Chapter Text
Angela sat on one of the desks in the bullpen, coffee in one hand, cell phone in the other, a calculating look on her face, gaze laser-focused across the room on Tim and Lucy. She ran through the likely scenarios in her mind as she watched them, Lucy sitting in a desk chair, leaning forward presumably to hear whatever Tim was saying, Tim casually sitting on the desk, his long legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles, subtly invading Lucy’s personal space. Or was she invading his? Hard to tell for sure from this angle.
As far as Angela could tell there were three likely possibilities. They were either dating and not ready to share the news with anyone (the least likely in her opinion), one (probably Tim) has realized they have feelings for the other but aren’t going to act on it yet for any number of reasons, or they’re both still clueless idiots (entirely likely).
Jackson entered the bullpen and lowered himself next to Angela on the desk, bumping her gently with his shoulder so as not to dislodge her cup of coffee. He’d seen the intense look on her face as she’d studied their friends and couldn’t help but wonder what she was planning.
Angela sighed deeply as Tim leaned in closer to Lucy and said something that had her shoulders shaking. “I can’t take this any longer,” she took a sip of her coffee. Across the room, Lucy nudged Tim’s knee with her own. “This is like six seasons and a movie, level unresolved sexual tension that should have been resolved three seasons ago. They’re clearly going to end up together so why do we have to do this song and dance when they could just get together?”
Jackson just shook his head and took a drink of his coffee, “because we can’t have nice things?”
Angela looked at the time on her phone. Six minutes until the patrol officers and training officers had to be in the conference room for roll call. She pushed herself up off the desk and crossed the room to Tim and Lucy, “morning.” She noted the way they slightly leaned away from each other at her greeting.
“Lopez,” Tim crossed his arms over his chest. The predatory glint in her eye telling him she was up to something.
Without meaning to, Lucy’s eyes tracked the motion, settling briefly on his bicep straining the sleeve of his uniform shirt.
Angela tried not to smirk as she turned her attention to Lucy, ignoring Tim, except to keep an eye on his reaction, “So, do you remember Grant from our 4th of July party? He’s friends with Wes. Cute, dark hair and eyes. About 6 feet tall. ”
Lucy thought back to the party a couple of weeks ago. She hadn’t known most of Wes and Angela’s friends and had mostly spent the party talking to Jackson and snuggling the baby. “Uhh, vaguely?” He was the one in the yellow polo, maybe.
“Anyway,” Angela waived Lucy’s answer away, “he told Wes he thinks your stupid hot and wanted to know if you were single.”
“Oh, umm,” Lucy felt her cheeks flush pink and Tim stiffen beside her. “He thinks I’m stupid hot?” At Tim’s scoff, Lucy turned to him, “It’s so hard for you to believe that someone finds me stupid hot?”
He absolutely wasn’t taking that bait, “ what is he twenty and in a frat?” He could think of a hundred different ways to tell Lucy or any woman how attractive they were that didn’t involve the phrase stupid hot.
“He’s 36, did his undergrad at Harvard and his MBA at Columbia. He has a fancy finance job. Owns his house, drives a nice car, makes seriously solid money.” Angela looked between Tim and Lucy. “Can I give him your number?”
“Did you run a background check on him?” Tim angled his body slightly between Angela and Lucy so that Angela couldn’t ignore him. Just because this guy had a fancy education and was loaded didn’t mean he was a good guy or the guy for Lucy.
“He and Wes have been friends forever,” she answered Tim. “So?” She asked Lucy, “can I give him your number?”
Lucy hesitated. A date with someone who found her attractive and was interested enough to ask about her sounded nice. That he was someone Angela knew and a friend of Wesley’s was also appealing. It could be a good distraction from how badly she was still reeling from the undercover mission gone horribly wrong this past spring. “Maybe,” she looked at her watch, “I’ll let you know.”
Tim watched Lucy enter the conference room and take her usual seat in the middle of Jackson and John, before turning a warning glare on Angela, “don’t push her into something she’s uncomfortable with.”
“Something she’s uncomfortable with or something you’re uncomfortable with?” Angela had sensed Lucy’s hesitation, she just wasn’t sure where it all was coming from. Would she have jumped at the date if Tim hadn’t been a hulking glowering presence over her shoulder?
“I’m serious, Angela.” He walked away from her hoping she’d just let this drop.
“So am I, Timothy,” she called after him.
They had been patrolling their sector for 113 minutes, not that Tim was keeping track, in almost near silence save for the occasional static, squawk, or dispatch from the radio. It was exactly the kind of day in the shop Tim always claimed to love, and here he was getting exactly what he supposedly craved, and loathing every silent minute.
Every few minutes Tim would sneak a look over at Lucy out of the corner of his eye. Grey had paired them back up when Lucy had returned to patrol full time after her most recent UC assignment, claiming that the return to something familiar, something that worked well, was what everyone needed.
Tim’s relief at the announcement her first morning back had been so immediate and visceral he hadn’t been able to stop the sigh from escaping his lips, and was sure anyone who had looked over at him had seen it written all over his face before he schooled his features.
