Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lucy didn't know how long she'd been standing in the parking lot. It couldn't have been more than two hours but it felt like a lifetime.

He will return.

That thought pulsed through her like a heartbeat.

He will come back, and we’ll be okay. He has to.

She kept telling herself.

The rain had started a while ago. Quiet at first, then steadier, heavier. But she couldn't move. He was going to come back here and she didn't want to leave. Not just yet. Not until he came back.

He would.

Of course he would, eventually.

They loved each other. That meant something. It had to.

He couldn't have just walked away from her like that.

He just needed time. Time to breathe, to think, to regret.

He would realize what he’d done. He would turn around. He would come running back. She knew him. He wouldn't leave her like this.

People were passing by, faces she saw every day. One paused, eyebrows knit with concern.

“Chen, are you okay? Why are you standing here alone?”

Lucy offered a thin smile, rain tracing the curve of her jaw like tears.

“I’m waiting for Tim,” she said.

And for a moment, the words felt like a spell, as if saying his name might summon him back.

The rain blurred the world around her, turning headlights into smears of gold and pavement into mirrors. Her shoes were soaked through, and every step she didn’t take became heavier. She didn’t care. The ache in her legs, the numbness crawling up her fingers... none of it mattered.

What mattered was this place. This small, cracked stretch of asphalt.

This was the last place he kissed her.

The last place he chose to walk away.

So it had to be the place he came back to.

Lucy tried to replay it, their last conversation. Maybe if she had agreed to give him space, maybe if she hadn’t looked at him that way, he wouldn’t have left.

I can't just go back to the way things were.

You deserve so much better.

That's why I'm walking away.

But Lucy didn't want any better. She wanted him.

She rubbed her arms for warmth, though it was useless. The cold had made itself a part of her.

What was keeping him? He should've been here already.

It took her everything not to scream.

Cars came and went.

None of them were his.

She stopped wiping the rain from her face. Let it fall. Let it soak her completely. Let it hide the tears when they came.

She was still waiting. Still believing.

Because if she dared to move, if she stepped away now, it would mean she had accepted he wasn’t coming back.

And she wasn’t ready to believe that.

Not yet.

Somewhere behind her, footsteps sloshed through the puddles, unhurried. She didn’t turn. She didn’t have to.

That dragging gait, that familiar shuffle. It could only belong to one person.

She let out a troubled sigh.

“Kid,” a voice grunted, half-curious, half-annoyed. “You planning to drown out here or are you conducting some dramatic social experiment?”

Lucy blinked. Her lips were pale and parted, but she said nothing.

Smitty sighed, shifting his weight like just being here was a chore.

He shoved his hands in the pockets of his oversized jacket and squinted at her, as if squinting might help him understand whatever mess he’d stumbled into.

“You’re waiting for Bradford, huh?”

She gave the smallest nod. Barely noticeable.

Smitty scratched at his scruffy jaw, making a face like he’d bitten into something sour. “Figures. Thought I saw him peel out earlier like a bat outta hell. It was sad to watch."

The words hit her chest like a slow punch. But still, she didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just… stared at the wet ground, water pooling around her boots.

Smitty looked at her for a long moment, then did something no one would’ve expected, maybe not even himself.

He shrugged off his jacket, revealing a threadbare hoodie underneath, and draped it clumsily over her shoulders.

“Jesus, you’re freezing. Come on. I’m not gonna let you catch pneumonia out here just because lover boy had a midlife crisis.”

Lucy looked up at him, eyes glassy.

“I- I just thought…”

“Yeah,” he muttered, softer this time. “We all think stupid stuff when we’re in it.”

He didn’t say anything else. Just turned and started walking toward the edge of the lot, jerking his head for her to follow.

“Wait inside. Bradford’d have my ass if I let his girl freeze out here.”

Against every part of her still waiting, she followed.

The walk was short but silent. His RV sat crooked at the end of the lot, paint peeling and door hanging like a loose tooth. He kicked it open with a grunt.

“Welcome to the Ritz.”

She didn’t smile. But she stepped in.

She remembered cleaning the trailer once, doing it just for Tim.

Thinking his name added another wound to her already shattered heart.

That's why she didn't bother to scold Smitty when she realized the trailer was a mess again inside. It was cramped and cluttered, half-coffee shop, half junkyard. A stained couch, a stack of donut boxes, a tiny lamp that gave off a tired glow. He pulled a blanket from the back of a recliner and tossed it to her.

“Dry off. Don’t touch the coffee pot unless you wanna meet God early.”

She sat, the blanket clutched to her chest, and finally, finally let herself exhale. Her lips trembled but not from the cold anymore.

Smitty cracked open a soda, plopped down with a groan, and stared at the ceiling.

“I’m not good at pep talks,” he said after a while. “But I got a microwave burrito and time.”

Lucy didn’t laugh. But the silence between them felt a little less sharp now.

Smitty went silent then, chewing on something that crackled in its wrapper. He didn’t ask questions. Maybe that was his kindness. She never dreamed in her wildest dreams that she would feel gratitude for Smitty.

She stared at the rain-streaked window. It was fogged around the edges, and through it, she could just make out the edge of the parking lot where she had stood. Where she had waited. She must have looked so ridiculous.

She had imagined so many versions of what would happen, how he would come running back, eyes full of regret, arms open for a warm hug. How she would yell at him, hit him maybe, but then fall into him. The scene played out like a cruel, looping daydream now, an echo of something she had needed to believe in just to stay standing.

But he hadn’t come. He had driven away. 

“He ever done this before?” Smitty asked suddenly, not looking at her.

Lucy blinked, caught off guard by the question.

“No,” she said, her voice hoarse. “Never like this.”

Smitty grunted. “Then maybe it wasn’t about you.”

She wanted to believe that. She really did. But the truth was, she had seen the way he looked at her before he left, conflicted, yes, but also… final. Like a door quietly closing.

“People always leave,” she said quietly, eyes fixed on the window. “That’s what they do.”

“Sometimes,” Smitty said. He leaned back, balancing a can of soda on his stomach. “Sometimes they come back. Usually when you’ve stopped caring.”

Lucy didn’t answer. She didn’t think she ever could stop caring. That was the worst part. Love, once it dug in, didn’t pull out easy.

Tim had walked away with a piece of her she could never get back. Half of her heart was gone.

Outside, the rain had slowed to a mist. The kind that lingered, gentle but insistent. The parking lot shimmered under the lamplight, puddles reflecting the world upside down.

Smitty stood with a grunt, rummaged through a cabinet, and tossed her a pair of thick socks. They didn’t match. One was yellow, the other blue.

“Your feet gotta be blocks of ice,” he muttered.

She took them without a word. The fabric was scratchy but warm in her hands. That small gesture, unassuming, almost careless, landed harder than any speech would have.

Again, feeling grateful for Smitty was new to her.

It was kind of embarrassing.

Then for the first time in hours, she let herself close her eyes.

Not to sleep. Not yet. But just to rest.

To stop watching the door.

To stop pretending she heard Tim’s car every time an engine passed.

Her breath slowed, and for a moment, there was nothing but the low hum of the heater and the distant dripping of rain from the roof. The ache in her chest didn’t go away, but it dulled, just enough for her to exhale without breaking.

“I don’t think he’s coming back,” she whispered into the quiet.

Smitty didn’t answer right away. Just let out a breath through his nose.

“Then screw him,” he said. “And finish the burrito. I’m not wasting food on a pity party.”

A hollow laugh caught in her throat, short, surprised, and real.

And just like that, something shifted. Not fixed. Not healed. But less broken.

And maybe that was enough. For tonight.

Chapter Text

The dream was soft.

Tim’s arms around her, his breath warm against her neck. He was whispering something she couldn’t quite hear. Aapologies maybe, or I love you, or some mix of both? His voice wrapped around her like a safety net.

She smiled in the dream. Everything was okay again. He came back. Of course he came back. She knew it.

And then the cold hit her.

The blanket was coarse against her delicate skin, the air stale with the scent of Smitty’s old socks and burnt coffee. Her body remembered before her mind did. She blinked, and the ceiling above her wasn’t Tim’s bedroom. It was yellowed, cracked, and shaking slightly with every gust of wind.

Her heart sank like a stone.

It wasn’t a dream. It wasn't just a dream.

The ache returned, dull and immediate. Her mouth was dry, and the lump in her throat throbbed like a bruise.

She sat up slowly, dragging the blanket with her, and looked toward the small kitchenette of the RV. Smitty was already up, rummaging through a box of what might have been cereal or dried dog food, it was impossible to tell.

He didn’t look at her when he spoke.

“Thought you died. Was about to sell your boots on eBay.”

Lucy blinked, her voice thick with sleep. “Still wearing them.”

“Yeah, I figured. Guess I’ll just sell your soul then.”

She gave a tired exhale, barely a laugh, but the closest thing she’d managed in days.

“You sleep like the dead,” he added, glancing at her now. “Or like someone hoping to wake up in a better universe.”

Her eyes flicked away.

He had seen it.

Smitty’s expression softened, just slightly. “You gettin’ outta here today?”

She hesitated. “I guess I should.”

“Mm.” He shrugged. “World’s still there. Might as well get back to it before it burns down completely.”

She didn’t move or answer.

He poured what was definitely not cereal into a chipped mug, added hot water, and handed it to her. Whatever it was smelled vaguely like sadness.

“Drink. You look like hell.”

“Thanks,” she muttered, wrapping both hands around the mug like it might anchor her to the earth.

An hour later she left the trailer without waiting for him. It was already awkward that she stayed in Smitty's trailer. With him in it.

She was going to get a day off. So here she was, standing stiffly in front of Sergeant Grey’s desk. She felt so small in his presence.

Her hair was still damp, loosely tied back. She wore the same clothes as yesterday, crumpled, rain-wrinkled, and smelling faintly of Smitty’s RV. Her badge was clipped half-heartedly to her belt, as if she’d only remembered it at the last second.

Grey looked up, immediately reading her face like a case file.

“You okay?”

Lucy nodded. “I just… needed a minute. I was crashing at the lot. With Smitty.”

His brow furrowed. "Smitty?" 

"Yeah, apparently he does have a heart. I was surprised too." She said, trying to sound funny.

Then for the first time she said the words. "Tim broke up with me in the parking lot."

A beat of silence. "Last night." She added.

Grey didn’t pry. He simply gave a short nod. “You want the day?”

She swallowed. “Yeah.”

“You’ve got it. Take care of yourself.”

She nodded again, already backing away.

“Chen?"

She paused.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Grey said. “But don’t disappear, either.”

“I don't think I will, sir."

With that, she turned and left and was already home before she realized. The silence hit her the moment she stepped inside. It wasn’t the comforting kind. Not the soft quiet of a Sunday morning or the stillness after a long day. No, this was the kind of silence that echoed. The kind that pressed in from the walls, as if the apartment itself was holding its breath.

Lucy didn’t take off her shoes.

She just stood in the entryway, the door clicking shut behind her like a judge’s gavel. Her eyes flicked across the room, everything familiar, but subtly wrong.

Tamara’s shoes were gone from the rack. The corner where her yoga mat used to lean was empty. Her favorite mug wasn’t in the sink. The air felt colder somehow.

Lucy set her keys down too quietly and toed off her boots like she might shatter something. Her body moved like it was underwater. —Detached.

The couch was still there. So was the throw pillow Tamara always complained about but never replaced. Lucy sat down slowly, pulling that same pillow into her lap like it could fill the space Tamara left behind.

But it didn’t.

The apartment felt abandoned. Not just by Tamara. But by color, by sound, by everything that once made it feel like a home. It felt like a hotel now.

It made sense. Tamara had moved out few days ago. They’d talked about it, civilly, even. Said they would stay close. But saying it didn’t change the quiet.

Still, Lucy didn’t blame her.

She might’ve left too, if she had anywhere else to go.

She stepped into her bedroom and immediately her mind circled back to the one place it always did now.

Tim's stuff were still there. She could see some of his books and clothes on her desk.

She held her breath. He was everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

It was funny, in the worst way, how she had built her sense of safety around him without realizing it, for all those years. He was her friend long before they were lovers, and he was her mentor even longer. He had seen her at her worst. At her most stubborn. At her most broken. He had still stayed.

Until he didn’t.

Her throat tightened.

He saw everything, and still decided to walk away.

You deserve so much better.

That's why I'm walking away.

Her fingers found the edge of the bed as she sank down, the air too heavy to stand beneath.

He had said he loved her.

He had looked at her like she was the only person in the room. Like she mattered the most.

So how did love vanish like that? How did it dissolve so fast that she was still wearing the same clothes from the night he left and he was probably already back to breathing like she never existed?

Maybe she had made it too easy to leave.

Maybe she had never been enough to stay for.

That thought burrowed into her like a hook.

She'd failed the detective exam. She'd failed at friendship. She'd failed at love. And now, sitting here, surrounded by her own silence, Lucy realized she had become something she never feared before:

A disappointment.

Not to the world. Not to the job. Not even to Tim.

But to herself.

Every version of Lucy she had tried to become –brave Lucy, smart Lucy, good cop Lucy, good girlfriend Lucy– had cracked apart one by one, until nothing was left but the reminder that maybe…

Maybe she just wasn’t lovable at all.

Her eyes burned, but no tears came. That would’ve been something, some proof that she still had feeling left inside her. But there was just the tightness in her throat. The kind that made breathing feel like work.

She reached for her phone.

Missed messages:

— One from her mom: "You can't keep ignoring me Lucy. Answer my calls."

— One from Angela: "Talked to him. Here if you need."

— A string of unopened group messages from work.

But absolutely nothing from Tim.

Her thumb hovered over the screen.

Would he answer it had she called? Did he miss her as much as she did? Was he able to sleep in peace without her?

She frowned then turned the phone over, face-down.

Did it matter? If he wanted her, he would have been by her side.

She crawled into bed fully clothed pulled a blanket around her shoulders like armor. The fabric smelled like the fabric softener she used to share with Tamara. Now it just smelled like memory.

The light from the window cut through the fabric in pale strips. Dust floated in the air like ghosts. Her room smelled faintly of old perfume and something sour she didn’t want to identify.

The weight of the day, of the week, of everything, pressed against her chest. Everything felt too much.

And she hated how much she still wanted his voice to break the silence. Still wanted him to walk through the door and say “I made a mistake.” Still wanted someone, anyone, to choose her and mean it.

But no one came.

No one ever did.

And she couldn’t even cry.

Because crying would mean she still believed it could hurt less tomorrow.

The pain was just too real. It didn't feel like healing anytime soon.

She curled up tighter and let the hours pass around her like waves against a rock.

Chapter Text

The first thing Lucy registered was the cold when she woke up. Not the morning air, or the chill of a drafty window, but the unusual absence beside her.

She rolled slightly, one arm reaching toward the space Tim used to fill. The sheets were untouched, undisturbed. Cold, like they’d never known warmth. Like he’d never been there at all.

She didn’t cry. She’d done that already, in silence, in stillness, in dreams. What was left now was quieter than grief. A kind of dullness. A hollow that stretched from her chest to the edges of her skin.

With a quiet exhale, she sat up, blanket pooling around her waist. The apartment was still. The kind of stillness that makes you aware of every sound you aren’t hearing. No clinking of a coffee cup. No keys tossed on the counter. No half-mumbled good morning from a groggy partner who always woke up too early.

Just her hollowed heart.

And the cold side of the bed.

Without letting herself think, because she was too afraid to crumble to the floor, she quickly got out of bed and went into the bathroom.

She didn't think about his toothbrush, shaver or the towel that still smelled like him. She refused to remember the way his hands moved over her skin, warm and certain, like he belonged there.

Lucy refused to acknowledge any of them.

She did cry a little bit, while showering, but convinced herself that the water streaming down her cheeks wasn't pouring from her eyes.

Luckily, he wouldn't be at the police station today. He would be allowed to return to work in a week. This would give her time to adjust to his absence. She wasn't his rookie anymore and they wouldn't go on patrol together unless they absolutely had to. She could avoid him and give herself time to get used to being alone. And when the pain stopped, they could go being simple coworkers. Everything would be fine.

But who was she lying to? She could never be his simple coworker.

He was the man she thought she was going to marry. She couldn't just go back to being coworkers.

She took a deep breath and tried to not think about all of these.

When she went back to her room and started dressing, she didn't look at the bed. She didn't think about the fact that they slept there together almost every day until a few days ago. She didn't think about the moments of intimacy and pleasure that would haunt her forever, either.

Even though her mind was trying to deny every moment and erase him, her heart was fighting back, refusing to let go. Deep down she thought, maybe they could talk after he came back. Maybe he would explain himself and ask her to have him back.

Lucy knew she would scream, cry, maybe even shove him away, but she would still take him back. Because she always would. Because it was him.

She was still in her car when she started crying. In the same spot he left her just two days ago.

After giving herself a few minutes to rest, she wiped her cheeks and put on her bravest expression. Everything was ruined, the future she would have with the man she loved, children and love, but she would not let her job be ruined. She was a respected cop and Tim couldn't take that from her.

The precinct was already in motion when she arrived. Phones ringing. Laughter echoing faintly down the hallway. People who had slept, eaten, talked, lived like nothing had changed.

Lucy moved through the noise like a shadow.

Her uniform was clean, hair tied back neatly, but she felt like a shell. Everything she wore fit wrong. Her badge felt heavier than usual. Maybe it knew. But she refused to let her guard down.

She turned a corner and there he was.

Fuck.

He wasn't supposed to be here. Not today. Not this soon.

Tim stood near the whiteboard, talking to Lopez, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed in that way that used to make her feel safe. He wasn't wearing his uniform, just casual clothes.

He caught sight of her first.

“Hey,” he said, low but clear.

She didn’t stop walking. She couldn't let herself look into his ocean eyes.

“Morning, Lucy,” he tried again, softer.

As if he had the right to speak to her, after what he did.

She shook her head. Her steps didn’t falter. Didn’t slow. Didn’t turn his way. 

It wasn’t petty. It was survival.

She was going to talk to him, just not yet. She still had to figure out how she could stand before him without crying.

It would take time.

Roll call came and went quickly. She didn't speak to anyone and didn't look up. But she knew Tim wasn't there anymore.

It's for the best.

While she was hoping that she would do her job all day on her own and suffer in silence, Sergeant Grey called out to her.

"You're riding with me today, Chen." He said.

She frowned and automatically shook her head. "I know you're worried about me sir, but I– I really don't need babysitting. It's unnecessary."

Sergeant Grey sighed and rolled his eyes.

"I'm not here to babysit. You've been through a lot– detective's exam, Tim. I would be remiss if I didn't check in with you." 

"And by check in, you mean evaluate?" She said, trying not to look disappointed.

She was in a position where she needed to prove herself, again. Because of Tim, because of what he did. The resentment was all she could feel and it turned her insides so bad.

Grey didn't bother to answer and headed to the shop. She followed him without saying a word.

After only few seconds they got the first call of the day.

"7-Adam-200. 2-73-5, your beat. Male versus female in a verbal, possible physical. Details to your box." The Dispatch explained.

They were there in a short time because the scene was close.

The man shouted. "You are psycho!"

"You left. I thought you loved me! You just disappeared without saying a word! How could you do that to us?" The woman cried.

Lucy flinched with the woman's words.

You gotta be kidding me.

"I didn't have a choice, babe." He answered.

She tried so hard to not roll her eyes. Were all men the same? Were all of them ghosting their girlfriends and move on like nothing happened?

The brokenhearted woman brought her back from thoughs. "What does that even mean? What do you mean?"

"I didn't have a–"

Lucy interrupted him before he could finish his lame excuses. "What's going on here?"

The woman turned to Lucy and clapped. "Oh, good, you're finally here. Arrest him."

The man frowned and stepped away from them. "No way, what? No, ghosting is not a crime."

It fucking should be.

"You didn't ghost me. You faked your own death. Your mom called me in tears. Who even was that?" She asked bitterly.

"My new girlfriend." His answer was cruel and cynical.

You deserve so much better.

That's why I'm walking away.

She felt her blood boil.

The woman, all of a sudden attacked her ex, yelling "God, I hate you!"

Lucy, who had seen this movie before, damn it, lived it, couldn't stand what she saw anymore and intervened. "Enough with that!" She said, pulling back the angry woman.

"What he did– it is incredibly horrifying and psychotic. We agree on that but he is not worth whatever revenge fantasy you've got going on in your head, okay? So just breathe and calm down. He's not worth it."

The woman let go of the ex but immediately broke down to the floor.

"I thought we were happy. I thought he was the one, and then it just ended. I thought we would get married sooner or later. And have a bunch of kids, too." She said, wiping her cheeks. "And at least when he was dead, it made sense. I was devastated, but it made sense. And now I... I don't know what to do."

Lucy absolutely hated how relatable her words were.

She thought she was going to get married to Tim and have one or two kids. She dreamed a perfect life for them, picket fence dreams, and that future seemed so close she could feel it in her hands. But one day he just crashed those dreams, after disappearing for 36 hours, as if they meant nothing to either of them.

Sergeant Grey's gesture towards the shop pulled her from her misery. And then she was shaken by a sudden thought that came to her mind.

"Sir, was that a setup just now?" She asked, couldn't helping herself. 

It couldn't have been a coincidence, right?

"Excuse me?" The look on Grey's face froze her for a moment. So before explaining herself, she wet her lips and took a deep breath. She hadn't yet gotten over what had just happened. It was incredibly triggering.

Are you breaking up with me?

I'm sorry.

She could hear his voice in her mind.

I can't just go back to the way things were.

"Tim just bailed on me, and our first call involves a woman who's literally being ghosted? I mean, respectfully, it's kind of messed up, sir."

Sergeant Grey put both hands on his hips and winced. "You watch too much reality TV. Now, I promise you, I do not care enough about your personal drama to hire actors to put on a little show for you."

She felt her face flush with shame, even though a part of her still thought she was right. "I'm sorry. I do watch a little bit too much reality shows. It's my bad."

She got into the vehicle, wishing the rest of the day to be peaceful.

But of course, things were rarely on Lucy Chen's side. And fate, it seemed, was just getting started.

Chapter Text

Nothing exciting had happened since their first call, just the usual theft and complaints of noise. She was quiet in the shop and definitely avoided talking about Tim. She needed to focus on her job and get through the day. Although Sergeant Grey said he was worried about her, Lucy knew that, deep down, this trip was an evaluation. She wouldn't be shattered into pieces before his eyes.

When their lunch break rolled around, she passed on food and went inside to get coffee. She needed the caffeine more than calories. The precinct’s hallway buzzed faintly, full of normalcy. Phones ringing, the tap of keyboards, someone laughing two desks down. It felt like a different universe.

As she neared the break room, she slowed. Voices.

"You still taking bets on the breakup?" someone asked, tone too casual, too amused.

A familiar chuckle followed. Smitty. "You know it."

She froze, fingers tightening around her cup.

They hadn't seen her. Of course they hadn’t. She was just background noise to them now.

“Hundred bucks says Tim cheated.”

Her stomach turned. She felt it in her knees first, the little give of something breaking beneath the surface.

Smitty laughed again, an easy, entertained sound that suddenly made her feel sick.

“You sure? Odds are running five to one against that.”

“Yeah. Bigger risk, bigger reward,” the first voice said.

Then silence.

Because someone had finally looked up.

“Oh.”

Smitty's smile dropped. The other guy stiffened, suddenly very interested in the floor.

Lucy stood in the doorway, her coffee forgotten in her hand, eyes locked on them both.

Her voice was even. Colder than it had any right to be.

“Betting on my personal life now?” she said. “That how slow it’s been lately? I thought you were bigger than that, Smitty."

She stepped closer and took the paper on his hands, read the words loud.

"Lucy found out about Tim's secret child with Isabel, 5 to 1. Lucy is sleeping with Aaron, 3 to 1." It was ridiculous. "How are the odds that I'm cheating with Aaron– but you know what? That's not the point. This is inappropriate. And so mean, Smitty." Her voice cracked at the end.

Smitty opened his mouth, then closed it again. “Chen, it’s not—”

“Save it,” she said bitterly, "you saw with your own eyes how hurt I was in the parking lot. You took me in and comforted me in your own weird way. I didn't expect this from you, not after that." She finished her words sharply, then stepped past them and poured her coffee in deliberate silence.

Her hands were steady, but only because she’d trained them to be. Inside, though, something was splintering. She didn’t care about the rumors. She didn’t care about the jokes.

But the gambling? The trivializing of her pain, the way they reduced the most gut-wrenching few days of her life to a joke with odds?

That felt like a new kind of betrayal.

She left without another word, the bitter coffee untouched, the silence behind her louder than any apology.

"I'm sorry. You're right. I'll shut it down." Lucy heard him but didn't answer. She was hurt enough.

Trying to steady her nerves, Lucy made her way back to the shop. There was still a good thirty minutes left of the lunch break, and she planned to spend every second of it there. Away from the noise, the stares, and the whispers. If she stayed put, maybe she could avoid running into anyone else. Maybe she could breathe without feeling watched. 

Maybe she could stop wondering who was whispering about her breakup, who thought her pain was worth betting on.

She had spent years earning their respect.

Shift after shift, Lucy had proven herself– fast, capable, intuitive. She handled pressure with grace, defused tense calls with empathy, chased down suspects twice her size without blinking. She was a damn good cop. That used to mean something.

But not today.

Today, none of it mattered. Because instead of talking about her instincts or her arrest records or how she survived every shit she'd been through, they were talking about her heartbreak. About him. About what he did.

They were placing bets.

The thought made her stomach twist. Who would do this? How could they be this cruel?

She leaned back in her seat, trying to keep her breathing even, but her pulse roared in her ears. You still taking bets on the breakup? That voice, casual and amused, played on a loop in her head. The laughter. The sound of her name being reduced to gossip and entertainment.

It wasn’t just the betrayal. It was the humiliation. These were her colleagues. People she passed in the hall every day, people she trusted to have her back out there and now they were whispering behind hers. Treating the end of her relationship like some sick office pool. Her pain was someone’s punchline.

And Smitty.

God, Smitty.

He was supposed to be different. Gruff and sarcastic, sure, and sometimes mean, but was kind in his own bizarre way to her that night. He’d given her a place to sleep when she couldn’t face the world. Draped his jacket over her shaking shoulders. He’d sat with her in silence when silence was the only thing she could handle. And yet, there he was– laughing, enabling it, letting it happen.

Like all of that kindness had an expiration date.

The sting of it lodged somewhere deep in her chest. She didn’t know what hurt more– that they were doing it, or that she hadn’t even been surprised. Not really.

And Tim.

Tim, who had loved her, supposedly.

Tim, who walked away without thinking twice.

Tim, who had shattered her in private and left her to pick up the pieces in public.

He had made her a spectacle.

She should have been mourning a relationship, not salvaging her reputation.

They weren’t talking about her strength. They weren’t admiring her professionalism. They were asking whether he cheated or if she drove him away. Speculating. Laughing. Betting. As if they were actors on a fucking TV Show.

And Lucy –proud, competent, focused Lucy– had never felt smaller.

The words echoed in her mind like an accusation. Not from anyone else, from herself. From that cold, bruised place inside her that kept asking "How did you let yourself end up here?"

Her fingers trembled slightly as she tried to focus on the silence in the shop, scrolling through Cliptalk.

And then, the door creaked.

She didn’t need to look up. The footsteps were too calm, too measured. Sergeant Grey.

His presence always carried weight, even in the smallest movements. He didn’t say anything at first, just walked to the passenger seat of the shop and got in.

"How are you?" Grey glanced at her briefly. “You and Tim speak since the breakup?”

She blinked at the bluntness of the question. Maybe it was better that way– no pretense, no soft approach.

“Great and no” she answered, too quickly. Then added, dryly, “I thought you didn't care about my personal life. I mean, you don’t have to–"

“I care if it impacts the job,” Grey said, eyes still on her. “Tim was the subject of an IA inquiry and you two broke up the very same day. I can’t help but wonder if there’s a connection.”

There it was again, the creeping suspicion. The idea that everything between them had been messier than it looked. That maybe it had all been leading to something worse.

“Nope,” Lucy said again, forcing steadiness into her voice. She hated that she couldn't be fully honest to him but she didn't have another choice. Things were already messy enough. “It’s just a bad week.”

“Chen.”

The way he said her name –measured, pointed– pulled something taut in her.

“Yeah?” she asked, quiet.

“If Tim puts you in an unethical position, and you feel like you have to cover for him–”

“No,” she cut in, firm this time. “You know he would never do something like that."

Grey hesitated. “I mean, I just–”

“Sir, it’s nothing like that,” she said quickly, breath hitching in her throat. “I know that the timing is incredibly weird, but I think it’s pretty simple, you know? He’s just emotionally unavailable. We kept returning to our problems that never got resolved."

She was trying to sound casual, even lighthearted. As if the explanation didn’t burn its way up from the pit of her stomach.

“The most upset I ever saw him was when the Diamondbacks swept the Dodgers during the division playoffs,” she added, hollow humor edging her voice. “So that’s a huge red flag, right?”

Grey didn’t smile. Just muttered, “I mean, that was hard to watch.”

“You know, I–”

“I don’t know why you brought that up.”

Lucy let out a breath, sharp and small. Her fingers curled into the edge of her seat, trying to anchor herself.

"He's a good man. You even suggesting something like that is unacceptable, sir." She was mad at him, yes, but she wouldn't have people questioning his morals. "He would never abuse his power."

"It’s incredible that you're still able to speak so good of him." Sergeant Grey said, shock so obvious in his voice.

She shook her head. "I know better than blending personal and professional lives." Her hands tightened around the wheel. "But I—"

He didn't say anything, waiting for her to continue.

“I just…” she began, voice cracking slightly. “I don’t… I don’t know why this happened, you know? And no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop thinking about it. I believed that we could survive anything."

Her throat tightened. She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t.

“How… how did he let go so easily?” She was almost yelling now. “I really, really thought that our relationship was worth more than just some cheap, cliché nonsense about how I ‘deserve better.’ I mean…”

She shook her head, blinking rapidly. The anger wouldn't leave her body.

“Shouldn’t I be the one that decides what I deserve? And if I even want better? Even if I wanted total self-destruction, that is for me to decide. It’s… it’s my life. And I wanted to live my life forever with him. Only with him." She said. "It turns out he doesn't want the same."

The last words fell into the space between them like broken glass.

Grey didn’t answer right away and Lucy didn’t expect him to.

Because how do you respond to someone quietly crumbling beside you, someone trying so hard not to let it show?

Lucy, for the first time in hours, let her head fall back against the seat. Not because she felt better. But because, for the first time, someone had heard her.

"Drive." Grey said finally and so she did.

Chapter Text

When her shift ended –uneventfully, so shockingly– and she stepped back into her apartment, the silence hit Lucy like a slap. No scent of freshly brewed coffee. No trace of Tamara humming from her room while studying. No Tim waiting in bed, half-asleep but always reaching for her.

Just her. And the quiet misery that had clung to her all day like a second skin. This was her life now and somehow, she had to learn to live with it.

She dropped her keys onto the counter, the sound far too loud in the stillness. It echoed through the room, reminding her again how empty everything felt. Not just the space, but her —the version of Lucy that used to exist in this apartment wasn’t here anymore. She had gone missing somewhere between heartbreak and humiliation.

The lights felt too bright. The silence too sharp. She exhaled slowly through her nose, jaw clenched.

It wasn’t just sadness anymore. It was something tighter, hotter. Anger, maybe. Not the kind that made you scream or break things, but the kind that lived under your skin. A sharp, low burn. 

His name echoed in her mind non-stop.

He did love her. She knew that. She could feel it in the way he used to look at her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention. She could still feel it now, even through the silence, even through the ache. He hadn’t left because he didn’t care. He’d left because he did.

And that was what made her want to scream.

He thought disappearing would protect her. That by cutting her out, he could somehow spare her the weight he was carrying. Like she hadn’t already been carrying part of it with him. Like she hadn’t chosen that. Chosen him.

She ran a hand through her hair and sighed. It wasn’t that she didn’t understand. She did. Too well, maybe. That was the curse of knowing people too deeply –sometimes you understood them even when you didn’t want to. Even when they were hurting you.

She wasn’t naive enough to believe he was fine. No, Tim was probably spiraling in his own way, shutting down, crawling inward like he always did when things got too big. She could picture it all too clearly: the sleepless nights, the long drives with nowhere to go, the thousand things he wouldn’t say out loud.

And still, still, he chose this. Chose distance. Chose to break both of their hearts instead of letting her stay and fight beside him. That’s what hurt the most. Not the absence, not even the silence. But that he hadn’t trusted her enough to stay.

For a second, she just stood there, staring at the couch. It still held the faint imprint of where they used to curl up together after long shifts, limbs tangled, laughter soft. Now it just looked like furniture. Unused. Unloved. She felt like that couch.

She peeled off her coat, dropped it on the armrest, and sank into the couch, folding her arms tightly over her chest. Her eyes stung, but she didn’t cry. Not yet. Maybe not again. She was too angry for tears now. Too full of sharp edges and what-ifs.

He had loved her. He did love her. But love wasn’t supposed to look like punishment. And right now, it felt like they were both serving time for a crime neither of them committed.

The weight of the day, of all the days since Tim left, settled over her shoulders again. She wanted to scream. Or sleep for a hundred years. Or maybe just disappear into the fabric of the couch.

But she didn’t do any of those things. She just sat. There was no one left to fall apart in front of, so she did it quietly. Alone.

She didn’t know when exactly the craving started, maybe sometime between sitting still too long and remembering how hollow her bed felt, but soon, she was in the kitchen, unscrewing the cap of a half-finished bottle of tequila.

It burned going down. Just like it always did. But at least it burned louder than the ache in her chest.

Lucy didn’t bother with a glass. She stood by the counter and drank straight from the bottle, small sips at first, then faster, more desperate ones. Each mouthful numbed the edges of her thoughts a little more. She welcomed the fuzziness. If she couldn’t forget, at least she could blur the lines.

After a while, the world started to tilt. Just slightly. She leaned against the counter, her breath catching in her throat. Her laugh, short and bitter, escaped without permission. It was ridiculous, all of it. The heartbreak, the gossip, the loneliness. She was Lucy Chen, damn it. She’d survived worse.

Hadn’t she? Was it worse for the man she loved to leave her than being kidnapped and buried alive by a serial killer? She wasn't so sure.

The bottle clinked against the counter as she set it down. Her legs felt a bit too loose now, like her bones weren’t entirely committed to holding her up. She blinked, tried to focus, but the kitchen lights were too bright, too sharp.

She stumbled once against the hallway wall, letting out a quiet “Shit,” as her shoulder bumped the picture frame they’d once hung together. It tilted, but didn’t fall.

She dragged herself to her bedroom, hand skimming the wall like it was guiding her. Her feet were clumsy, her breath shallow, but she made it.

Collapsing onto the bed fully clothed, Lucy curled into herself, the tequila warmth spreading through her chest like false comfort. Everything spun just a little, and for the first time all day, she stopped thinking.

Maybe that was the point.

Sleep didn’t come easily. When it did, it came sharp and cruel.

She was running. Downtown L.A. was unfamiliar, somehow both too quiet and too crowded. Sirens wailed in the distance, but no one stopped. The city moved without her. She pushed through the faceless crowd, breath coming short, eyes searching.

Tim had said he’d meet her here. She tried calling, but her phone wouldn’t unlock. Her fingers were shaking. The screen cracked. Every number dialed itself wrong. Then she saw the alley.

It was narrow, cloaked in shadow, and something in her gut told her not to go, but her feet moved anyway. She turned the corner and froze.

There he was.

Tim, lying still against the concrete. Blood on his temple. Gun by his side. His eyes stared past her, unblinking, unseeing.

“No —no, no, no —Tim!” she dropped to her knees, hands reaching for him, voice cracking. “Please —don’t do this.”

But his skin was cold. He wasn’t breathing.

She pressed her hands against his chest, tried CPR, tried to scream for help, but the sound died in her throat. No one came.

Her hands were covered in blood now. And he wasn’t moving.

“You weren’t there,” came a voice behind her. She turned.

It was herself, but colder. Distant. Wearing the same uniform, but it was torn and stained.

“You didn’t answer when he needed you.”

“That’s not true.”

“He was drowning and you were too busy feeling sorry for yourself.”

“I tried —he disappeared! I didn’t know—”

“He died alone,” the other Lucy said, tone flat. “And so will you.”

The alley spun around her. The concrete opened beneath her knees. And then she was falling into darkness, into silence, into a city that forgot her name.

Lucy woke up screaming, soaked in sweat, breath ragged. Her hand reached instinctively for the space beside her.

Cold.

Empty.

Her chest ached like she had just watched him die all over again.

Her hands reached for her phone before she even realized it. She opened her contacts, hovered over his name, almost tapped it.

But didn't.

She curled into herself, clutching the blanket, her eyes wide open in the darkness.

He wasn’t dead. She knew that. But the nightmare knew better. Because for 36 hours, she hadn’t known. And a part of her still lived in that space, between the not-knowing and the not-breathing.

The sun had already risen, but Lucy couldn’t feel its warmth. It filtered through the windows in slanted lines, lighting the edges of furniture, catching on dust motes, casting gold over cold surfaces but none of it reached her.

She sat in silence. Eyes open. Awake, but not really there.

Somewhere between too much tequila and too little sleep, the world around her softened. Blurred.

She didn’t remember getting back to the couch. One second she was in bed, and the next… she was sitting here, still in yesterday’s clothes, arms folded tight around herself. Her head throbbed faintly, like her body was reminding her she was real but it didn’t feel real.

And then, she heard it.

The door creaked open.

Lucy didn’t look. She didn’t move. She knew she was alone. She’d locked the door. She’d double-checked.

But she heard it.

Soft footsteps. The familiar cadence of boots she used to recognize in a heartbeat.

