Chapter Text
He hears the shot before he sees the gun.
A deafening crack splits the air, his body freezing as instinct clashes with delayed comprehension. There are screams and a flurry of bodies seeking cover, and Tim's head turns just as the second shot follows. He can't see the bullet, but he can feel the heat slicing past his cheek, close enough to prick his skin and tear it open.
"TIM, GET DOWN."
Lucy?
The world tilts as his body finally reacts, muscle memory taking over where thought fails. He wants to drop himself to the ground, but before he can, he feels someone tackling him, shielding him from the flurry of bullets flying past them.
He drops, and his skull collides with the harsh pavement, a flash of pain exploding behind his eyes as his skin splits open. He doesn't feel the tickle of blood, only the exploding pain of his brain hitting the bone. His eyes dim, his vision narrows, and his arms instinctively wrap around the body lying on his chest.
Another round of gunfire cuts through the air, and he registers the metallic clank of bullets that ricochet off the pavement, each one sending a fresh spike of adrenaline through his veins. He tightens his hold around the person lying above him, and he groans when he has to swallow a wave of nausea, desperately trying to keep his eyes open.
It feels like minutes.
But in reality, it's only seconds.
Tim blinks against the blur of movement and noise, trying to orient himself as the shots die, and he hears tires screech. He feels the bile rise, and he tries to breathe it away, but his ribcage doesn't fully expand, so he raises his head and looks down at the mop of familiar dark curls sprawled over him. His vision zeros in, and Tim smells the gunpowder in the air and hears people screaming around them, calling 911.
Someone has been shot.
"Lucy?" He croaks and nudges her, but she doesn't move and knits his eyebrows together.
His pulse pounds in his ears as he attempts to shift beneath her, but his limbs are sluggish, his thoughts fractured. The sharp sting in the back of his head tells him he hit the ground harder than he realized, but aside from the pulsing ache, his body feels okay.
No sharp sting.
No stabbing pain.
No burning sensation of a bullet piercing him.
Yet, he smells the unmistakable metallic scent of blood.
"Lucy?" he asked again, running his hand over her back, up to her hair, tangling his fingers in it to make her move. She didn't react, and that's when he noticed the splotches of red on his hand. Tim's breath stutters.
The confusion in his mind clears and is replaced by panic simmering in his chest since the first crack. It spreads like wildfire through him, forming a knot deep in his gut that sends a new wave of nausea through him.
His hand rips from her hair, and he groans as the movement makes his head hurt, but he pushes through, and he reaches with a bloodied finger for her cheek. He turns her head so he can look at her face, and her eyes are wide open, glassy, and Tim feels his heart hammering against his ribcage so hard he thinks it might split open.
No.
He extends two fingers and slides down her jaw to find her pulse. It should be easy; he knows her body better than he knows his own. He has kissed the spot many times, nipped it, licked it, or simply let his lips rest on it to feel her heart working, sending a constant stream of blood through her body.
But right now, he can't find it.
Her stomach lurches.
No, no, no.
He pushes harder against her throat, and for a split second, he is relieved when he finds it. It's there, but before he can relax, he notices it's slow.
Too slow.
Delayed thud after delayed thud, weak, like her heart is struggling, like there isn't enough blood to be pumped through her veins. A sob bubbles up in his throat, but he swallows it down, pressing harder against her. It slows even more, and a groan rips from Tim that has nothing to do with the pain in his head.
She can't. She can't do this. She can't be….
The thought refuses to form, refuses to solidify into something real .
"Lucy, please," he stutters, and his hands move to cup her cheek, his thumb leaving a bloody trail on her skin as he tries to coax her awake. "Wake up. Please wake up."
"Sir, an ambulance is on the way."
He doesn't hear it or listen because he doesn't care.
The panic grips him, and his blood pressure rises, and Tim feels like he is throwing up. The panic is clawing at him, and he gasps for air, his chest feeling so tight, making it seem no oxygen entered his lungs.
He wants to move.
He has to move.
But he can't.
He's too weak, and Lucy is still on top of him, her body heavy and warm but lifeless in a way that makes his chest constrict with a terror he's never felt before. He tries to push her off, to roll them over so he can cradle her, but a hand stops him, and the dizziness takes over, his vision darkening at the edges.
He isn't strong enough.
