Chapter Text
Tim walks through the doors of the hospital with the strange feeling that he’s trailing after a ghost.
He knows what he saw—who he saw—but… how? What are the odds of that?
When he asks after the recently admitted shooting victim—female, mid-60s, GSW to the abdomen—at the front desk, he’s half-expecting the receptionist to look at him like he imagined the whole thing. But she tells him that they’re “just getting her prepped for surgery now, Sergeant—I’m sure someone will be out shortly to give you an update.”
Sergeant. Right. He’s on duty, even though he probably shouldn’t be.
Tim nods and takes a seat at the far end of the lobby, memories spinning as he stares blankly at the wall.
His—his mom.
She’s here. She’s in LA. She’s dying, maybe.
Her pained cries resound through his skull, and somewhere in the distance the front door of his childhood home slams shut as dad throws a punch his way. The crack of the gunshot overlays the echo of smashing glass. The past and present swirl into a messy, confused blur, and the passing of time follows suit.
“Hey.”
Tim looks up at the familiar voice that tears him from his thoughts, brows furrowing at the sight of Lucy taking the seat beside him.
“Hi.” His voice sounds weak even to his own ears. “What are you—?”
“Miles called me,” she says simply, placing a hand over his. “Said you seemed to know the woman that was shot.”
Tim pauses.
Know is a strong word. One that he isn’t sure applies here.
He knew her, once. A long time ago. She cooked him dinner and bought him and Genny ice cream in the park and silently handed him ice packs when his bruises looked particularly bad. He kissed her cheek after she dropped him off at football practice and promised her it was okay as she drove him to the emergency room with a broken rib—even listened when she suggested he tell them he’d tripped down the stairs.
But nothing good lasts in a house like that. It can’t.
Poison spreads. Dark clouds shift. With time, every last scrap of light faded as they all shrank further and further under Tom Bradford’s looming shadow, until the darkness just felt like part of the furniture.
Eventually, she stopped acknowledging the cuts and scrapes and bruises and the cracks in the wall. She’d head out on walks when the shouting got too loud; would avert her eyes when she returned to Tim sweeping plaster from the floor. The ice packs would stay in the freezer. She’d tell Genny how her new shirt suited her eyes as Tim wrapped the gash on his arm.
And as he grew up, Tim swore he knew his mom less and less.
Until they came home from school one day and she’d made herself a stranger. Packed her things and left, just like that. The note said she’d met someone, that she couldn’t stay any longer, that she couldn’t tell them sooner because you know what your dad’s like.
Yeah. Tim knew all too well what Tom Bradford was like. So did Genny. So did his mom—and she left them with him anyway. An extra piece of baggage she didn’t quite have the strength to carry out the door.
“Tim?”
But he doesn’t have the energy to explain all that right now.
Instead, he anchors himself, focusing on the sensation of Lucy’s thumb running gentle circles over the back of his hand. He blinks a few times before meeting her eyes—they’re pinched at the corners with concern.
“Sorry, uh—yeah,” he breathes, disbelief colouring every syllable. As his brows draw together, he realises that saying it out loud makes it feel real in a way he doesn’t quite know how to handle. “It was… it was my mom.”
Lucy goes still, her lips slightly parted, hand tightening around Tim’s like it’s entirely involuntary. Tim looks back down at the floor as a beat of stunned silence passes between them, until… “What?”
“Mhm.”
“Oh my God.”
Tim just nods slowly, her shock reflecting his. Any meaningful words left him the moment he saw his mom’s eyes, her blood already on his hands.
The silence stretches a little further, both of them grappling to get their bearings on the situation. Of course, Lucy’s the first to manage it.
“Is she… is she okay?”
He gives a weak shrug. “They’re prepping her for surgery now. We’ll see.”
“God, that’s… I—what did Genny say?”
Genny. Shit.
Tim pulls himself upright, hand pulling from Lucy’s to grab his phone from his back pocket. “Right, Genny—shit, I should—I should call her.”
What does he even say?
Not only has their mom appeared out of thin air for the first time in twenty-five years, she’s currently on her way to an operating theatre after getting shot.
He can already hear the confused, overwhelmed panic in his sister’s voice, and Tim’s chest tightens painfully. He already doesn’t know how to handle any of this.
