Some of the tension in his back loosens and he shrugs his good shoulder, tapping his toothbrush lightly on the edge of the sink. "Alright. I woke up a handful of times because I kept hitting my shoulder, but otherwise, can't complain. You're a good bedfellow."
"I'm sorry," Lucy snorts, and he grins at the sound of her laughter. "Did you just call me a bedfellow?"
"You're not here to do anything about it," he chuckles, then glances down at his wet toothbrush, frowning. "So, you going to tell me what you're up to so I can brush my teeth?"
"You know what? Go ahead," she sounds smug and he doesn't bother questioning it, just gets to work brushing, knowing she'll continue on. "It's probably better if you don't have the ability to argue."
"But you love it when I argue with you," he says, his mouth full.
"Gross," Lucy hums, and he can hear the smile on her face. "I'm at my storage unit, right now."
He furrows his brow at himself in the mirror. "Huh?"
"My storage unit. You know, where you-," Tim grumbles, cutting her off, and Lucy laughs again, this time sweeter. "You looked like you were in pain when I woke up, and you flinched away when I brushed my hand over your shoulder...so I figured you could use some help."
He spits into the sink, ignoring the fact that he has toothpaste on the corners of his mouth. "So you're going through, what – your old psychology notes? Boxes of stuff from your parents house?" He barks out a low laugh, shaking his head. "I hate to break it to you, Lucy, but we can't exactly analyze a bruise."
"Ha ha," Lucy deadpans, and he hears her moving again as he puts the toothbrush back into his mouth. "I was looking to see if I kept any of my stuff from the massage therapy class I took." He nearly chokes. Lucy snorts into the phone. "Can you not hurt yourself, please? I don't want this trip to have been for nothing." Tim hums in response and he likes that he can tell she's smiling. "I found the portable table, but I might've gotten rid of some of the oils I had – so we're one for two."
"Oils?" The word comes out garbled, but it's close enough.
"Oils and balms and lotions," she mumbles, then laughs softly into his ear, "oh my."
"Cute," he chuckles, then puts the phone on mute as he spits into the sink again and rinses his mouth out with water from the tap. "Let me get this straight – you hopped up out of bed and went directly to your storage unit to get a massage table for me?"
"Now he's getting the picture," she breathes, and he feels his chest tighten. "We're both off today – I want you in better shape than you're in right now."
"Oh, yeah?" Tim leans back agains the doorframe, crossing his arms over his bare chest as he glances down at the phone on the countertop. "For what?"
Lucy hums softly and he swallows, nodding. "I can't just want my boyfriend to be pain-free?"
He chuckles, reaching up and scratching at the back of his neck, unable to contain his smile at her words. "You know what? For that, I won't eat your leftovers."
Lucy scoffs into the phone and Tim grabs it up off the counter, making his way back into the bedroom to try and figure out where, exactly, they're putting a massage table.
"When did you fall for me?" He asks the question softly, knowing she'll hear it over the crackling of the fire and the intensity of her thoughts. It's quiet, almost like he doesn't want to ask, but he knows she'll hear his tone and know it's genuine.
She knows him in that way.
He hopes that for the most part, he knows her in that way, too.
Tim watches as Lucy chews on her lower lip in thought, his teeth pressing lightly into the skin of his own lip.
Something about the combination of the cool air, the wine she'd poured in his glass, and the way she's been smiling at him tonight have him buzzing beneath the surface – enough that he'd wanted to ask her this, enough that he wanted to hear the answer. They've been skirting around the reality of it: when did you realize we were oh-so-much-more, he assumes because she thinks it will derail them entirely, but more likely because...well, he's never actually asked.
It's been hard to wrap his mind around the idea that they're in this incredibly serious relationship when he doesn't remember any of it – and harder still to try and convince himself they shouldn't be. He knows what Lucy thinks: she thinks he doesn't understand, could never feel the way she feels, hasn't let himself drift into that mindset.
What he really feels is a hell of a lot more complicated, though. He gets it entirely, if not more because she's been actively loving him through this. He doesn't remember their relationship at all, and she's doing the work for both of them.
