Chapter Text
When Nyla first approaches him about helping with the UC operation, his response is immediate. “No,” he snaps as he continues his way down the hall to the break room.
“Tim, wait. You’re gonna want to hear me out on this.”
Tim stops once again, taking a deep breath before turning back to face her. He glowers at her. “Was there something unclear about the word, ‘No’?” he huffs.
Nyla rolls her eyes, thinking that they don’t pay her nearly enough to deal with these overgrown toddlers with egos the size of Texas. “Tim. I know this is hard, but if you’d listen for two minutes, you’d realize this isn’t about you. It’s about Lucy.”
He freezes. He hadn’t thought it would be possible for Nyla to piss him off more than by badgering him about UC work he wants nothing to do with, but here they are. His eyes flash as he growls at her, “Seriously, are we really doing this again?”
“Tim—”
“No. NO. She’s still on patrol. She has at least six months before she can test for UC. You already know how I feel about this. Why can’t you just give this a rest?”
“If you let me SPEAK, I will tell you.” Nyla takes a deep breath, reaching deep to find patience. “Tim, she is good. Really good. You saw her on the Solanga bust, and more than that you trained her for over a year — I don’t need to tell you that. This is a great opportunity for her to get her foot in the door, and she is going to take it with or without you. But it’s also her first basically solo mission. It could really make a big difference — having someone she’s comfortable with there to back her up.”
“It’s low stakes,” Nyla quickly continues before Tim can interrupt her again. “Just the first step in establishing a cover she can use down the road; she just needs to be seen and confirm some intelligence on a mid-level dealer for us. You’d only be there keeping her company, giving her someone to interact with until she can confirm the intel; give a little credibility to her just being there to have a good time.”
“And if I say no?”
“That’s your prerogative.” Nyla lifts an eyebrow and shrugs casually, “I’m sure we can find another UC who’s willing to put the moves on her and keep her occupied at the bar.”
Nyla lets the teasing tone fall out of her voice and stares directly at him, “I just thought that you, of all people, would jump at the opportunity to make sure she’s going in with the best possible setup for her safety.”
Tim shakes his head at her effective manipulation, knowing that she’s playing on his protective instinct toward Lucy and betting it will work. It’s been six months since Lucy graduated, and six months since they’ve ridden together or seen each other outside of the occasional casual run-ins at the station, lunch, or happy hour. He’s a bit caught off guard that — despite the time and distance — the emotions Nyla is triggering are no less intense than they were the day Lucy went on the Solanga mission.
Resigned, Tim sighs deeply before responding, “Fine,” throwing in a Tim Bradford TO glare for good measure.
Nyla’s face lights up, only generating further irritation from Tim, “Atta boy!”
At his intensifying scowl, she tries again, smacking him on the shoulder, “You know that look only works on rookies, right? Come on — you’re getting paid overtime to hang out at a bar and flirt with a pretty girl. I’m sure there are worse ways you could spend your Friday night.”
The music has gotten progressively louder for the 30 minutes he has been parked at the bar. And the people have gotten progressively drunker. The transition from after work to late evening is almost complete — the number of bodies packed into the room rapidly multiplying. The incessant thumping combined with the burn of whiskey down the back of his throat is making it close to impossible for him to form a coherent thought.
He’s stiff; the entire situation has him on edge, and he knows his rigidity is doing him no favors when it comes to playing his role of anonymous bar patron unwinding after work and looking to pick up a companion for the night. He inhales deeply and rolls his shoulders trying to alleviate some of the tension, casually scanning the room for what must be the dozenth time, starting to wonder if this is some sort of elaborate setup to punk him and ruin his Friday night. He wouldn’t put that past Nyla — or Lucy — for that matter.
Especially not Lucy. Absentmindedly, he checks for his money clip.
He’s lifting the glass to his lips once more when he finally sees her. He freezes, his throat going suddenly dry as he takes her in.
