Chapter Text
It’s been just over three weeks since she was last his.
It had been three weeks since he had last kissed or held her.
It had been three weeks since he had heard or said the words, “I love you.”
Twenty-three days and thirteen hours, to be more exact.
Twenty-three days and thirteen hours of loaded glances, stilted conversation, awkward interactions, and so much pain.
“Unless it is.”
“It’s a better story for the grandkids.”
“We’ve got grandkids now?”
“I can’t lose you the way I lost her.”
“I love you.”
How did they end up here?
From first dates, coaching little league together, baby booties in the cupboard, to… barely being able to look at each other across the bullpen.
In the weeks since everything transpired, he had been stripped of his role in Metro and been kicked back to patrol.
Which also meant seeing her on the job more than before.
Something he is both grateful for and loathes like no other.
He is still, and will always be, irrecoverably in love with her.
So when he sees her warm brown eyes shimmer underneath the station’s dim lights or hears her hearty laugh at something Smitty says, he bathes in everything that is her.
Because she is everything good.
Because she is light.
Because she is his home.
Even if he can’t be hers.
But then, inevitably, when she meets his eyes, that light that was just there is replaced by something darker.
A heartbreak.
A pain that he caused them both.
And it’s in those moments that he hates himself more than he thought possible.
It’s after one of those particular moments, one that Grey witnesses, that prompts the older man to shove a small piece of paper into Tim’s palm, the unexpected movement causing Tim to break his trance of starring at the empty spot that Lucy had just been occupying.
“What is this?” Tim wonders aloud before continuing, “Dr. Vera Grey?”
“No relation,” Grey says with a slight laugh before he holds a hand up to stop the onslaught of possible excuses that Tim could conjure, “Don’t. Tim, you are not fine. And you can’t fix this by going it alone. You can’t talk to me. You won’t talk to Lucy. You need to talk to someone because, regardless of your mistakes, you are a good man even if you can’t see that now,” he says with a small and sad but understanding smile.
“And we all need a little help sometimes. So let her help,” he finishes as he starts to walk away to head into his office.
That conversation was five days ago.
Tim called Dr. Vera Grey's office three days later, and he had his first appointment this morning.
It was… movement.
There were no massive childhood breakthroughs or tears shed yet, but something seemed to click the moment his therapist said the following words to him.
“So what is your why, Tim? We all have our why or who we want to get “better,” for. And, yes, the person that just flashed through your mind is definitely a big part of this journey, but they aren’t the whole picture. But we will get to that part in due time. So for now, tell me, why did you pick up that phone and make that appointment? What is your why?”
And so he tells her.
Lucy is his why.
And he knows it’s not enough. Psychologically speaking, the why also has to include him wanting to better himself for the sake of self-love or some crap like that.
But for now, until then, he will continue to call, make appointments, and show up and talk through all of his darkness.
Because she is his why.
Lucy is his why.
And after that realization is made, he finds himself needing to tell her.
Which is how he found himself on her doorstep at just past ten at night, his hand raised, ready to knock, when the dissonance of it all weighs on him. Less than a month earlier, he would either use his key to let himself in or already curled around her warm body, drinking in the comfort her very existence provides.
“Tim?”
He is brought out of his trance by a teary eyed Lucy. Her door is now slightly ajar, and it’s in this moment that he’s able to fully take her in.
Her hair is a mess of chestnut curls, and she is wearing an old shirt of his that she had stolen months prior. It reaches right below her shins, enveloping her just like he desperately wants to.
Is it possible to feel envious of a piece of clothing?
“I..”
“I was about to head to bed when I thought I heard something…” he hears her stammer.
“Why are you here, Tim?”
Her tone isn’t angry but resigned.
Sad.
And it is oh so wrong, he thinks.
And yet he can’t speak.
“Tim, please... just,” Lucy says through barely held back tears, what she is asking for, she isn’t sure, though.
To go back.
To fight for them.
“Look, I have an early shift tomorrow, so if you,” she goes to say when he suddenly speaks.
“You’re my why.”
“What?”
“You are my why,” he states again before continuing, “I’m going to therapy. I had my first appointment today.”
He looks up at her then, and he swears he sees a flash of pride in her eyes. This realization prompts him to continue.
“And my therapist, Vera, asked me what or who was my why, my reason for showing up…”
He trails off then, choosing to stare into her warm pools of dark brown as he feels a tear run down his face.
“It’s you. It’s always been you, baby. You are my why,” he says through unshed tears.
“And I know that’s not enough. And I know I have so much to work through but… you are my why. You are why I am going to try. I am going to try to get better for you. And I’m not sure if, by the time I am "fixed," you’ll even...”
“Tim.”
“I know that you deserve more than...“
“Tim!”
His name on her lips stops him, but what nearly knocks him over is when she takes his hand and leads him back inside her apartment.
“Lucy,” he starts, but she hushes him with one stare as she leads him into her bedroom.
She sits him down on the edge of her bed, her eyes and her movements filled with a kindness, love, and understanding he knows he will never be able to deserve.
“Stop that.”
“What?”
“Stop that self-loathing crap you have playing in your head. I know you. And I love you. I may hate you sometimes. But damn it if I am not completely in love with you. I know you, and I still love you. I am your why, but you are my why. You are my person. And I know this isn’t us back together. I know tomorrow I may wake up and you won’t be here, but for tonight... tonight I just want us,” she finishes as she stands between his legs in the dimly lit room.
So he lets her push him back onto her bed.
He watches as she gets in on her side.
There is a brief moment of hesitation before he gives in and collapses around her form, bringing her body into his.
He breathes her in.
She’s hope and salvation.
She’s his why.
And God, he hopes, she is his future.
~~~~~~
When my time comes around
Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth
No grave can hold my body down
I'll crawl home to her