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This was different.
Angela had walked through hospital hallways more times than she’d like to think about. She’d carried out vigils at the bedsides of victims and superiors and rookies. But this was different.
Lucy was different.
Angela always had a soft spot for female rookies, remembering how it felt to realize how much harder you’d have to work to be taken seriously as a cop when you’re a woman and admiring any other woman who had the strength to stick with it. But she knew Lucy was something special the minute Angela walked into that bar all those months ago and Tim told her she’d have to pick up his tab because Lucy had managed to steal his money clip.
It wasn’t just the fact that Tim’s Boot had managed to outsmart him. It was the look on Tim’s face when he told her about it. He was trying his best to look annoyed, but he couldn’t hide the glint of respect in his eyes and the hint of amusement in the corner of his mouth that was quirking into a smile.
It was a look Angela became more and more acquainted with as the months went on.
It seemed like every time they talked, Tim would have some story to share about Lucy challenging his authority or setting him up on a date or sending food to his house like they were friends. And with every story, Angela noticed that his tentative grasp on exasperation slipped even more. What would have earned Boots reprimands, push-up sessions, or worse in years past simply earned an eye roll that Angela could only describe as fond.
She’d never tell him to his face (unlike Lucy, she still had enough sense not to willingly bring on the wrath of Tim Bradford) but she had to wonder if maybe her “tough as nails T.O.” inspiration was going soft.
And after everything he’d gone through, Angela thought maybe he deserved some softness.
It was nice to see her best friend smile again.
Now, though, as she carried a duffle bag full of his clothes, deodorant, toothbrush, and toothpaste under the unforgiving fluorescent lights of Shaw Memorial, she wondered when she’d see that smile again.
Because this was different.
From the moment she heard Tim’s voice on the phone that morning, she knew it was different.
“I need you.”
Through everything—every time he was wounded and recovering (usually alone), every time Isabel tried to get clean (and then ran off again), every bad day and dark night—he’d never said those words to her before.
This was different.
It wasn’t just that his rookie was missing. It wasn’t just that he felt responsible.
It was that it was Lucy.
And Lucy was different.
But Angela wasn’t sure even she’d realized how different Lucy had become until Tim was telling her with a broken voice and tears in his eyes that Lucy’s instincts had been right and his had been wrong and until Tim was trying to push life back into Lucy’s body with a desperation on his face that she understood with a new pang of recognition in her gut.
It wasn’t just that he didn’t want to lose her.
He couldn’t lose her.
Angela knew because she’d been there less than 24 hours before.
And when Lucy finally, mercifully woke up (Angela may have dipped deep back into her Catholic school playbook and said a decade of the rosary while Tim was performing CPR, but she’d never admit it), she watched Tim hold her close to his chest, shielding her from the unforgiving world for as long as he could. In that moment, Angela was struck by the feeling that she should look away, give them a private moment of healing and comfort and relief—because this felt different.
It didn’t make her think about Jackson.
It made her think about Wesley.
So when Tim refused to let Lucy ride in the ambulance alone and they all knew there was nothing else they could do for now, Angela kissed Wesley like maybe both of their lives depended on it. Later, she dropped him off at Jackson and Lucy’s apartment because she knew no one should be alone right now—not her boyfriend, not her Boot, and not her best friend.
Angela knew what it was like to not want to let someone out of your sight after you’ve almost lost them. So she knew there was no way Tim was leaving that hospital until they forced him out.
Which was how she found herself in his annoyingly clean house, trying to imagine which clothes would fare best after a night sleeping in a hospital chair—because she knew Mr. Military would hate the idea of waking up wrinkled.
Angela tried not to think about how she was the one who had a spare key to get into Tim’s house. Tim and Rachel seemed to be trying to keep their relationship very casual, and Angela wasn’t one to judge casual relationships—she’d been the queen of them before Wesley. Rachel was sweet and smart, and Tim seemed content with how things were between them.
But Angela couldn’t help noticing that Tim’s eyes never lit up when talking about a date with Rachel the way they did when talking about an arrest Lucy made or the way she’d passed another seemingly impossible “Tim Test.”
I’m going to be a damn good detective, Angela thought.
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This was different.
Angela had sat with more of her fellow cops than she’d liked to think about as they gathered around an injured colleague. But nothing could have prepared her for the sight she was met with when she slowly opened the door to Lucy’s hospital room.
