Archive of Our Own

I.

Tim doesn’t know Lucy’s building has a rooftop until he discovers it by accident.

It’s not necessarily an accident as much as it’s her telling him to meet her up on the roof. He lets out a low laugh into his phone, filled with surprise, to which she scoffs out a, “What?”

“You have a rooftop at your murder building?” He sounds as shocked as he is – the hour of sleep he’d managed to get after they had booked Pettigrew and dealt with Grey isn’t bothering him much, but he’s not feeling as readily able to mask his emotions this early in the morning.

So clearly, it seems like as good a time as ever to take on a pet.

“Most buildings have roofs, thank you,” Lucy grumbles into the phone, and he listens as she takes a long sip from what he figures is a coffee mug. He circles the raised lip of his own paper coffee cup as he chuckles. “It was one of the perks of the building.”

“Rooftop access, factory windows, and the sweet smell of heavy duty disinfectant,” Tim rumbles, smirking as he hears her laughing through the phone. “I see what you mean, Chen.”

“Whatever. I’m up here – just...take the elevator up to the top floor and let me know when you’re here. Kojo’s calmer, getting to sniff around outside and this way Jackson isn’t getting disrupted,” her tone is thin and he doesn’t poke at her. “I wouldn’t be opposed to another coffee, if you’re stopping.”

He scoffs out a laugh, glancing at the small sealed paper coffee cup sitting in the cupholder next to his own. “Don’t push your luck, Boot – I’m already taking your dog.”

Lucy grumbles out some semblance of a goodbye and he hears the phone line go quiet before the Bluetooth in his truck informs him that the call’s been ended with a sharp beep. He’s not far from her apartment – her place isn’t far from the station, which is nice when you’re a rookie. It’s a lot of long hours and lack of quality sleep, from what he remembers.

By the time Lucy’s opening the heavy metal door to her rooftop, the coffee he’s got for her is probably cold. Thankfully, it doesn’t seem to matter, if the way she grabs it from his hand and immediately takes a long, greedy sip is any indication. “You’re the best,” she breathes against the paper lid, and Tim raises his brows. Lucy narrows her eyes at him. “You can’t take me at my word right now, I’m exhausted and you’re being nice.”

“I’m exhausted,” he shakes his head, stepping out onto the rooftop and spotting Kojo lying beneath a folding lounge chair, his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth. “We’re lucky Grey understands that we’re no good to him if we haven’t slept.”

She nods, preoccupied with the coffee as she leads him over to her seat. There’s another chair, one she’s clearly pulled over from somewhere else, set up next to hers and Tim sits in it, patting his leg as Kojo stands up excitedly. Kojo is quick to make his way over and sit on Tim’s foot, his tail wagging as Tim scratches behind his ears. “If I’d known he’d be a traitor so quick, I would’ve offered him up to you sooner.”

“This was hardly an offer,” Tim hears himself adopting a dog voice and bites it back, reaching around to scratch Kojo’s chin. “You begged me to take him.”

“Beg is a strong word,” Lucy huffs, tipping her head back into the padded part of the lounge chair. “I asked – repeatedly, while offering compliments.”

“Sounded like begging to me,” he mumbles, grinning down at the dog. “She’s right, though – I’m great with dogs, huh? Am I great, buddy?”

She laughs and Tim looks up at her, shooting her a half-assed scowl. “I thought the baby voice didn’t do anything for anybody,” she laughs, her tone shifting into full-blown mockery as she speaks.

“I said it does nothing for me, but this guy’s just a big baby,” he watches as Kojo flops onto his side and rolls onto his belly, wriggling a bit as Tim reaches down to scratch his belly. “With the right kind of training, I’m sure you could get him to do whatever you want.”

Lucy’s quiet for a long moment. “I have his toys and stuff in a bag downstairs,” she hooks her thumb over her shoulder, “I can grab it for you before you two head out.”

Tim nods. “I told you, you’re welcome to come see him anytime.” He meets her eye, stooped over and patting Kojo on the side. “I meant that.”

“I know.” Lucy holds his gaze and offers a small smile. She takes a slow breath, looking down at Kojo and then out at the skyline. Tim follows her eye line; she’s got a decent view of the Hollywood Bowl from her place, it’s kind of nice. The sun isn’t quite high enough in the sky yet to require sunglasses, and the air’s still a little crisp – it’s the time of day he doesn’t get to appreciate often enough, especially with another person. “I was hoping,” she trails off, shaking her head.

“You shouldn’t feel bad about this, Chen.”

“I don’t,” she cuts him off, putting her coffee cup down on the little table next to her and reaching over to scratch Kojo’s side. “I figured...he would help, you know? Sometimes my apartment is a little too quiet now. That’s,” she looks like she’s about to shrug it off, but then thinks better of herself. “I thought maybe if I had a dog, I’d feel better being alone without a badge or a gun to hide behind. That maybe I’d remember how to feel like myself when I’m not around other people to remind me.”

Tim swallows, mulling over her words. He sits up and glances over at Lucy, then looks out at the skyline. “I get it,” he nods, because he does in a lot of ways. “Kojo can’t be a bandaid for what’s going on, though.”

She’s quiet for a long few moments. At the mention of his name, Kojo stands up and walks around their chairs, winding up with his head pressed into Lucy’s unmoving hand. He whines softly. “I know,” she smiles softly over at Tim. “I get that, now.”

He stands up, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Why don’t we go downstairs and you can walk us out to my truck? Tell me about his toys.”

He watches as Lucy bites the inside of her cheek, then releases it. She seems to gather herself, slowly, then all at once before standing up and taking one last look at the view. “They’re very specific,” she starts, shooting him a grin over her shoulder before heading towards the heavy metal door back into her building.

II.