Then a voice.

“Lucy?”

Her breath caught. No — no, no, no. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want to imagine him now.

She turned slowly, against her better judgment, and there he was.

Tim stood in the hallway like a ghost pulled from memory — tired eyes, tousled hair, that blue Henley shirt she used to steal. He looked exactly like he did the night before everything fell apart.

Her first instinct was to run to him. To throw herself into his arms and sob against his chest, to ask him why.

But she didn’t move.

“Say something,” he said.

She couldn’t.

“Lucy,” he tried again, softer now. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Her hands trembled in her lap.

“You left,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “You disappeared.”

“I had to.” His eyes filled with something like regret. “I didn’t want to bring you down with me.”

“You didn’t give me the choice.” Her voice cracked. “You took everything away. And then you made me feel like it was my fault.”

His face twisted like he’d been slapped. “It was never your fault. It was mine.”

“Then why does it still feel like I’m the one being punished?”

He disappeared without saying another word.

Apparently that was his thing, real or imagination, leaving without giving a closure.

She fell asleep again before she could even get mad.

Chapter Text

Getting out of bed felt like the hardest thing to do in the world. Especially when her hand automatically reached out to her side, hoping it would find him there.

Of course he wasn't there.

But somehow she managed to leave the bed that no longer felt like her own and the house that was still filled with the smell of alcohol from last night.

Now she was wandering around the market. She wasn’t sure why she’d come here. She didn’t need anything urgent. Maybe she’d just needed to feel normal. To pretend, for a few minutes, that life hadn’t broken apart.

She moved through the aisles slowly, fingers brushing boxes and bottles like her body remembered what to reach for more than her mind did.

She turned into the toiletries aisle and stopped. There it was —third shelf, halfway down.

That stupid shampoo Tim always used. The stupid shampoo that she loved the smell of– fresh but not too sharp. She’d used it once, just once, and he’d teased her for smelling like him. She'd laughed. She wasn't laughing now.

Before she could stop herself, her hand lifted. An old habit. Muscle memory wrapped in heartbreak.

But her fingers froze an inch from the bottle.

There was no reason to buy it anymore. He wasn’t in her shower. He wasn’t in her bed. He wasn’t in her life.

Lucy’s hand dropped to her side like it was suddenly too heavy to hold up.

There it was again. The ache she kept trying to outrun. The reminder that this wasn’t temporary. That this time, he really wasn’t coming home.

Just for a moment she wondered if he also automatically reached out to her shampoo. Her jaw tensed. She inhaled slowly, forcing the sting in her eyes back down her throat. Crying in the shampoo aisle wasn’t on today’s to-do list. She had to be better than this. Stronger. If not for herself, then at least for the version of her that once believed this wouldn’t end.

She grabbed a random conditioner from the shelf —anything, something— just to keep moving. Her cart squeaked as she pushed it forward, heart pounding with something far too big for such a small moment.

Grief had a funny way of hiding in the quietest places. And the funniest part was that she was grieving someone who's still alive. It was just their love that was dead.

She sighed. She couldn't wait to get home and go back to sleep. But the universe was never on Lucy's side. If she had known her day would be even worse when she got home, she would have run halfway across the country.

"Where have you been?" Her mother called the minute Lucy stepped into the house.

"I went to shopping." She frowned. "What are you doing in my apartment?" Lucy snapped, stepping forward, disbelief and irritation fighting for dominance in her voice.

Her mother, pristine as ever in a cream blouse and pearl earrings, turned slowly with a smile too polite to be genuine. “I heard about your breakup with that veteran and wanted to check on you.”

Lucy stared at her, irritated. She tried her best not to think about the way her mother scrunched up her face when she talked about Tim. “How did you even hear about it?”

Her mother waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, that charming friend of yours— Aaron, is it? He called, asked if I’d spoken to you lately. Such a sweet boy. Reminded me of dear Jackson." She explained. "May he rest in peace."

Although the sudden mention of Jackson had shaken her, she had no intention of showing it. Instead, she rolled her eyes and cursed her friend.

Aaron had no idea what kind of Pandora’s box he’d opened.

Fan—fucking—tastic.

“I’m fine,” Lucy said curtly, moving toward the sink just to put distance between them. “You didn’t need to come.”

Her mother ignored the tone, glancing around the apartment with a critical eye. “Of course I did. I mean, honestly, Lucy… none of this is surprising. A man like that —a paid murderer with the face of Adonis! Of course he wasn’t going to stay forever.”

Lucy froze mid-step. “Excuse me?" She almost yelled. "How dare you call him that? You don't even know-"

Her mother raised an eyebrow, smug. “You once mentioned that he's a veteran. Don't tell me now that he never took someone's life.”

Lucy’s jaw clenched so hard her teeth ached. “He was a soldier. He did what he had to do. He doesn't need you calling him a murderer like it means nothing.”

“Oh, sweetie, it’s not personal,” her mother replied, her voice dripping with fake concern. “You just always choose the broken ones, don't you?”

That was the thing about her mother —she never had to raise her voice to cut Lucy to the bone.

“I didn’t choose him because he was broken,” Lucy bit back. “I chose him because he saw me. Really saw me. And maybe that’s more than I can say for you.”

A silence stretched between them, heavy and sharp.

But of course, her mother didn’t flinch.

Instead, she let out a dramatic sigh, walking toward the fridge as if she owned the place. “You’re always so dramatic. Honestly, Lucy, it’s exhausting. Maybe that’s why he left.”

Lucy’s heart dropped. She didn’t mean to let it show —didn’t want to give her mother the satisfaction. But she must have hesitated just a second too long.

“Oh, honey,” her mother added, softer now, crueler in its gentleness. “I’m only saying what everyone else is thinking. I mean, look at yourself. You've gained weight, you’re not sleeping, and I remember about that incident at work. Shooting someone? Really? What were you even thinking?”

“I was thinking about staying alive,” Lucy snapped. “You know, the thing you never worried about when I was a kid?”

For a second, her mother’s polished veneer cracked. But she quickly recovered, waving her hand again like Lucy’s words were nothing more than flies in a hot summer night.

“Don’t turn this into another trauma story, Lucy. Not everything is about your sad little childhood.”

Lucy took a shaky breath, then another. She didn’t know if she wanted to scream, cry, or throw something at her mother. Maybe all three. But instead, she forced herself to stay still.

Calm. Composed. Controlled. At least on the outside.

“If you came here to make me feel worse,” Lucy said finally, voice low and trembling, “you can leave. You’ve done your job, mom."

Her mother tilted her head. “I came here because I love you."

“No, you came here because you needed something to feel superior to.”

She stared at her mother then —really looked at her. The cold perfection, the judgment disguised as care. The inability to say anything kind without lacing it with poison.

“I’m not the perfect daughter you wanted,” Lucy said. “But I stopped trying to be a long time ago.”

This time, when the silence settled between them, it felt final.

Her mother reached for her purse. “Well, I can see I’m not welcome here. I suppose I’ll leave you to… whatever this is.”

Lucy didn’t move. Didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t even look back when the door clicked shut behind her.

Only then did she allow her knees to buckle, letting herself slide down against the wall.

The apartment felt colder now. Like her mother had taken every ounce of heat with her.

Her breath hitched, sharp and sudden, like the pain had finally caught up to her body. Then she moved —not with purpose, not with grace— just aimlessly, blindly. She stumbled into the kitchen and braced her hands against the counter like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

Her mother’s voice still echoed in her ears.

“You've gained weight.”

“He was never going to stay.”

“You always choose the broken ones.”

“Jackson—may he rest in peace.”

Her jaw trembled.

Jackson.

She hadn’t heard his name spoken out loud in over a year. Not because she’d forgotten him —God, no. But because it still hurt too damn much. Because she’d spent months pretending that he was just on vacation, that his phone would light up again, that his laugh would fill the bullpen like it always did. And now her mother had tossed his memory into the room like it was decoration. Like it meant nothing.

Lucy pressed the heel of her hand to her chest. She couldn’t breathe.

It wasn’t just Jackson. It was the way her mother had looked at her —like she was a broken toy collecting dust in a forgotten corner. Like she was a disappointment in flesh and bones.

Like she wasn’t enough.

Not pretty enough. Not strong enough. Not lovable enough for someone like Tim to stay.

Hot tears welled up in her eyes. She tried to blink them away, but it was useless. They spilled over anyway. Not delicate, movie-scene tears. These were ugly, wet, shaking sobs that hit her in waves.

She slid down the kitchen cabinet to the floor, her back hitting the cold surface with a dull thud.

He wasn’t coming back.

That was the part her mother didn’t have to say —Lucy already knew it. She knew that Tim still somehow loved her, but love didn’t always win. Not when the damage ran too deep. Not when a man walked away so easily without so much as a goodbye. Not when he ghosted her for 36 hours and left her to wonder if she’d be picking out a casket.

Maybe she should’ve been used to being left behind. Maybe it was something in her —some flaw stitched into her DNA that told people: this one’s temporary. This one’s not worth staying for.

She curled into herself on the tile floor, arms wrapped around her knees, hair clinging to the wetness on her cheeks.

Jackson was gone. Tim was gone. And now, even her mother —who was never really there in the first place—had managed to make her feel like less than nothing again.

She didn’t know how long she stayed there. Could’ve been minutes. Could’ve been hours.

But eventually, she reached for the same bottle of tequila on the counter. Her fingers wrapped around the neck slowly, trembling.

Then she changed her mind.

She set it down. She didn’t want to feel numb tonight.

She wanted to feel everything.

Because if she didn’t —if she pushed it all down again— she knew she'd never find her way back up. And she had to find her way back up on her own because this time, no one was there to pick her up.

She was there for everyone. And yet no one was here with her now.

It wasn't fair.

Her head throbbed —dull, relentless. Like grief had taken up permanent residence behind her eyes. Every part of body hurt so much. She could especially feel her brain cracking up.

She pressed her thumb between her brows, trying to will it all away. The tears had stopped at some point, but her cheeks still bore their marks, and her body felt like it had aged ten years in the span of an hour.

Then, a soft buzz broke the silence.

Her phone. Not on the counter where she thought she left it —on the floor. It must’ve slipped during the spiral. The screen lit up just long enough for her to see the name:

Aaron.

Lucy hesitated.

The name hit like a whisper and a slap all at once. She didn’t open the message. She didn’t need to.

Aaron:

Still breathing?

Just that.

Not how are you.

Not are you okay.

Not even talk to me.

Just still breathing —half a joke, half a lifeline.

Lucy stared at the message. Her fingers hovered above the screen, unsure.

She typed:

Yeah.

Then deleted it.

Typed again:

Barely.

Deleted that, too.

I don't know.

Sent.

She let the phone fall back into her lap, screen dimming out like the moment had never happened. But it had. Aaron’s words echoed in her chest louder than anything her mother had said.

Still breathing?

It was the only question that mattered right now. And even then, she wasn’t entirely sure of the answer.

She turned the phone over, face-down on the floor, and buried her face in her hands again.

She was still breathing but it didn’t feel like living.

Chapter Text

After a week of avoiding people as much as possible, she started to feel better. Of course she was still hurting, it wouldn't go away any time soon. But she could now fall asleep without needing to cry. Most importantly she was able to wander around the station without getting triggered by memories. She loved Mid Wilshire and didn't want to have to transfer anywhere.

She did feel isolated yes, and people were still talking about her. About them. But eventually she was able to cover her ears and focus on her work.

And as far as she knew, Smitty had shut down the betting pool, so it was better than nothing. However deep down, she knew one thing —the main reason her shifts were going so smoothly, and peacefully, was because Tim was still nowhere to be found. 

When she heard that he had been kicked out of the metro, she felt something break inside her. All those games, trades and risks had been for nothing. At the end of the day, the things she lost didn't hold any meaning.

She had ruined her career just so Tim could break up with her when things got hard. The worst part was that she still didn't feel any real remorse. The few months they were together —it was the best time of her life.

God, she was so stupid. 

As she was leaving the dressing room, she came across with Celina. "Hey." She greeted her with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "How are things going?" 

Celina looked surprised for a second. "Hey, I'm great. What about you? Are you okay?" She asked consecutively. 

"Well, I've been worse— You look so out of breath. What's wrong?" She touched Celina's arm, trying to calm her down.

In response, Celina approached her and whispered as if she was revealing a government secret. "It's just— I saw Sergeant Bradford just now, he's back on patrol. Thought you should know." 

Lucy frowned and quickly tried to swallow the lump in her throat. She should've seen it coming. He was still working here as well. She knew that he would come back sooner or later.

"Yeah, whatever. He works here, of course he's back." She answered finally, trying to seem nonchalant. 

He was back. After ghosting her in the most cowardly, gut-wrenching way possible. After leaving her in a freaking parking lot.

A part of her was furious, full of resentment. Nevertheless deep down, she had been wishing to see his face for the last couple of days. She couldn't deny it. Him bailing on her had only destroyed their relationship, but her love for him remained strong.

That's why when she saw him again in the roll call finally, she couldn't help but tremble for a moment. He, somehow looked older. Still so painfully handsome, yes, but he seemed just as troubled. How she wished to run to him, hold him, console him... Despite being heartbroken herself. 

Why was he still doing this anyway? Both of them were hurting so obviously. They could heal each other, just like they did before.

She already missed him so much that her shattered heart was practically screaming his name. If she were a less proud woman, she would run to him right now and beg him to give their relationship a second chance. 

I won't pressure you again.

I will give you space.

Just talk to me.

But no, Lucy Chen was a proud woman. No matter how much she was in love, she would never beg a man.

He did this to us. If I am suffering because of it, so should he.

"Chen? Haven't you been listening to me?" She heard Sergeant Grey calling for her.

"Sir?" She briefly looked around. It was only her, Grey and him.

He looked at her. She could swore that there was a vague regret in his eyes. "Apparently I am riding with you today, until we convince Sergeant Grey that we can work together."

Perfect.

She didn't answer.

"Is there a problem, Officer Chen?" Sergeant Grey asked, raising his eyebrow.

She shook her immediately. "Of course not, sir. Sergeant Bradford and I have been a great duo ever since we met. We're professionals. There is no problem."

And it was true, to some extent. They worked great together. Lucy still could trust him with her life, just not with her heart. Their private lives would be left behind the moment they got in the shop. She just had to say as little as possible and resist the urge to slap him. Then all would be well, hopefully.

"Oh there is one thing!" Grey stopped them. "Doctor Blair London will be with you in the shop, to make this easier."

Lucy froze mid-step. Blair London. The department’s new psychiatrist. The same one who made everyone uneasy but couldn’t be challenged. She smiled too much. Knew too much. Lucy had only seen her once, it would be cruel to judge her this soon but there was obviously something wrong with the psychiatrist. She just didn't know what. 

Then she saw Tim's jaw tightening. "Respectfully, sir, I don't think that this is necessary."

"I don't remember asking about your opinion, Bradford." Sergeant Grey snapped. "You're dismissed."

Lucy quickly moved forward without waiting for him and took the warbags and reached the shop. Doctor London was already there with her annoying grin.

"Nice to meet you Officer Chen, Sergeant Bradford. I have a feeling in me that this will be an interesting day. I don't wait for it."

She tried so hard not to roll her eyes. The number of people she wanted to slap had suddenly increased from one to two.

It was going to be a miserable shift.

They drove in silence for the first five minutes.

She sat stiffly in the passenger seat, hands folded in her lap because she didn’t know what to do with them. A few weeks ago, she would have caressed his knee or shoulder with her hands to tease him.

She sighed.

Meanwhile, he seemed fully focused on the road. And Blair London sat behind them, notebook in hand, posture unnervingly relaxed.

“Let’s ease in,” Doctor London said, tone cheerful. “I’m not here to pry. Just observe how you two interact on duty. Maybe ask a few reflective questions.”

Neither of them bothered to respond. She didn’t seem to mind.

“You’ve worked together before, yes?” she prompted.

Lucy nodded once. “Around four years.”

Tim’s voice followed, quieter. “Off and on. She was my rookie and then my go-fer."

"He means aid." She heard him chuckling after her correction. And honestly, if felt so good. She had missed hearing his laughing.

The creepy doctor hummed and scribbled something. “So there’s history. That’s good. History helps —or hurts— depending on how you carry it.”

"We're professionals, we carry it well." Lucy answered. She just needed this to be over. If it weren't for the very slappable psychiatrist watching them from the back seat, writing down everything they say, they might have had a chance to talk properly.

But no, of course the universe would deny her everything she wanted. This was now a common defeat for her.

No one spoke again until a noise complaint was announced over the radio. Fortunately, the call was uneventful.

Usual noise complaint. A guy blasting Metallica at 9 a.m. and claiming it was “for the mental health of the neighborhood.”

She handled it while Tim stood back. Let her lead. Let her shine. Just like the old times. She could feel Doctor London watching both of them like they were figures in a circus. 

Lucy Chen wasn't a violent person. She was kind, nice and sympathetic but she really, really wanted to slap the woman. And she wasn't even sure why.

As they got back in the shop, the Psychiatrist made another note.

“You let Officer Chen take lead,” she said lightly. “Is that typical for your dynamic?”

Tim finally spoke. “She’s good at handling people.”

Lucy bit the inside of her cheek. Not the time to react. Not the time to remember how his voice used to sound softer around her name.

“I see,” London mused. “And would you say your current dynamic is collaborative?”

Lucy didn't bother to look at the woman as she spoke. “As I've been telling you from the very beginning, ma'am, we’re professionals. We do our jobs.”

"Yeah, I see." She muttered. “Of course. But that’s not quite the same as working together. Don't you think?"

The silence that followed was heavier than before. Halfway through the shift, they stopped for coffee.

He stayed in the car but Lucy needed the walk. The noise. The fresh air. Even five minutes away from both of them.

When she returned, she found Doctor London and Tim mid-conversation. Her coffee chilled slightly in her hand.

She smiled when Lucy got back in. “We were just discussing communication styles.”

Lucy chuckled bitterly. "Good luck with that." When her eyes met his, she felt her heart tighten again. She was just so, so mad. 

“Thanks,” London replied, still smiling. "I do need luck, it seems."

Lucy didn’t comment on that.

Tim didn’t either.

The final call of the day was more tense.

Possible burglary in progress. They cleared the house, routine and smooth. Back to back. Signals exchanged without speaking. It was as if nothing had changed.

For a second —just one— it felt normal again.

Until it didn’t.

At the station, as they filed the report, the psychiatrist spoke again. “So, what’s different now?”

Lucy looked up. “What do you mean?”

“You said earlier you’ve worked together for years. That call back there? Flawless cooperation. So what’s changed?”

Tim didn’t speak. He looked down at his notebook like it held the answer. 

Lucy shrugged. “People change.”

London's voice softened, just enough to sting. “Or maybe people leave.”

Tim finally looked up. At Lucy. Not fully, not all the way —just enough for a flicker of something to pass between them.

Regret. Guilt. Love. Who knew anymore? Certainly not her.

“I think I have what I need for today,” Doctor London said brightly, closing her notebook. “I’ll submit my preliminary report to Grey by morning. I'll see you two then."

And just like that, the shift was over. But the storm wasn’t. She didn't feel good about any of these.

Chapter Text

After the shift, she changed quickly because she really didn't want to talk to anyone, especially not tonight. They were going to ask about him and she didn't know what to say. 

She didn't even know what to think.

For God's sake, he didn't even look at her. Not in the shop, not in the station. He just kept avoiding her all day. Doctor London's snarky comments didn't make any of it easy either.

She sighed. They really needed to get rid of Blair London soon. Something about her that bothered Lucy. She couldn't name it, not just yet. But she knew in her bones that she couldn't trust that woman.

She swapped her uniform for his old academy hoodie, threw her hair up without looking in the mirror. She didn't want to see her lifeless frame. She already felt bad enough.

The station was starting to thin out, night pressing in from the windows. She kept her head down all the way to the parking lot.

The same parking lot. The same spot.

The place where he left her after he promised they were worth the risk and of course he was there. Because apparently he would always show up unless she wanted him to.

He was leaning against his truck, maybe trying to look nonchalant. Well, maybe he really was nonchalant. Maybe he woke up today and decided it was time to move on. From her. 

She was torn between pulling him close— and hug him so tight, and slapping him hard across the face, but she did neither. She was simply too exhausted.

Her stomach tightened. She hated the fact that he had so much power over her. To some extent, it was her own fault. She trusted him unconditionally, let him take the lead. She shouldn't have done that, even though a big part of her still didn't regret it.

Without realizing it first, she started to walk towards him.

She could’ve turned back. Could’ve walked away, pretended not to see him— but what was the point? They had already done silence. They had already done avoidance. This ache in her chest wasn’t going to leave just because she ignored it. And in her defense, she had nothing to lose. They weren't even on speaking terms. He wouldn't even look at her in the eye. He couldn't hurt her more.

So she walked over.

Not fast. Not slow. Just... deliberately.

They had to talk. She needed to hear him say 'I don't love you anymore' otherwise, she could have never moved on from him. And if they weren't getting back together, she needed to get over the break up in order to keep working here.

"Hello, stranger." Words came out easily.

He raised his head and their eyes met for the first time in days. She could swear her heart skipped a beat when she saw his tired and familiar blue eyes.

"Hey." He said, looking surprised.

Her eyes studied him. He looked like he hadn’t slept much, jaw clenched like he was trying to keep it together. Or maybe that was just how she wanted to see him— struggling, guilty. Hurt, like she was.

But maybe he was just tired.

God, she hated not knowing anymore.

"Didn't think you'd still be here," she said, her voice quieter now, arms folded over her chest like some kind of armor, as if she could protect herself this way, from his sharp words.

"I wasn’t sure I would be either," he said, shifting his weight. "But I figured you might come out this way."

Of course he did. He always knew where she'd be, just never what to say when he got there.

She nodded, eyes falling to the gravel. It would be easier if he just walked away. Or yelled. Or confessed. Anything but this... limbo.

"Are we ever going to talk about what happened?" she asked, looking directly his eyes.

There it was —pain flickering behind his expression, a hesitation in his breath.

"I don’t know if I can," he admitted. 

Coward.

Do you know what it did to me? Waking up and wondering if you were ever coming back? If I’d ever been real to you at all?

She kept those words in her mind, didn't let them out.

"Then I don’t know if I can keep pretending this is fine," she whispered, voice breaking at the edges.

He looked at her then— really looked. And for a moment, she thought maybe he would reach for her. Maybe he would close the space between them and say all the things he hadn’t said. But he didn’t move.

Lucy wasn't going to let him go that easily, though. Not again.

"Tim, You couldn’t even look at me during patrol. Not once." She said, finding her strength. "Am I that hard to face?"

He sighed. "I don’t know how to talk to you anymore."

She felt it like a slap. Still, she chose to swallow it.

"Then say anything. Lie, if that’s all you’ve got. But don’t stand there and act like I meant nothing to you. Because I am starting to feel like it was all in my head and that I was the only one who wanted us to work." She snapped, trying it hold it together.

Why did it feel like she was begging to be remembered by him? To be loved by him? Like she was fighting for proof that they existed at all?

God, she hated this. She hated that she was still reaching for scraps of what they were used to be. She hated how her voice shook, how her chest tightened when he looked away. She wasn’t supposed to be the only one holding on. They were supposed to be something... solid. Worth the risk. Worth something more than this shit.

His jaw clenched.

"You didn’t mean nothing. That’s the problem, Lucy." His voice was so soft and bitter at the same time, as if the words were lodged somewhere in his throat, struggling to get out. "You meant everything, and I broke it. I’m not built for this— whatever this is. I’m not someone who gets to have you."

The words echoed in her head. She waited for them to make sense. They didn’t.

You’re not someone who gets to have me? What the hell does that even mean?

She almost laughed. Almost screamed. It was ridiculous.

She saw the conflict in his face— regret mixed with helplessness. The slight tremble at the corner of his eyes betrayed the storm raging inside him, how hard he was trying to hold it together. His lips parted as if he wanted to say more, but then he stopped himself, swallowed the words, and let silence fill the space between them.

He didn't suffer more than she did. She was hurting just the same and she still wanted to be there for him. But he didn't want it. Instead, he was choosing misery. And Lucy hated it.

She stepped back.

"Right. So that’s it? That's your explanation? You left me broken in this dumb parking lot not so long ago, and now you're doing it again?"

He didn’t respond. Just stood there like the coward he swore he would never be.

He’s really just going to let me walk away. After everything.

She couldn't believe that this was their end.

He fought for Isabel, for years. He considered moving to New York for Rachel. He stayed with Ashley because he was too polite to break her heart.

But when it came to her? He didn't hesitate to walk away from her.

She was the one who stayed with him. She saw him at his best and worst and still chose to stay because he was worth it. Why didn't he just do the same for her? Wasn't she worth it? Didn't she earn it when she loved him more than any person in his life ever did?

Was he that blind or he just didn't love her enough?

Great, another wound to the heart.

Her voice cracked, just a little. "I thought you would've at least given me the courtesy and the respect after everything we've been through together."

"Lucy—" She interrupted him immediately.

"I don't know how you can be so nonchalant, Tim! I don't know how you can sleep, eat and not give a damn about us." She almost screamed. It was the moment her tears finally decided to leave her eyes. "And I just don't fucking understand how you don't miss me!"

Tim stepped closer to her and held her arms. "Lucy, you deserve a lot more than I can give you. I can’t be who you need. I’ve tried, I've tried so hard— but I keep breaking things. I break everything I touch." He said. "I’m the problem. Okay? I'm the broken one and I don’t know how to fix myself."

"Then I guess things are worse than I thought." She replied.

She took a step back toward her car.

"You need help, Tim. But if I’m not the person you want help from... then you need to find someone else." She said. "Because clearly, I’m not worth your time. Or your trust. So good luck with everything."

She got into her car and shut the door before he could speak again. The engine roared to life, headlights slicing through the night.

Tim didn’t move.

And this time it was Lucy who drove away without a second glance.

Chapter Text

She, so foolishly, thought it was getting better and that maybe he would come around. But no, nothing was getting any better. Apparently she was just lying to herself.

She wasn't over the detectives exam, Tamara moving out, Tim ghosting and then breaking up with her... They were still with her. The pain, the resentment... The loneliness. It all slapped her in the face, one more time, when Tim pushed her away in the parking lot, again.

Lucy Chen was over shit.

And now she was just standing there— still, cold, a little embarrassed for believing in the soft flickers behind his so fucking blue eyes.

How could someone need that much help and still push her away so violently? In her mind, it meant one thing: he didn't trust her enough to share his demons with her.

He was hurting, a lot. She was aware of that. Because of course, she would know whenever he was in pain. She had known him around five years, and was in love with him for at least two years now. So could've claimed that she knew him well enough to realize when he was struggling.

Every part of him had been unraveling for weeks, even longer, and she had seen it— in the pauses, in the way he looked at the floor when things got too harsh.

He was long gone. Even before that stupid phone call that took him away from her, something was wrong with him. Nonetheless, she thought she was helping him get better. It turned out, in such a cruel way, it was another lie.

Normally, she would know what to do. She always did. Say the right thing, wait patiently, offer silence or a soft hug, whatever he needed.

But this time, he didn’t want to be helped.

Not by her.

That part stung more than she wanted to admit.

It wasn't just the silence. It was the way he made her feel like her love was intrusive, like her presence was noise, like everything she gave so willingly was somehow… too much.

He had let Lopez in but not her. He trusted Lopez with his secrets but not her.

Yes, Lucy did have more to lose than the detective. But she didn't care. Because meanwhile she herself didn't have a trust fund, she had graduated from college. She could've went back and got her degree. It would make her miserable but she would survive.

If helping him survive hell meant losing her beloved job, she would have given up on it so easily. Because Lucy Chen, would always choose Tim Bradford. Without any regrets.

But he had giving up on them without a second thought and now was refusing to be helped by her.

And maybe that was what truly broke her this time. Not that he was lost in his darkness— but that he locked the doors behind him, knowing she’d still try to find a way in. She tried to open that door with her bare hands. In the end, all she got was rejection and a soul covered in pain.

She sighed.

She stayed outside longer than she should have. She just couldn't go back to her apartment because she didn't want to face her loneliness. Not yet. Instead, she was watching the full moon from the edge of a cliff with cool ocean waters beneath, with a beer can on her hand.

It was kind of embarrassing— the fact that she let a man effect her this much. She was a cop in an amazing city. She should've been living her dream life. But instead of that she was on the edge of a cliff, silently discussion if she should just follow the voices that said 'just let it go.'

The cold seeped through her jacket, settling into her bones. She crossed her arms tighter over her chest, not for warmth, but out of some desperate instinct to hold herself together. To stop herself from unraveling the same way he had.

People who knew him, trusted him, would show up for him no matter how far he spiraled. And with a decent therapist —and God, Lucy hoped he’d actually go to one— he would eventually piece himself back together. He was stubborn like that. A fighter, always had been. He would survive this without a doubt.

But Lucy on the other hand, was left with absolutely nothing. She was already drowning.

She had no anchor left. No one she could call in the middle of the night without hesitation... Her parents didn’t speak to her unless it was to remind her of how much of a disappointment she’d eventually become. Tamara was still a young girl, barely a woman, not the ideal person to vent to. Jackson, the one person who had known her from the very beginning was gone. Dead and buried and never coming back.

Nolan had slowly drifted. Harper, too. Both of them seemed to forget they were ever friends and Lopez was never really on her side.

Tim had always been there.

He was the one she thought was different. The only one she believed was incapable of leaving her.

He'd brought her back to life. He’d seen her break down on cold bathroom tiles, held her through panic attacks, whispered reassurances at 3 a.m when the world felt like it was closing in. He chose to love her at her lowest— chose her, over and over again, even when she didn’t understand why.

Until he didn’t.

Until now.

Now, she was standing in the wreckage, hands empty, heart gutted, with no one left to hold on to. No one left to choose her.

So yes, it was embarrassing. She had a whole life ahead her and yet here she was— trying to decide whether she should just jump off of the cliff.

Her phone buzzed once in her pocket. She didn’t check it.

It was probably Tamara. Maybe even Aaron, if he still bothered.

They weren't the people she wanted to talk.

And neither of them would understand how stupid she felt— loving someone so much it hollowed her out, only to be treated like she was just... a background noise.

She hated how she was still hoping. Even now, while standing on a cliff side. 

Maybe he’d come after her. Maybe he’d call her name, say he was sorry, say he didn’t mean it. Maybe he’d reach for her hand like he used to, when everything felt easier.

But the door behind her stayed closed.

No footsteps. No voice. Just silence, again.

Lucy needed to get used to it. The silence, the loneliness, the ache that settled in her chest. This was her life now, at least until she would get strong enough to move on. She wiped the tears off her cheeks with practiced speed, the motion as automatic as breathing, and made her way to the car without looking back.

Somewhere along the drive, the world blurred around the edges. She didn’t remember passing certain turns, didn’t recall the traffic lights changing. She wasn’t drunk —at least not really— but the quiet hum of alcohol still lingered in her system, soft and persistent. A little dizzy, a little numb. Nothing she couldn’t handle. She had run calls in worse shape, running on no sleep and too much adrenaline, convincing herself that she was fine even when she wasn’t.

Still, when the flashing red-and-blue lights lit up behind her, her stomach dropped.

You gotta be kidding me.

She slowed to a stop, rolled the window down. The officer’s flashlight caught her face.

“License and registration."

It was her worst fucking nightmare.

She didn’t argue. Just reached into the glove compartment with practiced calm. She hated how easily she could still perform. Even when she knew she was in the wrong.

Then, her badge came out of her wallet alongside the license, like muscle memory.

The officer paused for a second.

“Department?”

“Mid-Wilshire,” Lucy said with a low voice. It sounded like a confession.

A nod. Silent understanding. But still, a second later the officer ordered. “Step out of the vehicle, please. Routine check."

She didn’t protest. She knew the drill. She’d done it herself too many times to count. She would’ve done the same thing. No hesitation. No mercy. And if she were the one standing beside this car, she would’ve already called it in— badge or not.

The breathalyzer felt cold in her hands. Clinical. She hated how normal it felt. How many times had she done this exact thing to someone else? How many times had she watched their faces fall when the number blinked red?

And now it was her turn.

She blew.

The officer looked down at the reading. Brow lifted, but no real surprise.

“Technically, that’s over the limit,” he said carefully. “You feeling alright?”

Lucy nodded. “I’m good.” A lie, of course. But what was one more? She was already in too deep.

“You’re driving steady. But if this were a civilian stop...”

“I know.” She interrupted. "But we don't need to do that, do we?"

God, the words tasted so wrong.

If Tim had heard her say that, if he’d seen her use the badge this way, he would be furious and so fucking disappointed. Not only as her boyfriend,  well ex boyfriend, but also as her former training officer. And somehow, that was worse, so much worse.

She had always promised herself she would never be that kind of cop. The one who bent the rules when it was convenient. The one who expected leniency because of the shield in her wallet. But here she was.

She was disgusted by herself.

The pause hung there. Long enough for her pulse to spike.

“You’re lucky,” he finally muttered. “This doesn’t go in. No write-up. But consider this a warning.”

She nodded again. Tight-lipped. The shame spread through her chest like slow poison. It was thick in her throat. It burned hotter than the alcohol ever had.

She didn’t deserve the warning. She deserved the ticket. The breathalyzer photo. The embarrassment. If this had been anyone else —hell, even a fellow cop— she would've done it by the book. She would’ve taken their keys and called it in.

And now? She was the one walking away.

The officer handed her license back and stepped away. "Get home safe, Officer Chen."

"Have a nice shift, sir." She answered and got back in her car.

There was a sour taste in her mouth and it wasn’t from the alcohol.

The road ahead blurred as she blinked too fast. This wasn’t rock bottom. Not just yet. But she could feel it getting closer. And she hated that when it came, she might not even fight it.

She didn’t move right away.

As soon as the taillights of the patrol unit disappeared into the distance, Lucy stayed frozen in place. Her hands were gripping the wheel so tightly her knuckles had gone white. Her heart was still racing, and not only from the alcohol.

The shame hit her harder than the beer ever could.

If she’d been the one pulling over a driver like herself —an off-duty cop, with a faint trace of alcohol on her breath— she would’ve written them up without flinching. Because protocol was protocol. Officer or not. That was the job. That was her job.

And yet here she was, letting her badge carry her out of trouble.

What the hell am I doing?

Her stomach twisted. It wasn’t just the near-miss, or the look the officer had given her. It was what it meant. She had let herself slide. She crossed a line. A line Tim would’ve never tolerated.

Oh, god. 

Tim.

He had trained her better than this.

After the detectives exam, he assured her that she could never disappoint him. But she knew. She knew that he would be furious and disgusted by her, had he saw what happened. The thought made her feel physically ill.

She barely remembered the rest of the drive home. Just flashes— red lights, empty streets, the weight in her chest pressing harder with each passing block. The shame kept following her.

It haunted her.

When she finally pulled up to her building, she didn’t move to get out. Her arms hung limp at her sides. Her legs refused to lift her. The thought of stepping inside —of climbing stairs, facing the silence of her apartment, peeling off her clothes and pretending to sleep— was unbearable. 

So she stayed in her car. Maybe she was just punishing herself because her fellow officer refused to do it.

The seat cradled her body like it had been waiting for her to fall apart. Her hand reached back and blindly found the six-pack she’d half-forgotten about earlier. And thank god, it was still cold.

She cracked one open. Then another. By the third, the numbness started to feel like peace. Not real peace, but somehow close enough.

Somewhere between the fourth and fifth can, Lucy slumped sideways in the seat. Her head tilted against the window. The last thing she remembered was the hum of passing cars in the distance and the dull ache between her ribs.

The sunrise would come too early. She was supposed to be at the precinct by then and a new form of shame would introduce itself to her.

Well, maybe this was rock bottom after all.

Chapter Text

Celina arrived exactly two minutes before roll call was due to begin. She was still out of breath and her hands were shaking when she quickly walked in and sat at her seat. When she caught sight of her TO, John Nolan, sitting nearby, she saw him exhale— subtle, but relieved.

She greeted him with a brief nod.

It wasn’t until she finally got her breathing under control that Sergeant Grey entered the room. His sharp gaze swept across the group.

Suddenly, his voice cut through the silence like a scalpel. “Has anyone seen Officer Chen?”

Celina’s head jerked up.

Lucy wasn't there. She couldn't be late. It had been almost a year since she met Lucy Chen, and she had never seen her late for roll call. It wasn't like her.

A few officers looked around. Some shook their heads. No one spoke.

Grey’s eyes narrowed, the slightest twitch in his jaw giving away what Celina guessed was brewing worry. 

“Someone call her,” Grey ordered. “Now.”

“I’m on it,” Nolan replied, already pulling out his phone.

Then Celina glanced at Sergeant Bradford, seated beside him. His face suddenly had gone pale. He stared straight ahead, unmoving. He was hard to read, hell, the man was a mystery but Celina could see the flicker of panic in his eyes that was buried carefully.

"I'm on it." Nolan replied.

A minute of silence.

"She's not answering, sir."

Before the words even fully landed, Bradford was on his feet. “I’m going to check on her.”

“Hold on,” Grey said, raising a hand to stop him. His voice was calm, but it carried weight. "You're not going anywhere."

She saw Sergeant Bradford's face darkened.

"Juarez?” Grey called.

Celina nodded before she even thought about it. “Yes, sir.”

“Her apartment’s close, go see if she’s home. Let me know as soon as you do.”

Celina stood, already reaching for her keys. The pit in her stomach widened with each step out of the station.

Something was wrong.

And not in a normal bad-day kind of way.

This felt like something worse.

After about twenty minutes, Celina reached the street where Lucy lived. Her hands were clenched on the steering wheel, her knuckles white. She had called her several times along the way, but she hadn't answered.

