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Tim still can't believe Lucy made him a whole goddamn audiobook.
He won't go so far as to say she's the reason he scored eighth out of the 140 candidates who took the sergeant's exam, but he's also not going to pretend she had nothing to do with it. After all, none of the others had his secret weapon: the best rookie he's ever trained.
--
Aside from the fact that it exists in the first place, Tim's favorite thing about the audiobook of Split-Second Leadership: Leading Men in the Line of Duty is the hint of derision that creeps into Lucy's tone upon encountering an element that hasn't stood up to the test of time. From the relentless male pronouns to a pretty abrasive mention of urban slum-dwellers that sticks in her throat like sandpaper, he can always tell when something rankles her, when she's just barely resisting the urge to fire off a callout TikTok or whatever people do these days.
Ultimately, he listens to the audiobook enough times that he grows to anticipate those moments, letting each of them wash over him like a familiar wave.
--
So, while the exam is over, the audiobook's usefulness isn't—and, technically, it's audiobooks', because the best rookie he's ever trained made him another for Forward-Thinking Policing: A Sergeant's Manual after he happened to comment on how annoying he found the official narrator.
He listens to Lucy's version of Forward-Thinking Policing relatively frequently as well (definitely more than is reasonable or strictly necessary), although the recording is less disdainful due to her finding the book's contents more palatable. She even breaks in to editorialize at some points—Tim, you should try this or God, this is boring—and while he knows where those parts are by now, they never fail to make him laugh.
That said, Split-Second Leadership is the one he can't help returning to, the one she'd pressed into his hand that day at the gym.
--
To put it bluntly, Tim has trouble sleeping sometimes. All things considered, that probably isn't surprising—even though his deployment could've gone much worse than it had, being in Iraq wasn't exactly a restful era of his life, and if he wakes up periodically with the horrifying sense that Lucy's still buried way out there in the desert... well, he knows how residual trauma works, so that's to be expected.
What's less expected—at least from where he's standing—is the fact that listening to Split-Second Leadership is the most reliable remedy he can identify. At first, he thinks every audiobook in existence might have the same effect on him, although a 30-day Audible free trial discounts that theory fairly quickly. While he may be loath to admit it, Lucy was right about him being a kinesthetic learner, and yet it seems the only audiobooks that provide a balm for his sleeplessness are the ones narrated in her clear, serene voice.
--
Because neither of the recordings is a professionally edited production, Lucy stumbles over her words a few times, and there's the occasional instance of ambient noise in the background—but honestly, Tim considers that part of their charm. It's not as if she made them in a studio somewhere, sterile and soundproofed; she did this off the clock, on spare evenings and weekends, in quiet moments after hours. There's almost a full chapter where her voice sounds scratchier than usual, and it makes him think back to that week she had a cold.
Tim doesn't think anybody's ever done something this nice for him.
--
One evening, on the threshold between sleep and wakefulness, he Googles the hourly rate for an audiobook narrator, just to see, and the number's enough to not only pull him back into alertness but damn near make his eyes water. Apparently, Lucy had done him an even bigger favor than he'd realized—and now, he can't sleep without it.
--
He doesn't share any of this with her, of course, primarily because it's embarrassing and also because she's his rookie. Except, one day... One day, she isn't.
--
She's sitting on his couch like she belongs there, her small frame dwarfed by the enormous dog beside her. When Kojo first came to live with him, Tim had been adamant about not allowing animals on the furniture, but they both know how that turned out.
He ambles over from the kitchen and holds out her favorite mug—while he doesn't know why she's partial to it, she grabs it every time she's over here, so he's begun to do the same on her behalf. She accepts it gratefully, clasping it in her hands as the steam from the coffee frames her face in wispy tendrils, and he doesn't realize he's staring at her until their gazes meet. She looks at him quizzically for a few seconds, considering him discerningly, and when her expression changes, it takes his brain a moment to catch up.
"Come sit with me," she tells him huskily, and he's reminded of Chapter 6 of Split-Second Leadership, the one she recorded with a cold—although that doesn't make sense, because she was fine a couple of minutes ago.
He acquiesces wordlessly, easing Kojo over to widen the space, and when the dog exhales dolefully, he and Lucy both laugh.
As he settles on the couch, he gets the sudden sense that the oxygen is seeping out of the room, making everything seem hazy and dreamlike. Lucy hesitates for a second, then leans her body against his side.
--
It's as if the air around them has crystallized, like time itself has stopped. Lucy feels soft and warm beside him as she quietly sips her coffee, and he wonders how he's supposed to handle this. Sure, she's not his rookie anymore, but that doesn't mean they can just… do this.
"Ch– Lucy," he begins eloquently, and when she glances up at him, her eyes are sparkling. "I don't..."
He's really not sure what to do here, or even where to start.
"Do you remember the night I came here, after, um." A shadow passes across her face, and she continues a little shakily, "After the wedding?"
Tim isn't sure what he was expecting her to say, but he knows it wasn't that.
"Yeah," he murmurs, reaching out to stroke Kojo's ear. As if he could forget.
"Well, I heard you listening to Split-Second Leadership while you were in your bedroom."
He lets out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "OK?"
"You'd already taken the sergeant's exam by then, soooo." She's looking at him meaningfully, her smile wry and knowing.
"Soooo," he parodies as casually as he can muster, "the work doesn't end because I aced the exam."
She laughs under her breath. "A book from the '60s written by a guy who died before I was born is that critical to the day-to-day life of a sergeant in the 21st century?"
"Yup," he declares simply—and he's not lying, not exactly. How effective of a sergeant can he be if he's running on no sleep?
"Makes sense." Her tone indicates that she thinks the complete opposite, although she sounds more amused than accusatory.
"Good," he replies unnecessarily, and they sit in silence for a few moments as he tries not to dwell on the fact that he's hyper-aware of every place where her body is touching his. There's no way she could know he falls asleep to her voice every night, yet something inside him is telling him otherwise.
When he leans over to take her hand, she grins, and then she lets him.