Lucy doesn’t know what she can or can’t say on a stakeout with someone who isn’t technically her boss anymore.

Tim’s no longer her T.O., but since Barnes had decided to take a step back from the LAPD and Lucy wasn’t seasoned enough to go on her own, they’d been paired up for a stakeout and she was kind of looking forward to working with him...until they pull into the spot on the rooftop parking deck and he hooks his thumb over his shoulder toward the backseat. “You want to take the first shift?”

Lucy scoffs. “What, you’re tired already?” She gestures out the front windshield and furrows her brow. The sun’s barely set, at this point. “It’s not even late.”

“How many times have I told you that the key to overnight is-”

“If you start going on about the credibility of napping, I’m going to hurt you.”

He smirks at her, raising his brow. “Are you threatening a superior officer, Chen?”

She purses her lips, rolling her eyes overdramatically. “No, sir,” she grumbles, then unbuckles her seatbelt and shifts, facing forward. “Don’t you think we should get the lay of the land before you go full sleeping beauty on me?”

“Is that your way of saying you think I’m pretty?” Tim chuckles, unbuckling his own seatbelt and reaching for the bottle of water he keeps in the door cup holder. Lucy watches out of the corner of her eye as he takes a long swig, averting her eyes so he doesn’t catch her staring.

From the look on his face when she turns back, he probably did catch her staring, but whatever. “What are you so jokey for, anyhow? Don’t you have something better to do than pick on me?”

“You’d know if I were picking on you,” he points out, and Lucy huffs. “I’m working overtime and half of this is me getting paid to sleep. You should be jokey, too.”

“You just miss me,” she casts her eyes over at him, shooting him a soft smile. “You can admit it, I won’t tell anyone.”

Tim rolls his eyes so hard she can’t imagine there’s any way it didn’t hurt. “Please,” he shakes his head, then pushes the driver’s side door open. “You’d have to leave me alone for me to even consider missing you.”

Lucy follows him out of the shop and watches as he pops the trunk, digging around in the war bags and handing her a scope. They canvas the area a bit, taking separate sides and getting a lay of the land before it’s completely dark and then getting back into their shop. Tim doesn’t bother getting into the backseat, and Lucy doesn’t remind him. Instead, he cuts the lights and takes the keys out of the ignition.

They’re quiet for a long stretch, and though she knows Tim’s not uncomfortable, she is. She wants to talk to him, but she’s not totally sure what she can or can’t say. They’re not partners – he’s still her senior officer, but she doesn’t exactly feel like she’s his boot, either.

The silence rolls on for a few more minutes, and by the time Lucy realizes she’s been counting the seconds in her head, she can’t take it anymore. “So,” she taps her fingers against the warm wool pants covering her thighs. “How is it, riding alone?”

Tim shrugs. “I could ask you the same thing. It’s quiet, at least.” He looks over at her and she keeps her eyes ahead. “I’m sure that’s a part you don’t like.”

“You don’t either,” she glances over at him, challenging him with a raised brow. He frowns at her, but doesn’t refute it. “Have you talked to Barnes?”

He shrugs. “I let her know she could call if she needed me. Doesn’t seem like something I should push unless it’s necessary,” he taps his fingers against the steering wheel. “I sent over the names of a few people I know who help people that are just getting back. Hopefully that does something.”

Lucy smiles, nodding. “You seemed disappointed to see her go.”

“I don’t know if disappointed is the word, but something like that,” he leans his head back against the seat, his eyes forward. “I hope she figures out what she needs.”

She chews the inside of her cheek, letting his words sink in. Tim drums his fingers against the steering wheel in a way that makes her want to grab them and stop him, but she doesn’t. “So, what’s next?”

He squints. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Lucy gestures out in front of her with her palm up. “What’s next?”

“I get another rookie when the next class at the academy graduates,” he shrugs. “What else would be next?”

“That’s it?” She doesn’t mean to sound exasperated, but as the words leave her mouth she realizes she does. Tim doesn’t move. “I just – you were always meant to move up, at some point, right? That was the plan, and then you didn’t because-”

“Because I like where I am,” his tone is curt. He’s not angry, but she can tell this isn’t his idea of a pleasant conversation, either. “Because I’m good at what I do.”

“You can be good at new things,” she points out, shifting in her seat so her body’s facing him. Tim looks rigid in a way that seems uncomfortable, but she knows isn’t, not for him. “I’m just saying, you don’t have to wait around for Barnes to be ready or another rookie to slot into place.”

“What’s with the Barnes obsession?” He turns to look at her, his brows high on his forehead. “I thought we squashed all that.”

Lucy huffs, tipping her head to the side. “That’s so not the point and you know it.”

He shoots her a smirk, shrugging. “You brought it up, Chen.”

“I did,” she rolls her eyes, pursing her lips. “I just don’t get why you don’t want to move on, I guess. You’d be a great Sergeant.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yeah,” she squints at him, reaching over to shove at his arm. “Of course I do.”

His smile is small, nearly imperceptible, but she catches it. “You want me to move up?”

“Obviously,” she pulls her arm back so she won’t squeeze his bicep in encouragement – that feels like too much, right now. “I went hoarse trying to help you once, don’t make me do it again.”

Tim laughs, soft. “You just want to be the last rookie I ever successfully trained,” he glances over at her. “Take some kind of prize.”

She swallows hard. “At least it’d be some kind of prize,” she mumbles, realizing after that they’re in a small enclosed space and he absolutely heard her. Lucy closes her eyes. “Ignore it, please.”

He doesn’t listen, because of course he doesn’t. “What do you mean, some kind of prize?”

“Tim,” she’s exasperated – not at him, really, but at herself. It comes off like she’s exasperated at him. “Just leave it, okay?”

He frowns. “I thought we were done with the second guessing, Lucy.”

