Chapter Text
August
By the time Lucy finally moves and settles in, June & July seem to zoom past them both. Between working, unpacking, painting, attempting to put wallpaper up, hanging decorations, drinking too much alchohol and ordering an obscene amount of takeout just to get them through, they---in partnership with their livers and both of their bank accounts---are elated to have a bit of a reprieve from anything house related.
"You know what they say?" Lucy asks him the other night in a way that lets him know she's about to answer her own question. She has just finished hanging the last art piece brought over from her apartment in the dining room when she flops down right beside him on the couch with a glass of wine and finds the place she fits into his side. He looks at her expectantly, waiting for the follow up. "If a couple can make it through a home renovation together they can make it through anything."
"I would hardly count this as a renovation, Luce."
"Oh, I'm sorry." She's apparently offended, head pulled back with a hand over her chest. "I guess I was the only one there when we had to call John to help us install the wallpaper."
John. Right. How could he have ever forgotten that experience?
He speaks again, this time through gritted teeth before taking a swig of his beer. "Don't remind me."
And really. He means that.
"Tim?" The breathless tremor in her voice bounces down the hall and to their master ensuite as the front door shuts behind her. He can hear Kojo's snorting and panting as he runs his razor along his jaw line one last time, his paws clicking their way to his food and water bowl. "Babe?"
"Yeah? Back here."
The metal clasp of Kojo's leash hits the wall as she puts it on it's hook and the soles of her running shoes pad along their floor in the front entryway.
He counts down from thirty in his head, paying close attention to the stubble between his nose and upper lip while he waits. Normally he barely makes it to fifteen before she materializes herself in front of him. Today is no different.
"Well hot damn. I thought Los Angeles was experiencing a heat wave but this right here," her hand gestures toward the silohuette of his figure clad only in a towel wrapped around his waist, "this is a whole different kind of heat wave."
Tim taps his razor against the sink and examines his work in the mirror before washing off the remnants of any shaving cream left behind and reaching for his after shave.
He lifts an eyebrow at her in the reflection of the bathroom mirror. "You done objectifying me?"
Lucy snorts and closes the small distance between them. She's warm and sweaty from her run, making his shower counterproductive when she presses herself against him.
"I would hardly call it objectifying," she tells him as her hands slowly work their way up his back, and over his shoulders and biceps. She trails them down to the crease at the elbow, and then wraps her arms around his waist, fingers teasing the tuck in the fabric. "I am merely admiring and appreciating your body."
"And what about my charming personality?" He feels one cheek lift into a smile against his right shoulder blade before her body starts to vibrate with giggles. He mocks offense, "You meaning to tell me you only love me for my body?"
"What? No of course not!" She smacks a loud kiss against his back before she unwraps herself from him and begins to saunter over to the shower. She watches him, a smirk curving her mouth as she toes off her sneakers and peels off her socks. "It's definitley the money."
"Pfft, okay," he responds, squeezing a dollop of the after shave balm into his hand and rubbing it into his skin. "Never thought I'd be someone's sugar daddy."
"Or perhaps more accurate is sugar zaddy."
God, that word made his whole body cringe. Worst contribution to society gen Z had ever made.
Lucy cackles at the look of disgust on his face as she undresses, and he realizes as he is watching her that it's taking a wealth of self control to not reach beside him and use the hand towel as ammo.
"I'm sorry! It's funny!"
"Mhmm," he hums, turning on his heel and stepping into their closet to find something to wear. "Did you actually have something to tell me when you came in or did you just come in here to terrorize me?"
Her 'shower jam' playlist comes on, the curtain closes and the shower tap opens. "Rude," she yells over the noise of the water hitting the base of the tub and some Taylor Swift song that he has heard a million times but still couldn't tell you the name of. "Ang called me on my run and asked if we wanted to come to dinner tonight at Patrice's."
Tim furrows his eyebrows as he pulls on a pair of boxers. "Patrice's?"
"Yeah, I guess your man of honor duties are still the gift that keeps on giving. You're honorary family or whatever." The cap of her shampoo bottle pops open and he hears her beat on it to get the last bit of it out. "Anyway, she has a pool and your god son will be there so I feel like it could be fun!"
"I love how you mention the pool first."
Lucy pops her head out from the curtain, suds running from the crown of her head down to her chin. "Shut up! You know I love Jack."
Tim knows that fully, she's just easier to rile up today. Lucy sticks her tongue out at him before dissapearing again.
"What time?"
"Dinner's at 5:30. She said we can stay until Patrice kicks us all out."
"Do we need to bring anything?" He asks, pulling a belt through the loops of his jeans and buckling it into place. He goes for his shirt next, sticking his arms through the sleeves and making quick work of the buttons. "Food? Drinks? Just our good looks?"
"Full of ourselves are we?" Lucy giggles from the other side of the shower curtain making him smile.
"She said Patrice is covering everything, so just ourselves."
To that he wouldn't complain. One less quick grocery shopping trip to make in the week just for Lucy to spend an hour in the homegoods section, convincing him that she needed new cookware.
Cheers to you, Patrice.
He isn't sure how, but Tim had managed to forget just how loaded Patrice was. Like, pillars in the entry way, double staircase, marble floors, 'I could probably get lost trying to find the bathroom in the house,' kind of loaded. Excessive, Tim thinks, especially for a single lady living on her own.
"Maybe we should have just moved here instead. Looks like she isn't hurting on space." Lucy whispers into his shoulder as they walk hand and hand, following Patrice through the foyer and out to the back patio. Tim wants to tell her that she looks like a failed vantriloquist trying to talk with her mouth half closed, but he keeps it to himself. "Tim?"
There's a tug on his hand. He turns his head and looks down at her. "What?"
"You were supposed to laugh. That was funny!"
