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“What the hell, it’s a beautiful day.”
Tim's stomach twists itself in knots as Lucy slides into the limousine. She’s trapped now, cornered behind the dark tint of Salonga’s windows, no one looking out for her except herself.
And who’s to say a storm isn’t about to come blowing in?
“Nolan,” Tim snaps, without turning his head away from the top of the parking garage.
“Sir?”
“Back in the shop. We’re moving in closer.” Tim steps back, pointing across the rooftops. He’d noticed the new vantage point earlier, before the undercover cars had pulled up. They couldn’t have moved then, not without Salonga driving right past them on his way up the ramps. But there are snipers on two other buildings, he knows, so they can afford to lose the overhead view in favor of closing in on the deal before things go sideways.
Nolan opens his mouth to say something, but Tim doesn’t wait around to find out what it is. He doesn’t need to hear the argument; it won’t change his mind. They’ll be able to see better up close, provide better backup if they’re needed.
“Now.” He narrows his eyes, glaring at Nolan and pulling the keys out of his pocket.
At least the rookie is smart enough not to push the envelope. He jogs behind Tim, fastens his seatbelt as Tim turns the shop around and creeps back toward street level. He drives slowly, especially once they’re rising through the levels of the garage across the street, pressing the gas down just far enough to keep crawling forward. There’s no telling what could happen if Salonga’s team hears his engine rev, sees his headlights reflect off of a light post.
Once they’re on the last ramp, Tim stops just far enough back that he can’t actually see around the corner, up to the lot where he knows the deal is going down. He wants to roll forward a little further, get the limo back into his eyeline, or Nolan’s at the very least. But there’s too much risk, because now that they’re here, he’s realizing that the ramp is shallower than he’d thought, and he can’t be sure that they wouldn’t be able to see the front end if he stops any closer than they are now.
So he sacrifices the visual, puts his trust in the other officers waiting on standby and listens closely to his earpiece. The engine idles, his left foot pushing the brake all the way to the floor. His right boot is hovering over the gas, ready to drop at a moment’s notice. He can hear Lucy’s voice, tinny and distant, telling Salonga that she won’t betray her colleagues and work for him.
He has no idea just how big a betrayal that would be. Tim does, though, and it makes his breath catch in his throat. He ignores the way he can feel Nolan’s eyes boring into his skull, focused entirely on the mission. If Salonga so much as wonders why Lucy turned him down, or even if he’s just not used to hearing the word ‘no,’ the whole game could be about to change, and there’s nothing any of them can do about it.
Then it sounds like a car door opens and closes, some staticky rustle before Zhang whistles softly.
“Now that’s sexy,” she says, and Tim jumps into action. He switches his feet, jerking the SUV back into motion and smacking the siren as they emerge from the end of the ramp. He yanks the keys from the ignition and sidesteps past Nolan, who’s pulling his handcuffs from his belt as he approaches Harper.
Tim steps up beside Lucy, taking her by the arm and spinning her around until he’s holding both wrists behind her back. Her hands are steady, but he can see the tension in her shoulders as the first metal loop clicks into place, and it’s enough to send a jolt of concern through his chest.
“You OK?” He whispers, ratcheting the second cuff around Lucy’s other wrist. He knows she won’t be able to respond, not really, but he’s surprised at how badly he wants her to anyway, how relieved he is when she nods almost imperceptibly.
There are a hundred other questions he wants to ask, what were you thinking? and still think undercover is a good idea? and you’re sure you’re OK? But before he can, June starts screaming at what's-his-face, hurling accusations at him that make Tim think of what his grandmother always used to say about pots meeting kettles. Then again, he supposes that the best way to convince someone you’re not a cop is to accuse someone else of being one.
That’s why undercover work has never been well suited for him: police should be held to a higher standard, and that includes not lying to civilians, even the worst of them that society has to offer.