How could he not be hopelessly in love with her?
That's where it gets complicated, though – because he loves her for her, but he loves her for him, too. He needs to untangle that before he can let himself anywhere near her, truly – because she deserves a selfless love. She deserves someone who puts in the effort for her, who doesn't just love her because she loves them harder.
She lets out a soft laugh and pulls him back, raising her brow. "It's a bad answer," she offers, and Tim tips his head to the side, narrowing his eyes at her. "What? It is."
"Lay it on me," he shrugs, taking a slow sip of his wine. "I'm sure it's not that bad."
"It's a non-answer," she takes a sip from her glass, holding his gaze as she pulls it away from her mouth. "It wasn't one moment. I fell for you in a million little moments – hearing you call me Lucy after you handed me my final evaluation, offering me a ratty old pair of sweatpants when I stayed at your place after Jackson died," she offers him a sad, solemn smile. "Letting me talk my way into being your aide, inviting me to tear down your childhood home with your sister – god, even," she presses her hand to her face for a moment and he leans in closer, just wanting to be near her. "Even you calling me fucking goat whisperer in front of a date had me swooning. You don't even realize you're doing it, too – which is even more annoying. You just exist as this...wonderfully irritating version of yourself that I can't help but be ass over feet in love with."
Tim swallows, keeping his eyes focused on her. "If you had to pick one," he breathes, grinning as she rolls her eyes at him, visibly annoyed. "What? You said I was irritating, didn't you?"
Lucy bites on the rim of her wine glass, taking a sip and then setting it down. "Just one moment?" He nods, pressing his lips together. She sighs, tapping her fingers against her chin and then dropping them, humming over at him. "I think I really knew the first time you hugged me. That's cheesy and it's not really true, but I...we'd never," she pushes her hair off her face with a one-handed sweep and he wants to slide his hand over her cheek, bring her close, feel her breath on his skin. "We'd never touched like that before, and I didn't want you to let go. You...I stayed at your place," she has that expression she gets when she feels like she needs to fill in the gaps for him, and he nods slowly, hoping she'll breathe and calm down. "You invited me over after Jackson died, said I shouldn't be alone. You hugged me and I," she lets out a soft, hiccuping laugh, "I don't know, I didn't want you to stop. I didn't know what I was feeling then, but I know it now. You were keeping me still. You were grounding me," she shrugs. "Turns out, that's what we do for each other."
He lets out a slow, steady breath. "You knew you loved me, then?"
She hums in thought. "No," she laughs. "When I think about it now, I loved you something fierce, then. In the moment? I'd never been more confused about what I was feeling in my life. You were warm, and steady, and I could follow your heartbeat. You confused the absolute shit out me, but...somehow, a little less than everything else did," she smiles over at him softly. "So, everything you do now...just, unnamed."
Tim takes a sip from his glass, reaching over and grabbing her hand. He laces their fingers and squeezes them gently. "So what you're telling me is that we're on the same page," he murmurs, after setting his wine down. "Confused, but intrigued. Enamored, for some reason."
She raises her brows at him. "You're enamored with me, huh?"
He lets out a low, rough laugh. "I've been enamored with you for a long time I remember that much."
He's pretty sure Lucy's smile is enough to keep him asking her questions all night long.
Tim shuts his eyes, but keeps his hand on her hip, his thumb pressed into the curve of her waist. He exhales slowly, dragging his thumb over the curve once, twice, three times. "Where would we go?"
Lucy hums in thought and he knows he has a minute to regroup, then – she'll be considering locations for at least a minute.
He's not sure how they wound up here: her straddling his lap, her face close to his, her breath warm against his skin. They were supposed to be talking about how, exactly, to handle the whole work issue – they'd even gone as far as to start on opposite sides of the couch, but it's like they're made of magnets, or something.
This has happened three nights in a row, so he doesn't know why he's surprised, but...still. They should be talking, not...breathing, and touching, and taking each other in.