He’s just navigating to Genny’s contact with clumsy hands when Lucy places a hand on his arm, clearly reading the conflict in his eyes.
“Do you… do you want me to do it?” she asks, voice soft.
Yes. Yes, he does. But, “it’s okay, I should be the one to—”
Lucy’s hand tightens on his arm, not painfully, just… an anchor. “Tim, it’s alright. Why don’t I call Genny while you go get cleaned up a bit?”
While he… what?
Watching as Lucy’s gaze flits down to his wrist, lingering a little too long on a particular spot, Tim glances down, and—oh, fuck.
Dried blood is dotted across his forearms, a mixture of faint splotches and trails marring his skin past the point where his gloves would’ve ended. Looking down further, he realises his uniform shirt is practically caked with it, areas of the dark fabric still shiny where it hasn’t dried.
“Shit,” he murmurs, blinking down as he pulls the front of his shirt away from his body. “I didn’t—I didn’t even…”
“I know,” Lucy says, moving her hand to his cheek. The touch is grounding in a way he didn’t realise he needed, brown eyes sympathetic as Tim tears his eyes away from the blood. “I think you’re in a little bit of shock, babe.”
He shakes his head on autopilot, even though she’s probably right.
“Let me call Genny,” she asserts. “I’ll fill her in. I can get Angela to bring you your go-bag, too.”
Tim shakes his head again, feeling his earlier headache blooming at his temple. “I have a uniform shirt in the back of the shop.”
“You’re not going back on shift, Tim,” Lucy says, tone no-nonsense.
“I’m not just going to sit here all day,” he sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I have to go back to the station anyway, get myself officially taken off this case before it moves too far.”
Lucy’s face twists, seeing his point. “Fine. But you’re staying at the station until you’re off the clock.”
“Is that an order, Sergeant Chen?” He tries for lightness, but isn’t surprised to find it doesn’t ease the weight on his chest.
In any case, she doesn’t dignify his attempt with a response; just a stern glare.
The outside air feels foreign on his skin as Tim heads out to the parking lot, retrieving his spare shirt from the back of the shop. He changes into it there and then, the knowledge that there’s blood on the fabric almost overwhelming now that it’s been pointed out. The red has also seeped through to his white undershirt, and he swears he can’t yank the fabric over his head fast enough. He tries not to look at the bundle as he shoves it into a biohazard bag and slams the trunk shut.
Once he’s back inside, he heads straight for the restroom. It’s like there are weights on the soles of his boots, every step feeling heavy and slow.
As he washes the blood from his arms with trembling hands, the distant sounds of the hospital could be a figment of his imagination. Everything feels like it’s a million miles away, and Tim can’t seem to grasp onto a single thought. It’s like every warring emotion is cancelling itself out, fear and confusion and echoes of that betrayed kid that still lives somewhere inside him leaving behind a ringing silence.
When he finally shuts off the tap, Tim catches sight of his eyes in the reflection. Watches his mother’s face stare back at him in the mirror. With the distance spanning years between them, he’d almost forgotten how much he looked like her.
Blue eyes rolling back in agony.
Faded auburn hair.
Blood. Blood. Blood. Slipping through his gloved fingers like some twisted reminder of the time they lost out on. Running down his forearms and staining both their clothes, a bright red siren screaming at him to look at what you’re about to lose—something you barely even had.
The tap flicks back on. Tim washes the phantom sensation from his arms again, just in case. Remembers to take a breath in. Splashes water on his face to root himself back into somewhere that feels a little closer to the present.
He takes another breath as he dries his hands. There’s still a hollow ache in his chest—the absence he’d learned to tune out over the years suddenly feeling like a gasping chasm—but it helps.
When he walks back to the lobby, Lucy is scrolling absently through her phone. She pockets it when he approaches, giving him a soft smile as he slumps back down into his seat.
“Genny’s on her way,” she says, her hand finding his again.
Tim can’t help the way his eyes flutter shut, an exasperated sigh leaving his lips.
“There’s not much we can do right now,” he says. “The only thing she’ll be able to do here is panic.”
Lucy squeezes his hand. “Well, it might be worth talking with her about where you both want to go from here,” she reasons.
“There might be nowhere to go.” The pessimism just slips out, and Lucy’s face falls.