He can't breathe.
He failed.
The last thing Tim registers is the blaring of sirens, the chaos swallowing him whole as the darkness finally sucks him in.
-
Tim woke with a loud groan, his entire body flinching as he was pulled from a nightmare. He tries to sit up as panic floods his system, but immediately regrets it was his head swirls. His eyes close, and he tries to breathe away the pain inside his skull, a relentless throb that pounded in time with every beat of his heart.
His stomach turned, and he felt the burn of bile in his chest, a loud cough following, which made everything just that worse. He trembles and groans again as his vision blurs alarmingly, the room seemingly under water and him trying to look through the haze. He tried to blink it away, but his eyes refused to focus, and he squeezed them.
The fluorescent lights overhead were too bright, stabbing him, even through his closed lids. Tim turned his head, taking a deep breath. A heavy, sterile smell of antiseptic and bleach lingered in the air, and he jerked when he heard a toilet flush and a door open.
One eye popped open, and he saw Angela walking over to his bed and taking a seat next to it. Their eyes met, and she remained quiet, staring at Tim, not really sure if he really was awake.
He noted that she sat unnaturally still, her hands clasped together in her lap, her face drawn. He expected her usual fire, her sharp quips, maybe even a half-smile to let him know everything would be all right and that he was stupid for doing whatever he did.
Instead, she looked exhausted, like she hadn't slept in days. She was white like a sheet, and all color had drained from her cheeks. Her eyes were dark with worry.
The sight of Angela's expression sent a bolt of panic straight to Tim's core, and he groaned as the beeping of the monitor grew louder, clearly indicating his rising blood pressure. He finally manages to flutter his eyes and focus on the woman sitting next to him, the immediate feeling of something being really wrong settling deep in his gut.
Tim wrecks his brain, trying to remember what happened and what brought him here, and when she hears Angela lean closer, whispering softly, "Tim."
His brain flashed back.
He can suddenly hear the spray of bullets, feel Lucy's body slamming into him, and remembers the panic that had settled deep in his gut because Lucy,
Lucy .
Lucy!
"Lucy? "
His voice is hoarse, and the sound sends a jolt through his skull, but he ignores it as he lifts a hand to inspect it, half convinced he would still see her blood staining them. But they were clean, scrubbed free of any evidence that she had been bleeding, and his eyebrows knit together in confusion.
For a moment, he simply stared, his heartbeat hammering wildly in his chest. A swell of nausea, fiercer than before, rumbled deep in his gut, and his lungs began to constrict in panic. He could feel Angela's hand on his arm, squeezing him and trying to get his attention, but all Tim could see was red.
And Lucy.
Lucy!
Lucy?
"No, " he rasped, his trembling, his throat sore. He grabbed the edge of the bed and tried to push himself upright, ignoring how his head spun.
He had to move.
He had to get to her.
He had to make sure she still had a pulse.
But Angela forced him down with her hand, and she got up, her fingers reaching for his face. She ran her knuckles over his forehead and cheek, and finally, he blinked at her.
"Tim, you have a really bad concussion, " she said, her voice urgent, "you need to stay in bed."
He swallowed harshly at her words, and sweat beaded on his forehead. His vision tunneled for a second again, going gray around the edges, and he fought the urge to vomit. He loses the battle and leans forward, dry-heaving as his stomach empties.
Angela reacts quickly, grabbing one of the kidney shells to hold it to his face. He throws up, and his eyes fill with tears from exhaustion, the burn, and the pain in his head that nearly caused him to black out again. But he fights against the pull , and he retches one more time before he looks up, and his eyes lock on her gaze, searching for any hint of reassurance.
Instead, he saw the same panic mirrored in her eyes.
"Where is Lucy? " The words came out choked, almost unrecognizable. "Ang, where?"
Angela looked away for a moment as she discarded the shell and sat down on the chair. Then she sighed, long and hard, the tension in her shoulders trembling as she forced the words out.
"She's still in surgery."
Those four words made Tim's stomach drop so quickly it felt like the bed had vanished beneath him. The room spun more violently this time, and the monitor's beeping to his left escalated. He gritted his teeth, struggling to keep himself from spiraling, but his body had other ideas.
Adrenaline surged, sending his heart into overdrive.