She tried to ignore the anxiety inside her, but it had risen up to her throat anyway.

Then she spotted Lucy’s car before anything else. It was parked crookedly, like someone had pulled in fast and given up on correcting it.

When she reached the driver’s side window, her stomach turned.

Please don't be dead.

Please don't be dead.

Please don't be dead.

Celina tapped on the car window, trying to keep her hands steady. 

She's probably just sleeping.

When Lucy didn't wake up or respond, she hit the window more violently.

"Lucy! It's me Celina!" She yelled.

Lucy stirred, brow furrowed as if waking from a nightmare. Her fingers fumbled with the lock, and a soft click followed. Celina pulled the door open immediately and crouched down.

“Jesus, Lucy,” she whispered. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

Lucy blinked slowly, not really seeing her. “Am I late?” she murmured. “Did I… did I miss roll call?"

"Yes, we were worried sick! Sergeant Grey sent me to check on you." She sighed. "Are you okay?"

She nodded and gave a barely-there shrug, eyes already falling shut again. "Just drank too much. No big deal."

"No big deal, my ass." Celina exhaled shakily, then reached in and gently pulled Lucy’s arm over her own shoulder.

“Come on. You’re not sleeping in this damn car again."

Thank god, Lucy didn’t resist. Her limp body wasn't heavy and moved when guided. Celina half-carried, half-dragged her toward the building, murmuring softly. “I got you,” and “Almost there.”

Meanwhile, she tried to ignore the god awful smell coming from her, and the wetness on her pants.

They reached the apartment slowly, awkwardly. But they made it.

Celina gently kicked the door shut behind them and maneuvered Lucy down the narrow hallway, into her bedroom. She flicked on the light.

The room was dim, the blinds half-closed, clothes piled on a chair in the corner, a glass of untouched water on the nightstand. Everything felt… abandoned. Like Lucy hadn’t cared about any of it for a while.

Poor Lucy, she thought.

She felt her heart tighten. Maybe she should have offered to move in instead of being afraid of the tension in the apartment. 

Yes, she was aware that Lucy was hurting, it had obviously been a bad year so far for her, but she could have never imagined that she would become this much of a mess.

Celina helped her sit on the edge of the bed, then crouched down to look her in the eyes.

“Lucy,” she said softly. “I’m going to help you out of these clothes, okay? Just so you can clean up.”

Lucy gave the tiniest nod, too out of it to argue.

Celina tried to be gentle as she peeled the stinking clothes off of her. It wasn’t just alcohol she smelled now— it was shame, exhaustion, and something else. Something heavy that had settled into Lucy’s skin. She had seen this before, in calls they responded to. People barely holding on.

This wasn't just drinking. This was collapse.

And piss, too.

She had seen the empty beer bottles in the car. Of course, all that beer would make her need to go to the toilet.

She held her breath, trying not to gag.

“Sorry,” Lucy mumbled when her shirt got tangled over her head.

Celina swallowed the lump in her throat. “Don’t be. I’ve got you.”

Once she had Lucy stripped down to her underclothes, Celina led her into the bathroom. She turned on the water, making sure it wasn’t too hot, and helped Lucy step into the tub.

Lucy slumped back against the porcelain with a sigh. Her eyes were shut again. The warm water quickly surrounded her, and Celina saw her shoulders sag in relief.

“I’ll be right back,” she whispered. “Just relax. You're safe.”

She stepped out and closed the door halfway, pulling her phone out of her pocket as she walked into the living room. 

Her eyes wandered around. There were broken glasses and plates in several places around the house. The house smelled bad, as if it hadn't been aired for a long time.

She sighed and opened a window. Her thumb hovered over the screen for a second before she finally hit Grey’s contact.

It rang twice.

“Juarez?” Grey’s voice was as firm as ever, but something in it sounded like suspicion.

Celina cleared her throat. “Sir, I found Officer Chen.”

Silence.

“We're home. She’s not feeling well, possibly the flu. She’s— uh, she’s sleeping now. I gave her some water and medicine and I’m staying here to keep an eye on her for a bit.”

More silence.

Her heart pounded.

“Is that so?” Grey asked. It wasn’t quite disbelief but it was close.

“Yes, sir.”

A long pause. Then finally he spoke. “Thank you for checking on her. Keep me posted.”

She lowered the phone slowly, her palms damp. She had no doubt he knew more than he let on. He somehow always did. Maybe he had already heard something. Maybe someone had seen Lucy’s car parked out front overnight. Maybe he had his own ways of knowing. The man was a mystery after all.

But he hadn’t pressed and Celina was grateful for that. She didn't want to put Lucy in an even more difficult situation.

When she went back in, she found Lucy sitting on her bed, wrapped in yellow towel.

"Was it Tim?" There was a flicker of hope in her voice so fragile it made something twist in Celina’s chest. "Did he ask for me? Is he coming?"

The silence between them lasted barely a second, but when Celina gently shook her head, she could feel that hope shatter between them like glass.

Lucy looked away too quickly. She blinked a few times, but Celina saw the tears start to gather anyway.

“But he did want to come. He tried. Grey didn’t let him.” She tried to explain, as if it would do Lucy any better.

She didn’t bother to answer. She just stared ahead, unmoving, her hands clutching the towel.

Celina walked over and slowly sat next to her. The mattress dipped under their combined weight, but Lucy didn’t react.

“Hey,” she said softly, “if you wanna talk... I’m here. I can listen.”

Lucy’s shoulders barely rose with her breath. “There’s nothing to talk about,” she murmured. Her voice sounded cold and empty. “I’m fine. You can go now.”

She took a moment before replying. She didn’t want to push too hard, but leaving her like this didn't feel right at all.

“I already got a few hours off from Grey,” she said carefully, watching Lucy’s face for any shift, any flicker. Nothing changed. “You stay here and rest. I’ll clean up the apartment a bit. Is that okay?"

Lucy didn’t answer for a long beat. Then muttered, without looking up. “Yeah, do whatever you want. I don't care anymore."

Celina stared at her for a second longer, trying to read her face. But Lucy’s expression had dulled completely. There was nothing left in her eyes. No resistance, no warmth. Just exhaustion. It looked like the life had been drained from her body and left nothing but a shell behind. And for a brief, terrifying moment, Celina wasn’t sure her friend would ever come back from it. Even though she knew it wasn't fair, she cursed Sergeant Bradford under her breath. She wasn't who Lucy needed. It was him and he wasn't there because he had screwed up so badly for some unknown reason.

Celina didn't know all the details but it was obvious that he had broken her heart for whatever the reason. And now Lucy was falling apart in front of her eyes.

She stood up quietly, trying not to make too much noise, and began picking up the clothes Lucy had dropped earlier. Her hands moved automatically, but her thoughts were racing. There had to be something she could do. She couldn't just leave her like that— drowning in misery.

Celina stepped out of the room quietly, casting one last glance at Lucy. She still hadn’t moved. Curled up in her towel, swallowed by her thoughts.

As she made her way into the kitchen, she stepped on something with a faint crack. She recoiled slightly, then looked down.

Broken glass.

Of course.

While picking up the glass pieces, she noticed a few frames on the floor. She reached for one of them.

Lucy and Tim.

Both of them were smiling. Tim’s arm was draped over her shoulder, Lucy leaning into him. Neither seemed drunk or posing. It was real and unmistakably happy.

Her throat tightened.

Another frame nearby showed a beach photo— sand, sunglasses, a kiss. A different lifetime.

The worst part was that Celina knew those times. She had witnessed their love and happy moments with her own eyes. She had seen their furtive glances and faint touches at the station. She had seen that they couldn't keep their hands off each other off duty and that they were constantly sniffing and kissing. They were disgustingly so much in love.

Celina was shocked that such a strong love was suddenly torn apart. She was sure that sooner or later they would get married and have some lovely children. God, she knew Smitty and a few others had placed bets on it. Most of them thought they would announce their engagement within a few months.

But now it was almost impossible to even see them in the same room. Relationships were scary, it was clear to her now.

Finally, she set them aside with care. She couldn’t bring herself to hide them, or worse, throw them away. It felt like she was holding fragments of Lucy’s heart in her hands.

Turning back to the kitchen, she noticed a grocery bag on the table, some takeout containers left out. From the looks —and the smell— of it, they had been there for days. Lucy hadn’t touched them.

She opened the fridge. It was almost empty. A single jar of mustard. Half a lemon. An expired tub of yogurt. That was it.

She didn’t move for a moment.

Is she starving herself?

This possibility gave her goosebumps, especially when she remembered that she hadn't seen Lucy eating during lunch breaks.

Who knew how many days it had been like this? Weeks? Hungry, alone and miserable.

This couldn't be just physical hunger. Apparently, Lucy had lost something deeper. Like her will, her anchor.

She shut the fridge door gently, still staring into nothing. And then, the thought came. Quiet but heavy, settling deep into her chest.

Maybe instead of apartment hunting, I should just move in here like Nolan suggested. So I can keep an eye on Lucy.

She didn’t say it out loud.

But part of her had already made the decision.

She was going to ask her tomorrow. When Lucy was herself.

She began to quietly wipe the counter.

Chapter Text

She could hear Celina tidying up. It was humiliating. The whole apartment was a disaster— and she was even worse. She had failed to protect her "I'm okay" mask and had let someone see her like this. Hell, she had peed her pants. Was there any dignity left to protect at this point?

Shame, guilt, pain, rejection... They consumed her.

She didn't even have the strength to wipe the tears from her tired eyes anymore. It was as if the more she tried to breathe, the more she was suffocating. It was all too much.

She had crossed a line last night. And maybe it wasn't something too big to most— she knew plenty of cops who used their badge to save their own asses. But she had promised herself, back when she first joined the academy, that she would never be one of them.

She was one of them now. Messy and dirty. Everything she swore she wouldn’t be.

A failure.

She had been taught better. She knew better.

A part of her blamed the alcohol, but drinking was her choice in the end. No one had forced drinks down her throat. It was all her. She was the only person she could blame here. Shitting on her mother or on Tim wouldn't fix this.

Tim...

Celina had said he wanted to come and check on her himself but Lucy didn't know if it was another lie that was said to console her. She wouldn't be the first person to lie to her to "protect" her anyway.

Regardless of that, he should've been here.

Why wasn't he here? Grey's words were rarely enough to keep him under control, especially when it came to her.

If it had been a few weeks ago, he would have been here already, wrapping his arms around her. And then he would scold her, saying what she did was incredibly stupid. But then would spend the rest of the day making love to her because he was just so afraid she could get hurt.

What had she done so wrong that he was still keeping his distance?

They used to understand each other without saying a word— before everything fell apart. What was so different now? Why did he act like she was a stranger? Even after he broke her heart, she had still waited for him to come back. But he hadn’t. He wasn’t even looking at her anymore.

She remembered yesterday morning— how cold he was to Lucy when they went on patrol with Doctor London. And how he acted after the shift, when they talked in the parking lot.

Stupid, stupid parking lot.

I don't know how to talk to you anymore.

Bullshit.

She was the same Lucy who loved him. Who adored him. Who put him first, no matter what.

He was a coward. A coward who needed help.

She could help him, if only he let her.

She hated the fact that she still cared.

If it had been another man, she would easily move on. She wasn't someone who would ruin herself and become miserable over a man. But it wasn't just a man.

It was Tim.

Even though they were separated, even though he was avoiding her, there was a bond between them that she would never let go of. There was too much history. She couldn't erase any of that even if she tried.

She could barely suppress the painful sob that clawed its way out of her throat. She clamped a hand over her mouth, trying to hold it in.

Then there was a knock on her door. "Lucy, are you okay in there?"

She managed to wipe her warm tears. "Yeah, give me a second." She cleared her throat. "I'm getting dressed."

She heard Celina's murmurs of approval.

She shivered for a moment from the cold as she took off her towel and reached into her wardrobe. The first thing she grabbed was Tim's stupid t-shirt, which made her want to scream.

He was everywhere and nowhere at the same time. How was that even possible?

Telling herself that this would be the last time, she put on the t-shirt. She wasn't sure if it was real that it still smelled like him or if it was a pathetic delusion. But it didn't matter— it brought some level of comfort.

She studied herself in the mirror for a long time while braiding her wet hair carelessly. She had visibly collapsed in just a few weeks. But then again, her problems started long before he broke her heart. Him leaving was just the last straw.

Lucy knew the signs. She was a psych major after all. She had stopped seeing her therapist after the detective's exam. She knew she had to arrange a session soon. Because it seemed unlikely that she would be able to tackle this on her own. If she let this pain consume her any longer, she would eventually reach for her gun to end it all. She knew it. She couldn't let it get that far.

Why do you still care? Everything's over. There is no point.

She shook her head. 

Without letting herself think any further, she left the room and ran into Celina who was still cleaning the kitchen. "You really didn't need to do that, though I appreciate it very much." She said.

Celina looked at her, smiling. "I like cleaning, so it's fine. I just want to make this easier for you."

For the first time in weeks, Lucy felt her heart warm. She didn't know there was still a person who cared. Before she realized what was happening, she quickly reached Celina and hugged her tightly.

"Thank you." She whispered. A short sob escaped from her mouth.

"You're welcome." Celina hugged her back. "Are you okay?" She asked. Her voice was soft, but there was an unmistakable edge of worry under it. Her fingers moved gently through Lucy’s damp hair, slow and rhythmic, like a mother calming her child. And it was kind of funny, considering the ten year age gap between them.

For a moment, Lucy didn’t respond and the silence between them stretched. Then she blinked slowly, her lips parting with hesitation.

"No." Lucy confessed, finally. "But I'll get help."

She pulled back slightly, needing the distance to breathe. Her cheeks were still flushed, eyes rimmed red, and her fingers fidgeted at the hem of her t-shirt, twisting fabric between them.

"It's good to hear that." Celina said, gently. "If you need to talk, you know I'm always here."

Lucy nodded. Her throat burned from crying, her limbs felt hollow, and yet something inside her loosened. Not healed or fixed. Healing wouldn't come easy to her. It was going to take its sweet time. But realizing that someone was there for her, warmed her heart.

“You’re gonna be okay," Celina said gently, her hand resting against Lucy’s back. "I just know it."

"Yeah." She didn't believe it, not for now, but she wasn't going to fight it.

Celina smiled but then raised her eyebrows for a moment as if she remembered something she had forgotten. "I'm not sure how you like your sandwich, but I wanted to make something anyway. You like lettuce, cheese, and tomatoes, right? I found them in your shopping bag." She said and jokingly added. "They aren't in the best shape but still edible."

Lucy made a sound that sounded like laughter, the closest thing she'd had to a laugh in weeks. "Thank you. I'm sure it tastes amazing."

She sat next to her as Lucy reached for the sandwich and began to eat it slowly. The lettuce tasted a little bit odd but kept it to herself. 

As soon as she finished eating, Celina stood up and headed for the door. "I gotta go now, but you can call me anytime you want."

"Thanks." Lucy gave a genuine smile this time, but it faded the moment she left the apartment.

As soon as the door closed behind Celina, silence wrapped around the apartment. For a moment, Lucy just stood there, staring at the empty space where her friend had just been. The lingering warmth of kindness clung to her skin, but it wasn’t enough to keep the freezing cold out.

Reality crept back in, slow and suffocating. 

“Fuck this,” she cursed under her breath. “Seriously. Fuck this job, fuck this day, fuck this entire week.”

She picked up the plate from the counter and threw it on the ground, ignoring the floor Celina freshly cleaned. Then she threw another one. And then another.

It was good.

Anger was good.

It was far better than laying on her bed and crying herself to sleep.

Her bare feet padded against the cold floor as she grabbed the half-full bottle of wine from the counter and poured herself a glass.

"Fuck you mom." A sip. "And fuck you too, Tim Bradford. Actually, fuck you the most, you obnoxious asshole!" Another sip.

The deep red liquid swirled lazily in the glass as she flopped down onto the couch, pulling a thin blanket over her legs. The cushions swallowed her whole, just the way she liked it.

Her eyes burned from exhaustion, but sleep wasn’t coming anytime soon. And even if it did, she knew she would get another nightmare. So she let herself drift. Let herself exist in that quiet, lonely haze for just a moment longer.

She reached for her phone. She hadn’t checked it since last night. A notification had popped up while she was standing —and drinking— on the cliff, barely holding herself together. She had seen it, the screen glow for a few seconds but she didn't care enough to look at it.

A few missed calls. One from Sergeant Grey. A couple from Celina before she showed up on her door. Those made sense. 

What didn’t make sense was a deleted message from Tim. She automatically frowned when she saw his name. It was sent last night. It was the notification she ignored.

Her breath shook.

Her thumb wandered on the screen, like she could magically undo it, like if she pressed hard enough, his message would reappear.

Why?

What had he tried to say?

Why send it at all if he was just going to delete it?

Instinctively, she clicked on his name and let the phone ring for a second. But she ended the call before he had a chance to answer. If he had something to say, he could've come to her apartment. She no longer wanted to be the one who tried to reach out. She had tried to talk to him multiple times, but Tim had avoided her. It was his time to fight now.

She was exhausted.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and took another sip of her wine, longer this time. It burned slightly on the way down. She welcomed it.

Her mind couldn’t help but drift back to last night— how dangerously close she had stood to the edge, both physically and emotionally. How Tim must’ve known. Felt it somehow. He always seemed to know it when she needed him.

And still… he didn’t show up.

He sent a message and then deleted it.

Coward.

But somewhere, buried beneath the anger and pain, was something softer. Something worse. It was hope. Hope that he might still come around and beg her to take him back.

And it pissed her off even more.

Because she would take him back before a second thought. Surely, she would scream at him. Slap him on the face and cry.

She would cry a lot. But he would be there to hold her. And then they would be fine. She just desperately needed him to fight for her. Wasn't she worth the effort?

She drained the rest of the wine in one go and leaned her head back against the couch. The glass dangled loosely in her hand.

She really needed to contact her therapist, one day. But that day certainly wasn't today.

After Celina left and she crashed on her living room, Lucy didn't move from the couch all day, except for a few trips to the bathroom and having to get up to get a bottle of wine. She watched a few ridiculous programs on TV that hurt her brain after some time but she couldn't bring herself to care.

She specifically avoided watching TopChef or any other program they watched together. 

During her patrol, Celina had texted several times to check in her. Other than that, no one had called or texted. Tim, who she called in a moment of weakness, had decided to ignore her again. Well, in his defense, he was probably busy but she was angry anyway.

And it was shockingly tiring: being angry all day and refusing to engage in physical activity. 

She was still sitting in front of the TV sipping her wine when it got dark outside. That's why when she heard the knock on the door, she wasn't sure if it was real or just another hallucination. Even though she was aware of the possibility of it being real, she didn't want to get up.

Who could it be anyway? Definitely not—

"LUCY!" She heard a familiar voice calling for her behind the door.

Yeah, she was dreaming.

"IT'S ME!" He replied, louder.

"NO, IT'S NOT! GET AWAY!" She yelled back. She was so sick of the hallucinations and dreams and nightmares. God, why couldn't they just leave her alone?

She buried herself even deeper on her couch.

She didn’t move when she heard the lock turning.

At first, she thought she had imagined it. But when the door opened with a soft creak, followed by hesitant footsteps, her breath caught in her throat.

No.

No, no, no.

Fucking asshole.

Her heart pounded so violently she was sure he could hear it from across the room. She was still frozen when he got closer to her.

"Lucy?" He asked, softly. His eyes were filled with worry and focused on her.

Her name had never sounded so gentle coming from him. A part of her, a very big part, wanted to run to him and have him in her arms. But she didn't move.

He took a few more steps into the room, then paused. “You called.”

"I shouldn't have." She wanted to snap but her voice sounded so broken that she hated herself. "I'm sorry for bothering you. You can leave now."

He didn't leave but didn't reply either.

Then, she heard the quiet rustle of fabric as he crouched down in front of her. His presence suddenly felt too real. His eyes searched for hers, patiently, like he wasn’t going to leave until she looked.

"Lucy—"

"Why are you here, Tim?" She interrupted, forcing herself to meet his eyes. "Really."

There was a beat of silence. Then, quietly, he said, “Because I care. Because I’ve been worried. And because I hate how things are between us.”

Lucy swallowed hard, her throat tight with everything she hadn’t said for weeks.

"You’re the one who walked away," she said, her voice barely above a whisper but laced with pain. "From me. From us."

She let out a bitter breath, blinking back the sting in her eyes.

"And I waited, Tim. I kept waiting. For weeks." Her voice trembled. "Hoping you’d show up. Hoping you’d give me something —anything— to hold on to." Her throat tightened. "But all you did was avoid me."

A beat passed before she spoke again, her voice colder this time. "So I’m asking you again— why are you here?"

Tim drew in a slow, shaky breath, his chest rising and falling as if each word took effort. "Because I realized I made the worst mistake of my life." His voice was hoarse, raw with guilt. His eyes locked on hers with an intensity that made her pulse quicken and boil her blood.

He took a step closer. "I'm not okay, Luce. And all I keep doing is hurting you more and more." His hand reached out for hers, slow and careful. She didn’t stop him. Their fingers touched, cold meeting warm, and for a second, the air between them shifted.

No matter how angry she was, she felt the peace that spread through her as their skin reunited. But she wouldn't let her guard down.

"I stand by what I said that night. You're an incredible person, Lucy, and you deserve so much better than me."

Something inside her cracked.

"You don't get to decide what I deserve or don’t deserve, Tim!" she snapped. "I am my own person! You took that choice away from me! You left, you decided we were over, and expected me to be okay with it!"

Tim flinched as if the words physically struck him. "Lucy, leaving you was the—" 

She cut him off again, this time with fire in her eyes.

"I love you, Tim!" she shouted. "And I know you love me too. But I really, really can’t do this right now, okay?" Her voice cracked, but she pushed on. "I haven’t been eating, I haven’t been sleeping, and I’m fucking drunk, so I can’t even yell at you as loud as I want to." Her hands were trembling now. Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them away.

"So please..." her voice dropped to a whisper again, barely holding itself together. "Just get out."

Tim stood frozen for a moment, her words hanging heavy in the air like smoke that refused to clear. His hand was still halfway between them, now limp at his side. His lips parted slightly, as if he was about to say something but nothing came out.

And she was grateful for that.

Then, slowly, he lowered his gaze. His shoulders sagged. Without another word, he turned toward the door.

The sound of his footsteps was agonizingly quiet, each one echoing through the hollow of the apartment. When the door finally opened, a gust of cold night air swept in, and for a brief second, she thought, hoped actually, he might look back.

But he didn’t.

The door clicked shut behind him.

And Lucy was alone again.

Chapter Text

When the terrifying sound of the alarm filled her living room, Lucy cursed herself for drinking so much. Even though she bitterly snooze the alarm a few times, she finally couldn't stand it anymore and got up. There were about two hours left for roll call, but if she got ready quickly, she still had a chance to make it. 

Her brain wasn't fully awake yet, but she somehow managed to take a quick shower and start to get dressed.

The muddy shoe prints she saw in the living room and in front of the door as she was about to leave the house proved that Tim had indeed been there last night.

Because I hate how things are between us.

Because I realized I made the worst mistake of my life.

His words rang in her ears.

And she remembered yelling at him, as loud as she could.

I love you.

I know you love me too.

Just get out.

She wasn't sure how much of it was actually said— maybe she had just dreamed about it. But he was here. Because she called.

Because he still cared.

While trying not to get lost in her thoughts, she finally reached her car but immediately had to frown.

It smelled disgusting inside. Ever worse— tons of beer cans and a bottle of tequila were lying around in the car. She seemed to remember drinking wine at one point, but had no idea where the bottle was.

Shame took over her entire body once again. She had to get rid of them after her shift, before anyone got to witness her humiliation. The last thing she needed was getting benched. She couldn't handle something like that. Going on patrol was the only thing that kept her sane. She couldn't lose it, not now.

Everything had slipped from her hands, but she needed to be stronger than this. She had to find a way out as soon as possible and save herself from this swamp she was in. There was no Tim to save her this time, but she still had herself. She would survive this on her own. Because she had no other choice.

After reaching the station and putting on her uniform, she went to briefing room and meanwhile didn't think about Tim or last night again. Yet she couldn't help but feel sick to her stomach as she accidentally made eye contact with Celina, who had seen her at her absolute worst so few hours ago. She wanted to believe that Celina would understand her and keep her mouth shut about what had happened even though they weren't very close.

People were already talking behind her back, a lot. She didn't want them to know more about her and her never-ending misery.

Everyone who looked at her at the station knew she had failed to secure a crime scene, had finished 17th on her detective's exam, and had been through a devestating break-up. Hell, they had bet on it as if she was on a TV show.

She felt her blood boil once again, with so much anger and resentment. Was there a single person who would stand by her and support her?

She took a deep breath.

She was spiralling and her shift hadn't even started yet. Plus, overthinking wouldn't be a benefit for her.

After last night, it would be even harder to go on patrol with Tim —and with that annoying doctor— so she didn't want to overthink anything and get herself into a worse situation. She needed to convince Grey that she was okay and get away from these two as soon as possible. She could do her job on her own, she just needed to prove herself once again.

Lost in her thoughts, she caught the Sergeant's eye. Grey looked like he was going to say something to her for a moment, but he said nothing. So instead, Lucy gave him a small nod and left the room.

Tim had already moved ahead and loaded the war bags into the shop. Doctor London was nowhere to be seen.

She cleared her throat but didn't dare to look at him. "Where is she?" She didn't have to mention her name, he would understand who she meant anyway.

"Grey said she was taking a personal day." His voice was hoarse and uneven, as if it had been scraped raw from the inside. She wondered if he had been crying too.

Because she was crying, too much.

"Then what's the meaning of us going though this? Isn't the reason we ride together so she can evaluate and report on us?" She asked and finally looked at him. It was obvious that he had been awake all night and even though she felt a pang of pain in her heart, she didn't comment on it. "I mean, I'm definitely not complaining. That woman gives me the ick— you know what? Whatever." She shook her head.

He gave her a silent chuckle but didn't say anything. So they got in the shop without speaking to each other again or making eye contact.

The streets of Los Angeles were still waking up, but the traffic was already heavy as usual. The low hum of the engine and the occasional crackle from the radio filled the silence between them.

Lucy kept her eyes on the windshield, but she could feel Tim’s presence beside her like an anchor. It was almost impossible to ignore.

Neither of them had said much since they pulled out of the station. He was driving like always, both hands steady on the wheel, eyes scanning the road.

She sighed.

How she wanted to hold his hands that were gripping the steering wheel so tightly. To put small kisses on his white knuckles...

But those moments of tenderness were so short. No matter how much she tried to get over things and forgive him —even though he had done nothing to earn that said forgiveness— she couldn't get that expression on his face and his cold words out of her mind in the parking lot. And even before that, he had ghosted her for days and retreated into his shell, only letting Lopez in.

Lucy was used to feeling worthless, but never by Tim. This hurt her the most. Not being worthy of his trust.

"Your brain's gonna explode if you keep thinking this much." He said.

"Fuck you." It came out of her mouth without thinking. She blushed with embarrassment as she remembered where they were. "I— I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that, sir."

Although his eyebrows furrowed with Lucy's last word, he didn't reply back. His silent acceptance made her somehow feel even worse.

"I'm trying my best here. And we're solid, at least professionally. But I'm still tired and I didn't think before speaking." She tried to explain without diving into her personal life too much. "That won't happen again."

His gaze was still focused on the road.

Silent treatment once again, amazing.

His jaw was tight and somehow it made him look even more tired. Couldn't he see that they were both miserable?

Part of her wished she hadn't kicked him out last night, but she wasn't in her right mind. She was upset and incredibly drunk. She was afraid they would end up on a worse path than they were now.

She rolled her eyes and started scrolling through Cliptalk.

The radio hissed to life, dispatch calling out another unit, not them. She saw him shifting out of the corner of her eye, but she didn't comment. She didn't want to talk again when her apology had gone unanswered. There was so much she wanted to say to him, but none of it belonged here, in this shop, in uniform. So she kept it all locked up. Sooner or later they would talk anyway.

A minute later, dispatch finally called their unit.

“7-Adam-19, possible 459 in progress, commercial property, 7th and Mateo,” the voice crackled through the radio.

Tim reached for it before she could, his tone clipped but calm. “7-Adam-19, show us en route.”

The shop picked up speed as he changed lanes, weaving through the sluggish morning traffic. Lucy braced herself against the door, the hum of the engine louder now.

“What’s the plan if we get there and the suspect’s still inside?” she asked, partly to break the silence, partly to check his read on her.

He glanced at her, just a flicker, before returning his eyes to the road. “Same as always. We clear it together. You take point if it’s tight quarters.”

It felt good, just a little bit— him still trusting her in work, still giving her space to prove herself, even though he did the complete opposite in their personal lives.

"Understood."

The neighborhood shifted quickly as they got closer: Street art on brick walls, the faint smell of something fried lingering in the air, people barely noticing the passing black-and-white.

When they pulled up, the scene looked quiet from the outside. Maybe too quiet. A metal security gate hung crookedly off its track, one lock still dangling, snapped.

They got out of the shop. “Stay sharp.” He said. She nodded.

Her hand rested on her holster, the leather warm under her palm. A quick sweep of the storefront showed no one outside, but the glass door behind the bent gate was ajar. She glanced at Tim and he gave a single nod, the kind that meant go.

Lucy pushed the door open slowly, the faint chime of the shop bell sounding far too gentle for the tension coiling in her chest.

Inside smelled faintly of motor oil and dust. Shelves of car parts and tools lined the walls, shadows stretching long under the flickering fluorescent lights. Somewhere toward the back, something clinked— metal against metal.

She turned her head slightly toward Tim and whispered. “You hear that?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, already moving forward with that quiet, deliberate pace of his.

They rounded the corner together and there he was. A man in a black hoodie, crouched over the open register, stuffing handfuls of cash into a torn backpack.

“LAPD! Hands where I can see them!” Lucy’s voice cut sharp through the room.

The man froze for a second, then bolted toward the side door.

Lucy was after him instantly, her boots slapping against the concrete floor. “Stop! Police!”

Tim was right behind her, his heavier steps matching her speed. The suspect shoved open the side exit, daylight flooding in but Tim caught him by the back of his hoodie before he could get far, yanking him to the ground with one swift motion.

Lucy moved in, cuffing the man while Tim kept his knee on the suspect’s shoulder. The guy muttered curses under his breath, but didn’t fight.

“Clear,” Lucy said, standing up.

Tim gave her a look, full of approval. She didn't need it but it still felt good.

"You have the right to remain silent." She explained him. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."

Back in the shop, they handed the suspect over to another unit. No words between them, just that lingering, tense energy.

She forced herself to smirk at him, trying to seem nonchalant. "Look how well we work. What a shame Doctor -I know it all- London isn't here with us."

"Yeah." The corner of his mouth twitched, just barely. "We do work well together."

For a moment, it almost felt like before. Almost.

Not long after, they received a new call. "7-Adam-19, possible overdose, female, apartment complex, 5th Street and Alameda."

Lucy’s stomach dropped. She hated getting calls like this. And she knew Tim hated it too, especially because of his past with Isabel. 

She reached the mic, “7-Adam-19, show us en route.”

They arrived at the apartment complex a few minutes later. The building looked ordinary, but the smell of sickness hit the air as soon as they stepped out of the car. He led the way, and Lucy followed, holstering her unease as best she could.

Inside, a woman lay slumped on the floor. Her clothes were damp, her face pale, and her breathing shallow. Lucy’s chest tightened. She was a petite but curvy Asian woman with dark brown hair. The similarity in their appearance literally slapped her on the face.

It felt like a cruel joke. Especially after the other night.

The sight was immediate and it dragged her own memory to the surface— in her car, passed out, ashamed and struggling to keep herself together.

Lucy swallowed hard, her hands trembling slightly as she opened her medical kit. Tim knelt beside the woman, checking her pulse, assessing the situation. Lucy moved closer, her fingers shaking as she handed him supplies, trying not to let her mind spiral.

“Okay,” Tim said, voice calm but firm, “she’s breathing, but barely. Let’s get her stabilized before the ambulance arrives.”

She couldn't answer, only nodded and kept her strain to herself.

She knelt down, and her eyes scanned the woman’s face. The more flashbacks there were, the worse the similarities became.

She hadn't come back from the brink of death, of course, but the similarities were undeniable. The helplessness, the sense of losing control... It wasn’t the same situation, not exactly, but the humiliation, the vulnerability, the loss of dignity— it hit close to home.

This was her, two nights ago.

Passing out all alone, eye bags and wetness in a certain part of the pants.

The thought of being in the same situation as a drug addict made her shiver.

“Ma’am, can you hear me?” Lucy asked, hoping to receive an answer. But the woman didn't move.

Her hand brushed against the woman’s arm, and she accidentally knocked over a small bottle on the floor. It rolled away, clattering against the tile.

“Watch it,” Tim muttered, his tone low but tense, as he quickly grabbed the bottle and set it aside.

Lucy’s cheeks burned. Her hands weren’t steady— not just from nerves, but from everything she had carried with her the last couple of weeks.

Tim glanced at her quickly, almost imperceptibly. He noticed her lips pressing together, the way her jaw tightened, the brief flicker of guilt and panic in her eyes.

She focused on the woman’s shallow breathing, counting her breaths silently, letting the adrenaline tether her to the moment. Tim’s presence was calm, but she could feel him observing her, noticing every tremor, every hesitation. And inside, she was quietly fighting the memory of herself, feeling the weight of last night settle heavier with each passing second.

“Almost there,” Tim said softly, his voice cutting through her internal storm. “She’s gonna make it.”

Lucy nodded, her hands steadying as adrenaline and empathy kept her rooted in the moment. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. Tim saw it all anyway— the lingering shame, the tension and the raw human edge of someone struggling with their own demons while trying to save another.

Naturally, he couldn't know everything —and he didn't— but after spending some hours side by side in a small car, it was impossible for him not to notice the remaining smell of alcohol on her. He had also seen her drunken and vulnerable state with his own eyes last night.

While waiting for the ambulance, she collapsed to the ground and avoided looking at Tim. She knew that as soon as she looked at his worried face, she would start crying and telling him everything. But she couldn't do that. She wasn't his concern or problem anymore.

Wasn't that one of the reasons why he broke up with her anyway? He was too busy with his own mess and problems to care about Lucy. She didn't want to show how miserable she was without him and break down in front of him.

So no, that wasn't an option.

Thank god, within minutes, paramedics arrived. She turned toward the hallway, ready to leave, but the image of the woman sprawled on the floor stayed with her.

Lucy swallowed hard. “I— I’ve gotta go.” Her voice was low and uneven. She didn't want to leave him there, knowing it would possibly trigger his PTSD but she knew she couldn't stay. Not like that.

He gave her a brief nod, understanding without words. He would handle the rest here.

So she walked away from the apartment without looking at the woman. She was going to wait him in the shop.

Lucy knew that as her sergeant and superior officer, he would want to talk about what happened back there. She was hoping she could find an excuse until Tim came back and started asking reasonable questions.

She bit her lower lip hard and leaned against the vehicle.

It was certainly time to give her therapist a call.

Chapter Text

It didn't take long for Tim to come back. Fortunately by then, she was able to calm herself down and think clearly. But when he got in the shop and slammed the door shut, looking furious, Lucy knew she was in trouble. And that were no escape. They were on patrol together, so he was sitting next to her not as the man she loved, not as the man who broke her heart; but as her Sergeant and superior officer.

"I'm sorry I panicked." She said but her weak voice was no more than a whisper. "It won't happen again." She wasn't convincing at all.

He didn’t reply at first. Instead, reached out to grip her chin and tilt her face toward his. The contact wasn’t rough, but it was firm. She could see the muscle ticking in his jaw and forehead, the effort it took him not to explode.

“What would you do if I weren’t there, huh?” He asked. His voice was low but also full of anger.

Lucy swallowed hard. “I’d calm myself down and do my job." She answered, forcing the words out with a stiffness she didn’t feel. Then she pulled back from his hand, desperately needing that space between them. “Are we gonna stay here all day or stop crime?”

For a moment, his eyes searched hers, like he was trying to decide whether to push back or let it go. He said nothing, just turned, restarted the shop and pulled away.

Minutes later, the tires crunched over gravel as he eased the shop into a deserted side street and stopped the engine. Without looking at her, he opened his door. “Get out.”

Her head snapped toward him. “Why? Are you going to make me walk again?"

“I said get out, Lucy!”

The sharp edge in his tone made her flinch. She unbuckled and slid out. “What are we doing here?” She asked, confusion giving way to irritation.

Tim frowned and turned his body towards her. "You think that I'm just gonna let you go on patrol like this?" He spat. "Grey was right. You need to be evaluated and then benched!

Her eyes widened suddenly. “Oh my god! What’s wrong with you?” The words came out sharper than she intended, but she didn’t take them back.

“No, no— what’s wrong with you?” He shot back, raw and almost desperate. He dragged a hand down his face, as if he could scrape away the frustration clinging to him. “You think I don’t smell the alcohol on you, Lucy?”

Lucy felt her hands shaking with panic and anger. “I’m not drunk!” She shouted, the heat in her tone barely covering the sting in her chest. “Have some faith in me.”

“I didn’t say you were,” he countered quickly. “I’m just saying that I can smell it. The others can, too.”

Her hands curled into fists at her sides. “What about it, huh? What about it? I drank a little bit when I was home. It’s not my fault that it still smells. I took a shower!”

The silence that followed was heavy, a fragile thing ready to snap. The street around them was quiet while the weight of unspoken words pressed between them, refusing to let either of them walk away this time.

"Is it me? Is it because of me?" He wasn’t loud anymore, but he sounded razor-sharp and it cut right through her.