“Tim…”
“There was a lot of blood, Lucy.”
She shakes her head, resolute. “I’m sure she’ll pull through.”
The sound that escapes him is somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “Are you?” His eyes find hers staring back at him, and he shrugs. “I know her as well as you do, at this point. I guess we’ll see.”
The professional barrier that normally stands between them when they’re on duty is long-gone by now, torn down the moment Lucy set foot in the lobby. She wraps her arm around him, a thumb rubbing at the tension in his shoulders as she pulls him into her side. He accepts the comfort, letting her carry some of his weight as the minutes pass.
All too aware of time slipping by, Tim sighs. “You should probably get back to work—”
Lucy cuts him off with a shake of her head. “It’s fine. Miller’s helping out Reeves while I take an early lunch break.”
Tim nods, not pushing the issue any further, even if he’s been known to doubt Miller’s capabilities in the past. He’s grateful Lucy’s here—she’s a reprieve from the memories that have been spinning behind his eyelids with every blink.
The tentative peace shatters some minutes later when Genny rushes in through the front doors, eyes darting around before landing on him. She’s pulling him into a hug before he’s managed to stand all the way, and Tim can feel her hands shaking a little.
“Lucy said you saw mom?” she says, gripping his shoulders as she pulls away. Tim can see the frantic anxiety in her eyes.
He just nods, mouth going dry, the wave of exhaustion crashing over him once again.
“What even—I don’t… how—?”
“I don’t know, Genny—”
Her frantic grip on him tightens. “And she got shot?”
That, he knows how to answer. He lets the weight of his uniform guide him back into his familiar role as a cop. “By some stupid kids playing around with shit they shouldn’t have, we think.” He tries not to let it feel too personal, but the bite sneaks into his voice anyway.
Genny shakes her head in disbelief. “How… how bad?”
As he swallows, Tim’s hand absently finds the spot the blood had spattered across his wrist. It’s not there anymore, he made sure of it, but the sensation always seems to linger for a while after. “It’s… not great,” he admits.
His sister’s face scrunches slightly, voice straining as she breathes, “oh my God.”
“Sergeant Bradford.”
Great.
Tim turns to see the paramedic from the scene walking out through the double doors leading to the OR, and he pulls away from his sister to approach.
“What’s up?” he asks, steeling his voice.
“We found an ID on your shooting victim,” the paramedic says. Tim swears his heart stops, and he stays quiet for him to continue. “Catherine Davies, home address out in Utah. Emergency contact is her husband, Joseph—hospital are already working on getting in touch with him now.” He holds out an unassuming slip of paper. “All the details are on here, in case there’s anyone else you need to get in touch with.”
Tim just stares at the paper for a few moments.
Catherine Davies. Joseph Davies. Utah.
A half-finished puzzle, the pieces scattered across a table.
“Thanks,” he says absently, finally remembering to take the slip being offered to him. “How’s she doing?”
The paramedic’s face twists in a way that doesn’t fill Tim with confidence. “It was touch-and-go on the way here,” he says. “The bullet just clipped the spleen. They’ve managed to get her into surgery, so they’ll do what they can from here, but I wouldn’t say there are any guarantees. It’ll be a few hours, at a guess.”
Tim just nods, trying not to let the conflict show in his expression. “Thanks for the update.”
With a sharp nod, the paramedic leaves, and Tim heads back over to Lucy and Genny. The two women are watching him carefully.
“Well?” Genny pushes.
“She’s just heading into surgery now,” Tim says, sparing his sister the concerning details. “Said it’ll be a few hours at least.”
“Okay, well, then, I’ll—I’ll stay here with you.”
“Genny—”
“Tim.”
“No, Gen, listen,” he says, scrubbing a hand down his face. “There’s nothing else we can do here. As soon as I get myself taken off this case,”—because that’s the next step, here. This is a conflict of interest. On paper, he’s emotionally compromised—“we won’t be able to get anything else. Her husband is listed as her emergency contact.”
“Husb—what?”
Right. His brain’s still not quite firing on all cylinders.
Tim holds up the folded piece of paper in his grip like it’s a full explanation. “Joseph Davies. The hospital are getting hold of him now. Assuming they do, we won’t be able to get anything else.”