He nudges Lucy from behind, starts walking her toward the shop. Along the way, he has to remind himself that he’s supposed to be treating her like a criminal, not the rookie he’s come to think of as a friend. So he steers her by the shoulder, holds onto the chain of the handcuffs and doesn’t let go until he’s using his body to block her only escape route between the door and the backseat of the shop. Tim doesn’t help her into the cage, but he doesn’t step back either. Not until she’s sitting in the middle of the hard plastic seat and staring at him.
There are so many things he wants to say, but he can’t. Not here, with everyone milling around and Lucy’s cover to protect. And not now, when she’s so obviously searching for something in his expression. He’s pretty sure he knows what she wants to hear, though, and at least he can deliver on this one thing.
“You did good,” he says, careful to keep his expression stern and his tone firm, then slams the door shut before he can see Lucy’s reaction.
It’s silent, save for the rumble of the engine and the quiet static hissing from the radio as they ride back down to street level. The turn signal echoes through the shop as Tim waits for a safe opportunity to pull into traffic, but neither of them say anything.
A year ago, he’d have laughed at the notion of missing Lucy’s voice cutting through all the little noises. He remembers wondering how one person could carry the conversation for eight entire hours, completely oblivious to his disinterest.
But now, he’d give anything for even a tenth of her abilities. Anything to move past the silence engulfing them, growing more uncomfortable by the second. After a couple more blocks, he can’t take it anymore.
“So, Zhong, huh? We gonna have to worry about losing you to Fresno?” Tim’s voice feels too loud in the tiny space, the question sounds forced even to his own ears. But he asks anyway, and it’s better than trying to categorize all of the thoughts racing through his own mind, even if the reprieve only lasts a couple of seconds.
“No,” Lucy says softly. Tim waits for her to elaborate, offer some quip about her lease not being up, or not wanting to live so far from her favorite restaurant.
Nothing comes, though, except for more quiet, laying thick and heavy over them, like a wool blanket in the summer. The silence could be comfortable, if the circumstances were all different. As it is, Tim tries again a minute later.
“How was the bar? Online menu looked good.” He wouldn’t know, he’d never bothered to look it up. But he’d overheard a couple other officers talking about it, after it had come up in the investigation.
“We didn’t eat,” Lucy replies, and nothing else.
Fine. If she doesn’t want to talk, that’s fine. Tim was only trying to start a conversation for her sake, anyway.
He blinks, refocusing his attention on the road.
It’s not long, though, before his mind starts to wander again.
Betrayal isn’t really my style, she’d said. Can we finish the deal now?
He’ll never forget the empty buzzing of radio feedback in his earpiece right after that, the absence of noise that felt like it should have been punctuated by a gunshot.
No, actually, we can’t. Drug syndicates don’t like to be told no. Here’s just how much they don’t like it.
She’d played her way out of that, just like Lucy has played her way out of everything else as long as he’s known her. But one day, that luck could run out, and Tim’s mind is racing with different scenarios. He pictures her in a thousand different ways, a million people out to get her. Only one of them would need to succeed, and that risk increases tenfold when he imagines her undercover.
Somehow, it always ends up back on today, Lucy climbing into the back of the limo with Salonga. Except this time, and every time he thinks about it again and again, circling on endless repeat, she doesn’t get back out of the car.
He tries to talk himself out of it, listens carefully to every scrape and jingle and rustle of her presence in the backseat. Even if she’s not talking, she’s there, and he knows that.
It’s like Tim can feel her thinking, even if he’s not sure what about. There are no words flowing between them, but there’s tension coming off of Lucy in waves. Tim’s sure it’s enough to rival his own.
The rustling from the cage is a little louder now, like Lucy’s moving around, but Tim doesn’t pay it any mind. She’s probably just fidgeting. The cuffs probably aren’t comfortable, but he’d been careful not to fasten them too tightly, so her shoulders wouldn’t pull. She’s fine. Given everything that’s happened today, she’s fine.