She huffs, opening her eyes and glaring at him, fighting the urge to repeat his words back to him in a mocking tone. “I am. I’m not second guessing, I just,” she jiggles her leg, then stops herself. She wishes her hair were down so she could run her hand through it. Instead, she digs at the skin around her thumbnail and sighs out a breath. “My mom and I had it out a couple weeks ago because she doesn’t approve of,” she gestures around, glancing over at him, “my life. My choices. She thinks I should...come back to reality, or something.”

Tim’s quiet for a long few moments and she feels restless, itchy. She continues to dig at the skin around her thumbnail. “Well, you know she’s wrong, right?”

Lucy shrugs. “She made some compelling arguments.”

His laugh is low and dry. It surprises her, the same way it surprises her when he turns in his seat and levels her with a look. “Okay, look. You don’t need to hear this from me, because you know it already – but you’re a good cop.” She does know that already. She nods, still focused on her thumb. Tim reaches over and plucks her hand away, dropping it and shaking his head as she looks over at him. “You’re definitely in the top ten rookies I’ve ever trained,” he says, his tone casual.

She presses her lips together. “Top ten? Please,” she laughs, a weight dissolving from her shoulders as she smiles softly at him. “Top eight, minimum.”

He shrugs, turning back towards the steering wheel again. “Don’t push your luck, Chen,” he mumbles, glancing out the windshield. “If you think you’re top eight, you certainly shouldn’t care what your mom says – you believe in yourself enough for the both of you.”

Lucy softens for a moment, letting his words wash over her. He’s not wrong.

A flash of light from across the way jolts her out of it, and she jumps as she turns towards the windshield, Tim already holding his scope to his eye. “We’ve got movement,” she murmurs, sitting up in her seat to get a better angle with her own scope.

“You don’t say,” he mutters, but they’re too preoccupied for her to bother trying to come up with a retort.

III.

Tim doesn’t know if Lucy realizes she’s been tapping her foot against the firepit’s railing for the last five minutes.

She’d been determined to take him out for celebratory drinks before he started his new position as Sergeant next week, which he felt was premature considering he could very easily be bad at it. Still, it was nice of her to offer, nice of her to have brought him to a rooftop bar with the kind of ambience he likes, and nice of her to buy him an expensive whiskey.

Except now she’s tapping and not meeting his eye, so there’s that.

“Chen,” he says it firmly, her last name a little odd coming off his tongue. He calls her Lucy more often than not lately. “Hey, Chen.”

Lucy swirls the ice around in her tumbler. Her foot taps louder against the metal railing.

“Lucy,” he leans in close, speaking firmly but softly, and watches as she jumps. His face is closer to hers than it was twenty seconds ago and it takes her a second to adjust, but when she does the tapping stops and she glances over at him, her brow furrowed.

“What are you doing over here?” She shifts back in her seat and Tim sits back up, rolling his eyes as he takes another sip of his drink.

“What were you doing over there?” He lets out a low chuckle and sets his drink down on the thick arm of the boxy wicker chair, keeping his fingers wrapped around the cool glass. “You’ve been staring into space and tapping your foot like I’m boring you.”

“Who says you aren’t boring me?” Lucy shoots him a grin, then raises her glass and takes a slow sip from her straw. Her drink is orange and has mint leaves in it, and while Tim knows it’s something tequila-based, he doesn’t want to ask what it is lest she make him try a sip. He frowns at her, but it’s only half-baked. She taps her foot against his ankle, then slides in a little closer and raises her brow at him. “Sorry, I got stuck out there,” she tips her head toward the horizon, the LA skyline twinkling in the dusk. “I haven’t been on a rooftop in ages.”

Tim frowns. “You have a rooftop to stare into space on.”

She shrugs. “Rooftops aren’t something I’ve been in the mood for, I guess.” Her voice is thin and Tim swallows, nodding. It’s only been a couple weeks since Jackson’s funeral. He hasn’t really seen her like this before – frantic, frenzied, flying around like a hummingbird who can’t find a feeder. She’s taken it upon herself to do something for everyone at Mid-Wilshire – she’d helped Nolan re-plant his garden that’d taken a hit from the recent heatwave, babysat for Nyla while she was out on a date, and spent an entire weekend helping Tamara barter with people on Facebook Marketplace for furniture – which she’d then coerced him to go with her to pick up all over the city).

Okay, coerced is a little much – he’d kind of volunteered. It was his day off and he wasn’t interested in getting called to a crime scene with Lucy as the centerpiece, so he figured the trade-off wasn’t too bad.

Anyway: she hasn’t stopped moving in weeks and he’s nervous about it. About her. About what’s going to happen when she finally decides to slow down.

Now, he takes another swig of his whiskey and then sets the glass down on the concrete floor. “You’re allowed to not be in the mood,” he shrugs. “What made you want to come to one tonight? We could’ve gone anywhere.”

Lucy nods, crossing one leg over the other, then shifting back. Tim flexes his fingers so he doesn’t put a hand over her leg to stop her. After the last month, he thinks touching her would just make things even more complicated than they already fucking are. Which, they’re not – she’s his friend. They’ve crossed that bridge, whether he cares to share that little nugget of knowledge with her or not. But things feel complicated sometimes, when he gets a waft of her perfume or her hand lingers on his bicep for too long. 

He’s not letting himself focus on that, though – he's just ensuring things stay uncomplicated by keeping his fucking hands to himself.

She shifts her legs again and he clears his throat, raising his brow as she shuts her eyes for a second, shaking her head. “Sorry,” she practically mouths, and he sighs.