Lucy’s throat tightened. Part of her wanted to tell him no, that he had nothing to do with it. Another part of her wanted to throw the truth right in his face. But she didn’t even know what the truth was anymore. Somewhere between lines, things got blurry.

It hadn't been her year. She had lost everything and everyone one by one. Tim breaking up with her wasn't the only problem she had, but it was certainly the one that gave her the death blow. It took her breath away and left her naked and defenseless before the cruel world.

She shook her head.

Deny everything.

“I love drinking when I can’t sleep,” she said finally, forcing her tone to stay even. “I've always loved drinking. You know that.”

His eyes searched her face, and she hated how steady his gaze was— as if he was trying to peel back her words, layer by layer, until he found something true and ugly underneath.

He knew her. 

It didn't matter that they were broken up. It didn't matter that they were angry at each other. It didn't matter that she learned to lie and hide her feelings at UC school.

He fucking knew her and saw right through her lies. It had always made Lucy happy and her heart beat with love.

But right now, she despised it. 

She bit the inside of her cheeks so she wouldn't cry.

He stepped closer to her. “What was that, then?” He asked softly, like he was afraid she might break if he pushed too hard. “In that apartment with that junkie?”

Her breath caught. She didn’t want to replay the image, but it was already burned into her mind, making sure she wouldn't get away from it. —The woman’s hair plastered to her face, her body limp, the smell of urine and chemicals heavy in the air.

Lucy looked away, ashamed to meet his eyes. He would be so disappointed with her, had she told him the absolute truth.

So she changed the reality again, not too much, but enough to make him let it go.

“For a moment…” Her voice cracked, and she had to swallow before she could finish. “For a moment I thought that she looked just like me, and I panicked, you know. Her figures and face... I don't know, it just felt so awkward. I—"

It wasn't the whole truth but wasn't a lie either. But she knew, deep down, that he already suspected there was more to the story than she was willing to give him.

Her shoulders slowly slumped and she finally gave up. "You covered for Isabel, for years." His eyes widened when she said that name. "Why can't you do the same for me... this one time?"

She was being unfair but what choice did she have anyway?

It hurt when his eyes were filled with pain. She hit him where it hurt the most. It was nasty— she needed to admit. But she did have a point at the end of the day.

He came closer and gently took her arms in his hands. "And look what happened when I did that?" He asked and before she could protest, he pulled her to himself and hugged her tightly. "I can't lose you the way I lost her."

His voice was so soft, it broke something in her.

Lucy lifted her arms and wrapped them around him. She ran one hand through his short hair. She slowly inhaled his manly fresh scent and whispered. "But you already did." She felt his hands, that were caressing her back, freeze.

She pulled back and walked towards the shop without looking at his face. She couldn't bear to see the look on his face. It would ruin her. "C'mon, we have a shift to finish."

After saying words that would take time to get over, neither of them spoke again. Didn't even make eye contact.

Their abrupt transformation from a couple madly in love to two strangers who hit each other in places that hurt, in a matter of weeks, put a weight on her heart that she had never carried before. It felt like everything had lost its meaning. It was as if the vibrantly colored world had suddenly lost all its colors and everything beautiful had vanished.

She was back in that barrel and there was no way out this time. There was no Tim to follow the clues and save her.

She was supposed to be a successful cop, a professional. Yet here she was, unraveling silently in the passenger seat beside her sergeant, beside the man who used to hold her every night.

The radio squawked again, dispatch calling another unit. Neither of them moved. She wanted to reach out, to break the silence with anything, but the words stuck in her throat. Her gaze dropped to her hands, to the way they rested on her knees. The words almost escaped her mouth, but she chose to keep them to herself. She shouldn't have said things that would have sent her to the courts while cameras were running all around the shop, recording every single thing.

It suddenly became clear to her.

That's exactly why Tim stopped the shop and wanted to talk outside.

She sighed.

They weren't called again until lunch break. He disappeared as soon as he parked the vehicle. Lucy doubted he would eat. She didn't feel like eating either.

When she went in to get coffee, she was relieved to find the room empty. She wiped away the few tears that had escaped her eyes and sat down on the chair, taking her mug.

She had so many problems to deal with and wasn't sure where to begin. Even though her mind was still wandering to the psychology books she knew by heart, she could not find anything that would help her. She surely knew that she needed to continue therapy, rebuild her confidence and have a proper, adult conversation with Tim.

Still didn't feel like she could do any of that.

She grumbled and then took a sip of her coffee.

"Hey, you good?"

When she looked up, she came face to face with Nolan. "Yeah, I'm great." She lied, again. "What about you? Did Celina leave you to hang out with Aaron?"

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Yes, we could say that." He moved past her toward the coffee machine, the faint smell of fresh grounds filling the air as he busied himself.

A few moments later, he slid into the chair opposite her, coffee in hand. "I hope you don't mind," he said, his tone gentle as always. "I know you like to hang out alone these days."

She offered a bitter smile, one corner of her mouth tugging upward without reaching her eyes. "No, it’s fine."

When she noticed Nolan's face wince after taking a deep breath, she realized Tim was right.

She bit her lower lip in embarrassment. She quickly came out with a new lie. "We got called out for a ridiculous bar fight this morning. The smell must have cling on me."

He nodded to indicate.

Lucy wrapped her hands tighter around her cup, feeling the heat seep into her palms. She drank in slow sips, not because she was savoring it, but because it gave her an excuse not to talk.

They stayed that way until her cup was empty and she rose from her seat.

"Lucy," Nolan called after her, making her pause mid-step.

When she turned, he was watching her with that same steady, open expression. "I very much hope you don’t mistake my giving space as disregarding." His voice was soft but certain. "I know we’ve drifted apart after Jackson, but Lucy, you are so very dear to me, and I still care about you. So, if you wanna talk about anything, my door is always wide open to you."

Her throat tightened at the mention of Jackson. The grief wasn’t as sharp as it once was, but it still sat there, heavy and familiar, like a bruise that would never fade completely.

"Thanks, John," she said finally. Her voice was steadier than she expected. "It’s not you. I just… I’ve been trying to figure some stuff out, you know. Trying to keep my head above water."

His eyes softened, but he didn’t push. "I get it. Just don’t drown alone, okay? Ask for help when it's too much."

A faint smile tugged at her lips. "I’ll keep that in mind."

As she was leaving the room, she ran into Lopez but before the words could leave the detective's mouth, Lucy practically ran away from her. Although she had a lot of respect for Lopez, they were never close and never would be now. Her loyalty laid with Tim and Lucy didn't even believe for a second that the detective would support her over him.

She was planning to spend the rest of her lunch break alone in the shop, but when she saw Tim sitting inside, looking at his phone, she hesitated. But eventually she got in. He put down his phone and looked at her for a moment, but then turned away without saying anything.

Lucy wanted to say something but the words felt heavy in her throat. Every time she looked at him, she could see that invisible wall between them, built brick by brick since the night everything fell apart. 

They were still out of work hours and the cameras in the shop were off. So if she was going to say something, now was the time. She mustered up her courage and cleared her throat.

"I shouldn't have brought Isabel up."

"No, you shouldn't have." He answered without looking at her. "But I understand where you're coming from."

Lucy’s shoulders eased only slightly at his words, but the relief was short-lived.

Understanding isn’t the same as forgiving.

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” she said quietly. “I just didn’t know what else to say. I was so embarrassed."

And I still am.

"I hate that you saw me like that." She confessed.

Tim’s gaze stayed on the windshield, his hands tightening around the steering wheel even though the engine wasn’t running. “I know what it's like. So it's fine. You don't owe me kindness or anything." He said, then finally gave her a glance. "I'm the one who broke your heart. It's natural to be angry, and you have every right to be."

The words weren’t sharp, but they landed with weight.

"Did you start therapy or something?" She asked, confused.

"Yeah, after you told me I needed help." He confessed, looking a little bit diffident. "I've been there twice so far. There's a long way to go, but I'm still trying."

She watched him with her widened eyes. She didn't think he would actually follow her advice. Tim never liked talking about his feelings and was not keen on therapy. Even after returning from Afghanistan with PTSD, he didn't see a specialist and kept his demons to himself.

Without letting herself think twice, she put her hand on his trembling leg. "I'm so proud of you."

Tim didn’t say anything. His jaw flexed once, twice, like he was trying to hold back whatever words were fighting to get out.

Her hand lingered on his leg longer than she meant to, fingers unconsciously pressing into the tense muscle. It wasn’t until she felt the slight shudder of his breath that she realized how close she was crossing into dangerous territory. Slowly, and very reluctantly, she withdrew.

“Lucy…” His voice was low, gravelly, like it had scraped through something sharp before reaching her. “You don’t have to say that. I know you're still upset with me."

“I wanted to.” She swallowed, her throat tight. “You… you never listen to anyone. That's not your thing. But the fact that you listened to me—” She let out a shaky laugh. “That means more than you think.

Also yes, I'm still upset with you. And I'll keep being upset for a long time. But I want you to be okay, Tim. You deserve it." She explained, putting her anger aside.

He turned toward her then, really turned, his eyes searching her face. “It’s not easy,” he admitted. “Every instinct I have tells me to shut down, push people away. But I don’t… I don’t want to be that man anymore.”

Her chest ached at the rawness in his voice. For the first time in weeks, he had shared his feelings and was obviously making an effort to heal. It was her Tim again— flawed, human, and bleeding at the seams.

And God help her, she still loved him.

The silence that followed wasn’t tense anymore, but it was fragile, the kind that could shatter if they pushed it.

Tim reached for the gear shift. “Break’s over.”

Lucy nodded, watching the world slide by outside her window as the shop pulled back into traffic. They didn’t speak again, but something in the air felt… lighter.

Maybe going on patrol together wasn't such a bad decision after all.

And thank god, the afternoon unfolded in quick cuts, a montage of patrol life.

A corner store.

Tim jotted down notes as the shaken cashier pointed to the empty candy shelf, security footage flickering on a small screen. In the background, Lucy herself stood near the door, watchful but distant, her eyes never quite meeting his.

Then a suburban street.

An elderly couple waved them over, complaining about the neighbor’s blaring music. Lucy managed it with a polite smile and a soft word, the noise fading as quickly as it had started. Tim lingered by the patrol car, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

And lastly they found out that a missing child was actually with his mother.

Each call was ordinary, routine, nothing out of the ordinary.

They didn't speak again until they got back to the station. 

She smiled instinctively— something about the way he looked at her, like a guilty kid caught in the act, all quiet and unspoken regret, those puppy eyes undoing her without him even trying.

“Hey,” she started lightly, half a laugh in her voice to cut the tension. “You know what? Maybe we can sit down and have a coffee one day. When we both feel ready. What do you say?”

For a second, she thought he might brush it off, but instead, the corner of his mouth tugged upward, and his shoulders seemed to relax just slightly.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’d want that.”

Something warm flickered between them, brief but undeniable, before the bustle of the station reminded them where they were. Sergeant Grey called out for Lucy, and Tim’s phone buzzed with a notification, dragging them back into the noise of their world.

After exchanging one last glance, they both walked in opposite directions.

She felt a small sense of relief as she walked towards Grey's office. She was still angry, hurt, and exhausted. She had a lot to sort out, and she wasn't going to be her cheerful sunshine self anytime soon. But she was glad Tim was finally doing something for himself and trying to get better.

The moment she stepped into Sergeant Grey's office, the tension in the air hit her like a slap in the face. The door clicked shut behind her and for a second, she wished she could just melt into the floor, disappear before this conversation even started. Grey didn’t say anything right away, just watched her with that look— full of disappointment and anger. That same look had never left Lucy alone as she grew up. It was the exact same look her parents had when she made even the slightest mistake. She wasn't sure why Grey wanted to talk to her but it was clearly for nothing good.

“Sit down,” he said finally, pointing at the chair.

Lucy obeyed, back straight, hands tight in her lap. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him again.

"Wanna tell me what the hell were you thinking?” He snapped suddenly.

"Sir?" She asked, crushing under his rage.

Grey leaned forward, elbows on the desk. “You’ve spent your whole career doing everything right. You follow the book, you set the example. And then you get behind the wheel drunk, flash your badge, and think there aren’t going to be consequences?”

Lucy flinched. Hearing it laid out like that made her stomach twist. “I—” she tried, but her voice cracked. “I just… I messed up.” He didn't even give her a chance to deny. "Did Celina—"

"Does Juarez have something to tell me?" He asked.

"No, sir." She averted her eyes again. She just wanted to sink into the ground and disappear.

“This isn't about what Juarez told me or what she didn't. You didn’t just mess up, Chen. You risked your life, you risked other people's lives and you risked this badge. Do you understand that?”

Her chest burned, shame sitting heavy there. She nodded, eyes stinging. “Yes, sir.”

"That was a disgrace to that badge you're carrying!" He shouted. "I still can't understand how you could do something like this! How can you be this foolish and irresponsible?"

She didn't answer. She couldn't. There was no excuse she could use.

"I didn't expect this from you— didn't even believe it when I first heard it." He yelled again. Her heart skipped a beat at the thought that someone might hear what he was saying.

"My frustration and anger cannot be expressed in words." Grey exhaled, rubbing his jaw. The anger in his tone softened, just slightly. “You know I’m not reporting this. If I did, you wouldn’t have a career left to salvage. Probably would've ended up in jail for two months and I can't do this to you."

"But I’m not letting it slide, either.” He continued.

That startled her enough to look up. “You’re not… reporting me?”

“No.” His eyes locked on hers. “But you’re going to see the department therapist, Doctor London. Mandatory. No arguments. And until further notice, you’re off the street. Desk duty.”

The words hit harder than she expected. “Desk duty? Sir, please, I can still—”

“No.” He cut her off sharply. “This isn’t up for debate. You need to deal with whatever pushed you to make that choice. Until then, you’re not getting behind the wheel of a cruiser.”

Anger flared inside— at herself, at the entire shitty situation, at him for treating her like she was fragile. But deep down, she knew he was right. She pressed her lips together, swallowing the heat rising in her chest.

“Understood,” she said finally, voice clipped.

Grey leaned back, studying her like he was trying to see past every wall she was putting up. His tone softened again. “You’re better than this, Lucy. Don’t make me regret giving you this chance. There won't be a second time."

That nearly broke her. She nodded quickly, afraid that if she spoke again her voice would betray her.

When she left his office, her legs felt like they barely carried her. Anger still hummed under her skin, but layered with it was something heavier— guilt, gratitude, and the sharp edge of anxiety she couldn’t shake. He hadn’t turned her in. She should feel lucky. Instead, she just felt like she was falling apart, even harder this time.

Chapter Text

Lucy tried to hide her shaking hands as she left Grey's office. She knew exactly what, or rather who, she needed when she went through the bullpen. No matter how much he broke her heart, the one person she would always return to for comfort.

She needed Tim. Desperately.

Otherwise, she would have a panic attack in the middle of the station that would be etched in people's minds.

Her chest tightened with every step she took, her breathing growing more uneven. The bullpen felt too loud, too bright, every voice cutting through her like static. She couldn’t focus on anything— only the pounding in her ears, the way her vision narrowed as if the walls themselves were closing in.

Not here. Not in front of everyone. Please, not here.

Her fingers trembled at her sides. She could already feel the shame bubbling up, the thought of people watching her crumble, of whispers that would follow. She hated that part most, the humiliation layered over the fear.

As her eyes wandered around, she heard Celina calling her, but she was in no position to answer. She was already starting to get short of breath and her mind was getting blurry. She needed to find him.

Her lungs burned. Each inhale came shallow, useless. She wrapped her arms around herself as if she could hold the pieces together until she found him.

And then, through the blur, she finally saw him.

He was across the bullpen, in conversation with Lopez, his expression steady, grounded, the way it always was. Lucy’s throat caught. Relief washed over her so strong it almost knocked her down.

But right behind it came the guilt, sharp and merciless.

If she told him what happened, he would be furious. Even worse, he would be disappointed.

You could never disappoint me. He once told her. But he was the one who trained her, the one who taught her how to be a cop. And he would inevitably be disappointed if he learned that she had failed in such way.

But then again, she needed him to hold her. So her weak body betrayed her. She moved toward him before she even realized it, her breaths shallow, her vision swimming.

She was in that barrel again.

Tim looked up, and his eyes locked onto hers instantly. His brow furrowed, concern flickering across his face, and he didn’t hesitate. He excused himself from Lopez mid-sentence and walked towards her.

The moment he reached her, she couldn’t even pretend anymore. Her hands shook violently, her chest heaved, and tears stung at the corners of her eyes.

“Lucy—” His voice was low, firm, but laced with worry. “Hey. You’re okay. Come with me.”

She tried to protest, to form words like I’m fine or I don’t need you, but nothing came out except a choked sound. Tim didn’t wait for her to argue. He placed a steadying hand at her back, guiding her away from the bullpen, away from the curious eyes and noise, down the hall to the quiet of his old metro office.

The moment the door shut behind them, Lucy’s legs gave out. Tim caught her before she hit the ground, lowering her gently into the chair.

She buried her face in her trembling hands, ashamed.

He will hate me.

He will hate me.

He will hate me.

She felt the weight of his presence beside her, his voice steady and grounding.

“Breathe with me,” he whispered softly to her ear. “Right here. You’re not alone.”

And God help her, that was all she had wanted to hear.

She buried her face in his chest and let the tears flow as she inhaled his scent. His muscular arms grabbed her from behind and hugged her tightly.

"It's fine, you're safe, you're with me." He kept whispering words of assurance.

Lucy clung to him like she was drowning, fingers gripping at the fabric of his uniform as if letting go would mean sinking. Her chest burned, her breath came in shallow gasps, each one sharper than the last.

The panic clawed at her ribs, twisting her stomach, but worse than that was the shame. She hated the way her body betrayed her, hated that she couldn’t just pull herself together.

She hated that, despite him walking away from her, he was the only one who could bring her comfort. A part of her wanted to push him away, to tell him she didn’t need his comfort. But the truth was cruel: she did. She needed him more than she wanted to admit. Because in that moment, pressed against him, she could finally breathe.

The shame, anger and loneliness that had been eating away at her for weeks had subsided a little.

Yet her mind, which constantly betrayed her, cruelly reminded her once again of the reality she was trying to escape.

He had left her. The reason didn't matter. He chose to leave her alone after promising he would would never hurt her like that.

She felt like a fool.

I shouldn’t be here. He moved on. He left me behind, and I'm still clinging to him like a fool.

But then his hand started rubbing circles on her back like he always used to. The kind of touch that said he wasn’t going anywhere. And her body betrayed her again, not with panic this time, but with relief. A desperate, aching relief that spread through her limbs and loosened the iron grip of fear.

Violent emotional shifts clouded her mind.

Her sobs grew quieter, though her chest still trembled with each uneven breath. She shut her eyes tighter, trying to memorize the steadiness of his heartbeat under her cheek, the safety she had no right to crave.

And yet, deep down, she knew the truth: no matter how hard she tried to deny it, this was the only place that had ever felt like home.

Tim didn’t let go until her breathing had slowed, until the worst of the tremors passed. When she finally pulled back, her eyes were still wet, but at least she could see him clearly.

“What happened?” he asked softly. His voice wasn’t sharp— he wasn’t interrogating. Just worried. That was the Tim she knew and loved. Not the one who suddenly bailed on her.

"You'll hate me," she managed to whisper. "You'll be furious."

His eyes were filled with panic. "I could never hate you, Lucy. Never." He took her face between his hands and forced her to look at him. "Just tell me what happened."

She shook her head quickly, wiping at her face. “Not here. I can’t… not right now.”

He studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. Then let me take you home.”

Her stomach twisted at the word.

 Home. 

She pictured her apartment— quiet, empty, filled with reminders of everything and everyone she had lost over the years. The silence would crush her.

“I can't... I don’t want to go there,” she admitted, her voice breaking. She hesitated, ashamed of the words that followed. “Can we go to your place? Please.”

For a second, she thought he might refuse. But then he just gave a small nod. “Yeah, of course. I'll take you there."

They both knew they couldn’t just walk out in uniform. So he said, “Let’s change first. Meet me in the parking lot.”

Lucy didn’t trust her voice, so she only nodded.

In the locker room, she moved fast— peeling off the uniform, pulling on jeans and a sweatshirt with shaking hands. She avoided the mirror entirely, unwilling to see the wreckage of herself reflected back. She just wanted to get out before anyone noticed the state she was in.

By the time she reached the parking lot, Tim was already waiting by his truck, dressed down, keys in hand. He didn’t ask if she was ready. He just opened the passenger door for her, steady as ever, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Once settled into the familiar vehicle, she relaxed comfortably on the seat. His house was about thirty minutes from the station, and considering the evening traffic, it would probably take longer. So she leaned her head against the window and closed her eyes. She had to process what had happened in her mind and decide what to do.

The drive was quiet. Only the hum of the engine filled the space between them.

Lucy kept her head against the cool glass, eyes shut, trying to ground herself in the rhythm of the road. But her mind wouldn’t stop spinning— guilt, shame, relief all colliding until she could barely breathe.

At one point, Tim glanced at her. “Do you need me to pull over?”

She shook her head without opening her eyes. “No. Just keep driving."

He didn’t push further. He never did when she wasn’t ready.

By the time they pulled into his driveway, the weight in her chest had dulled, but hadn’t disappeared. Tim shut off the engine, and for a moment neither of them moved. Then he got out and circled the truck to open her door.

Inside, the familiarity hit her all at once— the scent of him, the warmth of the space, the quiet hum that wasn’t oppressive like her apartment’s silence. Here, she could breathe.

"We can order in if you're hungry." He said. "The fridge's empty."

She raised an eyebrow. "Why? Haven't you been eating?" She asked in worry.

He bowed his head before answering. "I don't have any appetite nowadays."

Self loathing idiot.

"Neither have I." She confessed, too.

Apparently, they were miserable separated. They were supposed to support each other and get through this difficult process together. And he had stole that from them but she was too tired to get angry at him now. Especially when he took her in and calmed her down.

Her eyes fell on Kojo sleeping at the corner of the living room. She hadn't seen him in weeks. Again, all because of Tim and his messed up ways of dealing with stuff.

"He misses you." He said quietly, noticing where her gaze had landed. His voice was soft, almost too careful, like he didn’t want to break the fragile peace between them.

She felt like tons of bricks were thrown at her. The thought of Kojo waiting for her in the house she hadn’t visited felt like a mirror of everything else she had been avoiding. “I miss him, too,” she replied, her voice barely more than a whisper. Her hands twitched against her thighs.

A yawn escaped her. She pressed a hand to her mouth, hating how exposed it made her feel. The fatigue wasn’t just physical— her nerves, her guilt, her panic from earlier, it all wrapped around her like a vice.

Tim looked at her, the concern clear in his deep blue eyes. “You’re tired,” he said gently. “It was a rough day for both of us. We don’t have to talk right now.”

Lucy wanted to protest, after all, she came here to talk, nothing more. So she wanted to say she was fine, that she could handle it— but she was so tired of lying. Her body was screaming for rest and her mind was too frazzled to articulate anything coherent.

She didn't fight him. “Yeah, I agree,” she murmured, admitting the defeat.

He stepped closer. “You can take my bed,” he offered so casually.

She hesitated for a second, the shame rising in her chest. She was longing for him, the kind of longing that made her feel weak.

I shouldn’t need this. I shouldn’t need him like this. He left me.

But in that moment, none of it mattered.

Because, after all, her feelings couldn't suddenly disappear just because he broke up with her. If he had given her a choice, she would have chosen to stay forever because she was in love with him. She couldn't just move on from it.

Her throat tightened as she forced herself to speak. “Only if you lay next to me.”

For a heartbeat, she saw something flicker in his eyes, a trace of doubt, but it melted away almost immediately. He gave a small, resolute nod. “Alright.”

Lucy exhaled quietly, the tension in her shoulders loosening slightly. She walked quickly along the path she knew by heart and reached his bedroom.

"Your clothes are still— oh, never mind." He stopped talking when she got rid of her sweatshirt and put on one of his t-shirts. Immediately afterwards, she took off her jeans, too.

She slid under the covers —the same ones she picked out when they went to shopping together— the familiar softness engulfing her. Tim followed seconds later, hesitating just long enough for her to feel his hesitation. She could sense it in the way his hand brushed against hers as he settled beside her. Their eyes met, both searching for reassurance, both aware of the dangerous pull between them.

For a few minutes, they laid there in silence, neither daring to touch, letting the quiet hum of the bedroom and the steady rhythm of Tim’s heartbeat fill the space. Lucy’s mind raced, flickering between guilt, desire, and relief.

Desire was dangerous. She surely knew that. But feeling something other than shame and guilt, felt so good.

Slowly, almost unconsciously, she turned onto her side, curling a little closer. Her arm slithered over his chest like she always used to. She buried her face against him, inhaling the scent of his skin, the faint trace of cologne she had memorized years ago. Her lips brushed the side of his neck, soft and almost worshipful.

Tim stiffened for a second. A low inhale escaped him, before relaxing into her gentle touch. She pressed closer, trailing light kisses along his jawline, over the pulse at his neck. The familiar warmth, the sense of home, the raw intimacy... It was intoxicating.

Without thinking or saying a word, she shifted further, climbing slightly on top of him, letting the weight of her need press against him. A shiver ran through her as her lips met his neck again, desperate and greedy.

After so many kisses, she leaned towards his ear. "I've missed you," she whispered, "so much."

She could feel him starting to harden underneath her. The familiar press of him against her made her shiver, eyes closing as heat pooled low in her stomach. They were dangerously close to crossing a line, both craving the closeness yet haunted by the recent past.

Her body, mind, and heart were a tangled mess of guilt and need. Every fiber of her screamed don’t, don’t, don’t, but another voice, louder and more insistent, whispered yes, yes, yes.

She leaned closer, the temptation pulling her higher, pressing herself lightly on top of him. His eyes fluttered shut, a soft inhale escaping, and for a moment, they were lost in each other— two people desperate for the comfort, the touch, the love they had been denying themselves, for weeks.

But then it happened— the sound, cruel and utterly mundane, that shattered the tender moment: her stomach growled. So loud.

She stunned, cheeks reddened immediately.

Tim blinked down at her, a mixture of amusement and embarrassment crossing his face. He swallowed hard looking at her.

She got up from him in shame and threw herself hard onto the bed. “I— that's— uh… I’m sorry,” she mumbled, covering her face with one hand.

He chuckled softly, the tension in the room easing, and ran a hand through his short hair. “Okay… maybe we should order something." He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. "Yeah, we definitely need to eat something."

Her body ached from the closeness they had shared just moments ago, and yet her stomach growl reminded her that the world outside their little bubble still existed. She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to calm the rapid thudding of her heartbeat.

She bit her lower lip. Too stunned to speak. She was trying to comprehend what had just happened. Or didn't happen—

Had she forgotten for a moment that they had broken up, barely three weeks ago?

"Is Chinese good?" He called from the doorway, breaking through her thoughts.

"Yup," she said, popping the last letter nervously. "Chinese is good."

He nodded and left the room without looking at her again.

She sighed and pulled the quilt over herself. She let the warmth of the bed and the faint scent of him linger around her. She definitely hadn’t thought she would find herself in this situation when she started the day— panic, tears, and now this strange, aching mix of comfort and desire. Her hands fidgeted with the quilt, twisting the fabric as her mind tried to process it all.

She was so fucked up.

Chapter Text

They ate in silence until Lucy suddenly started to cry.

"I just—" she tried to say but a sob escaped her mouth. "You fucking broke up me and we're eating steamed dumplings together at your stupid table right now."

She stabbed a dumpling with her chopsticks, like it had personally offended her. The hot steam stung her eyes, or maybe that was just more tears she didn’t bother wiping away.

Across the table, Tim didn’t flinch. He just chewed. Like everything about this was so casual. Like her breakdown was background noise to pair with his dinner.

After taking a new bite of food, her crying got even worse. "And we almost fucked twenty minutes ago." she added, louder this time, the words tumbling out like she had been holding them in her throat too long. 

In his defense, it was entirely her own doing. She was the one who suddenly started kissing every exposed part of the man and got on top of him. He had just laid there and waited to see what she would do.

Well, he should've done something about it.

She shoveled the dumpling into her mouth, chewed angrily, then washed it down with green tea. It burned going down, and she welcomed the pain.

“What the hell are we doing, man?” Her voice cracked on the last word. She hated that. Hated sounding so small and pathetic. But the silence in the room felt like it was closing in on her, and the clinking of his chopsticks only made it worse.

It took all her willpower not to slap him on the face.

She wanted him to react— yell, laugh, throw the plate across the room, something. Instead, he just looked at her with his so painfully blue eyes. That unreadable face, the one that used to make her feel safe, now only made her want to scream.

Lucy sniffed and pushed her plate away. "Do you even get how insane this is? Because I feel like I'm losing my mind here and you're just—" She waved her hand at him, frustrated. "You're just sitting there. Eating."

Her chest tightened, an awful mix of grief and anger twisting in her gut.

“Luce—” he started, but she shook her head violently, tears dripping into her untouched dumplings.

“No. Don’t ‘Luce' me. You don’t get to just… break my heart and then sit here like nothing happened. Like we’re— what? Roommates? Coworkers who almost slept together?”

Her voice cracked again, and she shoved another dumpling into her mouth like she was trying to swallow the ache away.

It didn't exactly work.

God, she wanted to hate him. It would be easier if she did. If she could look at his face and feel nothing but disgust. But even now, when her chest ached like it might split open, all she could think about was how much she still wanted him.

Tim set his food down slowly. He rubbed a hand over his jaw, eyes darting to the table, then back to her. For a moment, he said nothing. The pause stretched, and Lucy felt every second like it was weighted with tension.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and tight. “You think this is easy for me? That I wanted any of this?”

Her forceful laugh was sharp, bitter even. “Oh, so you broke my heart for fun? Congratulations, Tim, you’re killing it.”

He shifted slightly, his hand still at his jaw. “You know perfectly well that this isn’t what I’m saying.”

She fought so hard to keep her eyes wide open, trying to hold the tears back. Her voice dropped to a whisper, raw and shaking. “Do I, Tim? Do I really?”

She pressed her palms into her eyes, breathing hard, trying to gather herself. “Because I don’t know you anymore. I don’t know why you did what you did and I don’t know what you wanted or expected to happen!”

Tim leaned back slightly, running a hand over his face. His shoulders sagged, just a little, the stiffness from before softening into something almost… tired. He didn’t snap, didn’t yell. He just kept staring at her.

Lucy hated how much that small vulnerability made her stomach twist. She wanted to spit at him, slap him— but all she could do was watch him like a fool. Her heart felt like it was splintering all over again just looking at him. He had left her bleeding with nothing but that hollow “you deserve better” line, as if he could just toss her heart on the ground and dress it up as kindness.

He lowered his gaze, his hand flexing uselessly against the table. He opened his mouth, closed it again. For a long moment, the only sound was her shaky breathing.

When he finally spoke, his voice cracked in the middle. “I thought… I thought I was doing the right thing.”

Her laugh came out broken. “The right thing? Really?” She dragged her hands through her hair, exasperated. “Because it feels like you ripped my chest open and then decided it was for my own good.”

“Lucy—” he tried, but the word fell flat.

Her chair scraped back suddenly, the sound too loud in the quiet room. She couldn’t look at him anymore. If she did, she was going to fall apart even worse.

“You don’t get to sit there and tell me it’s for the best,” she said, her voice trembling with fury. “You don’t.”

Tim didn’t argue. He just sat there, staring at the untouched food between them, jaw tight, like every word he might’ve said was choking him.

She swiped at her wet cheeks then turned around and started walking away. "I can't do this right now."

"Please don't leave." He pleaded.

"I'm just going to the bathroom," she spat back without looking at him.

Lucy closed the door behind her and leaned against the sink, her reflection a blur in the mirror. Her chest still rose and fell too fast, the remnants of the panic attack clinging to her like static. She splashed some cold water on her face, pressed her palms to her eyes, and muttered to herself, get it together.

When she finally walked back out, Tim was still standing there like he hadn’t moved an inch, like he had been waiting for her next breath to decide his own.

“You okay?” he asked carefully.

She gave a small nod, wrapping her arms around herself. “Yeah. Just… needed a minute.” She slowly walked towards the couch and sat down. He did the same.

“You want me to go? Give you space?” he asked.

She shook her head quickly. “No. This is your house." She said. "I don’t wanna be alone anyway."

Tim nodded once, like he had already made that decision long before asking. “Good. Then you’re stuck with me. Tomorrow’s my day off anyway— I’ll be around.”

Lucy sank deeper into the couch, pulling her knees up, almost like she was trying to disappear into herself. The weight of exhaustion pressed down on her, heavier than she wanted to admit. “Well, wish I had that luxury."

He leaned closer to her. "You know what? Take the day off and maybe we could talk." He offered, searching her face for a reaction.

She let out a humorless laugh, the kind that caught in her throat before it could fully escape. She rubbed her temple, feeling the tension coil tighter and before she could think, the words slipped out. "I'm not Grey's favorite person right now, so I can’t even think about asking for a day off. He fucking shoved me behind a desk."

Tim’s head tilted, his whole posture sharpening. “Desk duty?” His eyes locked on hers, steady and unyielding. “What happened?"

Crap.

She shifted in her seat, hugging her knees tighter, eyes darting away. “It’s nothing. Just… I’ve been off my game lately, you know."

“Lucy.” He spoke in his T.O voice. “Don’t do that with me.”

She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “I don’t wanna talk about it.” The words barely made it out, fraying at the edges.

“Then don’t talk,” he countered. His eyes pinned her in place, and she felt stripped bare under the intensity. “But don’t lie to me either. I can see it’s more than just ‘off your game.'"

Her nails dug into her skin. She hated how exposed she felt under his gaze, like he could peel back every layer she tried to hide.

“Tim, please—” her voice cracked despite her best effort, “—just let it go.”

He didn’t say anything, only watched her in silence. His eyes were softer than she could stand.

A part of her wanted to walk away— call an uber and leave before thinking twice. He had lost his right to worry about her about three weeks ago and it was totally his own doing. She wasn't his concern anymore.

But a part of her still counted on him for comfort, despite everything.

Finally, he spoke, low and steady. “I can’t. Not when it’s you.”

"You have something to drink?" She rose up, changing the subject. "I need a drink." She walked over to the kitchen counter and luckily found a bottle of tequila. Her hands were still shaking, but her eyes lit up with a small, fleeting relief. 

“Wait, you have tequila?” Her voice was equal parts shocked and slightly pleased. “You… actually keep this here?”

Tim shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You like it. I keep it for you."

Lucy let out a short laugh, her eyes brightening, but the shadow of her old despair quickly returned. She quietly returned to the couch and took a long sip.

Neither of them spoke for a while. It couldn't be said that she was bothered by the silence. The soft sounds Kojo made while sleeping were all she wanted to hear.

She took another sip, the tequila burning down her throat. It was warm, comforting in the worst kind of way— like pressing on a bruise just to feel something.

Tim’s jaw tightened as he studied her. His voice came out low, almost sharp. “That's supposed to fix it? Tequila?”

She stopped mid-sip, lowering the bottle slowly. “What?”

"You think drinking your way through this is gonna help?” His tone wasn’t cruel, but it had that clipped edge she recognized— the voice that had once corrected every mistake in the field.

I've been shot.

You gonna forget this lesson, boot?

Boot. Boot. Boot.

She frowned then chuckled bitterly, sinking back against the couch. “Relax. It’s just a drink.”

“Yeah? Because the last time you said that—” he cut himself off, but his stare didn’t soften.

“The last time I said what?” she asked, challenging.

Tim leaned forward, his voice firmer now. “Grey doesn’t throw people on desk duty for nothing. Especially cops like you." He took the bottle from her and put it aside. "So tell me, Lucy— what the hell did you do?”

Lucy’s stomach dropped and she cursed herself for even opening her mouth earlier. She wanted to lie, brush it off, change the subject but Tim’s eyes wouldn’t let her. They were too sharp, too relentless.

She let out a shaky breath, then gave him the smallest, most reckless piece of truth. “I drove home… after a few drinks. Got pulled over. Flashed the badge, got off easy. Grey found out.” She said so casually.

He didn't need to know she had peed herself, right?

The silence that followed was suffocating.

And then she saw it.

The jolt in his eyes.

He was going to hate her because of the way she used her badge.

His entire body went rigid, like she had just slapped him. “You—” His voice cracked, then hardened into steel. “You what?”

She instantly wished she could drag the words back in. But it was too late. The air between them was already thick, crackling with the weight of what she had just confessed.

Tim shot up from the couch so fast she flinched. His hands curled into fists at his sides, his voice rising like a whip. “You drank and got behind the wheel? Are you out of your goddamn mind, Lucy?”

She shrank into the couch. “It wasn’t— I wasn’t that drunk—”

“That doesn’t matter!” His voice boomed, echoing off the walls of his quiet house. “You could’ve killed yourself. You could’ve killed someone else. Do you get that? Do you even understand how—” He broke off, dragging a hand over his face like he could physically hold his temper in place.

Her pulse hammered in her ears. She hated that she felt like a rookie again, getting torn apart by him. She hated that the sting in her chest was laced with guilt—because he wasn’t wrong. She would've been just as furious if she were in his shoes.

And yet, she forced her chin up, defensive. “I handled it, okay? Nothing happened. I’m fine.”

Tim snapped his head toward her, eyes blazing. “You are not fine! Jesus, Lucy— using your badge? That’s what you’ve come to?” His voice cracked, not from anger this time, but from something deeper, something that sounded almost like fear. “Do you have any idea how much you put on the line? Your career? Your life? Everything you’ve worked for?”

The words sliced straight through her. Shame pooled in her stomach, heavy and suffocating. But her pride reared up anyway, desperate to shield her. “Don’t stand there and act like you’re still my T.O.,” she shot back, her voice trembling. “You don’t get to control me anymore, Tim!"