He tries not to think about it, tries to make himself focus on anything less upsetting than how quiet Lucy’s being, how close a call tonight could have been. Well-done steak, The Green Mile, whatever he can come up with.
Until the gentle rattling of Lucy’s handcuffs increases suddenly to a violent clatter, undercut with a long whine and punctuated by a choked hiccup. Before he’s even processed the sounds, Tim’s gaze is cutting away from the road, checking the rearview mirror out of habit.
As soon as he registers what’s happening, his heart stops.
Because when he looks up, he’s met with Lucy’s reflection, thrashing around in the backseat and trying to breathe through her sobs.
“Hey,” Tim doesn’t know what to say, but he tries to pull Lucy’s attention back toward the present. “Boot, hey. Lucy.”
Even when he uses her first name, Lucy doesn’t give any indication that she’s heard a word Tim has said. For all he knows, she hasn’t. She’s still crying, pulling against her restraints like she might be able to yank hard enough that the cuffs come off.
Tim keeps trying to get her attention as he pulls over, flipping the light bar on as he kills the engine. He turns around to look at her, saying her name a few more times, but she still doesn't respond.
So Tim stops watching her just long enough to look out his window and check for oncoming cars. When the traffic has passed, he pushes his door open and steps out onto the pavement, circling around to the passenger side so he's not standing in the street for this next part.
He pulls the handcuff key from his belt before he even reaches for the back door. But Lucy is moving too erratically for him to get ahold of her, no matter how many times he says “hold still” and “I can’t uncuff you if I can’t reach the cuffs, Boot.”
He’s not sure how long he spends reaching after her. It would have been over faster, if he’d just climbed into the car and used his bodyweight to his advantage, but he doesn’t want to crowd or corner her. The last thing she probably needs right now is for anyone to box her in and try to manhandle her.
So he waits, as patiently as he can, until she jerks sideways again and he’s able to wrap a hand around her wrist. Even now, he’s gentle, pulling just hard enough that she slides across the seat until he’s able to fit the key into the latch and release one cuff.
As soon as her arm is free, Lucy is wiping furiously at her eyes, smearing the tears across her face almost as quickly as they’re pooling against her lashes. Her shoulders are still heaving, sobs wracking her entire body, but she’s at least still enough now for Tim to unlock her other hand. He catches the handcuffs as they fall loose, cramming them back into the case on his belt.
By the time that’s done, Lucy has mostly stopped crying. Tears are still running down her face in thick lines, and her breathing is heavy and shaky, but she’s quieter now, not gasping for air like she had been a few seconds ago. Tim watches her for a moment longer, then bends down slowly until he’s crouching next to the shop, just a little bit lower than Lucy’s eye level.
“Lucy,” he tries her name again, softly, like she might bolt if he startles her. Not that there’s anywhere for her to go, but he doesn’t want her to feel like she needs to. She doesn’t look at him, but Tim can tell she hears him now. She goes still, shifts one shoulder a little closer to him, and he smiles encouragingly even though she can’t see. He hopes it comes through in his voice as he continues. “Hey, do you know where you are? Where are we, Boot?”
She’s almost done with her rookie year, but Tim remembers the early days more fondly than he’d ever thought he would, drilling her on street names until she knew every block of their jurisdiction. Maybe that instinct will kick in now, he thinks, but Lucy still doesn’t say anything. Before the silence can grow too big between them again, Tim gets ready to repeat the question. But Lucy beats him to the chase, whispering so low that he’d have missed it if he weren’t watching her so closely.
“In the shop,” she sniffles and folds her arms tightly across her middle. It’s not quite the answer Tim had been looking for, but she’s not wrong, so he’s inclined to give her the point for it anyway.
“That’s right,” he soothes. “Looks different from back here, huh?” A moment later, after Lucy has thought about it and nodded shakily, Tim asks his next question. “What day is it?”
“T-Tu-Tuesday,” the word gets caught on the edges of a half-sob, and Tim leans forward without meaning to, only realizing it’s happened as when his leg hits the ground.