“Don’t apologize,” he offers, blunt. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

Lucy fiddles with her straw, stirring her drink. “Planning this whole thing made me forget about the aversion to rooftops for a little bit, you know? This place looked nice and your promotion deserved to be celebrated somewhere nice, right? Something felt off, but I couldn’t figure out why – and then we got here and I realized,” she lets out a soft, sad little laugh and Tim folds his hands in front of him, listening intently. “I realized that I’ve been here before.”

He figures it out before she says anything – it’s not really obvious, but it feels obvious enough to him that whatever’s coming is Jackson related. “I used to come here with Jackson, before he moved in. Not all the time, but enough that,” she looks up at him, her eyes shining, and shrugs as she trails off.

“Hey,” he reaches over and puts his hand on the arm of her chair, his knuckles brushing against her sleeve. “Hey, look at me.”

She listens, looks. The warm glow of the fire flickers against her skin, makes her eyes appear warmer and brighter and sadder, somehow. He raises his brow. “What,” she asks, her voice low and gentle, more tentative than he’s heard her in a while. “That’s bad, Tim. However you spin it, that’s...I’m actively forgetting things.”

He sighs, shaking his head. “When’s the last time you came here?” She gapes at him, her mouth moving without making any sound. He holds out his hand, raising his brows. “Don’t scramble – think about it for a minute. When’s the last time?”

Lucy taps her fingers against her glass for a moment, but then stills. Tim watches, sitting back in his seat as her body seems to slow down, finally. Her breathing is even, her limbs aren’t twitching, she’s just...Lucy.

“It was a few weeks after he moved in, actually,” she smiles softly. “He said he could still afford a few drinks since our rent wasn’t steep, so we came here and treated ourselves. He was hyping himself up to go talk to some guy at the bar,” her voice becomes a bit more sepia-toned, sweet and soft, nostalgic as her smile grows. “And he was, you know...puffing his chest out, psyching himself up, and he grabbed my glass off the table thinking it was water.” She presses her hand over her face, laughing as Tim leans in a bit closer, transfixed by the way she’s so fully Lucy for the first time in weeks. “It was a tequila on the rocks, one he totally wasn’t expecting – he choked so hard that the guy he’d been checking out actually came over to check on him.”

Tim laughs, his head tipping back. He can see the whole thing, if he’s being honest. He hadn’t known West all that well, but the scene of it played out in his mind, the coughing and sputtering, Lucy grinning at him with shining eyes. He looks back at her then, a soft smile on his lips. “I’m surprised they let you back in.”

“I think that’s actually why we stopped coming here – he was too nervous.” She looks away, still smiling, then grins back at him. “Alright,” she nods, speaking after a long moment, “so was your sensei teaching moment about me actually remembering things if I slow down a little?”

He shrugs. “More that...your friendship didn’t die with him. You still have all these memories of him, and those aren’t going anywhere. Besides,” he shoots her a soft smile, scooping his glass up off the ground and tapping it to hers, “You’re not replacing the memories by making new ones. You’re allowed to keep living your life. He’d want you to.”

She swallows audibly, and Tim focuses his energy on his drink. He lets her take everything in, knowing her eyes are trained on him and making sure his own eyes are anywhere else. “Who made you so smart, Sergeant Bradford,” she hums after a long moment.

Tim swallows, the line drawn back in the sand once again. “Not until next week,” he shakes his head. “I’m pretty sure Tim’s fine until then.”

Lucy rolls her eyes. “Uh huh,” she shoves at his arm, then softens. “Thank you, though.”

He nods, keeping quiet as she shifts in her seat, this time managing it without any gratuitous fidgeting. “Of course. Any time.”

She holds out her glass, shaking it gently so the half-melted ice rattles around a bit. “Taste this, by the way – I know it’s tequila, but I think-”

“Don’t push your luck, Lucy,” he shakes his head, shoving her hand away gently before tipping back what’s left in his glass. “Besides, aren’t we here to celebrate me?” 

She snorts, then holds out her hand for his glass before retreating to go get him a refill.

IV.

Lucy doesn’t know what she’s doing here, but she doesn’t want to leave Tim alone right now.

The ride from the hospice back to Tim’s childhood home had only been about 25 minutes, but it had somehow stretched out in front of her like an hours-long road trip. Despite the fact that everything felt a little heavy, she hadn’t really minded tipping her head back against the headrest of Tim’s passenger seat and turning to watch him at the wheel.

She chalks it up to being comfortable with him being the one in control and decides not to read any further into it, into the stirring in the pit of her stomach, into the itch she feels to reach over and brush her fingers along his forearm.

He’s tense, and she understands why. Even with everything out in the open, with the fact that he’d finally gotten to truly speak to his dad instead of just swallowing it all down, with the knowledge that there was nothing left for him to hold back when it came to Tom Bradford, it didn’t feel good.

Sure, he might be feeling lighter – but she can tell he doesn’t feel better, yet. She can tell he doesn’t feel like himself.

He pulls into the driveway of his childhood home and turns off the engine, tugging the keys from the ignition before he looks over at her. “Do you want a drink?”

Lucy swallows. “Like, water?”

He laughs, a genuine one. “Maybe something a little harder than water.” She opens her mouth to agree or object, she isn’t totally sure which one, when he pushes open the driver’s side door and raises his brows at her. “Come on, I want to show you something.”

Thirty minutes and two drinks later, they’ve abandoned the plastic cups Tim had brought up with them and switched to drinking straight from the bottle – tequila, surprisingly enough, that she figures he bought along with the one for his father.

They’re sitting on the sloped roof of Tim’s childhood home, right outside what was once his bedroom. She could tell it was his right away, and not just because he’d led them there. The walls are painted a deep navy blue, some of it peeling at the corners, and there’s a flat-looking double bed pushed into the corner, stripped of a comforter but still made up with cream colored sheets and one thin pillow. There are a few yellowing posters on the wall, corners curling inward in a way that makes them difficult to make out, and a Tim trademark – an empty shoe rack, still holding its place by the door.