His jaw clenched, his fists still shaking at his sides. But when he spoke again, his voice was quieter, almost broken. “This isn’t about control. It’s about you. I—” His breath hitched, and he looked away like the words were dangerous to let out. “I can’t just sit here and watch you tear yourself apart. Not you.”

"Well, lucky you, you don't have to do that. Because you fucking broke up with me!" She snapped. The words left her lips like venom, but they tasted more like blood in her mouth— bitter and painful. She hated how her throat burned, hated how her vision blurred for a heartbeat.

Tim stunned, like she had just physically hit him. His shoulders sagged under the weight of it, his eyes flickering toward her before dropping to the floor. He swallowed hard, but no defense came. Because he knew she was right.

"You're in therapy, and I'm happy for you. Really, I am. I’m glad you’re finally getting the help you need." Her voice softened, even though her chest felt like it was splitting open. She didn’t want to leave him bleeding when she herself was already shredded to pieces. "But you left me, Tim. You left me."

The words clawed their way out, sharper than she meant, but true. She pushed up from the couch, every step toward him fueled by the ache in her stomach and heart. Now she was standing so close she could see the tension in his forehead, the way his fists flexed and unflexed like he was fighting himself more than her.

"When you told me we were worth the risk," she whispered, voice trembling, "I thought— God, I thought I finally had the man I was going to spend the rest of my life with. That after everything, I’d finally gotten my forever." Her throat burned, but she forced the words out anyway. She needed to get them out before they drowned her. "But you chose to deal with your crap on your own. You chose to push me away."

"Lucy—" His voice cracked, but she cut him off. He had his turn and now it was hers.

"No." She shook her head. "I'm the one who’s been left picking up the pieces. The self you so carelessly tore apart? I’m trying to stitch her back together. And I’m doing it the only way I know how." Her eyes glistened, her chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. "So no, I won’t apologize for how I choose to repair what you broke."

Her voice wavered on that last word, but she stood her ground. Inside, though, the truth echoed mercilessly— she wasn’t just trying to repair herself. She was still trying to repair them, even if he had already walked away.

He needed to see the damage he himself had caused.

For a moment, he said nothing. His jaw clenched, then unclenched, the muscle there twitching as if he was fighting against words that wanted out. His eyes softened, just barely, but it wasn’t enough to pierce through the wall Lucy had thrown up between them.

He drew in a breath, slow and heavy, like he was bracing himself for impact. “You think I don’t know what I did to you?” His voice was rough, almost strangled. “Every night since I walked away, I’ve thought about it. About you. About what I left behind.”

Lucy’s lips parted, but no sound came out. Her pulse thundered in her ears.

Tim’s gaze dropped to the floor for half a second, then snapped back to hers with a rawness that startled her. “You’re right. I left. I told myself it was for your sake, that I needed to fix myself before I ruined the best thing I ever had. But it doesn’t change the fact that I hurt you in the process."

Neither of them moved, as if any shift might shatter the fragile balance keeping them upright.

"Yeah, it doesn't." If she stayed one second longer, she knew she would collapse completely. She grabbed her bag and headed for the door.

“Lucy, please.” He took a few steps after her. His voice was no longer sharp but rather was almost pleading.

Her hand was already on the doorknob, but she didn’t turn around. “What, Tim? Another one of your ‘You deserve so much better' speeches?” she said, dripping with sarcasm. "I've had enough of them, so thanks, I'll pass."

She saw him roll his eyes and sigh harshly.

The audacity.

"I can't let you leave like this. It’s the middle of the night! In this state—”

She interrupted him.

“What the hell do you care about my state?” Lucy’s voice cracked. “You left the second it got hard. You left when I needed you. And now you’re worried?”

Tim stepped closer, until there was only a breath between them. His hand lifted slightly, hovering like he wanted to touch her shoulder but didn’t dare. “I can’t let you go.”

Lucy tilted her head back, blinking through the tears gathering in her eyes. “It’s my choice, Tim."

“I just… I don’t want you out there alone. Not tonight.” He tried to argue but it was a lost battle.

“If you didn’t want me alone,” she whispered, not trusting her voice to hold steady, “you shouldn’t have left me in the first place.”

The silence between them stretched, heavy, suffocating. Finally, he pulled back, shoving his fists deep into his pockets. “Fine. Then go.” He didn't sound angry— just drained.

Her hand tightened on the doorknob. When she pulled the door open, her chest ached like she’d left something vital behind. She didn’t look back. But as the door clicked shut behind her, she couldn’t stop herself from imagining Tim collapsing in the living room, alone.

It almost killed her to walk away.

Chapter Text

When she had finally gotten home, she didn't drink again. After taking a muscle relaxant, she lay down on her couch and tried to sleep. Unfortunately, sleep didn't come easily to her, and when it did, it was full of nightmares and terrors. Eventually she gave up and threw herself into her bathtub when she finally couldn't distinguish between what was real and what was a nightmare.

She knew that she needed help. But what was the point?

You think this is easy for me? That I wanted any of this?

His voice echoed in her mind.

If he didn't want this to happen, he should've fought for us.

No matter what, she wanted him to come after her. He obviously hadn't.

Her throat tightened. She had waited for him to come, when every half hour she would wake up terrified from another nightmare. He was supposed to knock, to call, do something— anything. But the night had passed, and she was still alone.

Screw him.

For a fleeting second, her gaze caught the razor sitting innocently by the edge of the tub. A thought flickered—dark and tempting. It would be so easy. Sharp pain for a couple of minutes and then nothing but peace.

But Lucy Chen would never do something like that. She was the strong one, the sunshine. The one who gave her deepest smile while passing through hell. The one who never needed help.

The good friend, the good daughter, the good cop. She was supposed to be good. Not this.

She wondered if they would bet on her death too.

What happened?

Is it Bradford's fault?

Was she too soft for this job?

She gripped the sides of the porcelain, knuckles whitening as she forced her eyes away.

It took every ounce of willpower to rise from the lukewarm water, her body heavy and trembling. She wrapped herself in a towel and sat on the edge of her bed, staring into nothing. She wasn't eager to see herself— not anymore. There was no trace left of the confident and self-loving Lucy of a few weeks ago. She was now the shell of the woman that she used to be.

The morning light was pale, spilling through the curtains in faint streaks. It was too early for work and there were too much time to think.

She was very lucky that today was his day off. She couldn't bear to see him after last night. It would be too painful.

Maybe she shouldn't have just stormed out like that. Maybe they should have stayed and spent the night together. Maybe there would have been no trace left of the deep pain she felt in her heart right now.

None of it mattered. They had both made their choices. It was impossible to go back in time.

You deserve so much better. That's why I'm walking away.

She felt goosebumps on her skin.

She moved slowly, deliberately— like dragging herself through quicksand. Picking out clothes, brushing her damp hair, moisturizing skin that felt foreign to her. It wasn’t about vanity. It was about filling the silence, doing something that kept her from sinking deeper.

But the silence wasn’t kind. Her mind replayed last night like a cruel loop. Tim’s voice, his eyes full of pain and disappointment. Her own words, angrier than she meant. The distance between them, the way he didn’t follow her.

She couldn't understand how everything had suddenly gone south. When they first arrived his house, how she had touched and kissed him with longing... How he listened and held her... Then just when things seemed to be getting a little bit better between them, they were torn apart again.

By the time she pulled on her jacket, her chest felt heavier than it had in days. She glanced at the clock. Still hours before her shift. Still too much time to drown in the echo of their fight.

But just as she was heading for the door, she paused. Her car was still in the station's parking lot.

Her car.

That was filled with multiple alcohol bottles.

That she was sure still stank.

She dug her nails into her palms to stop herself from screaming. How could everything have gone so wrong at the very beginning of the day?

She stood frozen by the door, her breath shallow. If anyone at the station noticed… if Sergeant Grey noticed… she would be finished this time.

Lucy was already on thin ice. Grey would think she was an alcoholic —she wasn't— and eventually report her. This would be the ruination of her.

The possibility of this made her stomach twist so bad she thought she was going to be sick. Maybe she could slip in early, clean it out before anyone saw. Or maybe Celina could cover for her— no, she couldn’t drag her into this.

She pressed her forehead against the cool wood of the door, eyes squeezed shut. One more mistake. That’s all it would take.

Her hands shook as she reached for her phone. For a split second, she thought of calling him. He would know what to do. He always did. But the memory of last night stopped her cold.

That's supposed to fix it? Tequila?

No. She wasn’t going to give him another chance to see her this broken.

With a sharp inhale, she tapped open the Uber app. She’d get herself to the station this way, and deal with the car before anyone else could notice.

Her ride was there soon after.

“Morning,” the driver said with an easy smile through the rearview mirror.

“Morning,” Lucy replied quietly. The fact that she spent the night crying was also reflected in her voice. She needed to drink something warm when she got into the station.

“Heading to the station, right?”

“Yeah.”

The driver hummed, nodding as he merged into traffic. “You’re up early. Long shift ahead?”

Lucy forced a small laugh. “Something like that.”

Silence stretched between them. She stared out the window, watching the city slowly wake up, feeling like she was stuck behind glass—separate from everyone else.

The driver cleared his throat. “Well, at least you’ll beat the traffic.”

“Yeah,” She echoed absently, though her thoughts were already drifting back to Tim, the look on his face when she walked out.

I shouldn't have left him like this.

But he was the first one who left.

It still felt wrong and thinking, especially about him, hurt her brain.

By the time the car rolled to a stop near the station, she realized she hadn’t heard a single song that played on the radio. Her mind had been too loud and when she finally arrived at the precinct, it was still earlier than most shifts. The lot was nearly empty, which was exactly what she’d been hoping for.

Sliding into her car felt like stepping into a crime scene she couldn’t erase. The air reeked faintly of alcohol, stale and sour, and Lucy’s pulse jumped. She immediately rolled down the windows as if that would help.

Her eyes darted to the bottles on the passenger seat floor. She didn’t let herself hesitate this time— she gathered them in one swift motion, stuffed them into an old tote bag, and drove out of the lot before anyone could see. A couple of blocks away, she found a public trash bin and shoved the bag deep inside, glancing over her shoulder like she was dumping a body.

She could feel the adrenaline coursing through her body, something she had been missing for so long.

Back behind the wheel, she sat for a beat, inhaling. The smell was still there, so painfully obviously. No amount of open windows could change that. But at least the evidence was gone, and no one was getting in her car today anyway.

For now, that would have to be enough.

Only, it wasn’t. Because Tim’s voice was still in her head.

You think drinking your way through this is gonna help?

Using your badge? That’s what you’ve come to?

You think I don’t know what I did to you?

His words had cut so much deeper than she had let him see. The anger she had thrown back at him last night had been armor. But sitting here now, with the scent of alcohol in her car and a sharp ache in her chest, all she could feel was the truth in what he’d said.

She hated him for it. Hated him for being right. Hated him for knowing her too well.

Lucy gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles ached, trying to push the memory away. She couldn’t afford to fall apart again— not at work, not where anyone could see.

People were already whispering about her. Her sudden shift to the desk would be talked about even more. She refused to give them new topics to discuss behind her back.

The station was unusually quiet when Lucy arrived. The night shift workers were leaving slowly.

She slipped inside unnoticed, her steps deliberately slow, as if moving too quickly might draw unwanted attention. The weight of the night before still clung to her— the panic attack, the almost-sleeping with Tim, and the violent fight that followed shortly thereafter.

She was sleepless, nightmares clouded her mind, and her heart was torn into countless tiny pieces. She prayed for an easy day, but she already knew it would go unanswered— whoever was up there had stopped answering her prayers a long time ago.

It was going to be shit day, but it wasn't new to her. Everyday had been a shit day ever since he left.

She found her locker, shoved her bag inside, and pulled in a shaky breath. The sharp smell of alcohol was gone from her clothes, replaced only by the faint, bitter tang of nerves. She told herself she had handled it — the bottles were gone, the car was moved. No one would know.

Except… the look in Tim’s eyes last night still burned in her memory. He was literally haunting her.

Lucy rubbed her face, trying to push the thought away, when she heard a voice behind her.

“Hey, Lucy.”

She turned and saw Celina standing in the doorway, coffee in hand, her expression soft and hesitant.

"Hey," she greeted, studying her face. "You look exhausted, what's wrong?"

Celina shrugged. "My roommate and her boyfriend keep me awake every single night."

She and Tim used to keep Tamara awake at nights, too. He had always known how to make her scream.

She sighed. "That's awful."

“I can’t deal with this living situation anymore,” she finally said, her voice equal parts annoyed and exhausted. "It feels like the walls are shaking. The whole building complains. I’m just gonna have to move out.”

Lucy glanced at her through the mirror, raising an eyebrow but saying nothing.

Celina paused, then turned to her with a little shrug. “I’m looking for a new place, but it’s not easy. And… I thought of you. Maybe you’d consider living together? Even if it’s temporary." She quickly added. "Totally fine if you don’t want to.”

Her first instinct was ‘No, I don’t want that.’ The idea of letting someone into her space sounded exhausting. But then, she thought of the silence that waited for her every time she walked through her front door. Maybe… maybe not being alone wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

"Yeah, I don't have a boyfriend anymore so there shouldn't be an issue." She chuckled bitterly. 

Celina froze for a second, her hand halfway through tying her shoelace. She glanced at Lucy, her smile faltering, then quickly replaced it with a soft, careful tone. "Sorry, Lucy… I didn’t mean—"

"It's fine," Lucy cut in quickly, forcing a shrug, trying to brush it off. Her eyes stayed fixed on her locker door.

She was single now. It felt unfamiliar.

"Well… if you ever need to vent or… I don’t know, just hang out together— let me know." The way she sounded almost scared gave her a guilty pleasure.

She gave a small, tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind." She left the locker room without speaking again. She didn't have to attend roll call while on desk duty, so she went straight to her desk in the bullpen and started reading the reports left by the night shift.

When she got up an hour later to get coffee, it was roll call time. As she was about to salute Sergeant Grey and walk away, he called after her.

"It's roll call, Chen. Where are you going?"

"I'm on desk, sir." She said, confused. "Desk workers do not usually participate in roll calls."

"Usually is the key word here." He answered. "Come inside."

She followed him into the briefing room, the air instantly heavier under everyone’s curious stares. Grey didn’t flinch, didn’t give the room a chance to build a story out of her presence. He simply started the morning rundown, assigning cars, sectors, partners— his voice the same steady authority as always.

But Lucy knew what was coming.

“And Chen,” Grey said, looking directly at her. His tone was calm, almost casual, but carried a sharp undercurrent. “You’re on desk. Effective immediately. That is your assignment.”

The room shifted immediately. Silent, then deliberately busy, as if no one dared question it. Grey held her gaze for an extra beat, a silent reminder that this wasn’t up for debate.

Maybe it was to humiliate her. Maybe to prevent people from asking questions.

Whatever the reason, the shame she felt, felt like a knife had been stabbed into every corner of her body.

Lucy straightened, forced a neutral nod, and moved to the back. Her chest burned, but she kept her face blank. "Yes, sir."

"Since you’re not hitting the streets today, you’re going to clean up what night shift couldn’t be bothered to finish.” He said and carelessly handed her a thick file.

She glanced down— Domestic Disturbance, 0200 hours.

“Couple in their house. Neighbors called in yelling and possible assault. Officers responded, wrote half a report, and then… decided the rest was someone else’s problem." He explained. "That someone is you.”

Of course it was her.

She frowned, flipping through the pages. The report was sloppy— times didn’t line up, the witness statement was barely a paragraph, and the suspect information wasn’t even entered. “This isn’t just unfinished, it’s—”

He didn't let her finish. "A mess. Exactly. And you’re going to make it look like a proper LAPD report by the end of the day. That means tracking down the missing witness statements, cleaning up their timeline, and making sure evidence logs are entered.”

"Sir, that could take hours.”

“Good. You’ve got hours.” He turned back to the room, already moving on. Surely to everyone else, it looked routine. To her, it was a warning loud and clear.

Everything had slipped from her hands. Literally everything! Patrol was the one last thing she got to keep— now it was gone, too. And even worse, she was stuck with a silly report she needed to deal with.

Lucy sat back in her chair, staring at the file like it had personally offended her. Desk duty wasn’t only boring— it was also totally humiliating. And right now, thanks to the night shift, it was going to be exhausting too.

She skimmed the incident summary again— raised voices, broken glass, a neighbor calling it in. The responding officer had left gaps, vague wording, contradictions that needed to be cleaned up.

Then circled a line: "The subject appeared agitated.” Too vague. She rewrote it with precision: “The male subject was yelling, pacing the living room, and threw a plate against the wall.” Facts and actions. Not feelings. The kind of details Grey wanted.

Lucy flipped another page of the chaotic report, her eyes scanning half-written sentences and missing details. She pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered under her breath, “Oh sure, because leaving the male yelling and tossing dishes against the wall ‘vaguely agitated’ is totally professional. Pulitzer-worthy police reporting right here.”

The absurdity of it made her let out a quiet, bitter laugh. Maybe if she didn’t laugh, she’d start crying right here at her desk.

She couldn't believe the night shift was made up of a bunch of idiots. Did any of them even know exactly how to do their jobs? 

There was little tangible in the report. Nothing they wrote made sense. She would even have to talk to witnesses for some details. She bit the inside of her cheeks to keep from screaming in anger.

It was literally her personal hell.

She put her pen down on the table and went to get some coffee. It was going to be a long shift and she was already hating every second of it. She should have been out on the street instead of dealing with some stupid report here.

It was as if she was back in that barrel and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get out. There was no way out. Only darkness. And everyone was just watching her struggle, laughing and eating popcorn.

"Are you gonna get coffee or just keep standing there?" She jumped at the voice coming from behind her.

It was Nyla.

Who knew how many minutes had she been standing without a reason in front of the coffee machine? Her thoughts were too overwhelming

She sighed. "Sorry, Harper." She stepped back without getting coffee and headed for the door. 

Nyla had been literally ignoring her ever since she had failed the detective's exam. She knew she was disappointed, but she didn't even try to comfort her. On the contrary, she treated her like she was a rookie again. She had failed once, just once, and apparently the detective had decided to throw away everything Lucy had achieved so far.

How quickly people had given up on her... She wouldn't do this to any of them. But guess she meant less than she thought.

"You look distracted. Is everything okay?" Nyla asked before she got to leave the room.

Lucy sighed and nodded. "Yes, I'm just tried." Without giving her a chance to speak again, she left the room and went back to her desk.

She wanted to disappear and run away to a place where no one knew her. Where no one could hurt her again.

She began to take another look at the lousy report in front of her.

Screw everyone.

Chapter Text

(TW: suicidal ideation —briefly)

Nothing else of note had happened during her shift. Because she didn't want to see anyone, she didn't leave her desk during lunch break and continued to deal with the stupid, stupid file. Finally, while taking witness statements, she fainted briefly from hunger and was convinced to eat a box of fruit yoghurt, albeit reluctantly.

She didn't think about him as much as possible and devoted herself to the files in front of her from beginning to end. Yet every corner of the station was filled with memories, and she couldn't help but feel sick to her stomach when they came to mind.

When she found herself in front of his old metro office, she felt as if she'd been shot in the heart. Worse, as she walked a few steps past the interrogation room, she momentarily forgot to breathe.

Do you love me?

Yes, I love you.

And he had meant it. Even if she didn't trust her own instincts, the lie detector confirmed it. He was telling her the truth, unless he had found a way to deceive the machine, which she very much doubted.

So when had that truth turned into absence? How did something that solid, that alive, dissolve without her noticing?

Even though she was angry and hurt, she knew he still loved her. What she didn't know and couldn't understand —and she'd been thinking, for weeks— was at what point exactly he decided to leave her.

Was it before the phone call? Or the moment she kicked him out of her apartment?

Was it her fault?

She replayed it again and again, as if one more rewind would finally give her the frame where it all broke.

Maybe it hadn’t been one moment at all. Maybe it was a thousand tiny cuts— words left unsaid, silences that stretched too long, his gaze drifting when she wasn’t looking. But Lucy couldn’t stop herself from hunting for the moment, the exact second she lost him. Because if she could find it, pin it down, maybe she could understand how not to shatter like this ever again.

Maybe she could find a way to fix them.

She sighed.

She needed to fix herself before they could move forward. He needed that, too. They were way too damaged now for them to have a healthy relationship.

Blair London seemed like a snarky, annoying person to her but maybe, just maybe, she could help Lucy figure out things. Perhaps she was biased and this was the universe's way of crashing her ego. At the end of the day, she might not be as good a judge of character as she thought. She could give her a shot.

She would have a lot to deal with if she wanted to get her life back on track. There was also a possibility that this wouldn't bring him back to her. Even though she knew he still loved her, Tim had abandoned the ship the moment their relationship began to be tested, leaving her alone in the middle of the ocean.

But she needed to try anyway.

"Are you finished with the files, Chen?" It was Sergeant Grey. She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't even hear him coming.

She nodded. "Yes sir."

Grey’s eyes scanned the stack of papers in front of her, then he gave a short nod. "Good work then. You can go home early."

Lucy frowned. "Why? There are still three hours left before my shift ends." She asked, uncertain she had heard correctly.

Did someone complain about me again? Did they tell him I was too slow, too distracted?

"Do you know why I put you here, Chen? The desk duty?"

She swallowed, already knowing the answer he wanted to hear. "To punish me?"

"Yes, that too." Grey admitted with his usual bluntness. "But I am also worried about you, Lucy. You're not taking good care of yourself and it shows. I don't want you on patrol like this and knowing that you are safe at your desk gives me peace of mind."

The words hung in the air. For a few while Lucy couldn’t look at him, couldn’t bear the mixture of disappointment and concern in his voice.

Safe. At my desk.

The word safe should have been comforting, but it felt like another reminder that he didn’t trust her out there. That maybe no one did. That maybe she didn’t trust herself.

She reluctantly remembered the time she failed to protect the crime scene— the clown incident. After that, Harper and Lopez, whom she considered friends, ridiculed her and did not trust her as a police officer. The whole station made fun of her for days.

She'd wanted to be like Captain Andersen. Now she was even worse off than Smitty— at least the old man could go on patrol on his own. She couldn't.

For God's sake, she wanted just one day to feel something other than shame and humiliation. But it didn't look like the universe would stop mocking her anytime soon.

She forced a small nod, even though her jaw clenched and her teeth hurt.

You’re right, Sergeant. I’m not okay. I’m tired all the time and sometimes it feels like the walls are closing in. The man I love left me. My friends don't remember I exist. My mom hates me. I should've made detective but I am now nothing more than a useless P2. But if I say that out loud, if I let it slip even a little… what if you decide I’m not fit for this job anymore?

So instead, she picked up the pen again, pretending to write. "Understood, sir."

But the ink barely touched the page.

She thought maybe she would see Celina and they would talk about her moving in, but she was still on patrol with Nolan.

So she left the station with a stiffness in her body that matched the heaviness in her chest. Grey’s words still rang in her ears, echoing like a verdict she couldn’t escape.

Safe at her desk.

He wanted her safe at her desk. Not out there. Not trusted.

It was humiliating.

Safe at her desk.

As if she was a child.

She drove without thinking, the city lights blurring past her windshield. At some point, she stopped and bought a bottle of tequila— because why not? It wasn’t like sleep was going to come easy anyway and drinking had been the only thing that had done her any good for weeks.

That's supposed to fix it? Tequila?

His voice echoed in her mind.

Of course, it wouldn't fix anything, but at least getting drunk and not feeling any pain for a few hours would prevent her from getting her gun and blowing her brains out.

Shit.

Her hands gripped the steering wheel tightly.

She shouldn't have thought something like that. She couldn't go there. Not her.

She kept driving and eventually her car rolled onto a familiar street. She didn’t even realize where she was until she parked and killed the engine.

Tim’s neighborhood. Tim’s street.

What the hell was she even doing?

She sat there, staring at the glow of his porch light in the distance, shame and longing pulling at her in equal measure. Getting out wasn’t an option. She couldn’t face him. Not like this, not smelling of cheap tequila and desperation.

She took another sip.

Next time I should buy a packet of salt as well.

Another sip.

I wish he were here.

A treacherous tear escaped her glassy eyes.

I wish I could make detective. Then they wouldn't be laughing behind my back.

The funny thing was, Lucy didn't really want to be a detective. She chose to take the detective's exam because it was the easiest and fastest way to work undercover.

At the end of the day, nothing she wanted came true.

She could still work undercover, but she doubted anyone —especially Grey and Harper— would trust her with that anytime soon.

Eventually, one sip turned into three, then more. Her throat burned, her stomach turned, but she kept going. The alcohol dulled everything— her anger, her humiliation, the ache in her chest that had followed her like a shadow for weeks.

The world softened, edges blurring as the alcohol crawled into her veins, heavy and insistent. The steering wheel felt far away, her own body unsteady in the seat. She let her head fall back against the headrest, the cool leather pressing into her skull.

Her eyes drifted to the porch light again.

How many times had she walked through that door? How many times had she felt safe there?

It wasn't her home anymore.

She blinked, trying to keep the light in focus, but it swam in front of her, doubled, then blurred again. A laugh caught in her throat, bitter and broken.

It's pathetic, I’m pathetic. I'm sitting outside his house like some stalker.

Her hand slipped on the bottle, condensation making it slick. It clattered against the passenger seat, spilling a little across her jeans. She didn’t bother to wipe it away. Her eyelids were too heavy. Her hands were too tired.

Deep down, she wished to disappear. To be instantly erased from the face of the earth and become nothingness...

A single tear slid down her temple as she gave in and let herself collapse sideways. The seatbelt dug into her ribs, the world tilted, and the tequila haze pulled her under.

The last thing she saw was that damn porch light, unwavering and stubborn against the night.

A reminder of everything she had lost.

And the nightmares came quickly.

She was clawing her way out of the dirt again, nails splitting, lungs burning. Her throat filled with soil every time she tried to scream. The lid of the barrel creaked above her, and somehow she managed to push through, gasping as cold air rushed in.

But when she staggered forward —caked in soil, trembling— she wasn’t out there. She was at the station.

Everyone was dressed in garish paint and cheap polyester wigs, crimson mouths stretched in grotesque smiles. They pointed, they jeered, chanting her name like it was a cruel joke.

"Lucy, Lucy, Lucy…"

They laughed.

The sound was shrill, warped, echoing too loud in her mind.

“You thought you could dig yourself out?” Nyla jeered, juggling bright rubber balls that turned into shovels dripping with dirt.

Grey’s booming laugh filled the air. “Pathetic, Chen. Always pathetic.”

She tried to steady her breath, to swallow back the bile rising in her throat. Her body was trembling, knees buckling under the weight of humiliation.

And then she saw him.

Tim.

He was standing apart, leaning in the shadows. His eyes locked on her for a long, unbearable second.

Relief sparked in her chest— he would stop this, he had to.

But then he turned.

Just turned and left her on her own.

"Tim!" Her voice cracked, raw and desperate. She stumbled after him, pushing through the wall of painted faces, arms reaching out. "Please— don’t leave me! Please—"

Her scream tore through the haze and her eyes flew open. She wasn't strong enough to move— she tried breathing exercises to calm herself down, but they weren't very helpful.

"Lucy, Lucy!" For one disoriented second, she thought the laughter still lingered. But then—

A dull tap, tap, tap.

Her gaze dragged to the window, disbelieving.

Tim’s face was there, framed by the night and the stubborn glow of that porch light. His brow furrowed, concern etched deep, his hand still hovering against the glass.

And just like that, the nightmare dissolved into something far more terrifying.

Reality.

She reached out her trembling hand and opened the window. "You're gonna break my window or what?"

He didn't answer. The worried expression on his face made her stomach turn— or maybe that was the tequila.

The tequila.

Her eyes widened in fear. She was found passed out in her car on the street where her ex boyfriend lived. 

The bottle was lying on the floor and if she was lucky maybe he wouldn't realize it.

"Calm down. I can smell you anyway." The exasperated tone in his voice contrasted with the worried expression on his face.

No lie would save her, so she had to give up. "What the hell are you doing here?" She asked, wiping her wet cheeks.

"This is my neighborhood." He replied. "So what the hell are you doing here?"

She bit the inside of her cheek nervously.

What the hell are you doing here?

It was a great question.

A question she didn't know how to answer.

It was as if her car was on autopilot and suddenly she found herself here.

She sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm just gonna go." She restarted the vehicle. "Sorry, again."

“Lucy.” His voice cut through the hum of the car. “You’re not driving. You’re drunk.”

Her grip on the wheel tightened, knuckles paling as if sheer determination could make her sober. But the car wasn’t moving—because Tim had leaned down, one steady hand pressed against the door, anchoring her in place with nothing but presence.

The night felt heavier under his gaze. The steady hum of crickets outside, the faint buzz of the porch light above— it all blurred against the way he was looking at her.

“Lucy,” he said, quiet but unyielding. “Keys.”

She let out a shaky laugh, brittle and humorless. “You gonna arrest me now?”

“Don’t tempt me,” he shot back, though there was no bite to it. His eyes flickered from her face to the half-empty bottle on the floorboard, then back again. Worry eclipsed everything else.

For a second, she wanted to argue, to cling to whatever shred of pride she had left —it was almost nonexistent— But the truth was sitting heavy in her chest; tequila on her breath, mascara on her cheeks, shame all over her.

You never arrested Isabel.

The words didn't leave her mouth.

Her shoulders slumped. With trembling fingers, she dropped the keys into his open palm.

The world tilted when she climbed out of the car, legs unsteady. Tim’s hand was immediately there at her elbow. She hated that she leaned into it. She hated that she needed it.

And she hated herself more than anything.

Stupid girl.

"I can walk by myself." She snapped. "I'm not that bad," but her foot sent her carelessly off-balance as she touched down. Tim hurried past her, put his arm around her waist and swept her into his arms.

A shiver ran through Lucy. The closeness, the trust, a feeling that was simultaneously suffocating and comforting, washed over her.

There was still the sharp taste of alcohol in her mouth and the bitter burn of shame in her throat. “Where are you taking me?” she asked, the weariness in her voice weighing down the words.

“Home,” Tim said, keeping his eyes on the road.

“My house?” She asked, confused.

Tim’s brief pause sent another flutter through her chest. But then the answer came. “No. My house.”

She didn't fight him this time.

By the time they reached the porch, her stomach lurched violently. She pressed a hand against her mouth, stumbling sideways.

“Shit—” Tim barely had time to react before she doubled over, retching into the flowerbed. He rubbed her back automatically, steady and firm, like he’d done a hundred times after too many undercovers, after too much stress.

She was probably giving him rough flashbacks about Isabel.

I can't lose you the way I lost her.

You won't.

She had promised him. A promise she couldn't manage to keep.

So when she started apologizing, it wasn't only about the vomiting.

"I'm sorry." She groaned miserably, wiping her mouth with the back of her sleeve. “This is so humiliating.”

“Could’ve been worse,” he muttered, guiding her inside before she could collapse again. “At least not in the car.”

But the moment they stepped into the hallway, it did get worse— her stomach heaved again and she barely made it to the trash can before emptying what little was left.

Her cheeks burned, half from the alcohol, half from shame. She hated how small and weak she felt beside him. She hated that he was still the one cleaning up after her.

He had left her and she was still troubling him.

Her mother scold her, saying she was being so needy.

“Okay,” Tim said with the kind of patience that wasn’t patience at all, just quiet resolve. He guided her to the bathroom. “Take a bath. You’ll feel better.”

Lucy blinked at him, glassy-eyed but not gone. The tequila haze had dulled the edges, but she wasn’t oblivious. She saw the way he hesitated, lingering by the door like he wasn’t sure if this crossed some line.

“You don’t have to help me,” she whispered, voice hoarse.

She was no longer his concern anyway.

“Yes, I do.” His tone left no room for argument.

The steam was already filling the small bathroom by the time he returned with a towel, her towel. He turned to hand it to her, but froze. She was already in the tub. Naked, skin flushed from the heat, eyes half-lidded but unashamed.

For a second, he didn’t move. She saw his hand tightened on the towel. “Lucy…”

She gave him a tired, crooked smile. “It’s fine. Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

He blinked, exhaled slowly, and forced himself back into motion. He knelt by the tub. His movements were efficient, but his jaw was locked, every muscle in his body taut with restraint. He washed the streaks of sick from her wavy hair, kept his eyes on the task, never lingering.

She watched him in silence, a strange warmth spreading through her chest despite the ache in her stomach. "You know, it could've been romantic if-"

"If I didn't leave you, I know." He said, defeated.

She approached his ear and whispered. "Smart boy."

When it was done, he wrapped her carefully in the towel, like she was breakable glass. He didn’t say a word as he disappeared into the bedroom and came back with soft fabric in his hands.

Her nightgown.

Her nightgown, one she had left behind long ago, folded neatly at the back of his drawer.

Something in her cracked at the sight.

“You kept it?” she whispered, fingers brushing over the worn fabric.

Tim didn’t answer, just helped her into it without comment. His touch was gentle, impersonal, but his silence spoke volumes.

Once she was settled in his bed, the cool sheets pulled over her, Lucy’s lashes fluttered. She fought the weight in her eyelids, refusing to let him leave without saying something.

“Stay,” she murmured, barely audible. "Stay with me."

He paused at the doorway. And then, finally, he smiled but it didn't reach his perfect blue eyes. “Can’t. Someone has to clean the mess in the living room.”

Her lips twitched in a weak attempt at a laugh, but before she could call him back again, the exhaustion dragged her under. Her breathing evened, her body surrendering to sleep.

Tim lingered just long enough to make sure. Then he pulled the door shut, the quiet click leaving the room in darkness.

Chapter Text

She was in that barrel again and there was no way out. Opening and closing her eyes didn't make any difference— it was too dark inside.

It was a dream. She knew that it was a dream. But it didn't make it any easier.

It all felt too real. It always did.

Every detail repeated itself: the air thinning, her lungs burning and her hands were hurting from hitting the barrel too much.

She knew how this should end.

A few minutes later, she would faint from lack of oxygen and lose contact with the world. Before long, Tim would find her thanks to her moonstone ring on the ground and take her out of the barrel. He would perform CPR and when he finally brought her back to life, he would hold her tightly in his arms and caress her tangled hair.

But this time he didn't come.

She woke up from her sleep when her breathing stopped in the nightmare.

"Tim," she whispered and reached her hand to the other side of the bed. But to her surprise, the sheets were cold and he wasn't there.

She sat up slowly, her chest still rising and falling too fast. The aftertaste of the nightmare clung to her like smoke— too hard to shake. Her head was pounding, and when she pressed her palms to her temples she realized the alcohol hadn’t left her system yet. Her mouth was dry.

The hangover was the worst.

Dragging herself out of bed felt like moving through quicksand. Her body was heavy and not so shockingly, her mind was even heavier. She walked to the kitchen on unsteady legs, whispering a curse under her breath when her knee knocked against the table.

She filled a glass with water and drank in long gulps, the cold sliding down her throat. Then she froze. The glass. Her favorite one. They had bought it when they were shopping together. It was a large glass— and it had blue and yellow fish on it. She had added it to the grocery cart as soon as she saw it, and although Tim had said the glass looked silly, he smiled and didn't argue.

She loved this glass so much that whenever she stayed at his place, she drank everything from it. And when she finally tried to drink an expensive wine that Tim had bought from this glass, he quickly took the glass from her and put it on a shelf out of her reach.

After carefully distracting him in the bedroom later in the night, she sneaked back into the kitchen and climbed onto a chair to grab the glass. He had completely lost it when he woke up to exercise in the morning and saw the 'silly' glass on the nightstand. It was fortunate that she had the day off because when Tim finished with her she had difficulty walking for a while.

She took a deep breath, looking at the glass.

It was still there, right where she had left it. A tiny, stupid detail but it pulled something in her chest. It was too painful to be relief. Bittersweet was probably the word she was looking for.

The glass wasn’t just a glass— it carried the weight of months, of laughter spilling into the kitchen at midnight, of half-hearted arguments that always ended with a smile, of silly little battles that dissolved with the brush of a hand. Back then, nothing seemed unfixable. They were in love and believed they could overcome every obstacle together.

But now whenever she opened her mouth everything became worse than it had been just a few minutes ago.

Despite the pain in her chest, she put the glass back in its place and walked towards the living room where the light snoring sounds were coming from.

Lucy remembered herself asking him to stay with her but he obviously didn't want to do that.

She wasn't stupid— they had broken up about three weeks ago, and she suddenly appeared drunk in his neighborhood. He probably thought that she didn't mean the words that came out of her mouth, that it was the alcohol that was talking, and he preferred to crash on the couch so as not to push the boundaries.

That didn't mean it hurt any less, though. She really wanted him next to her.

She moved quietly, almost instinctively, until she stood close to the couch. His arm was draped over his chest, his features softened by dreams. The sharp lines of exhaustion she had seen on his face yesterday seemed less brutal now, replaced by a rare calmness. For a moment, he looked like someone she had lost long ago and somehow found again.

He was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen and it was almost impossible not to lean over, nose into his neck, inhale his fresh scent, and run her hands through his newly growing beard.

He looked so free of the burden he carried on his shoulders and so peaceful— Lucy hadn't seen him like this in a long time. Even before that unfortunate phone call, he was stressed and tired as if his demons were finally catching up to him. Whenever she tried to talk about him and his PTSD, he would cut her off and distract her. Eventually, she too, especially after the detective's exam, was drowning in her own melancholy and retreated into her shell. Everything overlapped and developed quickly. Before she could even suggest going to a couples therapist together to work on their issues, Tim had decided that ghosting and leaving her would be a good idea.