“Tuesday, good. Take a deep breath for me?” Lucy does, then another and another, until they’re not shaky anymore, the air pushing steadily out of her lungs. “Good. That’s good. And who am I?”
This time, Lucy doesn’t hesitate before answering him.
“You’re Tim.”
“Sure am. Last question,” Tim takes a deep breath of his own; this one is for all the marbles. “You know what’s going on?”
Lucy considers his words; he can feel her thinking carefully before she responds, but there’s less tension in the silence now.
“You arrested me.”
“Yeah, well,” Tim chuckles. “That’s usually how the undercover gigs end. You can’t really just say ‘see you around, but I have to go be a cop again now.’”
His deadpan humor is enough that Lucy smiles a little bit, and turns to face him. She squints against the sunlight, but shifts toward the edge of the seat. Tim can’t tell if she’s leaning toward him, or the fresh air, but either way, she takes another deep breath.
“I … I’ve only really felt like I was going to die twice,” She doesn’t have to say anything more for Tim to know that the other time was when he’d pulled her lifeless body out of an oil barrel. Her leg is bouncing erratically, a different staccato beat to the one her fingers are drumming against her thigh.
Today wasn’t the most danger Lucy’s faced on the job. Not by a long shot, and Tim knows that because he’s faced most of it with her. He’s dragged her into fights, watched her take and return gunfire, stood by as she’s delivered life-shattering news to innocent families. All of that is worse than this, in every way imaginable.
But he knows it doesn’t feel like that right now. Not to Lucy, coming down from the rush of it all. The adrenaline is draining from her body, just as quickly as it had spiked earlier, and Tim knows what a bitch that can be. It doesn’t matter how much danger she’d actually been in (or how much worse they both know it could have been). The shock of this feels real, and whatever had happened, it’s all catching up to Lucy at once, probably tenfold as exhaustion takes the place of panicked euphoria.
He's sure she knows the science behind it all, the rational explanation for everything she’s feeling. None of that is helpful right now, though, so he doesn’t try to explain it away.
“Tell me about it,” he says instead.
And she does.
Lucy tells him about getting in the car, the gun pointed right at her as soon as the door had opened. Her voice goes up an octave when she recites the words “don’t concern yourself with that,” but she keeps looking right at Tim, and he watches the spike of fear dissipate. Her breath catches when she gets to the job offer, a position she’d never expected to have to turn down, even though she’d never consider accepting it.
“That’s when I was really worried,” she says slowly, choosing every word carefully. “You know, it’s probably not a good idea to tell a drug runner ‘no,’ especially when he’s already got a gun on you, but the only other option was even worse. I just … had to hope he still wanted my knowledge, even if I didn’t work for him.”
There’s no way she could have known she’s voicing Tim's worst fears as much as her own, but he has to focus carefully to keep his own emotions in check.
He doesn’t hide his surprise when she tells him about Salonga and his backup trying to speak Tagalong over her head, though. That's news to him – another way Lucy has astounded him today, another opportunity for her to stay a step ahead in the field.
“It’s like spelling in front of a kid, then realizing they’re too old for that trick to work,” she laughs lightly, describing the surprise on their faces when Lucy had interrupted their conversation in their native tongue. “But then I was so worried about the threat that I was trying not to overthink the molecule. I mean, it’s not like the trace byproducts matter, anyway. That's why they’re trace, you know?”
He doesn’t.
Chemistry has never been his strength, at least abstractly. He knows how to create reactions, why explosives work the way they do and how viruses infiltrate bodies, but he’s never had cause to care how they work at the molecular level. But it seems important to Lucy’s story, and she’s still staring at him, looking for his support, so he nods anyway.
“Sure.”
“They almost had me, too,” she admits. “I … I couldn’t remember if it was a single bond or double, and I could tell he was going to call my bluff. But I remembered at the last second, and played it off, and he was impressed. I could tell that too.”
