Eleven slices of cake sat between the three women. Eleven somewhat identical slices of cake. One had raspberry filling, apparently. Another had lavender buttercream. But all were decorated in white piping and placed on plates adorned with bridal-white doilies. The bakery was a trendy little place with big bright windows that overlooked a courtyard below, a cafe taking up the space with quaint tables and ivy that twisted and crawled up every available surface. Definitely the kind of place that was still a ways off from her patrol salary, but definitely not out of reach for the bride-to-be and her once-contractor-turned-T.O. fiancé.
Bailey was hemming and hawing at the moment between the passionfruit creme and white chocolate chai cakes, neither of which they thought the woman would end up choosing, seeing as how she had been deliberating between the slices for almost forty minutes and had made little to no progress. Apparently, Bailey had asked a few of her co-workers to come along on this very important decision-making expedition, but all had declined. Which meant that Nolan had come begging Angela and Lucy to go with her, since his girlfriend was kind of light on female besties. It took Angela a bribe of a bottle of Herradura to come along, but Lucy had agreed because she genuinely felt sorry for Bailey. She knew that it was hard to open yourself up to other people after a traumatic experience, so she stepped up to the plate. Because, at the end of the day, she was grateful for the people in her life who had been there for her when she needed. So, she would do the same for someone else if she could.
And also: free cake.
“I just can’t decide!” Bailey said, throwing her hands up and letting the fork clang down on the plate, a runaway piece of frosting flinging across the mahogany tabletop. “I like the chai, but it’s not very traditional.”
“So get the chai.” Angela responded, tone even but somewhat threatening. They’d been through this whole song and dance a few times already this afternoon, and the detective was running low on patience.
“Lucy, what do you think?” The other woman asked, hopeful optimism shining in her eyes. Lucy felt her hackles go up as Angela shot her daggers, threatening her to dare and disagree with her and continue this never-ending cake-tasting.
“Oh, I uh,” she stammered, grabbing her own fork and taking another small taste of the cake, “Oh yeah, the chai really is great, Bailey.”
“Really? It’s not too… Out-there for a wedding cake?”
“It’s your second wedding,” Angela deadpanned as she rested her cheek on her fist, “Second weddings can be a little more fun.”
“Right,” Lucy began hesitantly, noticing the way Bailey tensed up, “Why don’t you take your two favorites home with you, and have John cast the winning vote?”
“Yeah, maybe,” she mused, looking back toward the counter where the shop owner was finishing up a sale, “I’ll go and ask if that’s okay.”
“Great.” Angela muttered as Bailey jumped up and made her way across the bakery to the counter. Lucy used this opportunity to smack her gently on the arm. “Ow. What?”
“This is important to her!” She said, keeping her voice low enough that Bailey couldn’t hear her. “At least try to pretend to be interested.”
“I was interested. Ten cakes ago. And why couldn’t her fiance be here anyway, isn’t this like, a couples thing?”
Lucy just gave her an annoyed glare, “Because he wanted her to try to hang out with someone beside him or a bunch of firefighters. I don’t think she has a lot of girlfriends.”
“Just get the yellow cake, it’s what everyone expects anyway,” she sighed, poking a half-eaten slice with her fork, “I didn’t even get to eat my wedding cake.”
The statement wasn’t sad, more matter-of-fact, but made Lucy’s heart clench all the same. Some memories would always be a little more painful when she was forced back to them. “Want me to get you a slice?” She asked through a kind smile, and Angela winced, as if the thought alone was going to make her hurl.
“That’s sweet, Lucy,” she said, swallowing down a gag, “But if I look at another piece of wedding cake I’m going to lose it. In any case, once Wesley and I got settled after Guatemala, we went to Ralphs and got a small birthday cake. We even froze a piece for our one-year and everything.”
“Stop,” Lucy said with a grin, holding back her giggles, “That’s so freaking cute!”