Tim was perched on the side of Lucy’s bed, his uniform, his arms, and even his hair covered in a thin layer of dust—but she wasn’t even sure he realized what a mess he looked like.
Judging by the way his eyes never wavered from Lucy’s sleeping form, Angela was pretty sure he hadn’t looked at anything that wasn’t her from the moment he pulled her from that barrel.
If Tim’s eyes hinted at everything going on in his carefully guarded heart, it was his hands that gave him away completely. He gently held one of Lucy’s hands in his, his thumb running over it in a mindlessly comforting way.
The intimacy of it all was enough to make Angela want to sneak back outside, but before she could seriously consider leaving them alone, Tim’s hypervigilance kicked into its typical high gear. She could see his shoulders tense under his shirt at the sound of her feet on the linoleum, so she broke the silence before he could freak out fully.
“Hey,” she said quietly, not wanting to wake Lucy up.
Tim turned to face her, and he looked so tired that Angela seemed to feel his fatigue in her own bones. “Hey,” he sighed, and Angela noticed that his eyes then immediately went back to Lucy.
“She was afraid to fall asleep,” he explained as he nodded toward their joined hands, his voice thick with an emotion that made Angela’s chest feel uncomfortably tight. “I told her I’d stay until she did.”
“Bullshit,” Angela replied with no bite behind it, smiling when Tim looked back at her in her surprise. “We both know you’re not leaving tonight.” He smiled sheepishly, caught.
“Which is why I brought you this,” Angela continued, gently placing the duffle bag onto the empty chair near Lucy’s bedside. She walked over so she could stand in front of him, smiling down affectionately at his too-handsome-for-his-own-good face. “And there’s a toothbrush and toothpaste in there, too, because I know how ridiculous you are about that.”
That, at least, brought a smile. “Oral hygiene is important, Officer Lopez.”
They both let out hushed laughs at that, but when the laughter faded, Angela felt the heaviness of the day descend on his shoulders again.
“She’s going to be okay, Tim. You told me so yourself.” He’d texted her while she was at his house with the official news from the doctors—a cracked rib, a lot of bruises, severe dehydration, and some bad cuts that needed tending to but seemingly no major internal injuries or head trauma. It was the best news she’d heard all day.
His exhale was exhausted. “She almost died, Angela. I don’t know how anyone can be okay after that.”
Defying her usual instincts to run from all attempts to comfort someone, Angela reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. “She’s going to be okay because she has us.” Her eyes drifted down to Tim’s hand on Lucy’s. “Because she has you.”
His reply was so quiet, so pained that it didn’t even seem like it came from him. “She almost died because of me.”
Angela knew that guilt—or at least something like it. She’d been wrestling with it all day. Should she have been paying closer attention to Wesley? Could she have been more supportive? Was she so caught up in her own life that she couldn’t see that the man she loved was suffering so badly?
Was it her fault?
She couldn’t handle someone else carrying around that same guilt, so she squared her shoulders and told Tim what she wished someone would tell her. “It’s not your fault,” she said.
She knew he didn’t believe her, so she continued, “Lucy is alive because of you. So stop feeling guilty, and start feeling grateful.”
He nodded slowly, taking in the weight of her words. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, not meeting her eyes. “It’s been a hell of a day.”
You don’t even know the half of it, Angela thought.
“Fuck yeah, it has,” she said.
Angela had always thought Tim would make a good detective, too, and she was proven right once again when he picked up on the stress in her voice and asked, “You okay?” When all she could do was widen her eyes in surprise, he continued, “You took a sick day, which I’m not sure you’ve done in the decade I’ve known you, and then Wesley showed up with you to the precinct. Is everything alright with you two?”
Sometimes she hated how well he knew her. This wasn’t one of those times.
“It will be,” she answered with what she hoped was the truth. He seemed to understand that she didn’t want to say more—at least not right now—and stood up slowly. Angela saw the way his hand lingered on Lucy’s, not wanting to let go until the last possible moment.
“Can you stay with her while I change?” He looked almost frantic at the thought of stepping away, and she would have teased him for it had she not felt the same panic when she dropped Wesley off at Jackson’s.
“Of course,” she replied. “I think we could use some girl time,” she said with a small smirk.
Angela settled into the chair at Lucy’s side and was getting ready to scroll through Instagram to pass the time when Tim’s exit made the door close a little too loudly, waking Lucy from her sound sleep.