He lets out an uncerimonious 'haha', his breath picking up a few strands of her hair and blowing them out of place. She scrunches her face up at him rather unpleasantly so he reaches over to put them back where they lay.
"There they are! Look who it is, bubba!"
It's the squeal and chubby little hands clapping that get them both. Jackson Evers, the only one Tim knows that has been able to completely soften all of Angela's sharp edges, smiling and laughing at them both with Cheetoh dust crusted around the edges of his mouth.
"Looks like someone got an early start on dinner without us," Tim jokes as Angela hands the toddler his last orange snack puff before setting him on the ground. Jack makes a running start directly towards Lucy, sandals clapping wildly against the tile, and if they weren't so cute together and the toddler wasn't currently coating Lucy's cheek in Cheetoh dust as they had their own private conversation, Tim would be a little more offended.
"All the best dinners have appetizers, Tim," Angela tells him, making her way over to give him a hug. "I can get you some if you want. I have more cheetos, or a bag of animal crackers in my purse."
"Hilarious, really," he bites back, "I think I'll manage to hold off until dinner."
And if his stomach starts grumbling and his mouth starts watering thinking about those animal crackers before dinner is served, he isn't going to tell anyone. No, he'll just sneak a couple of grapes off the cheese board while Patrice gives some long drawn out speech, welcoming them to her home and toasting to family.
"To the families born from blood and those that are born from love."
Clink, clink. Let's eat.
Dinner looks and tastes as delicious as it smells. The chicken is grilled and seasoned to perfection, a true melt-in-your-mouth experience, giving Tim that much more respect for Wesley's skills in an outdoor kitchen. Patrice goes to town on the sides; buttery, herb and garlic mashed potatoes, oven roasted asparagus, and a tossed salad with a homemade balsamic vinegarette dressing.
Honestly, it's all just a little too much, so when Angela comes out of the kitchen carrying a fresh apple crumble with vanilla ice cream---one of if not his favorite dessert---he starts to grow suspicious.
"Okay," Tim wipes at the corners of his mouth with his napkin before setting it on his empty plate, "what's going on here? Does someone have some bad news they need to break or something because I feel like I am eating my last supper."
Patrice laughs, the sound high pitched and musical, like hitting the keys on a xylophone. "What? No, of course not, honey!" Lucy falls against his shoulder, and Jack falls with her, making grabby hands at Tim. He picks the toddler up and settles him on his lap as Lucy presses her smile into the sleeve of his button up shirt. "Angela just told me about you and Lucy finally moving in together, and I just wanted to celebrate your happiness."
There's something about it that makes him emotional, puts a small lump in his throat, though he would never admit it. The sun sets behind them, casting everyone at the table in pink and orange hues, and when he turns to look at Lucy, she is golden hour personified, the dimming sun putting a tinge of caramel in her eyes.
"Did you know about this?"
Lucy shrugs, and stretches in her seat to press a kiss to his jaw line. Tim can feel everyone's eyes on him, especially Angela's, a smirk dancing across her lips that's daring him to shed some tears at any moment.
"Oh wow. Okay, well thank you."
"Yes," Lucy repeats his sentiment and goes on to say what he can't without getting choked up. "And thank you Patrice for inviting us to your home and offering to do this as if we were your own. Dinner was delicious."
"Oh of course, honey! You two are welcome back anytime."
It hits him then, as everyone is digging into the apple crumble, that it's the first time in a long time Tim has been able to feel at home with anyone else other than Lucy. To know that there are people out there rooting for his happiness, and celebrating in it with him was something new. Something he was going to have to get used to.
The sun had long gone to bed by the time they had wrapped up dinner and conversation at the table, Patrice's energy efficient string of backyard lights flipping on, putting them in yellow light. The hostess herself had quickly followed the suns lead, taking a sleepy, slobbery Jack off of Tim's hands.
"You look good with a baby, Timothy," she says to him with a pat on the shoulder and a wink thrown in Lucy's direction on her way out.Tim can hear Angela snort across the table as Wesley admonishes his mother.
"I am merely stating the truth, Wesley."
The chastized stands up from his chair to escort his mother and Jack to the house, ignoring her when she waves him off.
"There is certainly nothing wrong with that, is there?"
Tim can't help but laugh, unsure if it's truth as much as it's just a matter of her opinion. But it gets Lucy all flustered and pink from Patrice's insinuation, and that feels like a win.
"Don't worry, Luce," Tim teases once Patrice dissapears inside. He puts an arm around her shoulder to pull her closer to him, placing a kiss to her hairline and another sloppy one on her cheek. "You look good with a baby too."
Lucy sinks further into the chair cushion and buries her face in her hands.
"You're a pain in my ass." But there is no actual disdain there, in fact it comes out through a laugh as she wrestles herself out of his hold.
"Get used to it, Lucy," Angela warns her over the rim of her wine glass, taking the last sip before setting it back down on the heavy oak and gathering it with the rest of the empty glasses. Tim and Lucy stand to follow, Lucy stacking the plates and gathering silverware and Tim picking up the linen napkins. They both listen as she continues on.
"That one was asking me about babies the night I met her."
Wonderful.
"To Patrice," Lucy toasts to the woman later that night, as they sit in her hot tub listening to Wesley tell priceless stories on his mother from his childhood and teenage years, "for which this night in this beautiful, beautiful hot tub with wonderful friends would not be possible without."
"A goddess of a woman," Angela adds.
They all laugh, clinking their glasses together and taking a long draw of the wine.
Mid-Wilshire has certainly given Tim more than he ever bargained for when he walked through the door a little over a decade ago looking for a purpose outside of war. It wasn't anything he could have ever imagined for himself, but he's glad that someone out there aligned the stars exactly as they were supposed to be, leading him to where he is right now.
Home.