Both women looked over at Bailey who was chatting away with the shop owner and mulling over the variety of cakes again, and Angela just let a huge sigh go, “This woman is hopeless.”
“She’s happy,” Lucy countered, looking back to Angela, who still leaned on her fist, looking bored as ever. “If I were her, I’d be just as excited and meticulous.”
“I bet,” she snickered before softening, “Do you think you’ll be like this, though? All bridezilla?”
“She’s not being a bridezilla,” Lucy argued, but Angela just gave her a look and she rolled her eyes, “Okay, she’s a little bit of a bridezilla. But, anyway, I’m… We’re… We’re definitely not there.”
“I get it,” Angela said with a growing smile, attempting to hide it by taking a sip of her champagne, “But, you’ve thought about it, right? Cause, you know, Tim wants all that traditional stuff. Wife, kids, house with the white picket fence. All that nuclear family American dream crap.”
“Yeah, I know,” Lucy said with a laugh, twisting idly at the stem of her glass, “I mean, he mentioned it a few times when we were on patrol together.”
“But you haven’t talked about it as a couple?” Angela seemed a little more invested in the conversation now, scooting herself a hair closer to her.
“I mean, no not really… But,” she bit her bottom lip and tried to re-focus the conversation, “We’ve only been dating a few months. I don’t think we need to start planning out our kids’ college tuition quite yet.” Lucy suddenly felt her face go red hot, flushing crimson as she heard herself say, out loud, ‘our kids’ Because, sure. Chatting about a nebulous future where you may have kids someday, while riding together on patrol is a little different than openly admitting and verbalizing the actual concept of having children together. And the weight of the thought hit her like a semi truck.
“How many?” Angela pressed, seemingly picking up on Lucy’s epiphany. “Kids. How many do you think you want?”
“I… I don't know.” She suddenly, desperately wished the server would make a reappearance with the bottle of champagne. “I mean, we're not even living together yet.”
“Come on,” Angela groaned, inching closer, “Don't tell me you haven't thought about it. What your life is going to look like in two, three, five years time. Not to like, freak you out, but from what I can tell, the both of you are serious about this. So, what's the hold up?”
“Sure, I guess,” Lucy glanced up at Bailey as she now was scrolling through her phone, showing the woman behind the counter her wedding pinterest board and gushing about the ceremony she had planned. “I mean, eventually I’ll probably move in with him.”
“And? Come on, Lucy. Use that imagination of yours.”
“It’s a little scary, okay?” She bit back, but there was no venom in it. And she sighed, “Sorry, it’s just… It took a lot of shit to get us to this point. And, sure we want the same things… Marriage, kids, dog, house. But I think we’re both so worried about screwing this up, or moving too fast… We both know each other so well, what if we are bad at it? You know like, what if we don’t know how to be a good couple?”
“It seems to me like you guys are doing fine,” she said, her brow furrowing just a little, “Unless you’re not. Are you fighting or…?”
“No!” She quickly corrected, maybe a little too loudly, and looked around worriedly at the rest of the bakery where people happily ignored her outburst, and she turned back to Angela, “No. It’s nothing like that. We’re solid. He’s… Honestly, the best boyfriend I’ve ever had. We communicate. Make time for each other. Respect each other’s privacy and boundaries. And, you know, the sex is pretty good.”
“Oh, God, please,” Angela begged, her face screwing up into a disgusted wince, “You can spare me those details, Lucy! Honestly.”
“Sorry,” she laughed, “It’s more like, everything feels like it’s going so great…”
“You feel like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop?” She asked, and Lucy nodded her head slowly. “I get it. You are kind of wondering, when are his skeletons going to fall out of the closet? But, Lucy,” Angela laughed, her hand settling on hers and gave it a gentle tap, “Tim Bradford is the most vanilla guy I know. And you’ve ridden with him long enough to know all his secrets. Isabel’s addiction. His issues with his father. At the end of the day, you already know who you’ve got.”