He's not going to stop them, but it's an observation just the same.
"Greece," she murmurs, after a long few moments, and Tim snaps back into himself with a soft laugh. "We could go to Greece."
"Oh, yeah?" He licks his lips, his eyes still closed as he feels her slide further into him, her torso pressed to his, her lips brushing over his left cheek. "You think I'd be a good travel companion?"
Lucy giggles and his throat goes tight, because the sound of it – all sweetness and sincerity as her breath grazes over his skin – is one of his new favorites. He's relishing in it, especially because he hasn't heard it all that often just yet. "I think you'd be too warm to wear a shirt most of the time," she shrugs, leaning her forehead against his as she hums, thinking. "I think you'd be fun to walk around some ruins with...and," she taps her fingers lightly against his bicep, the grin audible in her voice, "we'd both be on equal footing learning an entirely different alphabet, so you wouldn't get annoyed at me for knowing how to speak to the locals when you don't."
Tim barks out a laugh, wrapping his arm a bit tighter around her waist as he tips his head back, Lucy taking the opportunity to press her lips to the hollow of his throat. "You want to learn greek with me?"
She nods gently, nipping at his earlobe. "I want to learn all kinds of things with you. New language," she kisses a line down to his jaw, "new food," she presses a soft kiss to his chin, lifting her gaze to meet his, "new customs."
"Only you can make customs sound dirty," he mumbles, sliding a hand up her back and dipping it into her hair. He pulls her head back a bit, watching as she raises her brow at him in question. "What?"
"Why are you thinking so hard right now," she breathes, pressing a hand to his cheek, letting her thumb drag over his jaw. "Come to Greece with me, it's much nicer than wherever you are in that head of yours."
Tim swallows, searching her face for a long moment. We have to talk about this, he wants to say out loud, he tries to communicate with his eyes instead. We have to figure out what we're going to do before it bites us in the ass. He leans his cheek into her hand. "I'm just trying to figure things out."
Lucy traces her thumb over his lower lip. "Okay, well stop trying to figure everything out," she murmurs. "Just focus on now with me."
He lets out a low, raspy laugh. "Now, in Greece?"
Her mouth breaks into a grin as she leans into him, her lips ghosting against his. "Exactly," she murmurs, then kisses him lightly.
Tim swears he hears her mutter a very quiet, "opa," into his mouth before she traces her tongue along his lower lip and words go out the window.
Chenford + Tim sees Lucy on a date and turns up at her door.
Lucy doesn't expect Tim to be sitting outside her door when she gets home.
She's not upset about it, exactly, but she doesn't expect it either.
He doesn't notice her right away, so she gives herself a moment to take him in – if she's dealing with a certain type of Tim, she wants to know ahead of time.
He's wearing a pair of jeans with a rip at the cuff that she knows is from getting snagged on a chain-link fence when they'd been walking back to their hotel after a night out in San Antonio, Tim running ahead and trying to rile her up and make her feel better after fucking up in the preliminaries.
For the record: she'd made it through, but by the skin of her teeth after bombing her second-to-last obstacle.
Tim's head is tipped back against the wall, his eyes closed, and the sharp line of his jaw tracing down to the tension in his neck makes Lucy frown.
He looks upset, which she doesn't love.
"Hey," she calls out as she makes her way down the hall, and Tim snaps his head up, raising his brows. "You looking for somebody?"
He offers up a smile and she can feel the relief in it. "Hey," he hops up to his feet, his limbs long, working quickly. "No, no way," he frowns, fake, not reaching his eyes which are still very much smiling back at her. "Just happened to be in the area."
"And, what," she pulls her phone from her back pocket, waving it around as she reaches him, "you couldn't call and see if I was around before I dropped in?"
"I," he scratches at the back of his neck and she squints up at him. "I mean, I figured-,"
"Why are you nervous right now?" Lucy laughs, shoving at his arm before digging through her bag for her keys. Tim mumbles something unintelligible and she unlocks her door, pushing it open and leaning against the frame to block him from following her in. "What's up?"