“How did they let you have the room where you could sneak out easily,” Lucy hums, leaning slightly into Tim’s shoulder before straightening herself out. The window from his bedroom leads out to a sloped roof, one that’s low enough to climb down the side of the house without really risking any bodily harm. There’s no way he hadn’t made use of it to sneak in and out at his leisure as a teenager – and honestly, part of her was jealous just knowing he had the freedom to leave.

The rest of her was happy that at least he’d had an escape.

“They were going to give it to Genny, at first,” he laughs, taking a slow swig from the bottle and then putting it in her hand. He squeezes the neck of the bottle into her palm, his fingers looping around hers for a long moment before he pulls away. “I remember I was going to get the bigger one on the other side of the hall, the one with the bathroom, but she ratted me out.”  

Lucy squints at him as she swallows a mouthful of tequila. “About what?”

He rolls his eyes, letting out a slow sigh. “Nothing, from what I remember,” he shakes his head. “I’d sleep out some nights and she’d cover for me – in our old house, it was a lot harder. She still swears she was doing me a favor,” he shrugs, “they didn’t realize you could hop down from the roof until I’d been doing it for too long for them to really stop me. I guess it was kind of a favor.”

She hums, handing him the bottle back and tipping her head to the side, looking out at the suburban sprawl laid out in front of them. Backyards, pools, and neatly mown lawns littered with twinkling Edison bulbs stretched out as far as the eye could see, which wasn’t exactly all that far considering how dark it was. Still, thinking of Tim growing up here filled her with a soft warmth she didn’t really bother trying to unpack. “You had enough grooming products to want your own bathroom by the time you were, what, twelve? When did you guys move in here?”

He snorts, tapping his fingers against the bottle. “I was seven,” he corrects, tipping the bottle towards her with a soft smile. “And yes, thank you. Hair gel was a whole thing, you know.”

Lucy laughs, shaking her head as she presses her hand over her face. “How much hair gel was seven-year-old Tim Bradford using, please tell me about that. With visual aids, if you have them.”

“Sorry,” he lifts the bottle to his lips. “Classified information, Chen.”

She reaches over and pinches his elbow, grinning when he yanks his arm away. She knows she’s not sober, but she’s definitely not drunk. If they keep drinking like this, she might get there – but it feels nice, sitting here with him, letting him talk. It feels nice to be the person Tim Bradford trusts with his stories.

“If you tell me about your hair gel obsession, I’ll tell you about my perm,” she offers, snatching the tequila away from him and raising her brows before taking a long swig.

“I’m sorry, your what?” 

She frowns, her lips on the bottle. She sets it down between her shins and purses her lips as the tequila burns its way down her throat. “My perm,” she pops the p in the way she knows bugs him. “I did it behind my mom’s back. Got in a shit ton of trouble for it.”

“I thought hairstyles were a form of personal expression,” he adopts a voice she can’t help but chuckle at, something that he must chalk up to a psychologist’s cadence. “You should be allowed to do whatever you want with it if you grew it out of your own head, no?”

Lucy hums, tipping her head from side to side. “Yes and no. I think she would’ve tried to talk me out of it if I’d asked, but instead I stole her credit card and did it when she thought I was at an SAT prep course.”

“Oh, so you’re a criminal,” he laughs, holding his hands out. “You can’t act like she was mad about the hair when she was really mad that you stole her credit card.” 

She rolls her eyes, performative. “Okay, stole is a strong word, I borrowed it. She said I could for emergencies.”

“Absolutely not,” he grumbles, taking the bottle back and sipping from it slowly. He sets it down on the side she can’t reach and she pouts out her lower lip at him, forgetting about it almost instantly when he rolls his eyes at her, a smirk on his lips. “A perm isn’t an emergency.”

“How do you know? You’ve never been fourteen year old me, it might’ve been a very serious need.”

He licks his lips, thinking it over. “Definitely not. I’m going to need to see photos to confirm, though.”

Lucy huffs out a laugh, shaking her head. “Not with that attitude.”

Tim chuckles, and the air grows quiet between them for a long few moments. “My mom used to gel my hair,” he offers, after seeming to consider it for a few minutes. She stays quiet, tapping her fingers against the rough shingles of the roof beneath her. “I remember when I was a little kid, she’d lift me up onto the bathroom counter and set an egg timer, and she said if I could sit still until the timer went off, I’d win a prize.”

“A prize, huh?” Lucy smiles, soft but wide, she can feel it tugging at the corners of her mouth and taking over her whole face. “Good prize?”

He purses his lips, nodding, “I’m sure. I remember I’d try so hard to sit still because I wanted the prize, you know? And she’d comb my hair and gel it down, get it all coiffed,” he gestured around his head with a low laugh. “Apparently I was bad at leaving it alone before all that and by the end of the day it’d be all ratty and tousled. So instead of giving my dad something else to criticize, she’d gel it in the morning after he left for work and I’d just walk around looking like a little professional all day.”

Lucy softened, a sigh falling from her lips. “That’s so,” she starts, and then stops herself. It’s not sweet, exactly – but it’s not not sweet. “I bet you were cute on the playground.”

Tim smiles over at her, his eyes a little sad. “Obviously,” he shrugs, then grabs the tequila bottle. “We started buzzing my hair, at some point,” he muses, looking down at the bottle. “I guess that was easier when there were two of us fighting for her attention, right?”

She chews on the inside of her cheek. “She sounds incredible,” she reaches over and brushes her fingers over his, knowing there’s the guise of taking the bottle if she needs it. He doesn’t do anything, though, just nods. “Did she like it here?”