She was right, of course. Tim was an open book these days, far from the walled-off, broken man who had stolen her service belt or made her walk outside the shop. There’d always be a little bit of a hard edge to Tim Bradford, but finally getting to the point where he was open and without barriers, she knew Angela was right about his deep, dark secrets. And maybe that wasn’t even it— maybe she was more afraid of being the one to screw things up. She didn’t exactly have a great track record with men either. But she knew things were different, things were right this time. So, she took another sip of her champagne and let the worries and fears tuck away in her subconscious, safe and sound for now.
“She really should just pick the chai,” Lucy finally said, taking another bite of the mangled slice of cake. “I mean, I would have gone for the lemon poppyseed, but that’s me.”
“You think I should go with lemon?” Bailey asked, stunned, as she approached the table with a to-go box. Angela quickly turned her glare on Lucy, who just winced as she set her fork down and gave both women an apologetic and pained smile.
“Should I order us another round of drinks?”
Thank you so much for the prompt! I enjoyed this a lot, and hope that, while I took a slightly different take with this, it still was what you were looking for. Writing prompts are currently open. If your prompt is not answered, it's nothing personal, we may just have different ideas.
Omg, Catherine got two fics out back to back? What’s going on? Okay, but this wasn’t originally going to be a song fic but I was listening to music while I was starting to write this and I Won’t Say I’m In Love just kept popping in my head and it fit so well with the plot so here you go. Enjoy guys! :D
Tag list: @almostoyster @emphatically-enthusiastic @thevioletsunflower @interwebseriesfan24
If there's a prize for rotten judgement
I guess I've already won that
No man is worth the aggravation
That's ancient history, been there, done that!
Who'd'ya think you're kiddin'
He's the Earth and heaven to you
Try to keep it hidden
Honey, we can see right through you
Ya can't conceal it
We know how ya feel and
Who you're thinking of
Spot had had relationships in the past. Let’s just say, none of them turned out right. So when his friends started trying to say he was in love with his friend Race, he shrugged it off. “I’m not in love with him. He’s an asshole. Besides, he’s not worth it. I’ve been there and I’m not going back.”
Jack slapped him upside the head and received a glare in return. “Wow. You’re even more oblivious than I thought. Look, even I can see that he’s everything to you. If I can see it, everyone can. I’d be surprised if even Race didn’t know. You can try to hide it but we all know so there’s no point.”
It's too cliche
I won't say I'm in love
I thought my heart had learned its lesson
It feels so good when you start out
My head is screaming get a grip
Unless you're dying to cry your heart out
Spot had been thinking about what Jack said for several months to come. Every time someone would make a comment, he’d blow it off and say the same thing he always did: “Love’s not my thing.” But the truth is, something had changed. He thought his heart would have learned by now. But no. This has to feel so good in the beginning that every time, he can’t help but hope it could be different and it never is. His brain is screaming for his heart to get a grip so it won’t get hurt but of course, it won’t listen.
You keep on denying
Who you are and how you're feeling
Baby, we're not buying
Hon, we saw ya hit the ceiling
Face it like a grown-up
When ya gonna own up
That ya got, got, got it bad
No chance, now way
I won't say it, no, no
Give up, give in
Check the grin you're in love
His friends wouldn’t give up. One time they were all hanging out and Race winked at Spot, causing him to grin like an idiot and all of his friends to start teasing him. Sure in that moment, he laughed it off and threatened to beat them if they didn’t stop. But at this point he could tell he felt something. He still knew for sure, he’d never ever admit it. He’d rather deal with the teasing for the rest of his life than admit he was in love again.