Her hair is loose and flowing down over her shoulders in dark waves, somehow just a bit wilder than her normal off-shift look. Her makeup is heavier than normal — the smoky shadow and deep red lipstick make her normally sweet, youthful features appear almost… sultry.
The short black halter dress is a far cry from the flowy, girly Lucy-esque apparel he is used to seeing her in outside of work. It’s hugging her curves in all the places he [logically] knew existed, but, at the same time, has never really let himself know existed.
Her strappy, too-high heels work together with the too-short dress to elongate her legs in a way that has him second-guessing whether he is actually looking at his tiny, bouncy, former shotgun-riding companion.
It takes a minute for Tim to realize he’s been staring before he manages to regain brain function.
Fortunately for him, the idiotic look that must be on his face as he ogles his former boot from across the bar works in his favor. He is, after all, supposed to be playing the moron at the bar that is absolutely going to shoot his shot.
Unfortunately for him, it's in that very same moment that he gets smacked in the face with the realization that his sudden attraction to his boot has zero to do with playing that role.
Her scan of the bar finally leads to her gaze meeting his across the room. He’s staring at her with an intensity that takes Lucy back to her first day as his boot. But even despite that intensity, Lucy feels immediately comforted. She’s amped up on adrenaline and nerves and catching sight of Tim immediately brings her back down to earth, and she realizes how right Nyla was to push for this.
At first, she had balked at the idea of having her T.O. babysit her on her first ‘official’ UC mission since the takedown with Nyla and June. And, beyond that, the idea of having to flirt with her former boss left her feeling more than a little uncomfortable and uncertain.
The lines between them had always been so clear — rookie-T.O., superior-subordinate. And even when the lines blurred a little — partners that had each other’s backs in life and death situations, friends that enjoyed pushing each other’s buttons — the hard lines were still 100% clear.
And it was clinging to those lines that had allowed her to get through her rookie year with a T.O. that was as insanely attractive to her as Tim Bradford just so happened to be.
Tim Bradford was hot. The kind of hot that had made her knees weak and stomach flutter since that very first day in roll call. There was no questioning that fact as she was frequently reminded by the line of unabashed, fawning women that seemed to follow him all over LA, popping up at crime scenes just to remind him [and Lucy] how devastatingly attractive he was.
But the lines were always there to remind her that he was her T.O., and they had worked together — side by side, day in and day out — dealing with life-threatening situations on a regular basis.
The fact that he’d been a massive asshole toward her in the beginning also ended up being a great catalyst for stuffing her slightly embarrassing schoolgirl crush over his hunkiness back into the deep recesses of her psyche where it belonged… for the most part, anyway.
And she instead focused on becoming the best cop she could be. All in all, she considered their time together a pretty effective course of exposure therapy.
But, she wasn’t his boot anymore, and it had been six months since she’d graduated. Six months since Tim had been an everyday presence in her life.
And now the lines were… less clear. So, she tells herself, it's perfectly natural — completely expected, in fact — that a now relatively rare Tim sighting might bring back a slight flutter, isn’t it?
It certainly does not help things that her attraction to him only grew as she slowly, but surely, got to see Tim for the man he was underneath his asshole facade. Slowly, but surely, could start to see through to the storm of emotion lurking just beneath his confident aloofness at any given point. Principled, but rogue. Calculated, but passionate. Cold on the surface, but so, so warm underneath.
Nyla had laughed reassuringly when Lucy had voiced her concern about the inappropriateness of flirting with her former T.O. “Pretend this is some alternate parallel universe where he wasn’t your training officer. You’re just two strangers in a bar. Are you really telling me you wouldn’t want someone who looks like Tim Bradford to hit on you in a bar? One of the perks of UC work… you can be someone other than you for a little bit. Plus, trust me, I think you’ll be a lot more comfortable with Tim than if we pull in a UC you don’t know, but it’s absolutely your decision.”
