Chapter Text
"I'm going to be honest," she sighs, "most of it feels like a fever dream. I don't have very many clear memories from the first six months after I was injured, and with so many of the memories I do have, I wonder sometimes if they are actually things I remember of if they're stories I constructed in my head after listening to the stories other people told me."
Lucy is currently in the middle of being evaluated by a small panel comprised of two department-mandated psychiatrists, two neurologists, a neurosurgeon, a sports medicine physician of some kind, and a captain with the Los Angeles Police Department.
Specifically, the newly-minted Captain Wade Grey. He is not present as a proper member of the panel, though— his official responsibilities thus far have included counselling Lucy in her journey back to active duty and today they are advising the panel members on the inner workings of the LAPD as well as moderating the panel.
On Lucy's side of the table are two people, aside from herself— her union representative, Officer John Nolan, and her one allowed 'support person,' Sergeant Tim Bradford.
But to her, he's just Tim.
Sitting in a stuffy waiting room somewhere else in the building, she knows, are the team of medical professionals who helped nurse her back to health, helped to get her where she is today. Lucy knows this because they had all come in intermittently throughout the day to be queried by the panel.
"We appreciate your candor, Sergeant Chen." The woman on the far left of the table says with a warm smile. She is one of the neurologists, Lucy thinks. "That is all I have in regards to questioning." The maybe-neurologist nods then, conceding to Grey.
"Thank you, Doctor Rowland." Grey flips a page in the large black binder resting on the table before him and writes something down. "Do the members of this panel have any further questions for Sergeant Chen?"
He goes down the line and asks each person individually. Lucy has never been so happy to hear six people say "no" in her life.
"We will now meet privately to combine our notes and present our recommendation." one of the men says in a stuffy voice, his salt-and-pepper moustache concealing his lips as he speaks.
More platitudes and pleasantries are exchanged as the doctors—and Captain Grey—gather their things and leave, a sigh exiting each of the three people remaining once they are no longer present.
"That was so stressful," Lucy bemoans, spinning around in the fancy swivel chair. "I never want to do it again."
"Lucy," The anxiety is painfully obvious in Tim's tone as he watches her turn in circle after circle. "I'm not sure if you should be doing that…"
On her next rotation, she points a finger at him and says, dramatically, "Oh, hush! You replaced both swivel chairs in our home office with regular, boring chairs. You even replaced the one in the watch commander's office as well as half the chairs in the station. Let me have this."
"She does have you there, Tim," remarks John as he gives his own swivel chair a turn. "We non-brittle-boned primates can only imagine what a year deprived of spinning around in your seat could do to weak-skulled superhuman like Lucy."
Lucy's glare earns an eye-roll out of Tim.
It has been a very long year.
They had been forced to wait three months instead of one to put the bone-flap back in Lucy's skull, three months of wearing a ridiculous helmet everywhere she went, three months of being treated like fine china by everyone she loves.
It aggravated her constantly until Tim broke down in front of her in their living room one night, two weeks after the cranioplasty, describing in part how terrifying the first days and weeks had been. She herself has a patchy memory of the whole thing, and his testimony had provided her with much-needed clarity.
After that, she finally started to feel as though she had the strength to see her journey through to the other side.
Tim had been by her side, had supported her through everything. He said nothing when one evening, just three days since she had been discharged after her cranioplasty; he came home to her sobbing over the empty pill bottle in her hands, hearing her out as she cried that she had a drug problem. He'd even driven her to a meeting of Narcotics Anonymous at her insistence.
He'd responded with nothing but kindness when after a meeting with her psychiatrist the next day, she realized that she was still recovering from a major surgery, and that the date on the bottle had not matched the number of pills inside— Lucy had not taken too many, to her immense relief.
She is startled back to the present at the closing of a door.
"Sergeant Chen?" Grey's voice sounds close by.
She looks up to see him in front of her, arms crossed.
"The panel has recommended that you be returned to active duty, and the Los Angeles Police Department agrees." He declares, the biggest smile on his face despite efforts to hide it. "I believe these are yours, yes?"
Instead of taking them out of his own pocket, Grey nods to Tim, who takes a stand beside him and presents Lucy with a small, flat, black box.
But as the velvet casing meets the air, it is not Lucy's Sergeant stripes she sees.
It is a set of Lieutenant stripes.
Disbelief, shock, and pure joy hit her all at once.
"Please don't make a joke. Not right now." She says, breathless. "I'm a sergeant, not a lieutenant."
"It's not a joke, Lucy." Tim says softly. "The Chief herself made the recommendation. This promotion will also allow you to work a less physical job day-to-day, if you want— it's your choice. If you don't want these stripes, we will find you another set."
"Technically the Chief wanted to tell you herself," Grey continues with a hint of excitement, "but you've got a golden ticket, Lucy. You didn't hear it from me, and you've got to act surprised once she announces it."
She did not see this coming.
Although, part of her might have.
As Lucy had returned to partial duty, she had spent her time filling in all over the county, coordinating undercover operations and stepping in for nearby watch commanders as needed. She'd been thanked numerous times by officers of varying ranks, but she had not assumed anything of it. The amount of people who have been involved in making this happen for her…
"Thank you," Lucy blinks back tears. "Thank you so much."
One year ago, she took a man's life.
One year ago, she experienced the worst day of her life— even worse, in her personal opinion, than the day she had received the tattoo on her ribs—and it had been followed by a life-changing injury. At times, Lucy had given up hope that she'd ever be able to keep doing the job she loved. She had undergone intense physical and neurological therapies to help rehabilitate her to daily life.
At times, Lucy had even wanted to die.
But as she gained the courage to open up, she re-learned not only how to love others and to love herself, but how to accept the love given to her by the many people in her life and to choose to live.
It is the most painful thing she has ever chosen to do— but in the grand scheme of things, is that not what it is to love?
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