Tim slides his hands into his pockets, shrugging. "Nothing, nothing," he taps her shin with his foot. "What were you up to?"
"Oh," she waves her hand, "nothing. I mean, you saw me this morning, but after," she shrugs, "I ran errands, I went on a bad date, I grabbed a bottle of wine," she tugs the wine bottle from the top of her bag so he can see it. "You've just...been waiting for me?"
"I only got here," he squints around, then glances down at his watch, "half hour ago, or so. Figured you'd turn up at some point."
"Oh, what," she raises her brows, smirking up at him, "you don't think I'm capable of staying out all night, Tim?"
He snorts, rolling his eyes. "You have training at 5:45," Lucy groans as he continues, "I figured you were a sure thing for sleeping in your own bed."
She huffs, pushing the door open wider and leading Tim into her kitchen. She pulls the bottle of wine out of her bag and puts it on the counter, watching as Tim locks the door and kicks off his shoes. "Besides," he carries on, pulling two wine glasses down from one of her high shelves, "you looked pretty bored on that date, figured you'd need some quality entertainment by the time you got home."
Lucy freezes, her hand still digging into one of her kitchen drawers to pull out her corkscrew. She looks over her shoulder, squinting at him. She thought she'd seen a Tim-looking guy walk by the patio she'd been seated on with her date, John, but she'd shrugged it off and gone back to talking. John had been sweet, had asked her to dinner after they'd gotten to know each other during his first few training sessions at her gym, but he was definitely more of a friend than a flirtation.
Besides, she had Tim if she felt the need to flirt.
She glares at him, turning on her heel and pursing her lips as she crosses her arms over her chest. "What were you doing, huh? Spying on me?"
He smirks, shrugging. "I was going to the pet store across the way for Kojo stuff," he offers. "I saw you and they were finishing up a fresh batch of those peanut butter treats he liked, so...I might've grabbed a coffee, scoped it out."
Lucy scoffs, squinting at him. "Spy," she points, shaking her head. "A dirty rotten scoundrel of a spy, Tim, oh my god."
He laughs, his neck going a bit red, and Lucy grabs the corkscrew out of the drawer, bumping it shut with her thigh before making her way over to him. "I'm just saying, you looked bored. Sad, even," he holds up a hand in innocence. "I figured you'd need...reinforcements, or something. I ordered Thai when I got here, should be here soon."
She rolls her eyes, giving him another faux-huff. She's not actually annoyed – she'd planned to call him after pouring herself a glass, anyway – but she thinks he should have to grovel a little. "I had a great time, thank you," she works the corkscrew into the bottle, ignoring the fact that she can feel Tim moving closer.
"You said it was bad," his voice is low, she can feel his breath on her ear. "Don't lie, now, Lucy."
She shivers, shutting her eyes but making sure her hands don't stop moving. "I'm not lying," she mutters. "Back off."
Tim chuckles and she swallows hard, annoyed because this is almost always what proximity to his fucking body does to her and she can't stand it. Whether he's adjusting her grip on the bars while they're training or he's cornering her in her kitchen about some dumb shit he did, he's annoyingly, agonizingly hot. "John's like fifty, you know that right?"
She elbows him in the ribs and Tim groans, but she feels him back away and lets out a laugh. "You're not much off," she smirks over her shoulder. "Now get this open for me, would you? We can talk about how many push-ups you owe me once I've got a full glass of wine in my hand."
Tim rolls his eyes at her, but there's a smile to it that makes her stomach flip as he grabs the corkscrew and gets to work.
Lucy doesn't give him the opportunity to ask anything else – she pushes past him and walks through the entry way, patting Kojo absently on the head as she makes her way through to the living room. She realizes it's rude, but this is Tim and she's about to say something big, so she figures it's alright to be a little rude right now. She can apologize later, if he's mad about it.
God, she hopes he's not going to be mad about it.
She listens as Tim closes the door and makes his way back into the house, poking at his security panel before he turns and looks at her. His eyes bore into her back and she whirls around on her heel, pressing her lips together. "It doesn't feel like effort, with you."