“I think she did,” he nods, taking a slow sip and passing the bottle over. Lucy takes it, swirling the tequila around. “Genny doesn’t really talk about her much, but I don’t mind. She was... complicated. We’re all complicated,” he shrugs. “It’s not as simple as one word, one dynamic. She was all kinds of things. I think that’s what I miss the most.”

Lucy closes her eyes. Her throat feels tight and her chest feels knotted and she places her palms down flat against the shingle tiles beneath her and takes a slow breath. She wants to get this right. “You’re not getting rid of her by leaving here, selling this place, you know.”

Tim swallows audibly. She knows he knows that, but she’s not sure he can feel it. “I know,” he starts, but stops himself. 

Lucy keeps her eyes shut, waits. When he doesn’t speak, she takes a breath. “You remember what you told me, right? Your relationship with her didn’t die with her. You’re not replacing the memories you have here by letting go. You’re allowed to keep living your life.”

He hums, soft, but audible. They’re quiet for a long few moments and she opens her eyes, blinking to allow them to adjust to the little bit of light. She takes a slow sip of tequila and then puts the bottle off to the side, listening as the liquid jostles inside.

“I am living my life,” he decides, after a while. Lucy looks over at him, nodding. “I am. I’m,” he laughs, quiet. “I’m moving forward, for once. I feel like I was stuck for a long time, you know? But I don’t feel that now. I thought I might, after…” he sighs, not wanting to rehash the stuff with his dad. “But I don’t. That was just...part of it, I guess.”

“It was,” she speaks softly, tentatively. “I know it probably doesn’t feel like it, but talking to him is going to be the best thing you ever did, someday.”

Tim frowns. “I hope I do way better things than that, Lucy.”

She scoots in a little closer to him, her arm pressing against his. “Yeah, yeah. You know what I mean.” He nods, but she keeps going. “Besides, fixing up this house and selling it doesn’t need to be you...constantly rehashing some old thing, you know? You should re-frame it. Think of it as a new start for you with your family,” she glances over at him, sees his lips twitch into a half-smile, “and with Ashley.”

He nods slowly, looking over at her. “I can do that,” he agrees, tipping his head back and looking up at the sky. Lucy follows his gaze. It’s LA, so there’s mostly just a thick layer of smog, but if she squints she’s pretty sure she can find a star or two. “You know you’re going to have to keep helping me gut this place, though, right? I can’t trust Genny with power tools.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes over at him. “I’ll help you if you find me a picture of your highlights phase,” she offers, trying to keep her voice even.

“Don’t push your luck,” he laughs, shaking his head. “Besides, Genny doesn’t even know half of my good teenage stories.”

Lucy perks up, raising her brows. “Oh, really?”

“Really,” he meets her eye, challenging her with his own raised brow. “Want to hear about the time I charmed my way out of an in school suspension?”

She groans, leaning back and lying down on the shingles, draping her forearm over her eyes as Tim stars in without preamble, the lilt of his voice matching up with the bursts of colors she can see behind her eyelids.

V.

Tim doesn’t know where Lucy went, but he figures the roof is a safe bet.

James and Nyla’s wedding reception had been last minute, to the point that he hadn’t really even had time to go change. Ashley offered to stop at his place and grab him a dress shirt, but he decided not to inconvenience her – in fact, he’d decided not to have her come at all. He wound up driving with Lucy, anyway. 

After she’d been pulled away from their dance, Tim had strayed off to the bar to grab another drink. Two beers and an Angela Lopez enforced shot of whiskey later, he’s making his way up the steps to see if Lucy’s taking advantage of the rooftop access at the venue. He spots her quickly, her dress shining in the soft moonlight, her back bare as she leans against the ledge, her hair pulled over one shoulder. He can see from afar that she’s twisting it around her finger, and he clears his throat once he’s within earshot so he doesn’t startle her too much, knowing just how deeply she must be in her own head.

She peeks over her shoulder, a soft smile already on her face like she already knew it was him.

“You hiding?”

“You seeking?” She turns around fully, leaning back against the ledge and raising her brow. “I thought I’d get a moment of quiet up here,” he rolls his eyes before she can even finish, “but apparently I can’t get you off my tail.”

“Your tail’s doing just fine,” he grumbles through a laugh, shaking his head as he hops up to sit on the ledge. “Ever think I was looking for a moment of quiet?”

“No, I’m pretty sure you were looking for me,” Lucy pokes him in the side of the knee, and up close he can see that her eyes are a little glassy. He glances down at her highball glass, which seems to be mostly melted ice at this point. “What, one dance wasn’t enough?”

“Ha,” he deadpans, tapping the side of his foot against her calf. “Angela was trying to get me drunk.”

Lucy squints over at him, raising her brows. “And you didn’t let her? Hold on,” she holds out her hand, “let’s go find her. We can make that happen.”

Tim snorts, pushing her hand away. “Absolutely not. We have work in the morning and I’m not leaving my truck here.”

She frowns. “You’re no fun.”

“I’m tons of fun,” he retorts, watching as Lucy turns back around and leans on the ledge again, pulling her drink towards her. She taps her fingers against the glass, her nails echoing against it. When she doesn’t say anything, he slides in a little closer, dipping his head toward her. “You’re not going to fight me on that?”

She looks over at him, clearly distracted. “Huh?”

Tim frowns. “You are no fun, that’s the real plot twist.”

Lucy laughs a little absently, and he watches as her face shifts, her brows knit with worry. “Can I ask you,” she starts, then stops – she doesn’t need permission, they both know that. “How do you know if you really trust someone?”

He swallows, his hands coming together in a knot as he thinks. “I mean,” he says, after a long moment has passed between them and Lucy’s eyes have continued to burn a hole into the side of his head. “I don’t know. I think you just do, it’s not really something you know until you have to think about it. Deep trust is never really a conscious decision.” He lets his leg swing lightly, his heel hitting the concrete of the ledge a few times with a slight bounce before he glances over at her. “Why?”