“Tim?” Lucy said, her voice rough around the edges and her eyes still closed.
Angela smiled gently as Lucy started to blink her eyes open. “He went to change, Boot. You’re stuck with me for a few minutes.”
“Angela?” Lucy asked softly, clearly still adjusting to her surroundings.
Her vulnerability—looking so small and fragile in that hospital bed—cut through to Angela’s core, and she quickly found herself replacing Tim on the edge of the bed, gently rubbing Lucy’s legs under the covers like her mom used to do when she was sick as a kid.
“Yeah, Lucy. I’m here,” she reassured her.
“Thanks for coming,” Lucy said with a sleepy smile, closing her eyes again.
Angela was ready to sink back into silence again, but Lucy’s low voice cut through the quiet. “Can you make sure Tim eats something?” she sighed into her pillow before drifting off to sleep once more.
This was different.
Angela knew—maybe better than anyone except Isabel—that Tim Bradford took care of people. He was the person who drove her to the urgent care center when she sliced her thumb open cutting tomatoes, the person who got her home safely when she got a little too happy at happy hour, the person who used to make sure everyone else had enough food when he and Isabel hosted barbecues at their house. Beneath that intimidating exterior, he was one of the most quietly caring people she’d ever met.
But maybe he’d met his match in Lucy Chen.
Because here she was, laying in a hospital bed less than 12 hours after almost dying, and she was checking to make sure Tim wasn’t hungry.
Angela didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry, so she settled for a little of both.
After a few minutes of quiet (during which Angela silently cataloged Lucy’s visible injuries and secretly wished that if there was a hell Caleb was already there), Tim came back in wearing his clean clothes and carrying what looked like a crappy cafeteria salad.
Lucy would be happy. The thought made Angela smile to herself.
But when she looked back at Tim, her smile faltered. Because he didn’t look happy. He looked wrecked.
Sensing the question in her eyes, he quietly said, “I think I was running on adrenaline before, and now...Seeing her like that...It’s just a lot, you know?” He ran a hand over his face, and Angela realized it was shaking.
Angela rose from Lucy’s bed as Tim dropped his duffle bag and food and came to stand next to her. “She’s different.” When he didn’t respond, she continued, “I mean, this whole crop of rookies is different. Nolan’s old enough to be our dad. Jackson—and this does not leave this room—has somehow wormed his way into becoming my friend. And Lucy...Lucy’s…”
“Good,” Tim finished with heartbreaking certainty, and Angela could hear in his voice the appreciation for his Boot’s inherent goodness and also the fear there, like maybe she was too good—for this job...for this world...for him.
Angela suddenly found her eyes filling with tears, which had already happened too many times today. “Yeah,” she replied gently. “She’s a keeper.” She paused before adding, “And so are you, you know.”
She wondered if maybe she’d said too much; they were never ones to gush—or even really ones to compliment each other. They trafficked in teasing, affection only present between the lines of their banter. But tonight, she thought he needed more. And when he finally smiled in response, she thought that maybe she’d done something that didn’t always come naturally to her—she’d said exactly the right thing at exactly the right time.
Angela knew her work was done. “I’m gonna head home,” she said. “But if you need anything—more clothes, better food, anything—you text me, okay?”
Tim nodded. “Thanks, Angela.”
The rare glimpse of vulnerability on his face awakened her equally rare affectionate side, and she found herself wrapping her arms around him before either of them really knew what was happening. “She’s lucky to have you,” Angela whispered as she placed a quick kiss to his cheek. “And you’re lucky to have her too.”
As Angela turned to leave and Tim took his place on the bed once again, Lucy seemed to feel the shift, and she thrashed a little, clearly having a worse dream than the one Angela had seen her wake up from.
“Hey...hey...It’s okay…” Tim’s voice was softer than Angela had ever heard it as he gently pushed away the hair that had tangled in front of Lucy’s face.
“Tim…” This time it wasn’t a question; it was a murmur of recognition. A sigh of relief.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he replied, and Angela wondered if he knew how much those words sounded like a promise.
“Good,” Lucy whispered, her voice still deep and drowsy as she grabbed his hand again.
Angela knew that was her cue to leave, so she snuck out the door, taking one last look back at the pair of them—a couple of caring, beautiful idiots who were falling into something that neither of them was ready for but both of them deserved.
This was different.
Good different.