It wasn't and they were obviously miserable without each other. Worse still, Lucy didn't know if she could trust him anymore. As a coworker and friend— of course. He was a good man and a loyal friend. But she wasn't sure if she could give her heart to him again. He had stolen her heart, played with it, and given it back to her in pieces.

She bit the inside of her cheeks as a tear escaped from her eye. She should probably have packed her things and run away without looking back, but she couldn't move her body.

And then, without a warning, the shame returned. Last night— the drinking, the mess, the way she had ended up sick on his porch, and then again on the floor of his living room. The humiliation burned her cheeks even though he wasn't awake to see it now.

She wrapped her arms around herself and looked at him again. He was still asleep, still peaceful, unaware of the storm running through her.

Lucy forced herself to turn around— she had to change and return to her apartment. Her shift would begin in almost five hours.

"Are you leaving?" She heard him muttering.

And when he opened his eyes that were not clearly visible in the darkness, she felt her heart skip a beat. "Do you want me to leave?" She asked, terrified of the answer.

He took a deep breath and stood up. Without a word, he reached out to her and pulled her into a warm, tight embrace. And god, it felt so good. Not letting herself think twice, her hands found his back and she held on as if her life depended on it. His smell was almost dizzying— so fresh and manly. It was his natural smell, not cologne or anything. It was uniquely his.

She felt herself melt as his hands hesitantly began to caress her hair. The weight of all the weeks was lifted from her chest and she could finally take a deep, relaxed breath. She wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, but she wasn't complaining.

Eventually, he must have felt her legs shaking, because he pulled back a little and guided her back into his bedroom— their arms still wrapped around each other. It was as if they were both afraid to speak and interrupt this delicate moment.

They lay in bed together in silence. Their eyes were locked together, so were their arms and legs. They were more like a whole than two separate people. When she felt her muscles relax, she snuggled closer to him. The steady beating of his heart was like pleasant music to her ears. No matter how angry and resentful she was towards him, she could stay that way for the rest of her life.

"Lucy," he pulled back just a little bit and faced her. "Last night... it wasn't the first time." His tone was careful and serious.

She didn't answer. She couldn't lie with their faces so close to each other.

"You can't keep doing this, baby." He gently tucked the hair from her face behind her ear.

The pet name had her smiling and before speaking, she ran her hands through his beard, unable to resist. The new hairs that were starting to grow were digging into her fingertips and if she really had to admit, it felt so good. "I'll be fine," she replied even though she didn't believe it herself. 

His deep blue eyes studied her face. "Luce..."

She shook her head. She still loved him and was grateful for this tender moment, but she wouldn't let him question her coping mechanisms as if he wasn't the main reason why she was such a mess right now. He had given up that right voluntarily— and Lucy wasn't about to give it back anytime soon.

"Where were you coming from when you found me in the car?" She asked, changing the topic. "You don't usually go out on your day offs unless to take Kojo for a walk."

She noticed that his shoulders suddenly became tense and he looked away for the first time. "My psychiatrist suggested that it might be helpful for me to join a support group." His voice was cautious. "So, I found a veterans group and went for the first time last evening."

She frowned— not because she was angry, but because it came out unexpectedly. There were probably hundreds of questions she wanted to ask, but she didn't want to pressure him. "That sounds nice..." She said softly, scared of pushing him away. "If you wanna talk about it I'm here."

"Yeah?" He seemed surprised.

She nodded. "I have a degree and a painfully long therapy history after all." She shifted on her side, propped up on an elbow, watching Tim as he stared at the ceiling. "And I can be a great listener when I want to."

His jaw tightened, relaxed, then tightened again before he finally spoke. “I’ve never been to therapy,” he started with a low voice, “except for a few times when the department required it.” He glanced at her briefly, then away again, almost as if ashamed of the admission. “It’s a strange and… quite new experience for me, you know.”

Lucy stayed silent, letting the words come in their own time. She could see how much effort it cost him to even say this out loud.

“Every time I open my mouth,” he continued, halting, “I feel like I’m breaking more, not healing.” His throat worked as though he had to force the words past it. “I’m still at the beginning of the road. It will take time for me to… digest everything that happened. And try to fix them.”

Part of her wanted to reach out, press her hand against his, tell him he didn’t need to fix himself alone. But she stayed quiet, her gaze lingering on the faint lines around his eyes. He looked older in this half-light, but also —strangely— lighter, like someone finally setting down a fraction of the weight he carried.

“When I went to that support group for the first time last night,” Tim said, voice barely above a whisper, “I didn’t speak at all. I just sat quietly and listened to the stories of people who are veterans like me.” His lips pressed into a thin line. “Their experiences, their problems, their fears… they were so similar to mine that I… I left within an hour.”

Tim gave a short, bitter exhale, not quite a laugh. The kind of sound someone makes when they’re angry at themselves.

She swallowed hard. She could see the vulnerability he was trying so hard to cover up, the cracks in his voice, the way his fingers twitched restlessly against the sheets. And beneath her worry there was pride. Pride that he hadn’t hidden this from her. Pride that he was, in his own way, reaching for something beyond survival.

"Thank you for sharing this with me." She said and reached for his chin. His soft gaze met hers.

And damn...

Lucy was irrecoverably, so desperately in love with this man. He had broken her heart into pieces and it was still beating for him. She could try to deny it all she wanted, it was the truth and it would never change.

She caressed his forehead, cheek and chin with her hand. He didn't back down and let her take her time. She could see his muscles relax and a faint smile appear on his lips.

Tim caught her hand before she could pull it away. His fingers wrapped gently around hers, as though holding something fragile. For a moment, he just kept it there, pressed against his chest, letting her warmth sink into him. Then, slowly, he turned her palm upward and brushed his lips against the center of it.

Her breath hitched. His mouth lingered there for a second longer than necessary, like he was drawing strength from the contact. He didn’t stop— his lips traced along her palm, soft and hesitant, until they found the inside of her wrist. A tender kiss there, just at the place where her pulse trembled under his touch.

She let her thumb stroke the corner of his mouth, and when his lips curved slightly against her skin, she almost forgot to breathe.

"I'm proud of you." She said, her hand still wandering on his face.

He closed his eyes, his grip on her hand tightening just a little, like he needed to hold onto those words. He kissed her palm once more, softer now, and rested his forehead against her wrist.

She traced the line of his jaw again, hesitating as her fingers lingered. Something inside her pulled forward, tentative but certain. She leaned in, slowly enough that he could have stopped her.

He didn’t.

"I am so damn proud of you, Tim Bradford." She repeated.

She needed him to know that, despite everything, she was rooting for him. Whether they would get back together or don't, she wanted Tim to know that she needed him to be okay. To heal from his trauma, and leave his haunting past behind. The army, Ray, his father...

He had hurt her, yes, but Timothy Bradford was a good man at heart. He was loyal, brave, and understanding. He deserved to heal and achieve everything he ever dreamed of. And that's why Lucy wouldn't give up on him. She could never.

When their lips finally met, there was no doubt in her. It was feather-light, nothing really demanding— just a touch, a promise, a confession without words. For a few seconds she didn’t move, letting him feel her presence, letting him know she was still there, that she still loved him.

Then, suddenly, the kiss deepened. Without even realizing it, her eager tongue had already found its place in his mouth. She couldn't help but smirk as he let out a muffled moan.

His hand came up to her waist, steady but cautious, as though he was afraid too much pressure would break the moment.

Under his touch, heartbreak and anger didn't seem to matter. She could feel herself melting over him.

"More," she whispered to his ear.

He moved up to kiss her again, soft and comforting. She leaned into it, chasing the warmth of his mouth. His hand had already started to move around her thighs, caressing and squeezing. It was as if everything he touched burst into flames. She could swear that her skin was on fire and her stomach was already clenching with anticipation.

She bit her lower lip hard as he pulled back and started lingering on her neck. Her shaky hands automatically reached for his short hair. Before long, his hands were under her shirt and gently caressing her belly.

When she realized he was hesitating, she grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her. "I want this. I want you." She assured him then straightened up slightly. Without breaking eye contact, she quickly took off her shirt, threw it aside, and pulled Tim back to herself.

The moment her head settled on the pillow, his hands and lips were everywhere. Her jaw, neck and then breasts. A deep moan escaped her mouth as his lips found her nipple. While he was cupping her left breast with one hand and teasing her, he was sucking her nipple on the right and biting it carefully. She moaned again wrapped her hands around the back of his head to pulled him closer. He let out a long breath but didn't protest as his face pressed against her.

He slowly moved down, placing kisses all the way. Every kiss, every stroke of his tongue left a burning effect on her skin. She never felt this way with anyone else. It was only him. He was the only man who made her writhe beneath him like this, always begging for more.

"You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against her skin, breath tickling her inner thigh. Her back arched off the bed at the first sensation of his lips and tongue on her.

Fuck.

It felt so good to be desired by him. And he was working hard down there, like he wanted to make up for the whole month.

And she had to admit that it was working pretty well.

Each moment that his tongue wandered on her, she felt as if more fire was running through her body. He knew exactly what he was doing. He knew when to be tough and when to be gentle, where to touch and where to lick. Lucy completely lost it when he inserted two fingers without warning.

"So wet for me," he muttered under his breath, while still sucking her most tender spot.

His fingers buried themselves to the knuckle within her as she was begging for more. Begging for him. So painfully slowly, he slided them out, listening to her hopeless whimper, before pushing back inside of her. It was a sweet torture.

"Please— please, faster!" She sighed harshly. Desperately, in need, she clutched her breast with one hand, squeezed her nipple.

When he lifted her head to look at her, she saw him smugly smirking. It was infuriating and disarming all at once. She rolled her eyes, fighting the urge to smile back.

"Don't make me beg anymore!" she almost yelled, her voice cracking with a mixture of frustration and laughter.

For a split second, his smirk widened, and she could see the teasing remark forming in his throat. But before he could answer, the worst happened.

His stupid, stupid alarm started ringing.

"What the hell?!" she cried out, jerking back as if the noise had physically shoved her away.

He grunted in irritation, snatching his phone from the nightstand with a sharp movement and fumbling to silence it. The screen’s glow briefly lit his features in harsh light before he turned it off, plunging the room back into its warm dimness.

"I can't believe it!" she grumbled, falling back against the pillows dramatically. "Last time my stomach growled, now your jackass alarm comes between us! Fuck this sh—"

"You're talking too much." He rolled his eyes. He got between her legs again and without wasting any time his fingers were back in their place.

Her thighs clenched around his shoulders when he began using his tongue again, circling her clit as a distraction while he added a third finger, pumping faster this time. 

"Oh god!" She moaned desperately. She reached down and grabbed his hair, pushing his face deeper into herself as she rode the waves of pleasure. "Don't stop! Please don't stop!"

He sucked her deeper into his mouth, increasing the pressure as she kept crying out and found a rougher rhythm that made her thighs squeeze around his wrist. When she came hard after one last move to the right place, she thought her heart was going to jump out of her chest.

She was momentarily out of breath and every part of her body was shaking violently. He didn't raise his head immediately, he continued to slowly kiss and lick all her sensitive parts. Most of the time he would do this, taking his sweet time and just hanging down there, suck her salty waters until she could regain her vision.

She sank back against the mattress, every muscle trembling from release, until the shivers began to soften into something almost weightless. Her chest still rose and fell in uneven waves, but the sharp edges of desire slowly dulled into a familiar calmness.

Lucy closed her eyes and let the warmth of the moment wash over her. The storm inside her was easing, replaced by a quiet stillness that made her feel both fragile and safe. She could feel the weight of this entire month lifted off of her.

She rolled her eyes as his alarm went off once more.

They had to return to the real world, their shifts starting in just a few hours. Lucy sighed, still catching her breath. Yet the way his body pressed against his sweatpants left no doubt he was aching for his release. She bit her lower lip, thinking maybe they still had time.

“Wanna take a shower?” His voice cut through her thoughts.

“In five minutes, yeah. But let me take care of—”

Before she could finish, he pushed himself up from the bed, not even glancing at her. “Okay, then I’ll take it first.”

Her brows knitted together with confusion. She didn’t even have a shirt on. Her skin was flushed, exposed, trembling from the aftershocks of everything he had just done. His lips were still wet from her, his breath still heavy— and now he was acting like none of it had happened? Like he hadn't just been between her legs, making her go crazy? Like she wasn’t still in front of him naked?

He shook his head and stepped out of the room. “Wait.” She slid off the bed and reached out to catch his arm. Her touch was gentle, uncertain. “Hey… what’s wrong?” She asked, searching his face for answers.

He didn’t meet her gaze but she could see the shame covering his face. “We need to be at the station in two hours.” That was all. No explanation, no warmth. He slipped out of her grasp and left the room.

Lucy stood frozen in the silence he left behind. For a long moment, the only sound was the faint ticking of the alarm clock, cruelly reminding her of time slipping away. Her chest ached with something sharp and unnameable.

When she heard the sound of water in the bathroom, she knew he wouldn't come back. Finally, with shaky fingers, she gathered her clothes from the floor. Her jeans felt too tight, her body not her own as she pulled each piece back on. Her hands trembled when she buttoned the jeans. The intimacy of minutes ago now felt like a dream she wasn’t sure she had actually lived and if she didn't know that the universe would never show her such a pleasant dream, she would think that everything she just experienced was a dream.

Had she done something wrong? He had never left her like this before.

She glanced toward the bathroom door. The sound of running water bled into the quiet, but it didn’t comfort her. It only deepened the sting in her chest.

Grabbing her bag, she slipped her jacket over her shoulders. She didn’t wait for him. Her throat burned as she left his house, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

The early morning air was cold, biting against her still-warm skin, and she inhaled sharply. She needed the sting. She needed the distance. Without looking back, she started walking toward her car, toward the station, toward anything that wasn’t him.

Perhaps to love Tim Bradford was to endure the ache of his sudden departures, each one a reminder of how close he let her come— before pulling away again.

Chapter Text

The cold water froze her skin, but at least hid her tears. She managed to hold them back until she got into the shower. To avoid thinking about what had happened along the way, she listened to a ridiculous pop song at full volume and managed not to go back to Tim's house and confront him.

She shouldn't have felt humiliated— he had taken care of her carefully and made sure she enjoyed every second. Her pleasure was always his priority and he was a great lover in bed. He would take his time and do exactly what she liked.

But something broke inside her when he so easily just got up and left her. She didn't understand why he did this. Everything seemed to be fine. What happened all of a sudden that made him withdraw?

She pressed her palms against the tiles, bowing her head as the water poured over her. For a few seconds she could almost pretend the rushing sound drowned everything out; her thoughts, her humiliation, the echo of his door closing behind her.

Her breath hitched. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself not to make a sound. Still, her shoulders shook, and a sob escaped her throat, quickly swallowed by the water.

He hadn’t hurt her. He had been gentle, careful, everything she’d ever wanted. And yet, here she was— breaking apart under a police station shower, unable to understand why the absence of him felt worse than any cruelty could have.

Lucy pressed her forehead harder against the cold tile until it hurt. Maybe she deserved it. Maybe she always had.

She reluctantly left the shower, knowing she now had to get ready.

Even though the locker room was full of familiar faces, she didn't speak to anyone. There was no point. They didn't like her, didn't respect her either. They had proven that very well over the last few months.

As she put on her uniform, she realized that the excitement she had felt before had disappeared and the badge she carried with pride was too heavy.

When she reached the briefing room, she briefly greeted a few people and sat in one of the back rows. She didn't want to be seen by Grey.

The roll call room buzzed with the usual chatter, chairs scraping against the floor as officers settled in. She folded her hands in her lap and tried not to look like her chest was still hollow.

Sergeant Grey entered with his usual sharp presence, a stack of papers in his hand, and the room stilled. Tim followed close behind, standing just to his side, posture straight, professional and his expression felt untouchable. He had been between her legs just two hours ago and now he wasn't even acknowledging her existence.

He began to assign partners and beats, his tone brisk but even. Names, streets, schedules. The officers jotted things down, some already exchanging glances about their day ahead. Lucy sat stiffly, waiting for the usual humiliation by Grey.

Her eyes didn't leave Tim. She willed him to glance back, even just once. But he didn’t.

She bit the inside of her cheeks and lowered her eyes. 

“And Chen,” Grey’s voice finally cut through. He didn’t look up from his notes. “You’ll be at the desk today. We’ve got some files that need sorting. Don’t expect to be pulled out.” His words were flat, casual but Lucy heard what wasn’t being said. She always did.

The room shuffled to life as Grey wrapped up. Chairs scraped again, voices rose, boots thudded against the floor as everyone scattered toward their shifts.

Lucy stood quickly, weaving her way through the crowd until she was only a few steps from Tim. “Sergeant—” she started, her voice low but urgent.

He didn’t stop. Didn’t even hesitate. “Not now, Chen,” he muttered, already falling into stride with Aaron, who was waiting for him near the door.

Aaron threw her a brief, almost apologetic glance, then followed Tim out, leaving Lucy on her own.

She stood there in the middle of the briefing room, her words trapped in her throat and the distance between them suddenly felt impossible, as if it had been carved out deliberately by him, with precision.

She was sleep deprived, Grey seemed to determined to humiliate her every morning at roll call, and now Tim was ignoring her. Again.

Amazing.

As she quickly walked out of the room, she noticed Lopez, who was holding two cups of coffee, walking towards her. She didn't think she could escape this, so she resigned herself to her fate.

"Hi," the detective smiled, handing her the coffee

"Hey," Lucy forced herself to smile.

Angela herself had witnessed Lucy's distress when Tim started ghosting her and suddenly disappeared without an explanation. Lucy, trusting that they were friends, reached out to her and told her what had happened with him. And what the detective chose to do was ignore Lucy's concern and went behind her back.

Of course, she didn't have to tell her everything —Lopez was loyal to Tim, and would never choose Lucy over him— but when she found out he was alive, she didn't even bother to tell Lucy.

She was on the verge of losing her mind for 36 hours, imagining her boyfriend bleeding out somewhere. It was almost impossible not to call Grey or anyone and ask for help.

What Angela did, or rather didn't, wasn't something Lucy could easily get over.

"Thought you could use some caffeine."

"Thanks." She wrapped her hands around the cup, the warmth seeping into her palms. They were trembling— barely, but enough that she had to grip tighter so Lopez wouldn’t notice.

“Desk duty, huh?” She tilted her head, sipping her own coffee. "Is everything alright?"

She forced a small smile, lifting her coffee.

Sure, everything’s fine. Except I’ve been through a devastating break up because of your dumb best friend and lost a promotion I should’ve gotten. But other than that— perfect.

"Yeah, nothing to worry about." She lied so easily.

When Angela chose to ignore her, she lost the right to hear the truth from Lucy. The detective was the first to betray their friendship and now it seemed fair enough for Lucy to lie to her face.

Lopez leaned against the wall, her gaze softer now, almost sympathetic. “You’ll get back on track. You always do.”

The words slid over Lucy like cold water.

Do I? She wanted to ask. Did I get back on track after failing the exam? After watching you all look the other way because you didn't want to be bothered?

Instead, she brought the cup to her lips, swallowing scalding coffee just to keep her mouth busy, to keep from saying something she couldn’t take back.

Her hands tightened around the cup. She could still see the unread messages she had sent Angela after Tim disappeared. Desperate words she had poured out at 3 a.m., imagining the worst. Angela had read them hours later, casually, like they hadn’t mattered at all. Like she hadn’t mattered.

Lucy forced her lips into a smile she didn’t feel. “Thanks,” she said flatly.

Angela studied her for a beat, maybe sensing there was more, maybe choosing not to push. “Hang in there, Chen.” She patted her arm and walked away, heels clicking against the tile.

Lucy stayed rooted in place, her chest tight. She gripped the cup so hard her knuckles turned white.

Hang in there?

Her throat ached with the scream she didn’t let out.

She angrily threw the coffee in the trash and walked to her desk. She only wanted to lose herself in those stupid files and forget how shitty her personal life was.

She dropped into her chair, pulling a thick, half-filled incident report toward her. It already carried the messy handwriting of the night shift; half sentences, scribbled notes in the margins, and at least three different pens.

Hell, who would use a red pen on an official document?

She skimmed the first page. “Suspicious activity call. Domestic dispute. No arrests.” That was it. No details. No context.

Again.

It was her second day at the desk, dealing with their stupid, incomplete files, and she was already losing her patience. The mistakes she didn't make as a rookie were made by officers and even by a sergeant who had spent a long time in the profession. This kind of negligence was something only Smitty could do. She wondered how many Smittys were on the night shift crew.

"There must be plenty of them." She muttered under her breath.

This wasn’t a kindergarten worksheet— it was supposed to be a legal record. If this case ever went to court, this file would be laughed out of the room.

Lucy started flipping through the attached notes. The “narrative” was barely a paragraph long. It didn’t state who called it in, didn’t list the names of the individuals involved, didn’t even clarify if there were children present.

“Of course,” she muttered under her breath. “Night shift leaves me another mess to clean up.”

“Talking to yourself now?”

She looked up. Aaron leaned against the edge of her desk, coffee cup in hand, the usual half-smile on his face.

She forced a tight smile. “Just admiring the masterpiece our colleagues left behind.”

He peered down at the report, brows lifting. “Wow. That’s… something. Guess they were in a hurry to get home.”

“Guess so,” Lucy said flatly, flipping another page. “Except this isn’t a homework assignment. This is supposed to be a legal document."

He shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee. “You know how it is. Nights get messy. They figure day shift will pick up the slack.”

Her stomach twisted.

Yeah, they figure I will pick up the slack.

“Still,” Aaron added lightly, “kind of impressive you actually fix all this. Most people would just staple it together and move on.”

Lucy’s fingers tightened on her pen. She wanted to snap at him, tell him that “most people” was the problem— that this kind of carelessness was exactly why victims fell through the cracks. Instead, she just said, “Somebody has to do it right.”

Aaron gave her a searching look, like he wasn’t sure if she was joking or deadly serious. Then he straightened. “Well… good luck with that. I’m gonna grab another coffee before Tim finds me."

She felt sick to her stomach at the mention of his name. "Why? Is he in a mood again?" She couldn't help but ask.

He smirked faintly, but there was a quick flicker in his eyes, something less casual. “When isn’t he?” he said, like it was meant to be a joke. But he didn’t linger— just tipped his cup in her direction and turned slightly, like he was ready to go.

Lucy opened her mouth, then stopped. A different name surfaced in her mind, sharp and unexpected. “Hey… speaking of moods… you still seeing Blair London?”

For the first time, Aaron’s easy expression faltered. His face shifted, the smile flattening into something uncomfortable. He set the cup down on her desk, just for a second. “Not anymore.”

She frowned. “What? I thought—”

“She’s gone,” he said simply, cutting her off. He glanced at the papers on her desk like he was looking for an escape. “Packed up, resigned. Didn’t tell anyone, just… left.”

Lucy blinked, taken aback. “She just disappeared? Just like that?"

"Just like that." His jaw tightened and he lowered his tone. “That’s kind of what she does, apparently. Don’t waste your time asking around.”

She pressed her lips together. She hadn't liked Blair London from the moment she saw her —Lucy wouldn't judge anyone she'd just met so harshly, but there was something about the psychiatrist that had always bothered her— but her sudden departure was strange.

"That's weird," she said, pouting. She absolutely wasn't saddened by the fact that she was gone, but she was surprised.

"Yeah, whatever." He muttered, then reached for his coffee, already stepping back. "Have a nice shift. Hang in there."

Hang in there.

If one more person said that, she would start screaming.

She sighed. "You too."

When he walked away, she stared down at the report. She picked up the phone and dialed dispatch, trying to backtrack the original call. After a few minutes of holding, she pieced together what had actually happened:

A neighbor had reported shouting and glass breaking in an apartment at 2 a.m. When units arrived, they found a couple —both intoxicated— arguing. A lamp had been smashed. The woman had visible bruises on her arm, but refused to press charges. The man had been questioned but released.

Lucy stared at the file again, her stomach tightening. How do you leave this out? How do you write “no arrests” and clock out like it’s nothing?

Her fingers hit the keyboard hard, fast; documenting the neighbor’s statement, adding that the woman’s injuries were photographed, including that a restraining order had been offered but declined. Fixing even the times and initials.

By the time she finished, the report looked like an actual police file instead of a stupid kindergarten homework.

She leaned back in her chair, massaging her temples. She wasn’t proud of herself— she was exhausted, angry. But if she didn’t fix these things, no one would.

She couldn’t escape the pain Tim caused, couldn’t trust her so-called friend's to have her back, couldn’t even rely on her colleagues to do their jobs.

Maybe the only way out of this suffocating desk was to throw herself into the very thing she hated.

Night shifts.

At least then she would own the mess before it landed on her desk. Because she had a feeling she would be on the desk for a while longer.

She tapped the file closed, trying to ignore the quiet, gnawing voice in her head that whispered she was exactly where Grey wanted her— buried in paperwork, drowning in everyone else’s failures.

She slowly stood up and walked to the break room to get some coffee. It smelled faintly of burnt coffee, the pot probably sitting too long on the warmer. She reached for a cup, pouring the dark liquid until it almost spilled over. She wrapped her fingers around it, letting the bitter heat ground her for a moment.

When she turned, she nearly collided with him.

He froze just enough to register her, then straightened. “Chen,” he said evenly, as though she were anyone else. “That file from last night— finished it?”

Chen?

Her throat tightened. That was it? No hello, no acknowledgment of… anything? She swallowed hard, forcing herself to nod. “Yeah. It’s on my desk.”

He gestured with a slight tilt of his chin. “Walk me through it.”

They moved side by side down the hallway, the silence between them so thick it scraped at her skin. She stole a glance at him— his expression was so annoyingly calm and professional, like he hadn’t just shattered her that morning.

She wanted to scream at him, to ask why he was pretending nothing had happened. Instead, her voice came out quieter than she meant. “How are you?”

“I’m fine.” He didn’t look at her, didn't ask how she was.

She wasn't fine.

They reached her desk in a silence that felt like was shooting her in the chest. The file was still neatly stacked where she had left it. Lucy slid it across to him, her fingers brushing the edge longer than necessary, as though the paper itself could hold him there.

He barely glanced at it before tucking it under his arm. “Good work.”

And just like that, he turned around.

“Tim,” she blurted, the word catching in her chest. He paused, his back still to her. “I hope we can get to talk soon.”

For a moment, he didn’t move. Then, without looking back, his voice reached her, low and rough. He sounded very different from that of the man she knew and loved. “I hope so.”

He walked away, his boots echoing against the tile until he was gone.

Lucy sat back down, staring at the empty space where Tim had just stood. Her pulse still thudded in her ears, but the station around her went on as if nothing had cracked open inside her. Phones rang. Chairs squeaked. Harper laughed at something across the room.

She dragged a new file toward her, flipping it open with more force than necessary. Grand theft — electronics store. The initial report was thin and sloppy, another late-night signature job.

The narrative box had one line: “Suspect broke in through back door, stole merchandise. No suspects on scene.”

She exhaled sharply, pressing the bridge of her nose. “That’s it?” she muttered.

No inventory listed. No exact time of entry. No mention of whether the cameras had been checked. Whoever filed it might as well have written, Someone stole something. The end.

Even Tamara, who had lived with Lucy for two years, could have prepared a better police report than this bunch of idiots who called themselves cops.

She pushed her hair behind her ears, squared her shoulders, and pulled her keyboard closer. If Tim could brush her off like she didn’t matter, then fine. At least the job still needed her. At least here, she could make sense of the chaos.

Her fingers started moving fast, reconstructing the file properly:

—Noted the time the alarm had gone off.

—Logged the call from the store’s manager.

—Added the missing list of stolen items, pulled from the attached receipt.

—Flagged the absence of surveillance review with a sharp comment in the margin.

The sound of her typing almost drowned out the echo of Tim’s cold voice in her head. Almost.

You deserve so much better. That's why I'm walking away.

Was this whole thing about that?

After giving her an earth shattering orgasm a month later, he decided that she deserved better? If so, he needed more therapy and to sit down and think long and hard about what the fuck he was doing.

Her heart was shattered, the nightmares were haunting her, and everything she had was being taken away from her. Tim's tidal state made her want to fill her pockets with stones and walk towards the ocean.

You deserve so much better. That's why I'm walking away.

If that's what he really wanted, he should've kept his distance and let her drown on her own.

When her eyes caught the clock for a moment, she wanted to put her head in her hands and sob. She still had eight hours left on her shift.

Sighing, she reached for a new file, then another, and another. The hours blurred into one another, a rhythm of coffee cups cooling on her desk and file after file slipping under her hands. Every report was the same— incomplete, careless, waiting for her to make it make sense. She typed until her fingers ached, until the words on the screen stopped meaning anything at all.

By the time she finally looked up, the station had thinned out, the chatter replaced with the low hum of printers and the occasional ring of a phone. Her back throbbed. Her temples pulsed. She still had hours left on her shift, and yet it felt like she had already lived three lifetimes inside these walls today.

She was hungover, hadn't gotten enough sleep, and the fact that Tim was ignoring her again wasn't making her feel any better.

She stacked the last of the corrected reports into their folders and shoved them into the cabinet, the slam of the drawer a little sharper than necessary. Her hands lingered on the metal handle for a second, grounding herself before she turned toward the locker room.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as she pushed open the door. Inside, Celina was tugging off her boots, hair tumbling out of its braid. She glanced up, her face brightening instantly. “Hey, partner. Survived desk duty?”

“Barely.” Lucy yanked open her locker, pulling her uniform over her head. “I think my brain’s turned into paperwork paste.”

Celina chuckled, but her eyes softened as she zipped up her hoodie. “Yup, you do look wiped. You going straight home?”

Lucy hesitated, tugging her jeans into place. Her shoulders ached, her head felt like it was filled with sand, but the thought of walking into her empty apartment made her stomach twist.

No Tim, no Tamara, no Jackson... Only herself.

She didn't want to be alone.

“Actually… if you’re not too tired, maybe you could come with me. We can sit and talk through the whole moving-in thing. Figure out what works for both of us.”

Her grin widened. “Perfect. I’ve got, like, four plants that desperately need a windowsill, and I was hoping you’d say yes before they died in my car.”

Lucy let out a small laugh, shaking her head. “Then it’s settled.”

They finished changing in companionable silence, then headed out together, the chill of the evening wrapping around them as they stepped into the parking lot.

She spotted him immediately. He was standing by his truck, keys in hand. For a heartbeat, their eyes met across the asphalt.

Her chest clenched.

Every instinct screamed to go to him, to demand an explanation, to beg him not to keep shutting her out. But her heart felt like shattered glass, and she knew— if he turned her away again, she wouldn’t be able to pick up the pieces. Not tonight.

She dropped her gaze, forcing her legs to keep moving. “Come on,” she said quietly to Celina, who had caught the exchange but didn’t comment.

They reached Lucy’s car, tossed Celina’s bag into the backseat, and climbed in. The engine rumbled to life, and Lucy kept her eyes fixed on the road ahead as she pulled out of the lot. She didn’t look back.

Chapter Text

Celina talked the whole way and made Lucy laugh out loud after weeks. At one point, she laughed so hard her eyes watered and her cheeks hurt, and she had to pull over for a few minutes because of a stomach ache. She pressed a hand to her ribs, gasping for breath, still chuckling even as she shook her head in disbelief.

God, when was the last time I laughed like this?

It was probably before the detective's exam. Everything started going downhill at full speed after that. And she couldn't stop it.

Even though the burden on her chest hadn’t been lifted, it had felt lighter for a while— like Celina had snuck a little air into lungs that had been locked shut. And yet, in the silence that followed, her mind tried to wander back to the morning, to the cold look on Tim’s face when he wouldn’t meet her eyes.

Halfway through, they stopped at a restaurant she liked and bought pasta when Lucy remembered that the fridge was empty. Besides that, she also had in the back of her mind that her apartment was a complete mess. Broken glasses and plates, countless bottles of alcohol on the floor, clothes scattered haphazardly and probably starting to smell...

Great. Perfect timing. Exactly how I want someone to see me.

But there was nothing she could do.

She bit the inside of her cheek and forced herself to listen to whatever story Celina was telling now.

By the time they pulled up to Lucy’s building, her palms were slick against the steering wheel. The closer they got, the more her chest tightened, like the apartment itself was waiting to betray her.

Celina hopped out of the car with the pasta bag in hand, humming something under her breath, blissfully unaware of the panic building behind Lucy’s ribs.

She unlocked the door and stepped aside, letting the younger woman in first. For a split second, she considered making some kind of excuse but Celina was already inside.

Her soon-to-be-roommate froze mid-step. 

The intense smell of alcohol was the first thing to hit her face. Her eyes fell on the broken glass on the floor, then on her bra on the counter.

Celina’s mouth parted, but no words came out right away. Her eyes moved slowly, taking in the wreckage, her cheerful energy dimming quieter. Not judgment, though— never that. In the last few months of knowing her, Lucy had learned that Celina was not the judgmental type.

It didn't make her feel better, though.

She felt her throat burn. She wasn't sure if it was the alcohol still in her system or the physical manifestation of her shame. She crossed her arms tight over her chest, nails digging into her skin. “Well,” she muttered, “welcome to paradise.”

Celina turned, finally looking at her, and Lucy hated the softness in her eyes, the pity she thought she saw there.

Don’t look at me like that. Don’t make me feel smaller than I already do.

It was almost the exact same look Tim had given her last night, when she showed up in his neighborhood drunk, and it made her want to throw herself on the floor and cry.

But Celina didn’t say anything hurtful or insulting. Instead, she carefully set the pasta bag down on the counter and crouched to pick up a shard of glass. Her voice was even, careful, like talking to a spooked animal. “Let’s start with this. Don’t want either of us bleeding tonight.” She chuckled.

Lucy watched her tidying up the room, nostalgia hitting her suddenly. Celina had done the same after finding Lucy passed out in her car.

The shame was unbearable, but at the same time, there was a strange relief in not having to explain, in Celina not running for the door. Or immediately grabbing her phone to report her to Grey or to Tim.

Lopez and Harper would probably have done that, not wanting to deal with her themselves. They had both known her longer than Celina had and had done their best to support her after Caleb. But still, it was Celina who helped her clean up the mess and support her even if she didn't owe Lucy anything and her supposed friends and mentors were nowhere to be found.

So for once, Lucy didn’t argue and let Celina take care of her and her apartment. She bent down and started gathering the bottles.

Celina stacked the shards into an empty takeout container, moving carefully. “You know,” she said softly, “you don’t have to do all this alone.”

Lucy snorted, dropping two bottles into the trash bag with more force than necessary. “Seems like I do.”

Celina’s hands stilled for a beat, then she kept working. “Nolan? Detective Lopez? They just… let you deal with this?”

The question sliced deeper than Lucy expected. She pressed her lips together, focusing on knotting the bag. “I think they're just too busy with their lives, you know. Also people get tired of waiting for you to… bounce back when you've been the funny, comedic relief character for so long." Her laugh was bitter, no joy in it. “And guess I’ve already overstayed my welcome as the broken one.”

The younger woman straightened, brushing dust off her palms. “Lucy, you’re not broken."

“Don’t,” Lucy whispered. Her voice cracked. She turned away, crossed her arms tight over her chest. “Don’t say that. You didn’t see me these past weeks. You didn’t see how low I got. How much I drank just to shut everything off.”

Celina stepped closer, cautious but steady. “You think I didn’t notice? You think I don’t see you, even now?”

Her eyes burned. She kept her eyes wide open, refusing to let the tears fall. “Then why are you still here?”

Celina’s expression softened, no hesitation in her voice. “Because you’ve been there for me, too, after the attack. And because walking away when someone’s drowning isn’t my style.”

She swallowed, can't finding the right words.

No one else had put it that simply. No one else had chosen to stay without being asked.

Lucy had always been that friend. She was the one who acted as a therapist and mother to her friends. She sometimes cried with them or laughed with them when necessary. She never ended a friendship unless she absolutely had to, she fought for them until the end.

But no one had done it for her.

Well, Jackson had been with her, fighting off her demons but he was dead now. And then there was Tim, who promised her devotion and loyalty, but he was gone now too.

Her wings were broken one by one, and the people who were supposed to have her back suddenly moved away from her. In her head, her mother was telling her that after all her failures, she deserved this. And maybe the voice was right, but she really could use a moment of comfort right now.

When her legs could no longer carry her, Lucy let herself sink onto the couch. The cushions dipped under her weight, the mess of clothes sliding to the floor. She rubbed her face, exhausted. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Celina gave a small smile. “Start with the pasta. Then maybe laundry. One thing at a time.”

It wasn’t a cure. Hell, it wasn’t even a plan but somehow, it was enough to keep Lucy from shattering right there.

She nodded. "Okay, let's eat then and we can discuss about the moving in stuff." She slowly stood up, threw the bra on the counter haphazardly into her room and took the pasta out of the bag then took out two glasses and poured wine.

At that time, Celina had already settled into the chair. She talked through the boring but necessary stuff: splitting rent, setting up utilities in her name, who’d cover internet and who would handle the electric bill.

Lucy nodded along, grateful that Celina was the one steering. Her mind was too foggy for details, but hearing someone else say we’ll figure it out kept her anchored.

There were no words to express how grateful she was to the young woman sitting across from her.

When the food was gone and the plates pushed aside, the room went quiet except for the irritating hum of the fridge. Lucy leaned back against the chair, her arms wrapped around her body. Celina sat cross-legged, studying her with that gentle focus that always made Lucy squirm.

“So…” She started cautiously, “I know this morning wasn’t easy. Wanna talk about it?”

Lucy’s stomach dropped. She didn’t need to ask what she meant. Tim’s name didn’t have to be spoken for it to be heavy in the air between them.

She let out a hollow laugh. “Which part? Him pretending nothing happened, or me pretending it didn’t kill me?”

Celina didn’t flinch. She just waited.