"How bad? " he managed, his voice barely above a whisper. Angela's lips tightened into a thin line, her eyes glistening with the kind of pain he rarely saw in her.
"One of the bullets tore through her back and nicked her abdominal aorta and lung, " she said haltingly. "Another hit her lower back, the fragment pieces logged in her kidney. "
" Is she? " He choked, and Angela shook her head, a tear slipping down her cheek.
"She's in surgery. It's going to take a while. They're fighting for her, she's fighting, " Angela whispers, and Tim's world threatens to tilt completely off-axis.
A hollow roar filled his ears, and he clenched his fists around the bedsheets, desperately trying to keep himself calm. The thought of Lucy lying on an operating table, fighting for her life, was more than he could handle. Every instinct commanded him to jump out of the bed to get to her, concussion be damned.
Angela seemed to sense his intentions because she placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to keep him from tearing out the IV and monitors. He stills, and he slumps to the bed, the pain in his head and Angela's hold defeating him.
"They're doing everything they can, Tim. We have to trust them, " she adds quietly. "Your job is to recover. Lucy's going to need you. "
" What happened? " He asked, sounding broken and beat down.
"Random drive by. They were aiming for the guy next to you, but he dove. Lucy jumped in front of you and tackled you, catching the hits that would have otherwise hit you."
The beeping around them flares to a shrill alarm as the words slice through him. Tim wants to let out a painful moan, the panic finally moving from deep in his gut to his chest and into his limbs. He felt like someone was sitting on him, and he attempted to breathe, trying to force air into lungs that suddenly felt like they were made of steel. His head swirled, and the concussion made him dizzy, but it was the terror that threatened to pull him under.
This is a nightmare.
This isn't real.
His gaze flicked wildly around the room, seeking any sign that Lucy would walk in, that she'd smirk and chide him for worrying too much, but the machines around him beeped, reminding him that this was real.
It really happened.
Lucy got shot.
Trying to save him.
His anxiety spiked, and beneath the sheets, his hand trembled, still remembering the slippery warmth of Lucy's blood on it. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force the memory away, but it clung to him with an intensity that made him want to scream, to hit something, to do anything other than lie there.
But the only thing he could do was cling to the knowledge that Lucy was still alive, still in surgery, and that those doctors were going to save her like she had saved him.
Taking a shuddering breath, Tim forced himself to open his eyes and looked at Angela again. She squeezed his shoulder gently, trying to comfort him, but it was useless. The monitor next to him was still going off, and Tim didn't notice the nurse who came in.
He doesn't notice how she injects something into his IV that makes his eyelids droop.
He doesn't notice how Angela whispers sorry before his world turns black again.
-
Hours later, Tim wakes up startled, unaware that he has drifted off.
Disoriented, he blinked in confusion at the steady rhythm of hospital machines around him. He noticed the throbbing in his head felt much weaker this time, more of a dull ache than the hammering it had been earlier.
He inhaled slowly, trying to clear the lingering fog in his mind from the medication they must have given him, and he turned his head. He spots Angela, eyes closed, soft puffs of air coming from her lips, but he senses someone else and shifts his gaze, realizing they aren't alone anymore.
Tamara was there, too. Her face was blotchy, her eyes red and swollen, and her nose ran as if she'd been crying for hours. The sight of her so obviously distressed sent a jolt of alarm through him. He pushed himself upright, ignoring the dizziness that rushed through him.
"Lucy, " he croaked, voice rough, throat tight. "Is she…. "
That's when Angela opens her eyes and shakes herself, leaning closer to Tim. "She's out of surgery; she's in the ICU now. "
Tim's lungs expanded in relief, but the feeling lasted only a heartbeat before a fresh wave of concern overcame him. If Lucy was in the ICU, she was still critical.
He had to see her.
He wanted to swing his legs over the side of the bed, sheets tangling around his knees, and immediately felt the world tilt. His vision blurred, but the need to be with Lucy surged, forcing him to find his balance. Angela moved swiftly, pressing a hand to his shoulder as if she wanted to physically restrain him.
"Tim, you need to lie back down, " she insisted, her tone balancing between authority and worry. "You can't just get up…"
But he shook her off, mustering more strength than he knew he had. The throbbing in his head intensified as blood rushed into his ears, yet he ignored it, trying to sit up.