Tim squints at her and she holds her hands up for a long moment, meeting his eye. Please let me, she urges him with her gaze and he takes a second, but nods in concession.
"You said I deserve someone that's worth the effort, and I was trying to figure out what the fuck that meant, because I...I put effort in, you know? I always do. I...I try to be what the person I'm with needs, and do things for them, and show them how much I care. And it occurred to me that maybe I've been wrong in thinking that is effort – because," she lets out a soft, breath-filled laugh, looking down at her feet. "Because it's not effort with you. It doesn't feel like effort, at least."
"Lucy-,"
"Let me finish," she nearly snaps, then recoils. "Sorry."
He smiles at her, tentative, maybe a little nervous – but underneath it all, it seems like he knows. She hopes he knows. It would make her life a hell of a lot easier if he just knows. “Go ahead,” he says, his voice gentle as he raises a brow at her.
“Thank you,” she offers, then presses her hands together. “It’s not effort with you. I...I think that’s why I didn’t recognize it, because it doesn’t feel like putting in work, the way people say it can. It doesn’t feel like I’m running myself ragged when I remember that you like that seasonal Thin Mint creamer and buy a bunch at the grocery store so you can have it longer than it’s out. I don’t notice I’m doing something when I pick a lunch spot you like more than I do because you’re having a shitty day. I...god, I went hoarse for a whole weekend recording you an audiobook because I wanted you to do well on your Sergeant’s exam and I didn’t even bat an eyelash. I like talking,” she looks up at him to find him smiling tentatively at her. “I really like talking, Tim.”
“I know you do,” he chuckles, nodding.
“I get that it’s not just that stuff, that...obviously relationships are more than just favors and niceties. But I can’t imagine lounging around watching football with you all Sunday would be a sacrifice. And I...I can’t imagine being anyone but myself with you, which is terrifying – because I don’t think I’ve ever fully been myself with anyone I’ve dated before.” Lucy stops herself, shutting her eyes. “Not that we’re dating. I’m not saying that.”
“Lucy,” he’s soft, a little closer than she expects.
“I broke up with Chris,” she says, hurrying through it. “Not for you. Just...not not for you.”
Tim’s breath is shallow and she opens her eyes to find him standing in front of her, staring at her softly. “What’d you do it for, then?”
Lucy swallows. “I want to put in the effort,” she murmurs, looking up at him with wide eyes. “And I think I want to put in the effort with you.”
“Yeah?” He can’t hide his smile and her heart clenches in her chest, beating hard against her ribcage.
“Yeah,” she nods, a wet laugh lodged in her throat.
Tim steps forward tentatively, his hand finding her elbow, cupping it gently before he slides his fingers to her waist. She feels her skin warm to his touch, blinks up at him slowly. “We shouldn’t rush it,” he whispers, and his mouth is close to hers. “I’m not going anywhere. Are you?”
Lucy shakes her head, her fingers reaching for his forearm, pressing into his skin gently. “I’m right here.”
Tim nods, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. Lucy shuts her eyes and leans into him lightly. “Good,” he murmurs, and she lets herself relax for the first time in ours. “We’ve got time, then.”
For once, she thinks, sliding her arms around him and letting her body sag against his own, time might actually be on their side.
chenford + 'how the hell are we getting ourselves out of this one?'
Tim swallows and glances over at her, his lips twitching into a scowl for a moment before he neutralizes his expression. He can’t frown at her when she’s bleeding like that.
He sighs, crouching down next to her and adjusting her hands, pressing them down over the wound so she’s got actual pressure on it. He doesn’t allow himself to notice just how hard his hands are shaking. Doesn’t allow himself to notice how hard hers are, either. “Look at me,” she whispers, her tone harsh. “Right now, Tim.”
He listens, looks down at her face and feels his throat go tight. "Hi, baby."
Lucy furrows her brow at him and he can tell she's trying to fight a smile. "Hi," she returns, her voice clearly a little shakier than she wants him to hear. "Talk to me. What's the plan?"