“He should have been,” Tim says. Because you’re impressive, he doesn’t add, trying to toe the line between a supportive TO and a friend.
And what the knots in his stomach could mean.
“Yeah …" Lucy trails off, pulling the collar of her shirt up to wipe her eyes again. She seems calmer now, like talking through everything has already helped start to put it in perspective.
“Feeling better?” Tim asks, when she hasn’t said anything for a few moments.
“Yeah,” she says again, and sighs deeply. There’s no hesitation in her voice, just weariness and residual tears.
“Good.” He smiles at her, and it grows a little wider when she returns the expression.
For a second, that’s all it is: the two of them smiling at each other, finding peace in each other’s comfort. They’re both calm again, and it makes Tim hate the next step even more.
As much as he doesn’t want to, he knows he doesn’t have a choice when he reaches for his duty belt again.
“Hey, we’ve got to get you down to the station,” he says, like he’s reminding her about something mundane, “reunite you with the other miscreants.” Lucy chuckles again, wanly this time, and Tim can tell she knows what’s coming. He asks her anyway. “Can I put your cuffs back on?”
She hesitates, just long enough that he starts trying to come up with a plan B, a viable reason he might lead her through processing without the restraints. ‘She won’t try anything, she’s a cop and I’m her training officer’ won’t cut it, but if Lucy isn’t OK with this, he needs another option. He’ll never force her into something that’d make her react like she had earlier.
But she nods slowly, turning around and tucking her arms behind her back. Her shoulders are set tight, and she flinches when the cold metal touches her skin. Tim winces in sympathy, careful not to tighten the cuffs anymore than he must. If she were a legitimate suspect, he’d have to make them tighter. As it is, he’s pretty sure Lucy could wiggle out of the restraint if she really put her mind to it.
She won’t, though, because she knows as well as he does that this is all for show.
What isn’t for show is the way Tim smiles when she turns back around. He’s proud of her, even if he’d never say so in as many words. She’s grown into her career this year, more than he’d ever imagined she would. Hell, she’s grown into it today, saying whatever she needed to say to pull off the bust.
As much as it scares him, she’d make a great undercover officer. He doesn’t want to think about why it scares him, but for a fleeting instant, he does anyway, and he knows exactly why.
But he can’t say it yet, not for another 10 days at least.
So he settles for resting a hand on her knee as he pushes himself up from the ground. It’s an innocent-looking gesture, something he can pass off as trying to keep his balance if Lucy asks. There’s no good explanation for the way his fingers tighten around her leg before he lets go, but from the way she’s smiling, Tim doesn’t think an excuse would matter.
“If you want to talk some more later … I’ll buy you a coffee after shift.”
Before she can respond, he’s closing the back door and half-jogging back to the driver’s seat. Lucy doesn't say anything as he slides in, or when he fastens his seatbelt, or as the engine roars to life underneath them. Tim looks in the rearview, puts his blinker on and watches out the side mirror until he’s safe to pull back into traffic. Lucy’s quiet through all of that too.
In fact, she doesn’t say anything until he’s driven close to a mile. They’re sitting at a red light, just a few minutes away from the station, when she finally responds.
“I might take you up on that,” she drops her voice to a whisper. “I’ve been a real workhorse today.”
Workhorse.
Any other day, the sentence would have felt very strange to Tim’s ears. Today, he hears it for what it is and turns over his shoulder to catch her eye before returning his gaze to the rearview mirror. She’s still looking at him, her reflection boring into him as he replies.
“Yeah, you have,” he sighs, knowing just how much she’s already been through. And the shift isn’t over yet. “But it’s a beautiful day, right?”
If it’s where Lucy’s comfortable, two can play at this game. Tim smiles at her in the mirror, trying to hide his uncertainty. Lucy presses her lips into a thin line and blinks slowly, then nods.
“Right. It will be,” And Tim’s never agreed with anything as much as he does her next words. “After work.”