She shakes her head, lifting her glass and taking a sip. The ice cubes clink noisily as she tries to keep them from sliding into her mouth. “Why didn’t you ever tell me you were the one who gave me CPR?”

The question throws him for a moment, more than the first. It takes him a second to dig through it, to realize what she’s talking about – and of course, he knows what she means. He exhales, hard. “I,” he glances over at her, his brows furrowed. “Hold on, hold on,” he gestures over at her, his hand out. “You don’t think I just offered to list you out on our reports because of that, do you?”

She blinks at him, her expression not revealing much. She looks a little confused. “Huh?”

“I’m not –” he hops down off the ledge, facing her. “You genuinely deserve to be recognized, Lucy.”

“I know that,” she reaches out, presses her fingers to his wrist with a look of concern washing over her face. “I know that, Tim.”

He nods, watching as she drops her hand and takes a step away, starting to pace between him and the metal lounge that’s stranded in between the high-top tables on the roof. No one else is utilizing the space and her pace isn’t far enough away that it really inhibits the conversation, but he wants her to stay fucking still because she’s more difficult to talk to when she’s an amalgamation of swinging arms and moving feet, her hair bouncing around behind her. “Then what are you asking about?”

“It was just a question – you never told me, so I,” she shrugs. “I’m just asking why. I watched some of the footage from that day for my–” she shakes her head. “I just didn’t know, before.”

“I’m not doing this because I’m guilty,” he says, blunt, serious as he leans back against the ledge again. He wants it to be said plain and clear, that he’s not going to start listing her as arresting officer on their reports because of some sort of guilt he’s been holding onto all this time. He doesn’t know if there’s really any way she doesn’t know that, but he feels like it’s necessary to mention it. “We talked about this and you were right – what happened then, it wasn’t my fault. And it wasn’t yours.”

“No, no, this isn’t about you – of course I trust you.” Lucy fixes her eyes on him and he can see she’s telling the truth. He can also see that there’s something eating at her, and she’s trying to get to the bottom of it. 

“I trust you, too,” Tim offers, smiling softly at her.

She nods. “I know,” she smiles back, then starts to pace again. It’s quiet for a few moments, only the sound of her shoes crunching over gravel, before she speaks up. “How do you know when something’s not working?”

He swallows. “What do you mean, something?” She shrugs, but doesn’t offer any more of an answer. “You just do. You trust your instincts the way I know you can and you...make a call, whether it’s right or wrong. If you feel like something’s not working, it’s...probably not.” He drags his hand through his hair, raising his brow at her as she spins on her heel and looks back at him, deep in thought. “What’s up with you?”

Lucy sighs. “I don’t know,” she steps closer to him, pressing her lips together. She doesn’t meet his eye. “It’s been a weird couple weeks.”

He nods, waiting for her to elaborate. When she doesn’t, he raises his brow. “You know you’re going to have to talk to me if you want me to sort this out with you, right?”

She huffs. “Yes, I know that. I don’t,” she lets out a light laugh. “I don’t know if we should do this, here, now. I don’t know if,” she bites on her lower lip and he watches, unabashedly, as her teeth dig into the pink skin of it. She releases it after a moment, but he keeps his eyes fixed on her mouth. “I want that,” her hand moves and pulls him away from looking at her lips, which he shakes off quickly, trying to follow. She gestures towards the reception, which he can hear without straining – the laughter, the music, the buzz of happiness radiating up toward them. “I want that, but I don’t know how to get there.”

Tim hums softly, taking a beat. “I mean, you’re on your way, right? Chris is,” he watches her face, sees her wince slightly. “He’s a nice guy.”

“He’s a nice guy,” she repeats, then looks up at him. “Where’s Ashley tonight?”

He swallows. It feels pointed, but not cold. “It was last minute, I told her not to worry about it.” She nods. “Besides, I figured you’d be my source of entertainment here.”

Lucy snorts, rolling her eyes at him. “Is that what I’m here for? To entertain you?”

“I mean,” he gestures toward her. “You’re certainly doing a good job.”

She rolls her eyes, shoving at his arm. “Shut up,” she mumbles, looking over her shoulder back toward the reception. “What do you want, then?”

“What do you mean?”

“I...want all that,” she hooks her thumb over her shoulder, and he nods. “I want to know that when someone's doing something, they're really doing it for me." He hums, licking his lips. “What do you want?”

Tim stares at her for a long second, then looks out at the skyline. “Another drink,” he answers, after a long moment. Lucy shoves him and he laughs, shrugging. “What? That’s what I want right now.”

“You’re insufferable,” she grumbles, shaking her head. “What about a tequila, then?”

“Don’t push your luck, Lucy,” he shoots her a grin, watching as she smiles back at him, noticing it falter for a moment. “You alright?”

“How do you know you have that,” she asks, her voice quiet. “I mean, you had it once, right?” Tim sighs, nodding. “How’d you know that was it?”

He doesn’t want to tell her that you can’t really know – because he thought he’d known, sure, but his relationship with Isabel hadn’t exactly stood the test of time. He thinks for a long moment, then shrugs. "I think when you know, you know."

VI.

For once, Lucy knows exactly who and where she is.

She looks out over the railing of her quiet rooftop oasis, taking in the view as she listens to the bustling sounds of midday Los Angeles. It’s not exactly something to be appreciated – honking car horns, shouting, a bass from some car down the block – but it’s familiar to her in a way that settles her, fills her with ease. There’s a breeze that’s making the sun feel less overpowering as it beats down on her, and she glances down at her hands as something catches her eye, sparkling in the sunlight.

She has a ring on her left hand that’s felt like an inevitability since the first time Tim kissed her downstairs – or, if she’s honest with herself, the first time she saw him on this roof.