Lucy had relented relatively quickly, trusting Nyla’s judgment 100% and realizing that this mission wasn’t the right time to test out how she’d respond to a relative stranger invading her personal space, fellow UC or not.
She shakes herself out of her brief reverie and begins to put their plan into action, noticing as she heads for the open spot at the bar next to Tim that there’s still something about the way he’s looking at her so intently, taking in every bit of her with what seems to almost be… appreciation?
It unsettles her slightly, tickling at the girlish giddiness in her stomach and causing a wave of warmth to spread over her. Mentally shaking herself, Lucy immerses herself in her cover — she is a party girl with one priority in mind, and it’s time to get the party started.
Foregoing the empty bar stool next to Tim, she launches herself up on the rail running along the bottom of the bar so she can lean further over in an attempt to win the bartender’s attention, while also strategically angling herself in front of Tim, giving him the perfect opportunity to make contact.
Tim’s eyes widen as the already dangerously short dress inches up even further as Lucy leans over the bar, and he swallows hard, briefly debating whether the right move is to be a gentleman and avert his eyes or embrace his cover and enjoy the view. He momentarily entertains the latter, while simultaneously fighting against the impulse to wrap her up in his overshirt — away and protected from all of the other eyes in the bar that are clearly also enjoying the view.
He finds himself surprised again at just how good she is at this — how naturally she’s able to adopt this party girl persona.
Once he’s at least partially confident that he can string together a sentence, Tim leans in to initiate a conversation, “Wow, boot, that is — uh — that is some dress.”
Tim sees her flush just slightly before she turns a 1,000-kilowatt smile on him and flirtatiously tosses her hair over her shoulder. Confident that it's far too loud for anyone to overhear their exchange, Lucy teases, “Well, you know what they say about all of you old geezers trying to get us UCs naked.”
He knows she’s more teasing than flirting — trying to put him at ease — but that does nothing to stop the series of images she’s started on a loop in his head.
It’s Tim’s turn to blush as he swallows, clears his throat, and averts his eyes while reaching for a sip of his drink before responding, “Not a UC, yet, boot. Don’t forget that.”
Oblivious to the effect of her words on him and choosing to ignore his comment, Lucy changes tune, all business. “Any sign of him?” she asks, referring to the mid-level dealer slash bartender she’s supposed to initiate contact with.
Tim shakes his head no, not entirely confident in what will come out if he tries to speak. Damn, his throat is dry.
Clearing his throat again, he expands, “I’ve only seen two bartenders since I’ve gotten here.” He nods toward the other end of the bar, “Neither of them has been your guy. It’s pretty clear they are understaffed.”
Lucy nods in agreement, taking in the growing crowd now pushing for a spot at the bar.
Once they finally manage to secure Lucy a drink (some fruity thing that is chock full of sugar; apparently Lucy’s taste in alcoholic beverages is about as good as her taste in coffee) and Tim a desperately needed refill, he takes immediate note of her unwillingness to set her drink on the bar and frowns, saddened by the knowledge that as uninhibited and carefree as she may be pretending to be tonight, that version of the real Lucy is gone for good.
Lucy drains her drink quickly, the icy chill of the glass causing her fingers to numb. She looks up and realizes Tim is watching her with a familiar look; it’s what she likes to think of as his ‘time machine’ look — not quite pitying, but just so deeply sad and remorseful.
It’s been a very long time since they’ve acknowledged or talked about either Caleb or Rosalind, but every time she sees this expression, it so clearly conveys to her that he would do literally anything for her to have not gone through what she did and that it still pains him deeply that he hadn’t been able to prevent it.
It’s jarring to see how intensely he still feels about it through just one expression, all because she wasn’t willing to set down her drink. She feels a twinge inside of herself, realizing, yet again, just how well he knows her.
She lets her hand find his forearm and tucks her fingers in around the underside of his arm with a quick squeeze to reassure him that she’s doing just fine.