Genny scoffs. “Tim, I’m not leaving her. That’s our mom.”
If only the woman had shown them the same consideration all those years ago. But Tim swallows that observation—an argument right now won’t help either of them. “I know, Gen, but—look, sitting here and waiting won’t do anyone any good. And when they’re done, they’re not going to tell you anything.” His sister’s face crumples, and Tim’s heart pulls. “I’m sorry, that’s just how it is.”
Lucy’s hand comes to rest on Genny’s shoulder. “Hey, Tim might have to take himself off the case, but I’m going to keep my ear to the ground, okay? I’ll keep you posted in whatever way I can.”
God, he loves this woman so much.
“Thank you.” Genny’s voice is brimming with tears and gratitude as Lucy pulls her in for a hug.
“Of course.” As she pulls away, Lucy gives Genny’s shoulder one last squeeze before Tim pulls her in, too.
“It’s going to be okay,” he murmurs.
Even if he doesn’t quite believe it, it’s what his sister needs to hear, so Tim lets himself believe the lie enough to sell it for a few moments. Genny burrows her head into his shoulder, and for a moment Tim is taken back to their childhood home, back to when Genny was just a little kid, back to all the hugs she reached out for, looking up at her big brother like he could solve every problem in the world.
He never stopped wishing he could.
After sending Genny home, Tim and Lucy make their separate ways back to the station.
Now he’s at his desk, Lucy’s watchful glare keeping him stuck there for the rest of shift. He’s formally removed himself from the investigation, having informed the detective assigned to the case—who happened to be Angela—before running it up the relevant food chain. Now, he’s filling out his statement as the responding officer, head spinning as shaking hands clumsily write down every detail he can think of.
Gunshot. Kids running.
It takes him far too long, today’s memories intersecting with smashing glass and slamming doors and notes left on the kitchen table. Doesn’t help that people keep interrupting him with stupid questions.
“Can I head home early?” Your shift isn’t over. No.
Blood. Catherine Davies.
“When is the breakroom vending machine being replaced?” It’s not. ‘Unfavourable’ snacks don’t mean it’s broken, Smitty.
Victim lost consciousness.
“Is it unethical if I ask out a suspect?” Yes.
Blood. Blood. Blood.
“Are you okay?” No.
Wait—
Lucy’s voice breaks through the haze of autopilot, and Tim blinks up at her, coming back to himself. Her gaze is sympathetic, and somehow Tim gets the sense that it isn’t Sergeant Chen closing the office door behind her.
“Hey,” he breathes, placing his pen down.
“How’s the report getting on?” she asks.
He barely glances down at it, the words he’s scrawled across the page not really ringing a bell at this point. “I have no idea.”
Lucy comes to lean against the other side of his desk. “Are you sure you don’t want to head home for the day?”
“I do that, this becomes your desk for the rest of shift.”
She doesn’t even hesitate. “I don’t mind.”
Tim just sighs. The thought of heading back to an empty house and a phone that won’t stop buzzing with texts from his sister isn’t that appealing right now. Part of him wishes he could just go back in time to this morning, have another officer take Penn for the day so he could be living in blissful ignorance of his mother’s existence right now.
The rest of him knows that’s not fair, and his stomach turns with guilt.
“It’s okay,” he says. “I’m good.”
“You sure?” Her hand reaches out to rest in the middle of the desk, bridging the gap between them but not closing it completely. The glass walls of his office are a permanent reminder of the professional distance they need to make an effort to maintain in the station.
He nods. “Thank you. Now, did you come here just to check on me, or was there something you needed?”
“Actually… I came by with an update on your mom’s husband.”
Tim’s head reels back in surprise. “Oh.”
“The hospital reached out to Angela. They got a hold of the guy—he’s on a business trip in Melbourne right now. He’s getting the first flight he can, but he won’t be here for a couple days.”
Tim just adds that to the list of new information he’s learned today. “Right. Any idea why mom was in LA?”
Lucy nods. “Angela did some digging, turns out she’s been staying with a friend—Jane Nelson. Lives on Orange Grove Avenue, a couple blocks from the shooting. We’ve reached out so she knows what happened.”