This scene won't play,
I won't say I'm in love
You're doin flips read our lips
You're in love
You're way off base
I won't say it
Get off my case
I won't say it
At this point, Spot was getting really irritated with everyone, or at least that’s how it seemed. In reality, he was annoyed with himself. But he still couldn’t do it. Sure, every time Race smiled at him or winked or even looked in his direction, he felt his stomach do flips. He had to really focus to not sound like a lovesick idiot when he talked to him, which was not an easy task. Most of his friends had given up trying to get him to accept it, but the stubborn few, cough, Jack and Romeo, were persistent.
Don't be proud
It's O.K. you're in love
At least out loud,
I won't say I'm in love
As one last-ditch effort to get them together, Jack and Romeo threw a party and insisted on a game of truth or dare. It was going as it always did, until Romeo called out Spot.
“Spotty Boy. Truth or Dare.”
Uh oh. He knew that grin. If Spot chose truth, he’d have to confess something that would force him to reveal. If he chose dare, no doubt he’d have to kiss Race. If he backed out? No. Not an option. Spot Conlon never backed down. If he did, that could reveal things. “Dare.” At least he’d get a kiss out of it.
“I dare you to go into the closet with Race. For 15 minutes.”
Race just started laughing and stood up, holding a hand out to Spot. Of course he’d find this amusing. He doesn’t know the torture this will be for Spot. Nevertheless, they went into the closet and Romeo locked the door once they were inside.
“So, what are we supposed to do in here?”
“Well, ‘Spotty Boy’, clearly they had a plan. Do you know what it was?”
“Nope.” Yes. “I never know what their intentions are.” Lie.
“Well, we have several options: We could talk and be lame. Or we could make these 15 minutes fun and make out?” Spot stared up at him, trying not to seem panicked.
“What?”
“Oh come on. I know you’ve made out with people. You and Todd were all over each other.”
“So?”
“So, why not? Let’s make this fun because they’re not gonna let us out.”
Spot takes a deep breath before nodding. “Alright then.”
Race nods and leans in, placing his hands on either side of Spot’s face before kissing him deeply. Spot’s breath catches in his throat as he returns the kiss. One thing was for sure as their lips moved in sync: Spot couldn’t deny his feelings anymore. He still wouldn’t admit it out loud but he had to admit it to himself. Spot Conlon was in love with Racetrack Higgins.
“I was never unfaithful to you. But this isn’t about him.” (aka: I heard ya'll wanted a Chris confronts Lucy when he finds Tim at her place fic.)
The smell of blood was still fresh in her mind, pungent and metallic and overwhelming. Vivid memories of screaming and running and live rounds whizzing past her, the wind touching her cheek as a stray bullet whispered against her skin. She could have died so many times today, could have been caught in the crossfire as a group of armed and incredibly dangerous criminals tried to shoot their way through the police barricade she had helped set up. Cops had been hit beside her, criminals across from her. And a bloody mess was left behind after the intense shoot-out. One cop died today. And she couldn’t help but wring her hands together as she sat in the dark of her apartment, staring out the window at the city beyond. A cold reminder of the danger of her job, the reality of everyone she cared about always being in danger…
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Tim and Lucy finally make it to their date, but first dates are never smooth sailing. (aka: I plotted this before the 5x10 summary dropped but it still works because it's exactly what I wrote. Whoops.)
Rich, dark mahogany tables and fixtures lined the small restaurant, while the cool gentle tones of jazzy atmospheric music played in the distance. The smell of sizzling yakitori wafted from the bar-side grill, and soft chatter and laughter echoed through the small space. It was dark and intimate and filled with young, successful-looking patrons. The type of place that was trendy enough for Angelenos to gather to discuss their latest session at primal movement class or the screenplay they just optioned to the studio their dad works for. But, as soon as they had stepped through the door and were led to their quiet table in a corner by the bar, Lucy felt herself go flush, her eyes lighting up at the tabletops adorned with tea candles and a spread of various sashimi and tsukemono. It was like she was walking through a dream, a distant yearning for something she’d never actually have, swimming through the fog of desire that had clouded her heart for who-knows-how-long. But it wasn’t a dream, the man who pulled her chair out and gave her a wry smile as she sat down wasn’t a shadowy figure of unrequited desire. It was real, he was real, and the amused expression that lit up his face as he took his seat… That was real too. Her heart filled up as fast as her glass of umeshu, the liquor burning hot as it coursed through her veins, and sent her pulse racing as he let his fingers slide along hers, his voice soft as he admitted, “I’m glad we made it.” It was less about making their reservation time, or beating rush hour traffic… And more a statement of everything that it took to get them here, to this moment. Being on the same page at the same time was not always guaranteed in these things.