Lucy hadn’t said anything to him directly about how she was feeling regarding sharing a shop again, but they’d fallen easily back into a partnership. One that felt familiar and similar to their first year together, but also new. Tim could still tell her mood by the set of her shoulders, predict what food truck she’d want for lunch, know whether she’d need a pick-me-up in the form of caffeine or sugar in the afternoon.
But this time around he couldn’t deny that he let himself stand a little closer to her, brush her shoulder, nudge her knee with his when he thought no one would notice. If anyone were to dare to ask him about it he would tell them the truth, it was a way to silently check in make sure she was grounded and good, let her know he was there and watching her back. That those same simple touches grounded him, reminded him that she was good and that he had her back (in so many ways, someone would have to get through him to get to her, back in his shop, and more fully in his life) was something that he had decided not to fight and just accept.
If he found himself spending his mornings pre-roll call fueling up on bad coffee in the breakroom and finding ways to make her laugh - bad jokes, tall tales from his early days on the job, ridiculous pictures of their dog, instead of sitting alone in the conference room waiting for everyone to file in. If he was more generous with the AC and the radio, it didn’t have to be anything more than one friend giving another what she needed to heal from a second traumatic experience. If he liked being the one to make her laugh and smile, if he spent time trying to come up with new jokes and stories, purposely took photos of the dog he thought she’d like, well that didn’t have to mean anything either.
Tim glanced down at his watch, 119 minutes now, and snuck another look over at Lucy. Her eyes were tracking from the windshield to the passenger window and back. Her fingers tapping a quiet rhythm on the armrest. He had no doubt she was cataloging everything she was seeing, looking for anything that seemed out of place or that might require their attention. Just like he’d taught her. He also knew that he hated her silence and that she brooding over something, probably Angela’s offer from this morning.
“Five minutes,” he prompted her.
“What?” His voice pulled her out of her thoughts.
“You’re over there over-analyzing whether you should go out with what’s his name, right? So, five minutes, give me all your pros and cons.”
“That’s not...I’m not…I think I’m going to say yes. I’ve earned a night out. I need a night out.” She hadn’t been on a date since Emmett. She needed this, even if it was just one date and they never saw each other again. “Besides, you’d just tell me he’s not the guy for me.”
“He’s not,” it was out of his mouth before he could even think it through.
She stilled her fingers and clasped her hands in her lap, “you don’t even know him. You didn’t come to Angela’s 4th of July party.”
Cujo didn’t like fireworks, spending most of the first days of July cowering in the bathroom pressing his body between the vanity and the wall, refusing to go outside after dark. Tim had spent the time he was home with the dog laying on the floor next to him, a white noise machine on the counter, and a baseball game on his phone trying to drown out the booms for both of them. “I don’t need to have met him to know that some yuppy friend of Wesley’s isn’t the right guy for you.”
She stuck her hands under her thighs to keep them still, “it’s a date, Tim, not a marriage proposal. I don’t need him to be the guy for me, I just need him to buy me dinner, be semi-interested in what I have to say, and tell me I look stupid hot.”
Tim clenched his jaw and kept his eyes firmly on the road in front of him. He was saved from having to respond by a call coming through on the radio he couldn’t answer fast enough.
That first call, a suspected residential burglary, had turned out to be a simple false alarm. The family’s new babysitter had entered the alarm code incorrectly and couldn’t get the correct one entered in time. It had opened the floodgates though, and what had been shaping up to be a relatively calm day, quickly spiraled. “Lucy,” they were standing in the driveway of their latest call, a noise complaint that was, in reality, a domestic dispute between a woman and her drunk boyfriend, “you’re bleeding.” Tim cupped her elbow and led her around to the back of their shop, popping the trunk to get their medical kit, grateful that John and Jackson, their backup on the call, had taken in the boyfriend leaving them to talk to the victim, take her statement, and set her up to have the locks on her home changed.
Lucy reached up to touch the spot on the left side of her forehead, near her hairline. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off she could feel the burning pain, “must have been glass from when he threw that bottle,” it had hit a wall and shattered, sending small shards of glass ricocheting around the room.
“The whole shop is going to smell like cheap beer now,” he grumbled. She’d gotten the brunt of the beer shower, much like she’d been doused with most of the champagne that day in the bridal shop, a fact he’d be sure to tease her about once he’d patched her up.
“How bad is it?” He’d pulled on a pair of latex gloves, and taken her face very gently in his hands, angling her head down so he could get a better look at the cut. “Stitches?” Even through the gloves she could feel the warmth of his touch, tried not to melt into it.
Tim let go of her face to rummage around in the kit for a sterile antiseptic wipe, gauze, and butterfly closures. He tore open then wipe and swiped it over her cut, “don’t be so dramatic,” he said at her hiss of breath. Satisfied the cut was cleaned properly, he took her head in his left hand, holding her where he needed her while he applied pressure with the gauze.
Lucy sighed and closed her eyes, just letting herself feel every gentle touch of his hands on her face and head. Every so often the pressure on her forehead would abate and she knew he was checking to see if the bleeding had stopped. It must have because she could feel slight pushing and tugging as he applied the butterfly closures to cover the cut.