Lucy buried her face in her hands for a moment, then looked up, her voice cracking against the words. “I don’t understand him. Last night… he was there for me." she stopped, heat rising in her cheeks, too much to admit out loud. “And then this morning before the work, he was still so gentle with me. Then suddenly he—"

She shook her head. "I don't know what he's doing and I don't think he knows that either." She sighed, disappointed. "What I know is that he, for some reason, keeps shutting me down."

Her new close friend tilted her head, watching her carefully. “And when he shuts you down… what do you do?”

She let out a brittle laugh, though it sounded more like defeat than amusement. “What do you think? I shut down too. I mean, what’s the alternative? Beg him to stay? Act like none of it hurt?” Her chest tightened, the words scraping on the way out. “I can’t— I can’t do that. Not anymore.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable and thank god, Celina didn’t try to argue, didn’t try to fix it. She just reached for the empty glasses, stacking them neatly to one side like giving Lucy space to breathe was the most natural thing in the world.

Lucy’s gaze followed her hands, noticing how calm and unhurried every movement was. In contrast, her own body felt shaky, restless. For a moment, the mess of broken glass and bottles in the apartment, the mess in her own head, all felt unbearably loud. “I don't know if it makes sense but he makes me feel like I’m… too much and not enough at the same time. And I hate that I keep letting him.”

The worst part is that once upon a time it was the opposite. He listened to her patiently, didn't mind her overthinking, and never made her feel like a burden. He had always been very loving, respectful and patient with her— even before they got together. This was one of the countless reasons why she fell in love with Tim.

That's why it hurt so much that everything was turned upside down now, she didn't know how much more pain she could endure.

Celina’s voice was soft but steady. “Or maybe you just want him to see how hurt you are. That’s not too much. That’s human.” She reached for her hand.

The touch nearly undid her. Lucy stared at their joined hands, blinking back the sudden sting in her eyes. She wanted to pull away, to keep her walls intact, but the comfort was disarming— she couldn't let go of it.

"You're not the Wonder Woman, Lucy." She gently smiled. "I mean, you're just as badass but you're a human. You're allowed to be weak and upset."

Weak and upset.

Two words she hated admitting out loud, yet hearing them spoken without judgment felt like a tiny crack of air in a sealed room. She exhaled, shaky but a little lighter.

But the relief didn’t last long. Against her will, her mind dragged her back to that morning— the way Tim’s hand had lingered against her back, his voice so gentle it had almost tricked her into believing everything was fine. And then the sudden shift, sharp and cold, like a door slamming in her face.

The whiplash still burned. She could still feel the hollow space he left behind, as if his distance had carved something out of her.

Lucy rubbed her temples, almost angry at herself for letting the memory win.

Her longing and anger towards him were so strong that she could feel herself physically drained. As she felt her eyes slowly well up with tears, she decided that this conversation shouldn't go on any longer.

“I’m sure you're tired,” she muttered, standing before her voice could crack again. “We should get you settled. Tamara’s room is free now.”

Celina smiled like she understood more than Lucy wanted to admit. “Okay. Show me the way, roomie."

They spent the next half hour clearing the last of Tamara’s things, folding fresh sheets onto the bed. Lucy moved on autopilot, grateful for the distraction. Every so often, Celina cracked a small joke about the sheer number of coffee mugs or the fact that Lucy still had a framed firefighter calendar from 2022 hanging behind the door.

Lucy even smiled once or twice, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

When the room was finally in order, Celina gave a satisfied little clap. “See? Instant home.”

Lucy leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, exhaustion washing over her like a wave. “Yeah. Instant.” Her voice was flat but not unkind.

She was happy to have Celina move in with her, she loved the young woman and enjoyed her company. But the fact that the room that had belonged first to Jackson and then to Tamara was so unrecognizable was tearing something apart inside her. It was as if they had both been trapped in the dusty pages of history, migrated to a place Lucy could never reach again.

And she had to admit, it was kind of funny because Tamara had only moved a few blocks away. They could talk whenever they wanted, visit each other and remain friends.

But it wouldn't be the same.

Everything she knew and loved had changed so quickly, and she couldn't keep up. She wasn't sure she could get used to all this newness.

Especially not having him.

That was the hardest thing to get used to and she didn't think she could handle it for the rest of her life. She could try all she wanted, Tim Bradford would just keep growing like an ivy through her shattered heart and taking over.

When she reached her room, she had already grabbed the wine bottle before she even realized it.

She didn't want to go back to work in the morning and be humiliated again and again during roll call then deal with stupid files. She was desperate for adrenaline. She wanted to do something more and go on patrol, save lives and make a change.

She needed it and Grey wouldn't let her have it.

Fuck this.

She took another sip and put the bottle on the nightstand, then threw herself into bed without even changing her clothes.

It had been difficult for her to fall asleep, and when she finally did, nightmares were quick to catch her.

She should've seen it coming.

This time it was a scene that hadn't haunted her for a long time.

Aaron's distressing voice filled her ears. "I just found a body, and it's Sergeant Tim Bradford."

It was just a nightmare, a crushing one, but it wasn't real.

It was just a nightmare.

She started to run, pushing through faceless uniforms, the station hallways folding in on themselves like a maze. Her boots pounded against the floor, each step heavier, slower, like running through wet cement.

She could feel her legs shaking and bile rising up her throat. When she quickly broke through the crowd, she reached the body.

It wasn't Jake.

No tattoos, no greasy hair or funny clothes.

It was Tim.

He lay on the ground, still in uniform, but his skin was pale, lips blue, eyes glassy and fixed at nothing.

Her heart thundered in her chest. She could hear someone calling her, but she couldn't focus right now. “No, no, no—” She fell to her knees, shaking his shoulders. “Wake up, Tim! Come on, don’t do this to me, not you, please—”

But he didn't move.

The smell of iron filled her nose. She looked down and her hands were already covered in blood, sticky and dark, spreading across his shirt no matter how much she pressed down.

The crowd around her didn’t move. They just watched her with pitying eyes.

Ray's voice broke through this time. “You couldn’t save him."

"Stay away from him!" She screamed.

Her breath came in shallow gasps. She tried harder, compressions, anything, her own tears falling onto his chest. Her voice shredded itself into a scream. “I can’t lose you!”

And then, like a cruel twist of her own mind, Tim blinked. His eyes shifted toward her— empty, accusing. His lips moved just enough for words to escape. “You already have.”

Lucy jerked awake with a broken gasp, chest heaving like she had been running for miles. Her hands fumbled at the blanket.

“Lucy.” Celina’s voice came through the haze, gentle but steady. She was already sitting at the edge of the bed, a hand light on Lucy’s shoulder. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

She shook her head.

"Tim—" Her breath caught, and she fumbled blindly for her phone. Panic was rising fast, her fingers trembling.

She needed to know if he was okay but Celina caught her wrist before she could reach the nightstand. “Hey. Just breathe first.”

She did that but still, her whole body felt like it was vibrating under her skin.

“It wasn’t real,” Celina reminded softly. “You’re here. He’s fine.”

The words should have been obvious, but Lucy clung to them like a rope in the dark. She pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes, trying to chase away the image of Tim lying lifeless on the ground.

Her voice came out cracked. “I saw him. I heard Aaron’s voice and then Ray—" She couldn’t finish. When the face of the man who had ruined their lives came to mind, a deep hatred arose within her.

He had stolen the man she loved from her. Like a petty little thief. He had cost her everything.

Celina squeezed her shoulder, grounding her. “It was a nightmare. Nothing more.”

She stayed a little longer, hand steady on Lucy’s arm until her breathing evened out again. When she was convinced Lucy wasn’t about to spiral any further, she whispered, “Try to rest, okay? I’ll be right next door,” and slipped quietly out of the room.

The second the door clicked shut, the silence felt unbearable. Lucy stared at the ceiling, heart still pounding, sweat cooling against her skin. No matter how many times she told herself it wasn’t real, the image of Tim’s body wouldn’t leave her.

Her hand moved almost on its own, grabbing the phone off the nightstand. Before she could overthink it, she hit his contact.

It rang only once.

“Lucy?” His voice was low but immediate. Like he had been waiting for her to call.

For a second, she couldn’t speak. She just sat there in the dark, clutching the phone like a lifeline, listening to the faint rhythm of his breathing on the other end.

Proof that he was still out there even if wasn't hers anymore.

Finally, in a whisper so small it barely sounded like her, she asked, “Are you alive?”

Her eyes burned.

God, how many times had she sworn she wouldn’t do this? That she wouldn’t crawl back into his orbit when she was at her weakest? And yet here she was, 2 a.m., holding her breath just so she could hear his.

He sighed before replying. “Yes. Of course I am."

Her muscles relaxed until she suddenly recalled how nonchalant he acted. So a bitter laugh almost escaped her mouth, but it cracked in her chest instead. “You were so mean to me today.”

He didn't answer immediately, taking his sweet time. "Lucy—" She could picture him sitting up straighter, running a hand over his face, caught between protest and guilt.

Maybe he was about to explain, maybe apologize. But she couldn’t bear to hear it. Not when her heart was still bleeding from the way he had looked right through her at work, like she was just another coworker, instead of the woman who he called the love of his life once.

"You gotta decide what you want." Her voice cracked. She didn't bother to wipe the tears running down her cheeks. "And I hope you decide to repair what you broke."

Her thumb pressed the screen before he could finish. The call died.

She sat there, her phone still in her palm, staring at the ceiling as if it could give her answers. But all she had was the echo of his voice, the memory of his distance, and the shame curling hot in her stomach.

Why did I do that? Why do I keep running to the same person who keeps shutting me out?

She shoved the phone under her pillow like burying it might quiet her thoughts. It didn’t. Sleep wouldn’t come easy, not after that.

She didn't feel any better that morning, or for the next few days either.

Work, drink, sleep, nightmares, repeat.

At the station, she buried herself in files— mindless paperwork Grey seemed to pull out of thin air just to keep her chained to a desk. She told herself she didn’t care, that she could get through the hours but she could see the pitying looks around.

Some were mocking her for the way she had fallen from the grace, according to Smitty.

For some unknown reason, maybe because Tim wanted her to do so, Lopez tried to break through the walls. A gentle hand on her shoulder, a soft “Wanna grab coffee?” in the hallway, an encouraging smile she didn’t know what to do with. Lucy kept dodging— pretending to check her phone, pretending to be late for something.

John was more blunt. One night he casually invited her over, suggested a drink, said he was just “around if you needed company.” His eyes lingered a little too long, concerned in that boyish way of his. Lucy shook her head before he could even finish, tossing out an excuse that sounded weak even to her own ears. She couldn’t sit in his living room, sipping some expensive wine, pretending to laugh at his stories with Celina while the weight of everything pressed against her ribs.

Tim was the hardest part. He didn’t ignore her, not really. He was always there, in her peripheral vision. Sometimes she would glance up from her desk and find his eyes already on her, making her chest twist into knots. He never walked over, never said the words she needed. He just watched from a distance, and every time their eyes met, Lucy felt like she was choking on everything unspoken between them.

Like— Why are you still looking at me if you’re not going to do anything? Why keep me on the line if you’re only going to let me drown?

And then came the nights.

God, the nights.

She’d fall into bed bone-tired, but sleep never came easy. When it did, it brought nightmares sharp enough to jolt her awake with a cry stuck in her throat. Every time, Tim’s face appeared— sometimes cold and lifeless, sometimes walking away from her while she begged him not to. 

Sometimes it was Caleb again, sometimes Rosalind and her frightening smirk. Her mother a couple of times, saying she was a huge failure. Hell, she even saw Lieutenant Primm once.

She always woke up gasping, soaked in sweat, clutching her chest like it might stop her heart from clawing its way out.

Celina never failed to show up. Even half-asleep, she stumbled into Lucy’s room at the faintest sound, rubbing her back, murmuring that she was safe, that it wasn’t real. Sometimes she stayed until Lucy’s breathing slowed. Sometimes she curled up on the edge of the bed, refusing to leave until Lucy drifted back to sleep.

Lucy hated needing that. Hated feeling like a child waking her roommate in the middle of the night. But at the same time, she couldn’t deny the relief of knowing someone was there, that she wasn’t completely alone in the dark.

Still, the shame was thick. Every morning she looked at Celina and thought she would get sick of this, of her, just like Tim did. And yet, night after night, Celina kept showing up and calming her down.

By the end of the week, Lucy’s exhaustion clung to her like a second skin. Her body ached from tension, her eyes burned from lack of rest, and the thought of facing Grey in roll call again made her stomach churn. She so often found herself fantasizing about escape— not from the job, not from the city, but just from the daylight hours where she had to keep pretending.

Maybe the night shift. Maybe that would help. Less eyes on her. Less pressure. Maybe, if she worked while the world slept, she could finally breathe.

She sighed.

Thinking about the last few days made her already sensitive stomach turn.

Lucy’s eyelids were growing heavier by the second, the lines on the file in front of her blurring together. There was an hour left until the end of her shift. The pen slipped against her fingers, about to fall, when a sharp, urgent voice cut through the quiet.

“Chen.”

She startled upright. Sergeant Grey was striding toward her desk, his face set with unusual urgency. His tone left no room for hesitation.

“There’s been a major traffic accident. We’re short-staffed. We need you out there— now.”

She automatically pushed back from her desk. Grey was already halfway to the door, and she hurried after him.

Minutes later she slid behind the wheel of her shop, the engine roaring to life. The city lights streaked past as she pulled into traffic, siren wailing, heading straight for the accident scene.

And she didn’t know yet— this night was about to leave a mark she could never shake.

Chapter Text

(TW: Child death)

Lucy didn't know how long she had been in her room. She had noticed the room lightening and darkening a few times, but she wasn't sure. There were some knocks on her door and she heard several familiar voices calling out to her, but she couldn't respond. She couldn't move.

She was completely sober. Not a single drop of alcohol had entered her body since that incident, and she felt all the pain in her bones.

The incident.

In psychology, they called it secondary traumatic stress— vicarious trauma. Witnessing horror, feeling the life drain from someone else as if it were your own.

She had memorized the term years ago, highlighted it in thick yellow strokes across the margins of her psychology textbooks. She knew the theory well enough to lecture on it: the borrowed weight of another’s suffering, the invisible wounds carried home by those who stood too close to someone else’s tragedy.

Lucy knew the definition well, but knowing and feeling were two entirely different things.

She told herself what the manuals would have told her: Reach out. Speak. Break the isolation before it cages you. She knew she should call someone, step outside, let another voice anchor her to the living. She even rehearsed the sentences in her head— calm, clinical, the way she had once practiced for exams. But her mouth refused.

The flashbacks hit suddenly.

She was shaken the moment she got there, Sergeant Grey next to her. The scene was an absolute disaster, a chaos.

The crash site looked like a battlefield. Twisted metal groaned in the heat, glass glittered across the asphalt like spilled stars, and the air reeked of gasoline and blood. Lucy climbed out of the shop, her heart hammering against her ribs, and for a moment she couldn’t move.

It was terrifying.

Aaron was there and Tim right next to him. He was barking orders. His voice was sharp against the chaos. Their eyes met across the wreckage, only for a second. His gaze was steady, professional, but something in it flickered when it landed on her. Then he turned back, giving her no time to hold onto it.

Sergeant Grey ordered her to go ahead and check for any other injuries. Then walked towards Tim.

So she forced her legs to move, weaving through the wreckage toward a mangled sedan. She froze when she heard it— weak, choked sobs. On the pavement lay a boy, no older than seven, his body twisted in a weird shape that almost made her sick. His eyes darted, terrified, not knowing where to look.

Her gaze flicked to the driver’s seat. The woman behind the wheel —his mother, she guessed— was pinned in the wreck, blood pouring from her temple. Her lips moved, barely audible.

Lucy bent closer.

“Please…” the woman gasped. Her voice was so weak, Lucy barely heard her. “My son. Save my son.” Her eyes, full of terror.

Her vision was limited in the darkness, but she could more or less see the pole passing through the woman. There was no way she would make it out alive.

Lucy swallowed hard. “We’ve got you. We’ve got him.” She didn’t know if it was true, but she said it anyway.

Paramedics rushed past, kneeling by another victim with clearer chances. She waved frantically. “Here! The boy!”

One of them glanced over, shook his head. “We can’t— we're short staffed and he won’t make it. We’ve gotta prioritize.” And just like that, they moved on, leaving Lucy on her own.

Her stomach lurched. The boy’s tiny hand twitched against the asphalt, reaching for something— anything. She dropped to her knees, pressing both palms over his chest, as if she could hold his heart together with the strength of her grip.

“No,” she whispered fiercely, more to herself than anyone else. “Not while I’m here. Not while he’s looking at me."

The boy’s breaths came in ragged gasps, every inhale a battle. Lucy squeezed his hand gently, anchoring him, even though her own hands trembled.

He wasn't going to survive this.

She tightened her grip on his hand. It was so small, so impossibly small, the skin clammy against hers. She wanted to tell him he was going to make it, wanted to lie the way she always had when comfort mattered more than truth but her throat locked.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, forcing her voice to stay steady even as panic clawed at her throat. “You’re not alone. I’m right here with you.”

Tears streaked down his face, mixing with the blood at his temple. “It… it hurts,” he whimpered.

“I know, sweetheart. I know.” She brushed damp hair from his forehead with her free hand. Her chest tightened. He looked so small, too small for this kind of pain.

There was nothing she could do to save him and knowing this tore her apart so bad, she almost screamed.

His terrified eyes found hers again, wide and wet. “Mom?” he choked, his lips trembling around the word.

Her gaze flicked to the car. His mother’s body was slack now, her head tilted unnaturally against the shattered window— probably died soon after Lucy turned around.

She swallowed. "She knows you’re safe,” Lucy said, her voice breaking. “She knows.”

The boy whimpered, a sound so raw it cut straight through her. His fingers twitched, clinging to hers like she was the only thing tethering him to this world.

His eyes darted around wildly, searching for something beyond her, beyond the wreckage, until they finally locked on hers. “I’m scared,” he breathed.

Her own heart splintered. She bent closer, trying to shield him from the flashing lights and chaos. In a voice that shook but carried warmth, she began to hum, then sing softly, almost like a lullaby.

"Stars shining bright above you. Night breezes seem to whisper "I love you""

The same song she had clung to once, buried in darkness, when fear had nearly swallowed her whole. Now she offered it to him, hoping it might carry him somewhere gentler.

"Birds singing in the sycamore tree. Dream a little dream of me."

A weak smile tugged at his lips, though his eyes still swam with fear. She wiped at his blood-streaked cheek with her thumb, as if she could erase the terror carved there.

"Say nighty-night and kiss me. Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me."

His frantic sobs quieted, though his breaths grew shallower. She felt his chest rise weakly under her palms, each beat fluttering against her touch like a trapped bird.

“You’re safe,” she murmured between verses, her own tears dripping onto his bloodstained shirt. “You’re safe with me.”

She took a deep breath. "While I'm alone and blue as can be, dream a little dream of me."

Then she felt it.

A stutter, a pause, and the fragile rhythm beneath her hands slowed, faltered then stopped. Her fingers pressed harder, desperate, as if she could will his heart to keep beating. But there was only silence.

“No,” she gasped, pressing harder, willing the fragile rhythm to return. “No, no, no— come back, please—”

Lucy bowed her head over him, her forehead resting against the boy’s, and kept holding on. Even though his body had gone still, she couldn’t let go. Not just yet.

Her voice cracked, but she kept singing, because maybe if he could hear her somewhere —wherever he was now— he wouldn’t feel so alone.

Around her, radios crackled, boots pounded, engines roared. The chaos of first responders rose and fell like waves, but none of it touched her. She was sealed in a quiet, brutal bubble— just her, the boy, and the unbearable stillness where his breath used to be.

A dead kid changes you.

That was what Tim told her on her last day as a rookie.

That was going to change her forever.

Her vision blurred until all she could see was the outline of his face, his lashes wet, his mouth slightly parted as if he had fallen asleep mid-story. She pressed her forehead to his again, salty tears sliding between them.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, over and over, rocking with him. “I’m so sorry.”

A shadow fell across her. She didn’t look up. She couldn’t. Strong hands hovered, hesitant, and then came to rest gently on her shoulders. 

And she knew who it was.

His voice was low, roughened by something she had never heard in it before.

“Lucy,” he said quietly, almost like a plea. “You have to let him go.”

But her fingers only tightened around the boy’s hand, and her body shook with a grief that wouldn’t release her. "I can't." She whispered. "He's scared."

Tim knelt down next to her. "Not anymore."

Deep down, she knew he was right but she couldn't let him go.

He stayed crouched beside her, his presence solid against the chaos. For a long moment, he didn’t push— he just let her cry.

Then, softly, he talked, “You did everything you could, Lucy." He caressed her hand. "He didn’t die alone. You gave him more than anyone else could have in that moment.”

Lucy shook her head violently, her hair falling into her tear-streaked face. “That’s not enough. He— he was just a kid, Tim. He was so scared.” Her voice cracked into a sob. “I couldn’t save him.”

“No one could have saved him. Not with those injuries." His voice was assuring, but not enough to convince her yet. "But you gave him peace.”

Her fingers clenched harder around the boy’s tiny hand, refusing to let it slip away. “If I let go, it’s like I’m leaving him too.” She closed her eyes tightly and took a shaky breath.

She would have sacrificed anything for this all to be another nightmare.

Cautiously, she turned her head towards Tim. His eyes locked on hers, steady and unflinching despite the storm swirling inside them.

“You’re not leaving him, Lucy. You’re carrying him. That’s what we do. Every victim, every loss... we carry them with us. It hurts like hell, and it'll change you. But you can’t stay here. Not like this.”

Her breath hitched. Her chest felt like it was caving in. She wanted to scream at him, shove him away, but his words cracked something in her— something she couldn’t hold together anymore.

Tim slowly, slid his hand between hers and the boy’s, easing her grip loose finger by finger. She resisted at first, shaking her head in disbelief, but he didn’t force her. He just stayed there, steady, until at last her trembling hand slipped free.

The emptiness that rushed in almost knocked her over. “I can’t—” Her voice broke into a whisper.

“You can,” Tim said firmly. Then his tone softened, gentler than she’d ever heard it. "Just hold onto me."

When her body buckled, Tim caught her, guiding her away from the wreckage. She stumbled against him, her face pressed into his chest as sobs wracked her, and for the first time that night she let someone else hold the weight.

Behind them, the scene raged on— sirens wailing, orders shouted, lights flashing red and blue. But as Tim led her away, his arm strong around her shoulders, it all blurred into background noise.

Everything else was like a fever dream.

She remembered going back inside the shop and starting to cry silently, trying to ignore her bloody hands. Shortly after, Officer Jan arrived and said that Tim and Sergeant Grey could not leave the scene, so they would return to the station together. She had accepted it because she didn't have the strength to fight him and they returned in silence.

She threw herself into the shower with her uniform on and lingered longer than necessary. She didn't even have to close her eyes— the feeling of life leaving the boy's body was already etched into her mind, she could feel it in her palms.

After a while, when she still hadn't gotten out of the shower, Celina found her sitting on the floor and had to get her out and dressed her. She felt so numb that she didn't even bother to protest or feel humiliated. 

They didn't speak as they walked towards her car, still no sign of Tim or Sergeant Grey. Maybe it was for her benefit, she didn't want to talk to anyone. They were short-staffed, she should not have left the scene and should have been dealing with other cases. Even then she had to do the paperwork and report everything.

But she didn't do any of these.

When they got home, she locked her door and threw herself into bed.

All this was a few days ago.

Celina knocked on the door several times, asking if she was okay. Lucy didn't answer and buried herself under the blanket. When she woke up from a nightmare, she took one of his t-shirts from the drawer, put it on, and inhaled his scent to calm herself down a bit.

John called several times but she didn't answer any of them. Aaron also sent a message but she left it unanswered, too.

The only person Lucy wanted to reach out to and embrace was nowhere to be found.

Again.

Apparently that was his thing.

Tears rolled down her cheeks for perhaps the millionth time. She couldn't believe she could still be crying after all this time— she'd thought her eye sockets would be dry by now.

She sighed.

Her room reeked of sweat and stale air, and still she lay there, heavy, sunk into the bed like it might hold her forever. Maybe it could. Maybe that was easier. But the ache in her stomach wouldn’t let her. It clawed at her until she had no choice.

She pushed herself up. Her body wobbled, weak and unsteady. She was numb all over, she could barely feel her legs. The doorframe was the only thing that kept her upright as she stepped out into the hallway.

She knew Celina wasn't at work at this hour, but she wasn't home either. Maybe she was out with friends, or visiting her mother, or maybe she had a boyfriend and was with him.

Lucy couldn't do any of these things anymore even if she wanted to.

Unlike her apartment, it was quite noisy outside. She could hear the sounds of cars and laughter coming from the apartment next door.

Life still goes on.

But not for that little boy.

Would the pain in her chest ever go away? She had no idea.

She shuffled into the kitchen and opened the fridge. A couple of containers, a half-finished sandwich, nothing that mattered. She grabbed what she could, tore off a bite. It tasted like cardboard, but it filled the hollow space inside her, at least for now.

She reached for a half-full bottle of wine on the counter and took a few steps to her couch. While quickly flipping through the channels, she came across a baseball game.

It was a classic one— Dodgers vs Giants.

If Tim wasn't at work, he might be there watching the game live. Maybe she could even catch a glimpse of him as the camera panned to the crowd. Or maybe he was watching the game with Kojo curled up next to him, drinking beer in front of the TV.

She left the game playing, the sound a dull roar in the background, and sank into the couch. The bottle of wine dangled loosely from her hand, but she didn’t drink.

Her eyes traced the blur of figures on the screen, the crack of the bat, the cheer of the crowd. For a second she almost tricked herself into pretending she was there, surrounded by noise, by life. But her chest still felt like stone, her veins still heavy with silence.

Tim.

The thought rose uninvited, sour and sweet all at once. She could see him there in her mind— leaned back in his seat, cap pulled low, arms crossed in that way he did when he pretended to be relaxed. 

Wherever he was, whether at home or in the tribune, he wasn't with her. He was somewhere else, living and existing without her.

It made her furious. The sharp kind of fury that left her teeth clenched and her body trembling. How dare he cut himself out of her life and still live in her head like this? How dare he take up so much space when she was the one left hollow?

She hated him for it.

And God, she missed him so much she could barely breathe.

Stolen glances, shortlived conversations or making out would never be enough for her. She needed him, the whole of him. But he wasn't with her.

Her eyes burned. She rubbed at them with the heel of her hand, but it didn’t stop the images that clawed their way in; the boy’s face, the way his tiny hand had twitched against hers, the sound of his last breath rattling in her ears. She swore she could still feel the weight of him in her arms, the sticky warmth of blood against her palms.

Days later, she had the opportunity to do a job outside of her desk, and that's how it ended— her cuddling a dead kid.

She closed her eyes, gripping the bottle tighter, like she could squeeze the memory out of her. But it stayed. It always stayed.

The manuals hadn’t warned her about this. Not really. They spoke in clean, clinical language: trauma exposure, intrusive memories, survivor’s guilt. Words that looked tidy in a textbook, highlighted in yellow. But in reality, it was messier, meaner. It was trying to sleep and hearing a child whisper “Mom?” in the dark. It was waking up with phantom weight pressed to her chest. It was the smell of blood where there wasn’t any.

And it was the silence afterwards— the silence that roared louder than anything.

She shifted on the couch, her gaze flicking back to the TV. Dodgers up by three. She didn’t care. She just kept watching because the alternative was turning it off and being left alone with herself.

But a part of her hoped that they would lose, because she knew it would upset him.

She wondered if he ever thought of her. If he replayed her face in his head the way she replayed his. If he ever regretted leaving her so easily, while she sat here feeling like pieces of herself were scattered all over the asphalt of that crash site.

It seemed so long ago that he showed up at her apartment unannounced and called their breakup 'the worst mistake of his life.'

“Probably not,” she muttered under her breath, her voice bitter. The word tasted like ash in her mouth.

But the truth, the one she couldn’t shake, was that she wanted him here anyway. She wanted his steadiness pressed against her storm, his voice breaking through the chaos. She wanted his hand on hers again, like the night he peeled her away from the boy, patient and unyielding all at once.

She hated herself for wanting it, for needing it.

Her chest rose in a shaky breath, and she curled into the corner of the couch, the bottle forgotten on the table. The crowd on the screen cheered again, but she didn’t hear it. She only heard the faint echo of a child’s last whisper, and the silence that followed, and the hollow scream building in her own throat that she refused to let out.

Finally, she took a long swig from the bottle, and then another. When the bottle was almost empty, she leaned back and closed her eyes but not long after, she cursed when the doorbell rang.

She gave Celina her spare key the day she moved in, and she still knocked on the door?

"You have a key!" She said, as she was opening the door.

She froze when she realized it wasn't her roommate.

It was Tim.

He smiled, softly. "Yeah, but I don't think I have the right to use it anymore."

She blinked a few times, trying to process if he was really here.

"I thought it was Celina," she stepped aside, gesturing him in, though her eyes never quite met his. "Come on in."

When she heard on TV that the Dodgers had won the game, she cursed under her breath. She pressed her lips together. "I assume you're here to discuss the report I've failed to make."

"No, of course not. I've dealt with it. There's no problem." His tone was calm. He stood with a quiet confidence, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of hesitation, something softer buried beneath the surface.

She frowned, her chest tightening with confusion and a growing unease. "Then why are you here for?"

He took a deep breath. "I've come here to see you."

Lucy felt something yank inside her chest, equal parts relief and pain.

Better late than never.

But she needed to know.

"Why now?" Her voice cracked a little bit. She wasn't ready for him to hold that place in her like nothing had happened. “I'm not sure about the exact date, but it's been a while since—”

“I didn't know if you wanted to see me.” Tim’s eyes were on hers, open and careful. He sounded small in a way that made her want to close the distance and press him to her, and also to push him away for leaving.

It was ridiculous.

She let out a short, bitter laugh that turned into something softer. “I always want to see you.” She said it like a truth and like a lie at the same time, the sentence tasted both like yearning and like a wound.

He watched her for a long beat, like he was cataloguing the way she looked now —the slight tremor in her hand, the hollow under her eyes— and then he reached out, not long, just the brush of his fingers against her wrist. It was an offer and a question, and in the quiet that followed the TV noise felt obscene and small.

A small touch wasn't enough.

Unable to hold back any longer, she pulled him closer and buried her head in his shoulder. Although her muscles quickly relaxed with the familiar touch, there was one fact that didn't leave her mind.

"That little boy—" Her throat closed around the words, the memory slamming into her chest like a wave. She couldn’t finish the sentence.

He held her tighter, his chin resting lightly against her hair. “I know.”

The two words were quiet but carried weight. He didn’t tell her it was okay. He didn’t offer empty promises. He just let the silence settle, while his arms wrapped around her like a shield against something neither of them could fight.

She trembled against him. “I can still feel him,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Like he’s still here, in my hands. And no matter what I do, it won’t go away.”

Tim exhaled slowly, the sound rough, tired. He pulled back just enough to look at her, his hands steady on her shoulders. “It won’t. Not right away. Sometimes not ever. But it gets… quieter.”

Her eyes searched his face, desperate. “How do you live with it?”

He hesitated for a second. “You don’t. Not really. You just… carry it. Some days the weight’s lighter, some days it crushes you. But you keep going anyway.”

Lucy had seen people die before, but never like this. Never a child no older than seven. She didn't know how to live with this.

She shook her head, tears burning her eyes. “I don’t want to keep going. Not if it’s always going to feel like this.”

The confession slipped out before she could stop it. Shame curled in her stomach, but Tim didn’t flinch. Instead, he brushed his thumb across her cheek, wiping away a tear. His touch was careful, reverent, like she might shatter if he pressed too hard.

“You’re stronger than you think,” he said, his voice low but assuring. “I know you don’t feel it right now. But I’ve seen you fight through things most people couldn’t even survive. You’ll get through this too.”

She wanted to believe him. She truly did. But all she felt was the hollow ache inside her chest, the echo of a child’s last breath.

She looked at him. "I'm still mad at you." Her hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt as if she could anchor herself there, in him. “But you can't leave me again,” she said, the words torn and fragile.

He didn't say anything, only kissed her forehead.

“I can’t do this alone.” She whispered against his chest.

His grip on her tightened, and for the first time since he walked through the door, his voice cracked. “I won’t.”

And she believed him.

Chapter Text

Soon they were in her bed, Lucy holding him tightly— as if he would disappear if she relaxed even a little. Her eyes were wide open and she was breathing in his scent deeply.

God, he smelled so good. And he was really here, with her.

Meanwhile one of his hands were slowly moving through her hair, caressing and occasionally placing small kisses on it. His touch wasn’t rushed, wasn’t demanding— it was grounding, quiet, the kind of touch that made her body remember what safety felt like.

Lucy had missed it so much.

She wanted to say something but words would have ruined this peaceful moment. So she pressed her face harder against his chest, clutching his shirt in her fist like it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

He was still on her mind, the little boy that died. His tiny hands and terrified eyes... They were carved into her mind. She didn't think she would ever forget his face.

Tim’s chest rose and fell slowly under her cheek. He was calm on the outside, but she could feel the tension hidden underneath— the way his arm tightened around her, the way his breath hitched when she shifted even slightly closer.

For a moment, the world shrank down to the faint hum of the TV in the other room and the sound of his heartbeat in her ear. It felt fragile, like glass— one wrong move and it would all shatter.

“Don’t leave,” she whispered, her voice so low it could’ve been mistaken for a thought slipping out.

His hand stilled in her hair. He closed his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere, baby," he said. His voice was so assuring she almost forgot he had left her a month ago in a stupid parking lot.

But did it matter at this point? He was here now, holding her so tight, keeping her together. And he was promising that he wouldn't leave her.

Her mind was screaming at her that she had let her guard down too quickly and that she shouldn't trust him, but her heart had already surrendered.

She was so scared of what tomorrow would look like, scared of waking up to find this was just another dream she had stitched together out of loneliness. Scared that he would leave if she fell asleep, or that he wasn't here at all.

Her grip on him tightened, nails digging slightly into his shirt. “You always say that,” she whispered, her throat dry. “And then you go.”

He flinched, just barely, but enough for her to feel it. His arms around her stilled for a beat, then drew her closer as if he could erase her doubt by sheer force.

“I’m here,” he repeated, softer this time, almost desperate. Almost begging her to believe him.

Her chest ached. She wanted to believe him, hell, she wanted to let herself believe him. But the image of that little boy’s face lingered behind her eyelids, mixing with the memory of Tim walking away from her, from everything they had, in the parking lot, leaving her broken.

She hated that she still wanted him despite everything. Hated that his presence was the only thing keeping her from crumbling entirely.

Her voice cracked when she spoke again. “If you leave me now, Tim… I don’t know if I’ll survive it.”

The silence stretched between them, heavy and sharp. His hand trembled slightly where it rested on her back, and for the first time she realized— he was just as afraid as she was.

He sighed. "I know I have ruined everything. And I know how easy it would have been for you to turn on me." 

She held her breath and closed her eyes, silently listening to what he was saying.

He put another kiss on her hair. "Lucy, I will never hurt you like that ever again. I know you have no reason to believe me right now, but I will prove myself to you." He took a deep breath and placed his hand on her chin, lifting her head up.

His eyes were filled with more love and vulnerability than she hadn't seen in a very long time. And that's the reason she believed his words.

"I made a mistake and I will spend the rest of my life trying to repair what I've broken, in whatever small doses you allow."

Lucy’s lips parted, but no words came. She just stared at him, her pulse loud in her ears, her throat tight with everything she wanted to say but couldn’t.

So instead, she let her forehead rest against his jaw, breathing him in, letting his warmth press into her bones. For the first time in a month, she wasn’t shaking. For the first time, she felt like she wasn’t standing on the edge of collapsing.

“We still need to have a real, adult conversation,” she whispered finally, the words trembling.

His thumb brushed gently along her cheek, slow and careful, as though she might break. “I will hold onto that,” he said softly.

Something inside her loosened at that. The ache in her chest dulled just enough for exhaustion to slip in. She buried herself deeper against him, her lashes fluttering as her body finally gave in to the weight of the day.

Tim felt her grip slacken, her breathing turn heavier against his shirt. He stayed perfectly still, only pressing another kiss to her temple, whispering her name like a vow. “Sleep, I’ve got you.”

And she did.

But peace didn’t last.

Because she was Lucy Chen and peace would never truly find her.

At first it was subtle, her body twitching in his arms, a faint whimper caught in her throat. Then the dream dragged her under fully. Her breaths turned shallow, panicked, her hands clawing at his shirt as if she was drowning.

“No— please—” she gasped, thrashing weakly, tears slipping from her closed eyes.

“Lucy.” His voice was steady but urgent, his hand cupping her face, thumbs brushing her damp cheeks. “Hey, it’s me. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

She jolted awake with a strangled sob, eyes wide and wet, chest heaving like she had run for miles. Her gaze darted around until it landed on him.

Tim.

He was there.

Her lip trembled. “He was right here,” she choked out. “That little boy— he was right there, I couldn’t—”

Tim pulled her tight against him before she could fall apart, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other wrapped firmly around her waist. He rocked her gently, whispering against her hair.

“I know, I know."

Her sobs shook through both of them, breaking open everything she had tried so hard to hold inside. And still, he held her. He wasn’t letting go this time.

She fell asleep again in tears and in between his arms, and this time there were no dream— good or bad. Only darkness and peace.

She stirred awake hours later, the dim light of morning spilling faintly through the curtains. For a moment she was disoriented, still wrapped in the heavy fog of sleep. She stretched her hand out, expecting to find the warmth of his body beside her.

But the sheets were cold.

Her chest tightened instantly, dread flooding her like ice water.

No. Not again. 

