"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.
“Hi, baby.” Lucy’s voice is quiet. Her touch is soft against his cheek. He swallows as the mattress shifts slightly, her bent knee pressing into his upper thigh as she sits. He knows she thinks he’s sleeping (he’s pretending to be asleep) and he likes it that way — she’s less careful around him. “You look a little better.”
Tim tips his head against her hand and huffs out a slow, sleepy breath. He had been asleep before — but she’d been puttering around the cabin for and even with her best efforts to keep quiet, he’d woken up after a while. He’s had a migraine — a fun side effect of the whole brain injury thing — since late last night, but it’s finally starting to fade. Lucy hums and he feels her thumb brush lightly against his jaw. “I hate seeing you in so much pain, love. You think you hide it well, but you get this little pinch between your eyes,” the pads of two of her fingers press against his forehead, tapping it lightly, “and grumble at me until it gets too bad for you to pretend it’s not there. That’s still you.”
Tim wants to open his eyes, to blink up at her and tell her he’s still himself, even if he’s missing some integral pieces. He wants to grab her and kiss her and lie — say he remembers all of it, call her love the way she says he does, tell her she’s the strongest fucking person he knows and make her feel better for once, instead of worse. He may not have it all back — he may not have most of it, if he’s being honest — but he has her…and she probably wouldn’t believe him, but she’s the most important person in his life by a mile. She’s everything to him, especially now. He wants her to believe in him — this him, the him who knows without a shadow of a doubt that he could fall in love with her if there wasn’t this dark cloud hanging over their heads. He tips his face a bit further into her palm, pressing his lips to her skin softly. He wants a lot of things when it comes to her, to them — that doesn’t necessarily mean he can have them.
“You awake?” Lucy’s fingers card through his hair gently and he hums, low and deep, sleep flooding the noise. He’s groggy and he sounds it. “How’s your head?”
Tim sighs, blinking open his eyes slowly and peering up at Lucy, who’s got her hair hanging around her face loosely. He yawns, his head throbbing a little. “It’s alright,” he slides his hand over her bare knee, licking his lips as he squeezes it lightly. “Better than earlier. I think the ice pack helped.”
Lucy tips her head to the side, her brow furrowed as she looks down at his hand, then back up to his face. “Good,” she nods, and slides her free hand over his own, brushing her thumb over his knuckles.
Tim surveys her, his expression softening a bit as he takes her in — one of his worn out LAPD t-shirts hits the middle of her thighs and a tall pair of white socks stretches up over her calves, but otherwise she’s a long stretch smooth, warm, bare skin. He can’t help himself — he doesn’t bother trying to pull his eyes away. “Is that my shirt?”
Lucy shrugs, raising her brows with a smirk. “Yes. I don’t need your permission, do I?”
Tim tugs at the hem lightly with his free hand, sitting up a bit as a dull throb aches behind his eyes, settling back down against his pillow with a grumble. His ears rush as he lets out a slow breath, squeezing her knee lightly. “No, no. Looks better on you than it does on me, sweets.”
He doesn’t know where it comes from, but he thinks it sounds good rolling off his tongue. It certainly applies – she’d taken care of him all last night and this morning in a subtle enough way that he’d only noticed she was worried once. She’s sweet to him, generally – but it had felt like something more. Lucy coughs, staring at him for a long moment. She flexes her fingers against his knuckles. “Calling me sweets, now?”
Tim rumbles, a smile stretching slowly over his face as he tugs at her t-shirt hem again. “Yes. I don’t need your permission, do I?” He uses as much of a mocking tone as he can muster, but moves to pull her down to lay him. Lucy moves slowly, but settles herself with her back against his chest, burrowing back against him as he wraps his arm around her and presses his face down into her hair. She smells like pine trees and vanilla and a touch of lemon-scented cleaning solution — he’d figured that’s what she’d been up to earlier, but this confirmed it. It’s a mixture he’s pretty sure he’d hate on anyone else, but it works on Lucy — it’s attractive, even. “You said you’re always trying to convince me to nap, right?”
Lucy nods lightly, her laughter reverberating against Tim’s chest. “You still hate naps, I haven’t talked you out of that yet.”
Tim hums, resting his chin against her shoulder. “Take this one as a freebie, then,” he mumbles through a yawn, squeezing her again.
Even though his eyes stay closed, he waits until he feels her breathing go even to let himself fall back asleep.