“Okay.” Tim doesn’t really know what else he’s supposed to say, here. It all just feels like a chain of insane coincidences. Wrong place, wrong time, for everyone involved.
The silence in the office is broken by Lucy’s radio crackling with a transmission—someone needs a supervisor. She unholsters her radio, locking eyes with Tim. “7-Adam-300 copies, I’m on my way,” she says, before lowering her radio and her voice. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Tim can’t help his smile. “I’m fine, Luce, I promise. Thanks for the update.”
“I’ll let you know if I hear anything else,” she promises, before heading back out to work.
Eventually, Tim manages to finish his report, sending it off to the right department and praying the endless spiral accompanying that case disappears with it.
Obviously, it doesn’t, and his brain runs laps around the memories until his shift ends.
Catherine Davies has his eyes, his sister’s hair, a new name, a new life in Utah, with a husband that goes on business trips to Melbourne instead of drinking himself into oblivion and taking his anger out on his son.
Catherine Davies might be about to die. Tim wonders if she recognised him amidst her pain, if she knows that the last face she might ever see was her son’s. He wonders if she’s glad about that, or if she’s none the wiser. He isn’t sure what he hopes.
When Tim cuts through the bullpen at the end of his shift, Lucy’s knee deep in paperwork, but she promises she’ll be following him home soon. He checks no one’s watching too closely before pressing a kiss to her hair.
Their house feels that little bit too quiet when he steps inside, broken only by the patter of Kojo’s paws on the hardwood. His phone buzzes in his back pocket, and he pulls it out to see a text from Angela.
18:37 — Your mom made it through surgery, but she’s been put into a medically induced coma. Will probably be a couple days before they pull her out of it.
And suddenly, the silence feels all the more oppressive. Just more emptiness for his brain to fill with endless unknowns and uncertainty.
He thanks the detective for the update before grabbing Kojo’s leash, clipping it to the dog’s collar and heading right back out the door.
Familiar as they are, the streets feel slightly too big, like they did when he was a kid. It’s like everything about him has shifted back in time, like it became that little bit heavier the moment he saw his mom’s face.
Medically induced coma.
Tim’s seen enough of those over the years, but… he’s never been on this side of one, where it’s someone that matters, or should matter, or whatever the hell this is supposed to be.
He knows there’s never any guarantee, and right now that thought feels like it could consume him. He stopped asking the questions years ago, but it doesn’t mean they stopped living in the back of his mind. And now, he’s on a tightrope between finally getting the answers he’d given up on, and losing them forever.
Mind elsewhere, Tim lets Kojo lead the way on their walk, and they weave down small side streets and cut through the dog park. The evening air has a bite to it, and it takes longer than it should for Tim to realise he didn’t bring his jacket.
It’s not a long walk by any means, but Tim is exhausted all the same by the time they’re turning back down their road. At the sight of Lucy’s car now sitting in the driveway alongside his, a smile ghosts across his face.
Kojo bolts to his mom the moment Tim unlocks the front door, darting over to the couch where she’s draped across the cushions. Lucy lets out a giggle at the dog’s affection, and after Tim slips off his boots he follows suit, practically collapsing into Lucy’s side as she pulls him closer, pressing a kiss to his temple.
Tim hadn’t had the words to articulate the storm clearly whirling through his mind, so Lucy had just made sure to hold him close as they drifted off to sleep that night.
When she wakes, though, it’s to a cold bed and the clock on her phone glaring 3:07 in the darkness.
Listening close, Lucy can’t hear a sound from the rest of the house, save Kojo’s distant snores from the living room. She peels out of bed, chest tightening with concern as she makes to look for Tim.
She almost startles when she spots his silhouette out in the backyard, slumped over where he’s sat on the patio steps.
“Hey,” she murmurs as she slides the backdoor open.
He starts slightly, head turning to glance at her over his shoulder. “Hey,” he says. “Sorry, did I wake you?”
Stepping outside, Lucy shakes her head. “No.” Even if he had, it wouldn’t matter. As she takes a seat beside him, she presses up against him, shoulder to shoulder. “What are you doing out here?”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
Lucy can’t help the sympathetic noise that escapes her throat, and she presses a kiss to his shoulder. “You want to talk about it?”