"I want to see her, " he grated out, the words almost a plea. "Angela, I need…"
He never finished the sentence.
A furious, animalistic roar burst from Tamara, shattering the uneasy tension in the room as she jumped up from the chair and nearly kicked it.
"They won't let us in! " Tamara yelled, her face contorting with despair. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks again, but her voice was sharp with rage. "Lucy's parents won't let me or any of you guys near her. They…they blame you. They blame her job. They say it's all your fault! "
"Tamara, " Angela warned her, but it was no use.
The words are out, and the last sentence hung in the air, the accusation stinging Tim like a slap. His heart squeezes painfully, the already precarious sense of control slipping away. For a moment, he could only stare at Tamara, his mind struggling to process the wave of guilt and panic crashing over him.
Lucy's parents.
Of course, they were scared.
Of course, they wanted to protect their daughter.
But the idea that they wouldn't let any of her friends, her chosen family, be near her sent a surge of disbelief through him.
They blamed him and her job for what had happened?
The sentence felt like a knife twisting in his gut, and Tim froze on the bed. Angela took a tentative step towards Tamara, one hand still hovering near Tim's arm. Her voice was soft but firm, as though trying to keep the room from erupting.
"Tamara, " she began gently, "we'll sort this out…. "
" No, " Tamara snapped, tears still streaming. "They won't listen! They just keep telling the nurses not to allow any police in. They're yelling at the doctors as well if we even try…. "
She broke off in a choked sob, unable to finish.
For a long moment, no one spoke. The hospital's distant hum seemed louder than ever, every beep and shuffle amplified in the silence. Tim felt a knot forming in his stomach, dread and guilt tangling together until he could barely breathe.
Lucy's parents didn't know their daughter and didn't understand that there is an inherent risk in being a cop, but Lucy did, and she embraced it wholeheartedly because it was the circumstance that came with her calling.
She loved her job, loved everything about it.
And she excelled at it.
And the shooting?
He swallowed hard and turned to Angela, his voice trembling with anger and helplessness. "I don't care what they say. I'm going to see her. Right now. "
" Tim, " she said quietly, placing a cautioning hand on his wrist. "They won't let you in. They're her next of kin, and the hospital will follow their instructions. You can't just… "
"I'm her emergency contact, and I'm…., " he breaks off as his heart stutters.
What exactly was he?
Her ex-training officer turned boyfriend, turned ex-boyfriend, turned fuck buddy, turned potential boyfriend again?
Tim choked out a sob at the thought, and he pinched the bridge of his nose as the agony in his chest overtook the ache in his head.
He had told her he still loved her.
She had told him her heart was healing.
They both had been on their way to talk.
He didn't finish his train of thought as his resolve cracked. His face scrunched up, and tears pooled in his eyes. Angela reached and moved closer, pulling Tim into her arms. He's stiff , and he doesn't hug her back, but she holds him, trying to comfort him.
"You're not at fault, " she tells him, but Tim remains stoic as tears cling to his eyelashes. His grip on the bedrail tightens, and he fights to stay upright, even though his body swayed with fatigue and pain. He leaned into Angela, and Tim tried to keep his tears at bay, trying to push down the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.
"I need to see her, " he splutters, and Angela pulls away enough to look at him.
"Tim, " she murmured, and he shook his head, gaze drifting towards Tamara's tear-streaked face. She was still trembling, anger radiating from every line of her body. Tim knew he had to, his determination not wavering. "I need to see her . "
Tim shifted his stare back to Angela, who looked at him with a mixture of sympathy and fear. She was afraid he'd make the wrong move, jeopardize his own health, and possibly cause an even bigger issue, but on the other hand, she understood.
If she was in his shoes, she'd react exactly the same.
Tim bowed his head, swallowing back the wave of nausea. He would have stormed right out of the room if he could walk straight without collapsing, but the concussion was a heavyweight, and the brief surge of adrenaline drained him.
Still, the words fell from his lips with steely determination. "I'm going to see her, and either you help me, or you can leave right now. "
"We'll figure something out, " she murmured. "Just… don't rush off and hurt yourself, okay?"
His jaw clenched as he fought the urge to rebel against every limitation placed on him. He wanted to push past Angela and Tamara, rip out the IV in his arm, and make his way to the ICU, Lucy's parents be damned.