“We’ll go to urgent care if this doesn’t hold or you start bleeding again,” his voice, closer than she expected, whispered over the side of her face.
She forced her eyes open when his hands dropped from her face and he stepped back from her, “thanks, Tim,” she gave him a small smile.
He didn’t look up from putting the gloves and other garbage into a small plastic bag, “for what? Doing my job?”
“Taking care of me’s in the job description now?” The slight wobble in her voice negating the teasing tone she’d been going for.
“Has been for a while now,” he slammed the trunk of the shop, “good?”
“Mmmhmm,” she nodded and made her way to the passenger door.
Lucy gave Tim a curious look twenty minutes later when he radioed them in for a break and turned the shop into the parking lot of 7-11, “be right back.”
She lowered the window and leaned out slightly, “if you bring me back one of those disgusting greasy cardboard pizzas, I’m putting in for a new partner immediately,” she called after him.
“Here,” he slid back into the shop a few minutes later, dropping several items into her lap.
A travel-size tube of Aleve, a bottle of water, and a king-size Baby Ruth candy bar. She didn’t say anything, didn’t look over at him, just smiled down at the pile in her lap. No sooner had he put them back in service than their next call came over the radio. Lucy quickly swallowed two Aleve and tore open her candy knowing they wouldn’t be getting a real lunch and this might be her only chance to eat at all.
“How’s the head?” Tim asked her hours later. Shift finally over, they’d changed out into their civvies, him his henley and jeans, her a flowy floral skirt and white t-shirt, and were walking through the parking garage.
“Sore,” she didn’t look up from her phone, continuing to swipe and tap over the screen.
“This isn’t helping,” he snatched the phone out of her hand, “besides, didn’t anyone ever tell you it isn’t safe to text and walk at the same time. You could walk into traffic.
She looked around the empty parking garage dubiously, “you’d pull me back before I stepped into traffic,” she reached for the phone, but he moved his hand away, “I need to finish texting Angela about Saturday night.” She’d meant to respond during a lull between calls that had never come.
He squeezed her phone tighter in his hand, keeping it out of her reach, “you can do better than some finance guy from Harvard.”
Lucy turned to walk backward, leveling him with a smirk, her eyes never leaving his, “give me one good reason I shouldn’t go on this date.”
Tim slipped her phone into the back pocket of his jeans and closed the gap between them quickly, his hands reaching for her hips. Instead of pulling her closer to him, he pushed her gently back into the driver’s side door of his truck, his body following her. He ducked his head, his lips hovering a breath away from hers, waiting for her eyes to meet his before he made his next move. He needed to make sure there was no doubt in her eyes. What he saw in her eyes was the same intensity, want, and need he’d been feeling for months. It was enough for him to close the remaining distance between them and finally kiss her.
The contrast of the cold metal of the truck at her back and the warmth of Tim’s body covering her front was thrilling. The fingers of his right hand were digging into her hip, his left hand had tangled in her hair cupping the back of her head. Tim kissed her relentlessly, with the same focus, precision, and dedication that he did everything else.
The sound of a car door slamming somewhere in the garage broke them slowly apart, both breathing heavily. Tim rested his forehead against hers, careful of her bandaged cut, hands still in her hair and on her hip.
For her part, Lucy was pretty sure his body pressing her against the truck was the only thing keeping her upright. She hadn’t believed a kiss could truly leave you weak in the knees until this moment. She realized she had clutched handfuls of his henley and uncurled her hands, smoothing out the fabric. “I’m convinced,” her voice quiet, “finance guy from Harvard is not the guy for me.”
Tim can’t help the laugh that rumbles in his chest. He presses a kiss to her temple. Reluctantly lets go of her to pull her cell phone out of his pocket. Cujo’s adoptaversery unlocks it, so he can pull up her text messages and open Angela’s.
“What are you doing?” Her bemused smile colors her voice. “Do I need to change my passcode?”
He’d started to type a message, but stopped abruptly. “You already told Angela you weren’t going on the date?” He looked at the time stamp. She’d sent the message right after he’d thrown her favorite candy bar and some Aleve in her lap. “Babysitting?”
“I was going to say yes since I wasn’t going on a date. Someone should enjoy the night out, and I was happy to have some Mateo snuggles.” She wrapped her arms loosely around his waist and looked up at him adoringly, “want to babysit your nephew with me on Saturday night?”
“Not really how I pictured our first date,” but he already knows if that’s truly how she wants to spend the night he isn’t going to refuse her.
“Fun fact, Tim, tonight is Wednesday, and I happen to be free. I could even make time for you tomorrow or Friday night. Also, I rode in with Jackson, so I need a ride home.”
Tim laughed again and pulled her away from the door, turning her towards the bed of the truck, nudging her along with his hip, following her so he can pull the passenger door open once he’s unlocked it. After she’s hoisted herself into the seat, he drops her phone into her lap, “tell Angela we’ll see her Saturday night for babysitting. And Lucy?” He leans into the truck and her personal space, “pencil me in for tomorrow and Friday night.”
“Yes, Sir.” She leans forward to kiss him quickly, “will do,” she nips his lower lip before pushing him away, “let’s get out of here.”