“I just…” Tim shakes his head slightly—not in dismissal of her offer, but in disbelief. “I made peace with the idea that I was never going to see her again. A long time ago. And now, not only is she in LA, but she’s bleeding out under me? I just—I don’t…”
He wrings his hands together as the words seem to fail him, thumbs ghosting over the areas where the blood had stained his skin.
“You’ve never really talked about her,” Lucy comments. She’s heard a lot about his dad over the years, of course, but while his mom came up on occasion, she was always weaved into a painful memory about his dad or a happy memory about his sister. Just a background character, a passing thought.
“Yeah,” Tim sighs, leaning against her. “It wasn’t as clean-cut as it was with my dad. He kicked the shit out of me, I hated him—it was easy, simple. I knew where I stood.” He blows out a breath as he rests his head atop hers, his temple pressed against her hair. Lucy tangles their hands together, holding his in her lap, wanting to be an anchor for him as he tries to walk her backwards into the past. “With mom, it was… it was harder. When I was a kid, she was the best.” She can feel the way his face stretches with a soft smile as he seems to watch the memories play out on the lawn. “I knew dad was wearing her thin, but she made it feel okay. He never laid a hand on her—he’d yell and it would feel like the house was on fire, but she’d take us out for ice cream and our extra-curriculars and would help us with homework at the kitchen table like nothing was wrong.”
Lucy can’t help her own smile at the thought of Tim being cared for like that, amidst all that chaos. Even though she knows damn well it didn’t last.
“What changed?” she asks.
He exhales against her hair, and she can feel the way his face falls. “The drinking got worse. Old man’s temper became more unpredictable, beyond unmanageable. When I got a little older, Dad lost his job, ended up being at home more, and—and I started getting in the way of him and mom. He didn’t hesitate to take it out on me, and, obviously, with me he didn’t draw any kind of line after yelling.”
Lucy winces. It doesn’t hurt any less, no matter how many times his dad’s treatment of him comes up.
“In the early days, mom would help patch me up, drove me to the ER a couple times. Suggested I lie to the doctors, which I did.” His tone takes on a bitter hue at the end, like he resents that small version of himself who didn’t know any better. “After a while, though, she just started to… shut down, I guess. Pretended it wasn’t happening.” Lucy feels her chest tighten, but this time it’s with anger. “She’d slip out when the shouting got too loud, and would come home and sit with us for dinner like I didn’t have a black eye. She’d just talk to Genny about school like I wasn’t even there.”
Lucy’s heart breaks. “Tim…”
“We were already strangers by the time she left,” he breathes. “I think… I think part of me knew it was going to happen, and I didn’t blame her for it. I just didn’t think she’d leave Genny, you know? Not like that—not without some way of getting in touch.”
“Yeah.” Lucy’s already speechless just hearing it. She can’t even begin to imagine the shock they must’ve felt.
“But all the same, we came back from school one day and she was gone. Just some note about how she’d met someone and couldn’t tell us because of dad.” His jaw tightens at the memory. “Genny took it hard. She was inconsolable for months.”
Pulling away from his shoulder, Lucy looks up at Tim, and watches the storm brewing in his eyes under the moonlight. “And what about you?”
The expression he makes isn’t really a smile—it’s bitter, tinged with betrayal. “I had a sister to take care of,” he shrugs. “My questions took a backseat. And by the time I was out of there, and had the means of trying to track her down, I wasn’t interested anymore.”
“But now, you could get those answers you wanted.”
He shrugs again. “Or she could never wake up, and I’ll never know either way.”
Wrapping her arms around him, Lucy pulls Tim in for a hug, tucking his head into her shoulder. He melts into her.
“I’m sorry this is happening,” she whispers.
“Yeah, me too.”
They stay like that for a minute, just holding each other and breathing into the silence, relishing in their moment of peace amidst the chaos. Lucy’s glad she can be that for him, now, and silently promises herself that she always will be.
When the breeze picks up, Lucy feels the goosebumps raise on her arms, and pulls away slightly.
“You want to come back to bed?” she offers.
Tim just hums in response, moving to stand. He takes Lucy’s hand to help her up, but doesn’t let go once she’s stood—instead, he uses it to pull her closer, pressing his lips to hers.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, tired eyes filled with gratitude.
Lucy nods. “Of course; I’ve got you.”