Tim slides one of his hands over hers lightly, ghosting his palm over her knuckles. They're sticky with blood and he feels a thick, wet swath of it graze along his skin. He presses his lips together. She's bleeding more than he'd like, but not so much that he thinks it's catastrophic.
Still, the ambulance is at least 10 minutes out and they aren't cleared to move, yet. As if on cue, a loud crumbling emanates through the narrow stretch of the hallway they're trapped in and a piece of drywall lands next to Tim's boot, scuffing the side. He pushes it out of the way, away from Lucy.
This was supposed to be a quick stop-off to question a suspect before they grabbed lunch together. He was supposed to be picking french fries off her plate and casually telling her about all the things he had planned for them to do over the weekend in her incredibly empty apartment. Instead, the suspect had fled after pulling a knife on Lucy and his shitty fourth-floor walkup had started to collapse in on them.
The building, which Tim's pretty sure should be condemned, is going to come down any minute now and they need to be out of it by the time it falls. How that's going to happen, Tim has no idea.
"Baby," her voice is light, pulling him from his thoughts. "What's the plan?"
He knows she's asking for him, not for her. Lucy has a plan already, and he's sure it's a decent one. It's not what he's going to go with, because he's also sure it involves him leaving her, but it's probably decent. "The plan," he says softly, trying to keep the rest of his body still as he reaches down and brushes her hair out of her eyes, "is for you to keep up the pressure, and for me to get us out of here." Lucy frowns and he frowns back at her, albeit teasingly. "What?"
"Real plan," she urges, then sucks in a sharp breath, pressing her hands down into her skin further. The wound is just beneath her ribcage which makes the bleeding that much heavier. "Give me the real plan, please. Ambulance is how far out?"
He glances down at his watch. "Nine minutes," he casts his eyes towards the bleeding, then back up at her face. "You think you have nine minutes in you?"
"I'm not the one who can't last," she teases, and his chest tightens. "I have more than nine minutes in me, I promise."
Tim nods, looking back over his shoulder out the half broken window, straining to see if he can catch a glimpse of flashing lights or rescue vehicles. "I could do a lot with nine minutes," he murmurs, grinning when he hears her laugh. "What?"
"You planning on proving that to me later?"
"I've proven it plenty," he huffs, another crackling sending waves through the air and leaving the ground unsteady beneath this feet. He shuts his eyes and feels Lucy's leg tap against his ankle.
"Breathe," she whispers, and as much as he wants to tell her he'll breathe when they're on solid ground, he listens. "There you go."
"When did you become the voice of reason," he sighs, dipping down next to her slowly, so he won't fuck up the equilibriums of the building that he swears to god is swaying beneath them. He wonders if part of it is just his body reacting to hers, his head swimming because she's unsteady, because there's no way they're this unstable.
Lucy hums quietly. "Well, I was born in June of 19-," Tim cuts her off with a laugh and he watches as her face twists up into a smile, a real one. "We're going to be fine. I'm going to be laid up on your couch by this time tomorrow."
"My couch, huh?"
"Don't tell," she looks around conspiratorially, trying not to smile. "Your couch is more comfortable than mine."
He stares down at her, his face hard. "How much blood have you lost," he asks, serious, before cracking a smirk. He peeks out the window, then settles down next to her as carefully as possible, sliding one of his hands over hers and pressing down a bit further on her wound. "Can I tell you something?"
She hooks one of her bloody fingers around his thumb, squeezing it gently. "Anything you want."
He leans down slowly, as careful as he can, brushing his lips against her hairline. "You're the most important person I've got," he murmurs, his free hand slipping into her hair. "Even with your bad taste in furniture."
Lucy exhales a slow breath that hitches into a laugh by the end, another piece of drywall lands too close to her head for his liking. Tim smiles, kissing her gently and letting himself linger before he sits back up, admiring the smile on her lips, her eyes still closed. "You've at least cracked the top five, at this point," she hums up at him as he hears sirens hurdling toward them in the distance.