It’s been two years since they finally stopped talking around things and started talking about them. Today, she’s finally letting go of her apartment. Tamara’s downstairs, welcoming in her new roommate and giving her the lay of the land  – Lucy had helped her find this one, but she figured giving them some space to interact without her presence would help them bond. 

That, and she wanted to say goodbye to the roof.

Funnily enough, when she started dating Tim, she started spending more time up here again. It was nice – warm, quiet, and gave them some privacy. It had started as a nice place where they could spend a few hours without getting sucked into a TV show or passing out immediately after a shift, a place for them to connect, but it had turned into their spot. They shared meals up here, had important conversations, planned their future, considered their past, all on this rooftop.

A place that had once been hers to mourn became something so much lighter, and she loved him for helping her with that, for being there with her.

The heavy metal door creaks open and she knows it’s Tim before he clears his throat to signal his arrival. “Did you check on them?”

“You said not to,” he answers, incredulous. Lucy hums as he wraps his arms around her and presses his lips to the side of her head. “I know how to listen.”

“So you stuck your head in, then,” she murmurs, and he laughs, but buries his face into her neck rather than answering. “What do you think?”

He hums. “Her furniture’s ugly.”

Lucy snorts, pinching his wrist. “That’s not nice.”

“I never claimed to be nice, baby.”

“Okay, tough guy,” she laughs, then sighs out a breath. “It’s like I forget how nice it is up here every time.”

“You literally never stop talking about how nice it is up here,” he lifts his head, resting his chin on her shoulder. “You were talking about it two hours ago when I called you from the storage unit.”

“Yeah, but then I got distracted, and once I got up here I’d forgotten again.” Tim hums, faux-sympathetic. “It really is beautiful, you know?”

“I think it’s illegal,” he somehow sounds wistful, which makes her laugh. “What? I’m serious – I don’t think your landlord’s supposed to let people up here, it seems like it’s against some kind of zoning law.”

“John needs to stop telling you things about zoning laws,” she turns her head, finding herself right up close to his face. “Everything go okay?”

“Yeah,” he presses a light kiss to her lips, leaning his forehead against the side of her head. “I only had to pay them a small fortune to dispose of your egg chair.”

“That’s not funny,” she pouts through a laugh. “You’re the least funny person I know.”

“Uh-huh, sure. That’s why you agreed to marry me, then?”

Lucy hums, pursing her lips in thought. “I think it has something to do with the fact that I can’t get rid of you – oh, and you stole my dog.”

Tim rumbles, but she can feel the smile on his face. “Stole him from right off this rooftop,” he mumbles, and she sighs.

“Also because I love you, by the way,” she murmurs, and he kisses her again.

They’re quiet for a few moments and Lucy looks out at the skyline again, letting her body relax back into his. Tim’s voice is soft and close to her ear, private in a way it doesn’t need to be, but that she appreciates all the same. “Are you going to miss it?”

She thinks for a long moment, but shakes her head. “I’m not getting rid of the old memories,” she explains, smiling softly. “I’m just making some new ones.”

He exhales a slow, deep breath. “You’re just committed to stealing my lines, huh?” Tim squeezes her, laughing as she grins. “I get the feeling you’re only marrying me so I can’t testify against you when I inevitably try to sue for stealing all my good lines.”

“What a devious plan,” she breathes, flat, knowing he can hear the smile in her voice. “Who would ever do such a thing?”

Tim grins, turning her around in his arms and then pulling her against him, bringing his hand up to her cheek. He drags his thumb along her jawline. “My fiance would,” he offers, in that voice that makes her feel like her knees are going to buckle.

“Don’t do that,” she groans, reaching up and hooking her arms around his neck. “Not when I can’t keep you up here forever.”

“We could go home,” he raises his brows at her, the words tentative, like he’s testing them out. “What do you think about going home, seeing our boy?”

Lucy swallows, staring up at him. Everything she’s ever wanted is right here in her line of sight. She feels her smile grow bigger and leans up on her toes, kissing him slowly. “Now you’re talking,” she murmurs against his lips. “We could stop at that vegan Moroccan restaurant on the way.”

“Don’t push your luck, baby,” he laughs, then kisses her again, holding her longer, letting it linger.

They take their time, Lucy pulling back when her lungs are burning and pressing her face into his chest. “I picked up a few groceries,” he murmurs into her hair, rubbing her back in slow circles. She hums in contentment, smiling when he knows it’s also a question. “Got the stuff for those spicy chicken tacos you wanted to try.”

“What a dreamboat,” she smirks up at him, grinning when he rolls his eyes. “Let me guess, you’re even going to make them for me.”

He shrugs. “You can help,” he decides after a long moment, laughing. Tim looks around the rooftop, then back at her. “You about ready to go?”

Lucy pulls out of his arms, planting her hands on her hips. She looks around, taking in a last breath of the fresh air and letting herself really, truly see it all. Drinking tequila with Jackson as they listen to the dull roar from the Hollywood Bowl, quizzing Tamara for her child psychology final over a plate of homemade nachos, and Tim, everything Tim, everywhere she looks. After a long moment, she looks back. “Yeah, I think it’s time. When you know, you know, right?”

Tim slips his hand into hers, lacing their fingers and giving her hand a squeeze. “Once a crook, always a crook,” he mutters, shaking his head. “First she steals credit cards, then she steals my lines – what’s next?”

She shrugs. “It’s cheesy if I say your last name, right?”

“Oh, too cheesy.” He groans, shoving her slightly before pushing the rooftop door open, letting her walk through it. “You’re lucky I love you.”

She squeezes his hand, because she’s not going to say it out loud – but she genuinely knows how lucky she is to have someone who feels like home, no matter where she is.