It had to be another dream. That’s what it was. She had dreamed him back into her bed, dreamed his arms around her, his voice in her ear, dreamed the promise that he wouldn’t leave.

Her breath hitched as she sat up, scanning the empty space beside her. The silence pressed in cruelly, convincing her that she had imagined it all. That he had never really been there.

Hot tears blurred her vision before she could stop them. She pressed her palms against her face, muffling a sob, shaking her head as if denial alone could make him reappear. She had been so stupid to believe, even for a second, that things could be different. That he would come back to her.

And then—

The floor creaked. Soft footsteps in the hallway.

The door opened slowly and there he was, standing in the doorway with a tray balanced in his hands. Toast, coffee, scrambled eggs.

“Morning," Tim said quietly, his voice warm, careful, like he knew how fragile she was.

Lucy’s sob caught in her throat. Her wide, wet eyes met his, her lips still trembling. She didn’t say anything, she couldn’t.

The tray shook slightly in his hands when he realized. “Hey.” His voice broke a little as he set it down on the dresser and crossed the room in two long strides. “Lucy…”

She shook her head, tears spilling freely now. “I thought— I thought you left,” she whispered. “or that you weren’t real at all."

He slid onto the bed beside her and pulled her straight into his arms, holding her tight against his chest. “No, no, I’m here. I’m right here,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head. “I just went to make you breakfast. That’s it. I’m not going anywhere.”

Her fists clutched at his shirt desperately, grounding herself in the steady thrum of his heartbeat. Slowly, the sobs eased into shaky breaths, her forehead pressed to his collarbone as if she was trying to fuse herself to him.

As her breathing slowly evened out, Lucy’s tears began to dry. Tim didn’t loosen his arms around her, as if he knew she might slip away again if he did. And Lucy felt something she hadn’t in weeks— like she was tethered back to life.

For a while, the silence in the room wasn’t suffocating anymore. With her eyes still shut, she focused on the steady thrum of his heartbeat; each beat whispered I’m here.

He was here.

When she finally lifted her head, rubbing her eyes, Tim gave her a small smile. “Wanna eat before they get cold?”

Lucy’s lips curved into the faintest, shaky smile. “Breakfast in the bed?"

“Nothing fancy,” he said with a shrug.

Minutes later, they were sitting side by side, sharing the tray he had carried in. Lucy took a small bite of toast, enjoying its taste. “Mmm." She sighed. "I've missed your cooking."

He ducked his head with a quiet chuckle, but it still rumbled out of him. That sound filled her chest with warmth; it cut through the darkness like the first light after a storm.

"And I've missed you." He whispered.

It felt so good hear him say that.

They ate in silence after that, but it wasn’t tense or heavy anymore— it was easy, ordinary. Like nothing was changed.

But Lucy wasn't naive. They were damaged— both of them. They both needed to recover and have a long talk before they could go any further. Because if they swept all the problems under the rug like before, this last month would have had no meaning. And she couldn't bear it.

But then again, her entire life was on fire and she didn't exactly now how to act or what to do.

When she finally set her fork down and folded her arms across her chest, he watched her carefully. “I talked to Grey,” he said at last, his voice carrying a subtle kind of anticipation. “Got the weekend off.”

Lucy tilted her head, frowning slightly. “Off?”

He nodded. “I want to take you out of the city for a bit. We're going to the La Costa Beach, just you and me."

Her heart stuttered.

Contrary to popular belief, Malibu beaches in early February was amazing, not too hot or overwhelmingly crowded. And now Tim had arranged this for her, even though he hated the ocean and the sand. 

Also, when did he even have the time for this?

“Really?” she asked, her voice softening despite herself.

His gaze was steady, though there was a fragile kind of hope behind it. “Really. Just a little peace. You need it." He said but then quickly assured her. "But if you don't want it, it's fine. No pressure."

She shook her head and quickly wrapped her arms around his neck. "No, no this is perfect." She pulled back a little bit. "Thank you."

"Small doses, remember?" He smiled and put a small kiss on her forehead. Then stood and gathered the empty plates.

"I’ll clean these up,” he told her gently. “Why don’t you start getting your bag together?”

She nodded slowly, but inside, her chest tightened when her logic finally kicked in and packing felt dangerous. Packing meant admitting this wasn’t just a fleeting moment. That they were actually doing this— going away together, even if it was only for a weekend. That she was trusting him again.

Their love was clearly still here, but trust? It had been broken the moment he chose to keep her in the dark. It was so easy for him to leave her behind, was there anything stopping him from doing it again?

So her mind whispered warnings— what if he leaves again, what if you wake up tomorrow and it’s all gone, what if this is just another dream you’re setting yourself up to lose?

But then she remembered the way his arms had wrapped around her last night when she was shaking, the way his voice had steadied her through the nightmare. The way he had said I’m here like it was a vow he couldn’t break even if he tried.

So she swung her legs out of bed, wiping the last traces of tears from her cheeks. Maybe it was foolish, maybe it was reckless, but she would pack. Three sweaters, two blouses, a pair of jeans and her pajamas. Assuming Tim had arranged this holiday at the last minute, she packed a few clothes for him too.

She had neatly folded her clothes on the bed, her brow furrowed in concentration as she tried to make everything fit into one medium-sized suitcase.

“You don’t need three sweaters, Luce," Tim said from where he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a hint of amusement in his voice.

She didn’t look up. “Yes, I do. What if it gets cold at night?”

He shook his head, walking over and lifting one of the sweaters out of the pile. “You’re packing like we’re moving there permanently.”

“Better to be prepared,” she muttered, tugging the sweater back.

For a while, they stared at each other, neither willing to yield. Then, unexpectedly, Lucy cracked the smallest smile, the kind that tugged at the corner of her mouth but didn’t quite reach her eyes. Tim caught it instantly.

“There it is,” he said softly, his tone less teasing now, more grateful. “I missed that.”

She rolled her eyes, but didn’t fight him when he slipped one of the sweaters back onto the chair. “Fine. Two sweaters.”

“Progress,” he murmured, zipping the suitcase halfway for her before she could change her mind.

Lucy shook her head, almost laughing. The tension in her chest hadn’t left completely, but at least it was quieter now. She grabbed a towel and disappeared into the bathroom for a quick shower when she finally realized that her hair was a mess and she still smelled like the wreckage.

The hot water did little to wash away the lingering heaviness inside her, but at least it cleared her head. By the time she stepped out, wrapped in fresh clothes —a soft sweater and jeans— her long hair damp around her shoulders, she felt steady enough to face the day.

Tim was waiting in the living room, car keys twirling lazily in his hand, her suitcase already in the hallway. When she appeared, he looked up, and for a second his gaze softened in a way that made her throat tight.

“You ready?” he asked.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she replied, pulling on her sneakers.

They left just after noon, the February sky hanging low but bright above the city. It wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t bitter either —typical for Los Angeles this time of year. As soon as they slid into his truck, Lucy reached for the radio, her fingers dancing over the dial until a pop song burst through the speakers.

Tim glanced at her, one brow raised and a disgusted look on his face.

“Got something to say?” she challenged lightly, turning the volume up just enough to fill the silence.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his mouth as he kept his eyes on the road. He didn’t like this kind of music, of course she knew that, but he didn’t complain. He just let her sing under her breath, occasionally glancing at her with that soft, amused look that made her chest flutter.

She had to admit, it almost felt like the good old days.

Almost.

The image of the little boy, or the fact that Tim had broken up with her or that all her friends in some way betrayed her didn't leave her mind. She could try to ignore it as much as she wanted, but the traces of it wouldn't just disappear from her soul.

But she could try to pretend, just for the weekend.

Fake it till you make it.

The drive stretched a little over an hour, the city slowly giving way to open sky and the familiar sight of the Pacific. By the time they reached Malibu, the sun was hanging pale and thin over the water, casting everything in muted gold.

La Costa Beach wasn’t crowded this time of year. The sand stretched almost empty before them, the waves curling in steady rhythm, the air tinged with salt and winter crispness.

Lucy pressed her hand against the cool glass of the window as she stared out and felt the faint pull of something she hadn’t allowed herself to hope, for peace.

Tim parked the truck, cutting the engine. He glanced at her before opening his door. “Come on,” he said quietly, his voice warm, steady. “Let’s go see the ocean.”

And just like that, the weight in her chest eased a little more.

The moment they stepped out of the truck, the crisp February air wrapped around them, cool but not biting. Lucy inhaled deeply, the scent of saltwater filling her lungs.

She tugged her sneakers off and let her toes sink into the damp sand. “God, I’ve missed this,” she murmured, tilting her head toward the waves crashing gently along the shore.

Tim followed at a slower pace, his boots leaving heavy imprints beside her lighter ones. He wasn’t exactly a fan of sand, he once told her— it got everywhere, and he’d never seen the appeal of the ocean because it was full of dead bodies and severed limbs. 

That's why it was so special to her that he had arranged this short holiday and walked on the sand with her, even though the feeling of it disgusted him.

“You’ll freeze,” he pointed out, nodding at her bare feet.

Lucy glanced over her shoulder, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Probably but it’s so worth it.”

They walked side by side, their silence not awkward this time but almost comforting. Occasionally, she bent down to pick up a shell, rolling it between her fingers before tossing it back into the tide. Tim kept his hands in his pockets, his gaze fixed more on her than the horizon.

When the stretch of sand curved toward a cluster of beach houses, Lucy slowed, squinting against the light. “People actually live here year-round?” she asked softly.

“Some,” Tim answered. Then, after a beat, “But most rent them out.”

Her brows furrowed. “Like for vacations?”

He nodded. “Yeah.” And then, with that careful, casual tone he used when he wasn’t sure how she’d react, he added, “I got us one. For the weekend.”

She stopped walking, turning to face him fully. “You… what?”

“It’s nothing big,” he said quickly, almost defensive. “Just one of those little places right off the sand. Figured we could use the privacy. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere you can… breathe a little.”

Lucy blinked at him, her lips parting as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t. Instead, she rose on her toes and pressed the faintest kiss to his cheek— quick and fleeting, so light it might’ve been mistaken for a brush of wind.

He froze for half a second, his eyes darting to hers.

And she smiled, small and shy, before looking away.

The corners of his mouth tipped up too, just enough to match hers. Neither of them said a word about it, as if talking would break the magic.

So they kept walking, the sound of the waves filling the silence between them. Close enough to brush shoulders, close enough that the warmth of his arm was a constant reminder, but still not touching.

Her chest tightened. She was still hurt, still unsure, and she knew Tim understood that. He wasn’t pushing. He wasn’t reaching for her hand, wasn’t demanding more than she could give. Because he was Tim Bradford and he would never pressure anyone, not like that.

But when their fingers brushed once, then again, her heart stuttered. The third time, she let out a breath and muttered under it, screw it.

Her hand slipped into his, tentative at first, as if she might change her mind. Tim’s head snapped toward her, but he didn’t speak. His hand tightened gently around hers.

They walked like that, hand in hand, along the curve of the beach. The salt air bit at their cheeks, the waves whispered at their feet, and for a vague second, the world didn’t feel so broken.

You deserve so much better. That's why I'm walking away.

She let out a troubled sigh.

The important thing was that he was here with her, right now. She didn't know how far their relationship would go after what he did but what they had was enough to keep her going, for now.

The air grew cooler as the sun dipped lower, the golden light softening into shades of rose and violet across the horizon. Lucy’s shoulders lifted in a small shiver she couldn’t quite hide, and Tim immediately noticed.

“You’re cold,” he said gently, not as a question but as fact.

She opened her mouth to deny it, but the goosebumps along her arms betrayed her. “Yeah,” she admitted, brushing her hair behind her ear.

“Come on,” Tim murmured, nodding toward the row of beach houses. “Let’s get you inside.”

Lucy hesitated, her fingers still loosely curled around his hand. Part of her wanted to stay, to stretch out every second of this fragile peace they had found on the sand. But the truth was, she was truly cold, and the small warmth of his palm in hers only reminded her how much she wanted more.

So she let him lead the way.

They walked in silence, their footsteps muffled by the sand, the sound of the waves chasing at their heels. The house Tim had rented wasn’t large or flashy, just a modest little place with pale wooden walls and a porch facing the ocean. It looked almost cozy, the kind of place that promised quiet nights and the steady hum of the sea outside the window.

When they reached the door, he let go of her hand reluctantly to unlock it. Lucy’s fingers tingled in the absence, and she curled them into her palm, swallowing the strange ache it left behind.

It was their first vacation together and they weren't even dating anymore.

The door swung open, and warm light spilled out, chasing away the chill of the evening. Tim stepped back slightly, gesturing for her to go in first.

She crossed the threshold slowly, taking in the small living space— a worn sofa, a kitchenette tucked against the wall, wide windows that framed the ocean view. It wasn’t extravagant, but it felt safe.

Lucy wasn't sure if it was just about the house or Tim's presence but it was so comfortable— feeling safe.

She turned back to see Tim watching her, his expression unreadable in the dim light. For a moment, she wanted to tell him how much it meant, that he had done this for her, for them. But the words tangled in her throat.

Instead, she just offered him a small, tired smile and he answered with one of his own.

She slipped her sneakers off by the door and padded barefoot across the wooden floor. The faint scent of saltwater clung to her skin, mixing with the soft, warm air inside.

Tim set the suitcase down by the sofa, then moved toward the small kitchenette. “Hungry?” he asked, opening the cupboard this time.

Her stomach growled in response, and she gave him a sheepish look. “Starving!"

He smirked, pulling out a box of pasta and a jar of sauce. “Looks like we’ve got enough for a decent dinner.”

“Pasta?” she teased lightly, sliding onto one of the stools at the counter.

“Best kind of dinner,” he shot back, reaching for a pot.

Lucy folded her arms on the counter, resting her chin on them as she watched him move around the tiny kitchen. There was something strangely soothing about it— his calm efficiency, the quiet clatter of dishes, the way his brows furrowed in concentration as he salted the boiling water.

“Your knife skills are suspiciously good,” she commented when he started chopping garlic and peppers for the sauce.

Tim glanced up with a deadpan expression. “Army. You learn fast if you don’t want to starve.”

Lucy let out a small laugh, the sound surprising even herself. “Right. I forgot you’re basically a survival expert.”

“Expert?” He snorted. “Not exactly. But I can cook pasta in the dark with one hand tied behind my back.”

She grinned, tilting her head. “That’s… weirdly impressive.”

He shrugged like it was nothing, tossing the garlic into the pan where it sizzled. “You pick up strange skills.”

For a while, the kitchen filled with the warm smell of garlic and tomato, the sound of the waves faint through the windows. Lucy propped her chin on her palm, letting her eyes wander over the little details—the flickering stove light, Tim’s steady movements, the cozy hum of it all.

“So,” she said casually, breaking the silence, “what’s worse: sand in your boots or sand in your bed?”

Tim didn’t even hesitate. “Bed. Easy.” He looked at her like she said something so funny.

Lucy giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. “You answered that too fast. You’ve got trauma, don’t you?”

“Sand is the enemy,” he muttered, stirring the pasta with mock severity.

She wondered if it was about Iraq. He rarely talked about his times in the army so she didn't know much of it. But it was possible that he had trauma related to it or maybe it just reminded him of the war.

As curious as she was, she knew better than to burst this calm and peaceful bubble they were in, so she kept her questions to herself.

When he finally drained the pasta and tossed it with the sauce, he carried two steaming bowls over to the small dining table by the window. Lucy joined him, tucking her legs beneath her chair, and for the next half hour they ate together— talking about nothing important, carefully sidestepping the shadows waiting at the edges.

They debated which movie sequel was the worst, if the ocean was more terrifying or beautiful or whether Smitty really had 6 wives just like Henry VIII did. None of it mattered, and that was the whole point.

For one night, they were themselves again.

No communication failures, no heartbreak— just them and the calming sounds of the waves.

Chapter Text

She woke up grumbling as the morning sun hurt her eyes. But as soon as she felt the warmth next to her, she relaxed. Unlike usual, this time he hadn't woken up before her and still had the same peaceful expression on his face that he had when he was asleep. No matter how much she wanted to run her hands through his beard, she didn't move, not wanting to wake him up— so she just kept watching him.

There was only one room and bed in the house, so Tim had slept on the living room couch at night to leave her alone, and Lucy, remembering for a moment how upset she still was with him, hadn't argued. But after all that had happened, she didn't want to be alone, and no matter how hard she tried, sleep didn't come to her easily. So, after less than an hour, she woke him up and brought him to bed.

She had almost forgotten what it felt like, waking up next to him. The steady rhythm of his breathing, the weight of his arm draped loosely over her waist, the warmth that seeped into her bones.

And yet, under that comfort, the sting of memory was still there. The image of him walking away in that parking lot flickered behind her eyelids like a cruel reminder. She tried to push it down, focusing instead on the way his eyelashes rested against his skin, the faint crease in his brow even in sleep, as if life refused to let him rest completely.

She was still very upset with him, still waiting for an explanation and didn't think she could forgive him anytime soon— but she couldn't deny how grateful she was to have him here with her right now. He was exactly what she needed, though she obviously had to set some boundaries for her own sake.

"Are you gonna keep watching me sleep?" He muttered under his breath, his lips curving into a faint smile.

Lucy’s cheeks flushed instantly, and she shifted slightly on the pillow. “Well, someone has to make sure you’re not just a dream,” she whispered, trying to sound casual but failing when her voice cracked at the end.

His eyes blinked open slowly, heavy with sleep, but that faint smile stayed. He tightened his arm around her waist just enough to keep her close. “I’m very real,” he murmured. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Her throat hurt, the words echoing too close to promises he had made before.

She wanted to believe his promises more than anything but the wound was still so fresh. So she didn’t answer right away, just tucked her face against his chest, hiding from both the sunlight and the vulnerability clawing its way out of her.

Tim didn’t push. He just pressed his lips to the top of her head, slow and steady, as if he had all the time in the world.

Her breathing slowed against him, syncing with the steady rise and fall of his chest. For a while, neither of them spoke again, the silence was thick but not uncomfortable— like the world outside had stopped moving and only this moment existed.

No criminals shooting at them, no dead children, no heartbreak. Just them and their tiny bubble made of peace and love.

His fingers traced lazy, absent circles along her back, not demanding, not coaxing— just there, reminding her wordlessly that he was real, that he was here. She hated how easily her body betrayed her resolve, how safe she felt curled into him despite everything.

Eventually, she pulled back just enough to see his face again. His eyes were clearer now, awake but still soft, fixed entirely on her. That gaze always unnerved her— not because it was harsh, but because it was honest.

“You should’ve stayed on the couch,” she whispered, her voice more fragile than she wanted it to be.

“Did you want me to?” His tone wasn’t defensive, only curious.

Lucy opened her mouth, then closed it again, the words catching on the knot in her chest. She should’ve said yes. She should have reminded him that he didn’t get to step back into her bed or her life without making things right first. But the truth was tangled, messy. “No,” she admitted finally, almost inaudible.

Something flickered in his eyes at that— relief, guilt, maybe both. He leaned his forehead lightly against hers, the smallest smile touching his lips. “Then I’m glad you woke me.”

She let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, her hands caught between wanting to push him away and wanting to anchor herself to him.

Boundaries may be damned.

Without thinking twice, she connected their lips— not harshly or demanding, just a soft, vague touch.

His lips met hers in a quiet, lingering press, more fragile than fierce, like they were both testing the weight of it. The kiss wasn’t about passion, it was about presence, about the simple fact that he was here and she was letting him be.

Tim didn’t move to deepen it, didn’t try to take more than she offered. He stayed still, letting her set the pace, as though he knew this moment belonged entirely to her. His thumb brushed faintly against her side, grounding, steady, a silent reassurance he wouldn’t push further than she wanted.

When Lucy finally pulled back, it was only by a breath. Their foreheads remained touching, their lips ghosting apart, their eyes reluctant to open. She could still feel the imprint of him, warm and unspoken, and it left her dizzy.

Her voice was barely audible. “I still haven't forgiven you, yet." She pulled back. "But one day, I will."

His chest rose under her hand, a deep inhale he held for too long. He nodded faintly, the weight in his eyes heavy with something close to regret.

“I’m not asking you to," he murmured at last, his voice nothing more than a whisper. “Not yet. I just… want to be here as long as you let me."

Lucy closed her eyes, her throat still tight, her hands still clutching his shirt as though some part of her was terrified he might disappear if she let go.

The fact that he had turned her into such an insecure and anxious woman left an unpleasant taste in her mouth. Before he did what he did, she'd been confident about herself and had never been the paranoid, controlling girlfriend— she was way too independent for that.

But when everything was going perfectly well —of course, except for the whole UC problems— he suddenly ghosted her for days and then abandoned her in a fucking parking lot, and so Lucy's whole world was shattered. And with that, her confidence too.

She knew he was in therapy now. He knew what he did was wrong and he was right next to her, trying to make things right. But the possibility that he would leave her again the moment she let her guard down wasn't leaving her mind.

She sighed. "I'm scared that you're gonna change your mind and leave me again."

The understatement of the year.

His hand stilled on her back, the gentle circles halting like her words had pierced through his chest. For a while, he didn’t say anything— just looked at her, with so much guilt in his eyes.

At least he's not playing the nonchalant anymore.

It hurt so much when he acted like he didn't care.

“Lucy…” His voice cracked in a way she had never heard before. She saw him swallowing hard and taking a deep breath. “I know I don’t get to erase what I did. I know I broke something in you I had no right to touch. And I hate myself for that.”

Her eyes burned. She wanted to look away, but his gaze held her there, refusing to let her retreat back into silence.

“I didn’t leave because I stopped loving you,” he continued, his words careful, deliberate. “I left because I didn’t think I deserved you. Because I was too damn scared of dragging you down into all the shit I hadn’t figured out yet. But it was the worst mistake of my life.”

She tried not to blink, tears stinging but refusing to fall. She wanted to believe him, almost did, but the ache of that parking lot still lived under her skin.

The wound was still open and fresh.

“You can’t just say that and expect me to—” Her voice broke, her frustration spilling into the quiet. She drew in a shaky breath, softer this time. “You can’t expect me to forget how it felt, standing there and realizing you were leaving me."

It all felt like a nightmare now, but she could still remember every tiny detail.

The look on his face, the sound of his footsteps as he was turning his back on her and leaving, then her crashing at Smitty's van for the night…

“I don’t expect you to forget.” His forehead rested against hers again, the contact grounding. “I just want to prove to you, day by day, that I won’t do it again.”

Her chest rose and fell unevenly, torn between the sting of memory and the warmth of the man holding her. For a long moment, she let the silence stretch, testing the weight of his promise in the stillness.

"Okay." She finally gave up. "I'm giving you one last chance, Tim Bradford. There won't be a second time."

Tim nodded, the movement small but deliberate. “Then I’ll take it,” he said, voice steady despite the storm behind his eyes. “And I’ll spend every damn day proving to you I’m not going to screw it up.”

Lucy searched his face, looking for cracks, for hesitation, for the version of him that had walked away before. But all she found was a quiet determination etched into every line of him— the same man that promised her that they were worth the risk. The same man that took a desk job for her.

“You better mean that,” she whispered, trying to keep her voice steady. “Because if you do this to me again, Tim… there won’t be anything left of us to save.”

“I know.” His hand came up to cradle her cheek, rough palm against soft skin. He didn’t try to kiss her again, didn’t push for more. He just held her face like it was something precious and irreplaceable. “I’m not walking away again. Not from you.”

Her lips parted, but no words came out. The lump in her throat was too heavy, too tangled with both pain and hope. She hated how much she wanted to believe him. She hated that despite everything, her body leaned into his touch, her heart betraying every defense she tried to rebuild.

So instead of answering, she let herself stay there. Just for a little longer. Just long enough to memorize the way his warmth wrapped around her, the way his voice softened when it was only for her.

For now, it was just the two of them in that small bed, caught between the ruin of what they had been and the fragile hope of what they still could be.

The outside world could wait.

Until her treacherous stomach growled and ruined their moment one more time.

Tim chuckled at the sound. “Guess that’s my cue.”

She groaned, burying her face deeper into his chest. “Traitor,” she muttered at her stomach, which rumbled again in defiance. "Ughh!"

He smirked, brushing a hand down her tangled hair. “Come on. Let’s get some food in you before it stages a full-on protest.”

Reluctantly, Lucy let him go, immediately missing the heat of his body when he swung his legs out of the bed. He stretched, joints popping slightly, before glancing back at her with that soft, teasing look that always made her insides twist. “You want coffee or tea?”

She propped herself up on her elbows, watching him pad barefoot toward the tiny kitchen. “Coffee,” she said without hesitation. “Strong. Like… LAPD-level strong.”

Maybe, hopefully, it would help her bring her senses back.

He chuckled again. The sweetest sound ever. “Got it. Liquid jet fuel coming up.”

She got up, wrapping the blanket loosely around her shoulders as she joined him.

The kitchen was small, barely more than a counter and a stove, but watching Tim move around in it was strangely grounding. He opened cabinets with an ease that suggested he’d already memorized where everything was, pulling out mugs, bread, and eggs like he belonged here.

This was them, not so long ago, just a month. They would spend most of their days and nights at her apartment since it was closer to the station. 

The days when he would make pancakes in her kitchen and Tamara interrupting their kisses saying they could always return her bedroom.

The nights when he would keep her close after making love for hours.

The images made her chest ache.

She would forgive him, eventually, and he was willing to fix what he had broken but she wasn't sure if they could ever be what they were once.

His words echoed in her mind.

I can't just go back to the way things were. Not right now. Maybe never.

Maybe he wasn't the only person who couldn't go back to the ways things were.

She sighed, trying to get rid of all those negativities, but the words still sounded crystal clear.

“Sit,” he said, nodding toward one of the mismatched chairs at the table. “I’ll handle it.”

Lucy pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders, raising an eyebrow at him as she sank into the chair. The wood creaked under her weight, and she let out a chuckle that felt forced even to her own ears. “What are we having this morning?” she asked, pretending the question came easily.

Tim was already opening a cabinet, rummaging with surprising familiarity through half-empty shelves. He glanced over his shoulder, one brow lifting. “What about pancakes?”

"Sounds fantastic,” she said softly, her voice almost catching. She finished drinking the coffee he’d set in front of her, letting the warmth fill her chest before she added, “Mind if I take a quick shower while you’re handling it?”

Tim straightened, spatula in one hand, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. “Go ahead. But don’t take too long, or you’ll miss the best pancakes of your life.”

She rolled her eyes, but her lips curved into a real smile this time. The idea of leaving him alone in the kitchen, the scent of coffee and soon pancakes filling the air, felt intimate— the kind of intimacy they already had had before he ruined things.

The shower was quick, though Lucy let the hot water beat against her skin longer than she meant to, as if it could wash away the exhaustion and the heaviness of the last couple of months. She closed her eyes, listening to the steady rhythm of droplets against tile, trying not to think too hard, trying to let herself simply be and enjoy this short vacation.

When she finally stepped out, the small bathroom filled with steam, she reached for the suitcase but instead one of hers, she picked up Tim's sweater, a navy-blue one that smelled like him.

She caught her reflection in the foggy mirror, barefaced, hair damp, drowning in his sweater, and for the first time in a while, she almost looked like herself again.

Perhaps things were finally starting to go her way.

By the time she padded barefoot into the kitchen, the scent of pancakes and coffee had filled the tiny house. Tim glanced up from the stove, spatula in hand, and for a split second his expression shifted. His gaze lingered on her in his sweater, and something unreadable flickered in his eyes but he didn’t comment. He just smiled faintly, like the sight alone was enough to steady him.

“Perfect timing,” he said, sliding a golden pancake onto the plate. “Breakfast is served.”

Lucy sat across from him at the table, pulling the sleeves over her hands like a shield. The first bite was warm, buttery, comforting in a way that made her throat tight. She didn’t realize how hungry she was until she nearly cleared her plate.

Tim chuckled, pouring her another cup of coffee. “Guess I did alright.”

She smirked, eyes darting to his. “You might just be useful to keep around.”

The lightness in her own voice surprised her, but even more surprising was the way he grinned at her, like her teasing was its own kind of forgiveness.

For a while, they ate in quiet, the clink of forks against plates filling the space. It wasn’t awkward, if anything, it felt like the closest thing to normal they’d had in a long time.

She sighed, delighted. "Tamara would've loved these."

Tim chuckled, as he cut into his own pancake. “Yeah, and she’d end up eating all of them by herself. Then we’d starve.”

The image made Lucy laugh, her shoulders shaking softly as she reached for her mug. Steam curled upward, brushing against her face as she took a sip of her green tea.

"Couldn’t blame her,” she admitted, lowering the cup back onto the table with a quiet clink. Her eyes flicked up to meet his, the corners of her lips curving into something softer, almost shy. “Your cooking is the best.”

He gave her that look, the one equal parts exasperated and pleased, the one that made the tiny crease between his brows deepen even as his mouth pulled into a reluctant smile. “Flattery,” he said, stabbing another bite with his fork, “will get you more pancakes.”

Lucy giggled, her bare feet brushing against his under the table, whether by accident or instinct she wasn’t sure. But she didn’t move them away. Instead, she let the warmth of his presence seep into her, just as much as the tea and pancakes were.

After finishing the last bite of her pancake, Lucy leaned back in her chair with a groan, patting her stomach. “Okay, I’m officially done,” she said, pushing her plate slightly away.

The kitchen smelled of warm butter and tea, the sunlight slanting through the curtains and painting the table in pale gold.

Everything felt so peaceful, a part of her was terrified that it would get destroyed any time by the real world.

She stood, reaching instinctively for her plate, but before she could get far Tim was already on his feet. His hand brushed hers as he slid the dish out of her grip.

“You go and enjoy the morning air,” he said firmly, stacking her plate on top of his. He tilted his head toward the window, where a faint breeze slipped through the cracked glass. “I’ll handle this.”

She frowned, folding her arms across the oversized sweater she had borrowed. “You already made breakfast on your own. At least let me clean up,” she argued, half-serious but unwilling to just sit back while he did everything.

Tim shook his head, already moving toward the sink with the plates in his hands. “Nope. Not happening.” His voice was matter-of-fact, but there was a softness underneath, the kind that made it hard for her to push back too hard.

She trailed him a couple steps, leaning against the counter. “Tim—”

“Lucy.” He cut her off with a look over his shoulder, his brow raised. “Go. Take a walk. Sit outside. Crawl back into bed. Whatever. Just… let me do this one.”

Her lips parted, ready to argue again, but the faint amusement in his expression stopped her. He wasn’t trying to dismiss her, he was trying to give her something. A small moment of peace she hadn’t realized she needed.

She sighed, tugging the sleeves of his sweater down over her hands, and finally relented. “Fine. But only because I’m too full to fight you properly right now.”

She caressed his arm vaguely with her hand and smiled. "Thank you for everything."

He returned her smile and placed a quick kiss on her hair. "My pleasure."

Then he turned back to the sink, rolling up his sleeves.

And Lucy slipped on her sneakers by the door, tugging the laces tight before stepping outside. The early air was cool against her skin, carrying the faint tang of salt and seaweed. A handful of couples strolled along the narrow street ahead of her, their voices low, their laughter carried easily by the breeze. Everything felt slower out here —quieter, calmer— as if the world itself had decided to take a breath.

If she could stay here forever, she definitely would.

She inhaled deeply, letting the briny scent of the ocean clear the heaviness in her chest. The wind teased loose strands of her damp hair against her cheek.

She hadn't even started walking for five minutes when the sudden buzz in her pocket startled her. Pulling out her phone, she frowned at the screen before swiping to answer.

It was Celina.

“Hey,” she said, tucking the phone against her ear and pushing a strand of hair behind it with her free hand. “Is there something wrong?”

Celina’s voice came fast, almost tripping over itself. “No, no, no— nothing like that. I just… you weren’t home last night and I got worried.”

Lucy closed her eyes briefly, guilt pricking at her. She stopped walking, standing near a weathered wooden fence overlooking the water. “Ohh, right. Sorry about that.” Her voice softened, apologetic. “I’m with Tim. I’ll be home tomorrow."

There was a pause on the line, the sound of Celina letting out a breath. “So… you guys are okay now?” She asked carefully. "I mean, yesterday was Valentine's day after all."

Lucy stunned.

Her stomach twisted, an almost nauseating lurch as her mind scrambled. She pulled the phone slightly away from her ear, staring at the screen like it might confirm the mistake. With a swipe of her thumb, the calendar app blinked open— February 15th.

She hadn't even realized it.

There was a small but noticeable pain in her chest and an unpleasant taste in her mouth. Last year was the first and last Valentine's day they celebrated together as a couple. This year, they were no longer a couple, but Tim had still taken her away from the chaos of Los Angeles and arranged a peaceful getaway where they could spend time alone.

Had he known? Had he done all of this with the date circled in his mind? Or had it just been coincidence— another reminder of how fractured they still were, that neither of them had acknowledged what day it was?

"Lucy?" Celina's voice brought her back to the conversation.

"Sorry, I was distracted for a moment." She said, biting her lower lip.

"It's okay."

She sighed. "I didn't know that it was Valentine's day." She confessed quietly. "I didn't check my calendar and he didn't say anything anyway."

"Oh," Celina paused. "Is that a bad thing?"

Her gaze stayed locked on the restless waves, a gull crying overhead as if mocking her tangled thoughts. “No,” she said after a moment, shaking her head, though Celina couldn’t see it. Her voice was soft, uncertain. “It’s not.”

But it felt like something. She just didn’t know what.

Celina didn’t push, only asked in that same steady way, “Are you guys okay, though?”

Lucy stared at the waves curling against the shore, their rhythm steady in a way her heart wasn’t. She gave a small shrug even though Celina couldn’t see it. “Well… guess we’re slowly getting there,” she admitted, her tone caught somewhere between cautious and hopeful. Her fingers tightened around the phone.

There was a beat of silence on the other end before Celina’s voice came back, softer this time. “Slowly is still something. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if you guys could be alone for more than five minutes without one of you freaking out."

She let out a low laugh that didn’t quite sound like one. “Yeah, me neither.” She leaned her hip against the fence, watching a gull dive toward the water. “I’m still pissed at him. I don’t think that’s going away anytime soon. But…” she hesitated, her thumb brushing nervously along the edge of her phone, “having him here… it feels amazing. I can finally breathe a little.”

"I'm glad to hear that." Celina hummed knowingly. "And let me guess— he’s been pulling the whole gentleman routine, right? Cooking and hovering around you like you’ll disappear if he looks away even for a second?”

That made Lucy smile for real. “Pretty much. He made pancakes this morning. And tea, of course."

“Wow.” Celina let out a low whistle. “Sergeant Bradford in domestic mode. Careful now, sounds like he’s trying to bribe you back."

She laughed, this one fuller, shaking her head. “If that’s his plan, it’s working a little too well.” She kicked at a pebble on the path, watching it tumble into the sand. “But it’s not just that. He’s… different. Like he’s finally willing to sit with me instead of just running away from everything.”

Celina’s voice softened even further. “That sounds like progress. But hey, don’t forget— you don’t owe him forgiveness on his timeline. Take it as slow as you need.”

She nodded, even though Celina couldn’t see it. “I know. I’m trying. It’s just…” She trailed off, chewing on her lip before finishing quietly, “I really want to believe him.”

There was a long pause, and then the reply came warm and steady, like a hand on her shoulder. “Then believe him, but don’t forget yourself in the process. You’re stronger than you think, Lucy. Don’t let anyone, Sergeant Bradford included, make you doubt that again.”

Lucy blinked hard, her throat tightening. She smiled faintly at the horizon, the sunlight glinting off the waves. “Thanks, Celina. Really.”

“Always,” Celina said simply. Then her tone lightened, playful again. “Now go enjoy your broody, pancake-making man before the real world comes to bit y'all asses."

Lucy snorted, shaking her head. “Yeah, that’s my cue. Talk later.”

“Later,” Celina echoed, and the line clicked off.

She slid the phone back into her pocket, the wind catching her hair again as she stood there for another moment, letting Celina’s words sink in.

They both needed time, Tim needed to continue therapy, and Lucy really needed to make a new appointment with her therapist months later instead of running away.

Contrary to the lie she had been convincing herself of for weeks, she could now see the truth. It wasn't too late for her or their relationship, she could still get past this and find her happy ending.

This time she felt a faint but genuine smile appear on her face.

She lingered by the fence for a few more moments, letting the ocean breeze cool the heat in her cheeks. But eventually, with a reluctant sigh, she pushed herself away and started back toward the small beach house. Her sneakers crunched lightly against the gravel path, the sound oddly loud in the quiet morning.

As soon as the house came into view, her steps slowed. Tim was out on the porch, standing stiffly near the railing. He wasn’t looking at the ocean like she’d expected, his piercing gaze was fixed down at the phone in his hand, his shoulders drawn tight. From this distance, she could already tell something was wrong. The easy calm of breakfast had evaporated; the man in front of her looked heavy, troubled, as if the air itself had shifted around him.

Her stomach immediately sank.

Crap.

“Tim?” she called softly as she climbed the steps, but he didn’t answer right away. He finally lifted his head, his expression grim, the phone still clutched in his hand. There was something in his eyes that made her chest tighten— worry, frustration, and something close to dread.

He crossed the space between them in a few long strides, lowering his voice, though the seriousness in it was sharp enough to cut.

“We need to get back to the station.”

Lucy froze on the porch, her heart skipping a beat. The warmth from earlier drained out of her, replaced by a cold ripple of fear. “What happened?” Her voice cracked despite her effort to steady it. “Tim… what is it?”

She held her breath.

He hesitated just a fraction, his jaw tightening, then gave her the only answer she needed to know something terrible was waiting for her.

“It’s Jeff Budny.”

His words hung in the air like a storm cloud.

And just like that, the fragile peace of their hideaway shattered.