But the pounding in his skull reminded him just how fragile his condition was. He drew a shuddering breath, forcing himself to remain upright even though his vision darkened around the edges.
"One way or another, " he said, voice low with resolve, "I'm going to see her."
-
Tim fought against the pull of his medication that was thrumming in his veins, willing himself to stay alert despite the throbbing in his skull. The hospital room felt unbearably quiet now that Angela had gone. However, Tamara continued dozing, resting her head against the side of his bed. A few feet away, Nolan and Aaron sat slumped in their chairs, their faces slack with the heavy sleep that only came from the day's exhaustion.
He couldn't blame them for needing rest.
Everyone had been on edge for an eternity, but Tim refused to let himself be lulled into unconsciousness. A single, urgent thought looping through his mind kept him awake.
He had to see Lucy.
Glancing at the clock on the wall, Tim noted it was late. It was well past visiting hours, but he didn't give a single fuck. With renewed determination, he pushed himself upright in the bed. The pain in his head flared, making him wince, but he forced himself to grit his teeth and remain quiet.
Tamara stirred at the movement, her eyes blinking open to find Tim leaning forward. Panic flickered across her features, but he pressed a finger to his lips, silently pleading for her to stay quiet and help him. She nodded without hesitation, quickly reaching to detach the IV from the line so he wouldn't rip out the needle in his hand.
When his feet touched the floor, his legs felt like jelly. The room spun, and he clenched his jaw, fighting the dizziness. Tamara slipped an arm around his waist, supporting him with more strength than he would have guessed. But his body was heavier than usual, every muscle sluggish with fatigue and pain, and Tamara struggled to guide him to the door.
Once they managed to slip out of the room, she spotted a lone wheelchair parked against the wall.
"Hold on, " she whispered, letting him brace himself against the pale-green corridor walls. She darted over to secure the wheelchair, her movements quick and tense as she turned it to face him.
Tim slumped into the seat with a groan, relief, and frustration mingling . He was grateful for the support yet felt a pang of anger at his own weakness. He had faced far worse injuries in his career, but nothing had ever felt as debilitating as the worry for Lucy.
Tamara clutched the wheelchair handles, purpose bright in her eyes, and guided him through the dimly lit corridors. The sound of distant beeps and hushed voices mingled with the gentle squeak of the wheelchair's wheels. Tim's heart thundered in his chest, keeping time with the dull pounding in his head.
Before long, they arrived at the hallway that led to the ICU ward. The heavy doors were sealed, a reminder of the rules and restrictions. With a grim look, Tamara steered Tim to the side and pressed a hand against his shoulder, urging him to stay put while she figured out a plan.
He ran a trembling hand over his face, frustration threatening to spill over. The seconds felt like hours, his mind conjuring a hundred worst-case scenarios about Lucy's condition. His leg began bouncing uncontrollably, anxiety rippling through him like a live wire. Tamara looked over, and he caught her eye, his silent plea undeniable.
Do something.
As if fate were answering, the doors slid open, allowing a nurse to step out. It took the woman a moment to notice them, and Tim and Tamara locked eyes in that brief window.
"What are you doing here? " The nurse asked, and Tamara was quick to jump in.
"He was supposed to have a head scan, but there was an emergency, so the doctor asked me to take him up to be monitored. He has a concussion, " she lied, and the nurse eyed them suspiciously, but she held the door open. Tamara breathed out, wheeling Tim inside.
The ICU was also dimly lit, the corridors seemingly deserted save for the quiet hum of monitors and the occasional rustle of medical staff on their rounds. Tamara kept her head down, pushing Tim deeper into the ward, her breath catching with each jolt of the wheels.
Tim craned his neck, scanning the doors and the names printed on them in an increasingly frantic search. The sting of tears gathered in his eyes, tears of fear and tension, and he prayed Lucy's name would appear before a security guard or another nurse intercepted them.
Finally, he spotted it.
A dull, metallic nameplate on the door.
CHEN.
His heart gave a wild lurch, and he nearly got out of the wheelchair, forgetting for a moment how unsteady he was. Tamara caught him, helping him ease back down as they stared at the door, the last barrier separating them from the person who mattered most.
Tim couldn't help the wild thrum of panic beneath his ribs, spiking his blood pressure and making his head swirl. He wasn't sure what he'd see when they entered, and he wasn't sure if he was ready to see the reality of what was happening.