He laughs, “Your hands are freezing, boot.” But he doesn’t pull away and neither does she.
While it may be a step into new territory for them both, Lucy knows that as far as drunken flirting in a bar goes, it’s a timid and likely unconvincing first step. But the horde of people continuing to mob the bar forces them both to overcome any timidity they might be feeling about progressing their physical contact for the sake of their covers.
When irritated patrons continue to jostle them as they fight for attention at the grossly understaffed bar, Tim instinctively places a hand on Lucy’s back to guide her into the small space in front of him between his stool and the bar and away from the drunken strangers.
“This is a shit show,” he mutters in explanation.
He doesn’t miss how she just barely tenses at the contact, his hand on the bare skin exhibited by the tiny dress, but instead of letting go he leans forward so his mouth can find her ear, “You okay?” He gently brushes the pad of his thumb against her exposed skin, so she’ll know he’s asking about the contact between them, as well as the chaos overtaking the bar.
She nods vigorously in response to his question, feeling silly about the overreaction to his touch. She just hadn’t been expecting the contact to be so… electric. She adjusts her position so she’s fully facing the bar, tilting her head slightly forward and letting her hair act as a curtain as she collects herself.
Lucy is acutely aware of just how close they are now. She is standing between his legs, the outsides of her thighs brushing the insides of his. The heat of his chest warming her back. His stubble just barely scratching the sensitive skin of her shoulder and neck every time he leans in to say something to her.
Taking one last annoyed look down the length of the bar, Lucy turns so she is facing him and can survey the rest of the bar in hopes of spotting her target, profoundly aware of the friction she’s creating between various body parts as she makes the adjustment. Her hand finds his thigh as the crush of the crowd, teeter of her heels, and, well, the mere existence of Tim Bradford in her orbit knock her off balance.
His hands come up quickly to steady her, first landing on her upper arms and then eventually sliding down to settle on her hips. She brings her other hand up to rest on his shoulder, only momentarily relishing the way the corded muscle of his upper arm feels under her fingers, before leaning forward to speak, “Where the hell is he?” She is frustrated, concerned that her first real mission is turning out to be a big, fat failure.
She feels him shake his head, feels the rise and fall of his shoulders as he shrugs, and, for a moment, she allows herself to get lost in the sheer intoxication of being this close to Tim Bradford. She breathes in the scent of him, so much more appealing than the hot, sweaty atmosphere of the bar around them.
The placement of her hand on his thigh allows Lucy to feel the vibration of his phone at the same time he does. Lucy's cheeks heat as she follows Tim’s gaze to her hand before she lifts it so Tim can retrieve the device.
Tim angles the screen so Lucy can read the text from Nyla. “Looks like our guy called in sick. You’re free to go, but make sure you leave together; gotta make sure our wild child looks at least marginally wild for the next go around.”
Tim signals one of the harried bartenders for their check, before turning his attention back to a disappointed Lucy. He smirks, “You didn’t think every UC mission was going to be all glamour and guns a-blazing, did you?”
Lucy frowns at him, then shrugs, realizing that maybe, yes, she had expected more from her mission.
“It’s hard work, Lucy. Oftentimes boring work. Nine times out of ten, you aren’t going to be busting the kingpin. You’re going to be waiting around for someone who never shows, burning hours on pointless stakeouts, or shooting the shit with low-life idiots.”
Lucy feels herself deflate further as Tim nudges her, “That’s why you’ve gotta stay on patrol — it’s where all the real action is.”
Lucy rolls her eyes, but can’t help but smile a little at Tim’s neverending enthusiasm for patrol work.
Closing out the bill, Tim glances at Lucy with the tiniest flicker of roguishness in his eyes, “So, you wanna get out of here or what?”
Lucy blushes, wondering just how many women he’s propositioned with that line at the end of a long night, before tucking her arm into his and allowing him to lead the way to the exit.