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Her fingertips touch gently at his scars, each one hiding a piece of Tim Bradford that was still a mystery to her. Parts of his past that he kept locked away for no one, not even her, to be able to see. (or Post 5x12, Lucy and Tim wake up together in her bed the next morning. Introspective thoughts ensue.)
The soft buzzing of her cell phone was the first thing she heard. The deep, contented breaths of her partner next to her was the second. Her eyes blinked open sleepily, the bedroom awash in grey early morning light, the city skyline outside of her window barely illuminated in the desaturated purple haze of dawn. It must have been early, she thought to herself, still before sunrise, and too early to even start thinking about slipping away from the cool sheets and warm skin that was pressed up against her left side. Peering down over the side of the bed, she saw her unplugged cellphone lighting up with a voicemail notification from her yoga studio, before the screen went black and melted back into the darkness of the bedroom. She could see the outlines of discarded clothing scattered across the floor, and a pang of something raw clenched at her heart as she noticed her red top was draped across a pair of men’s black pants. And the simplicity of the two items, intertwined on her bedroom floor, made her swallow back a smile and nestle back deeper into the bed. Her skin finding his under the sheets, she heard a low mumble, then felt a shift, and his hand found its way to her hip, arm tugging her sleepily toward him. And with a deep, deep breath, felt him bury his nose into her hair, before sighing and falling back into a contented sleep.
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You said send prompts and I’m such a sucker for the everyone finds out trope I’m dying to know how Angela and Tamara are gonna react. That or 5x11 spec!
Thank you so much for this prompt! I openly, fully, truly admit that I am such a sucker for "they find out" as a trope! And I promise to explore more of Tamara finding out, or maybe some spec fic in the future. But for today, I have the "Angela finds out" fic for you!
The cool, late January wind rustled the palm fronds above them as the sun dipped low in the sky. Chatter and music and laughter wafted up from the backyard space as John Nolan manned the propane grill, flipping a burger and letting flames shoot up as fat hit fire. Nolan’s hillside bungalow was the perfect spot for the holiday weekend gathering, as most of the Mid-Wilshire crew gathered in the dying light of the Silver Lake sky. Bailey was hurriedly making her way between guests, offering them refills on their drinks and offering bits of conversation as she went. Tim and Lucy stood near the main beer cooler and nursed a couple bottles, deep in conversation about something utterly frivolous, which by the looks of it, Lucy was very intensely arguing her side of things while Tim just furrowed his brow at her and scoffed. Wesley and James were excitedly conversing about future plans for the community center and justice system as a whole— nothing like a little liquid courage to get her husband onto a tirade about saving the soul of Los Angeles. Nyla sat at her side on a patio couch, little baby Leah bouncing in her arms as she continued to talk to Angela about a recent case they caught that was particularly vexing. And while she let the woman ramble on about entry wound sizes and states of decomp, she mostly had tuned her out as she surveyed the backyard full of good friends, food, drinks, and laughter. Aaron emerged from the sliding glass door with a huge bowl of salad, followed by the newest rookie Celina Juarez, who he had brought along as his plus-one. Jack was fast asleep in Angela’s arms, something that got more difficult as the days went on and her son grew bigger, as she saw Wesley approach. Her husband tossed his now empty bottle of beer into a nearby trash can and stretched his hands out toward her.
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