"Let's go, " he whispered, mustering every ounce of courage. Tim took a deep breath and braced himself as Tamara's hand rested on his shoulder, a silent show of support. Tim leaned forward and pushed the door open, letting Tamara wheel him into the room.
The hiss of the ventilation system and the rhythmic beep of monitors greeted them, and with a quiet click, Tamara pulled the door closed behind them. For several seconds, neither of them could move, the sight of Lucy on the bed, so pale that she almost faded into the white sheets surrounding her, breaking both their hearts.
Tim took notice of the ventilator tube protruding from her mouth, as well as other lines snaking across her arms and chest, connecting her body to heaps of machines that blinked and whirred in menacing unison. Tim's heart lurched at the sight, an invisible fist tightening around his heart, threatening to crush it.
His breathing stuttered, chest constricting painfully as a rush of fear and guilt seized him.
Tamara wheeled him closer, and Tim found himself leaning forward, unable to tear his gaze away from Lucy. He'd seen situations like this before, his grandmother, aunt, and ex-wife, but never had they cut so deeply.
This was Lucy.
His colleague.
His partner.
His friend.
The love of his life.
The realization that she wasn't breathing on her own hit him like a punch to the gut. It was only then that he noticed the other machine at her bedside. It was a bulky device connected to thick tubes in her chest, pumping her blood in a steady, mechanical rhythm.
She was on life support.
Tim's jaw slackened, and a quiet, strangled sound escaped him. This was worse than he'd imagined. Things were bad if Lucy's body needed the machine to breathe and keep her circulation intact.
Really bad.
He reached out a trembling hand to touch her arm but froze, afraid even the gentlest contact might disrupt something vital.
Tamara stood behind him, arms still braced on the wheelchair handles, confusion and fear showing on her face. She didn't fully grasp the situation's implications, how close to the edge it meant Lucy truly was, but she could see Tim's reaction and knew enough to realize it was grave.
"No, " he whispered, the single syllable choked. He wanted to explain, to tell Tamara exactly why this was so dire, but the words refused to form. Instead, he gripped the edges of the wheelchair, knuckles whitening as he fought the urge to collapse into sobs.
Before he could gather, the door opened, and a nurse entered the room. She carried a clipboard, her eyes widening when she saw them. For a moment, she looked ready to usher them out without a second thought.
"What are you two doing here? " she demanded quietly but firmly. "This area is restricted, and visiting hours ended. "
Tim's panic surged, terror mingling with desperation in a harsh, dizzying mix. He looked up, tears already burning at the corners of his eyes.
"She's…. she's my girlfriend, " he stammered, voice breaking. "I'm her emergency contact. Please…I just…., " he stopped, a sob catching in his throat. "I was with her when she got shot."
The nurse's gaze flicked between them, taking in Tim's bandaged head and the raw pleading in his expression. Whatever initial annoyance she felt seemed to soften beneath the weight of his desperation. She exhaled quietly, the clipboard lowering to her side.
"Normally, I can't let anyone in here without explicit permission," she murmured. "But…given the circumstances you can stay a little longer, but if anyone asks, I'll have to tell them you're not supposed to be here. Understand?" Relief and gratitude flooded Tim's face and he blinks away the tears.
"Thank you, " he choked out, voice trembling. "Thank you so much. "
"I can't share her medical details without consent from her parents, " she added gently. "But I can tell you the machines are stabilizing her."
Tim nodded, too overwhelmed to do more than mumble another tearful thank-you. As the nurse slipped out to continue her rounds, he turned back toward the bed, his eyes drifting over Lucy's motionless form. The dull beeps and hums of the ICU blurred into a single, pulsating rhythm that took over his entire world.
Tamara placed a tentative hand on Tim's shoulder. His breath came in shallow bursts, his chest tight with dread, but he reached up and curled his fingers around hers. They sat silently, hearts pounding in unison with the machines that kept Lucy alive. Neither one was ready to voice what was weighing on their minds.
It's a little while later, and Tamara eventually settles into a nearby chair. Exhaustion overtakes her despite the tense atmosphere. Her eyes drift closed, and soon, her breath evens out into the slow, rhythmic pattern of sleep.
Meanwhile, Tim remained in the wheelchair at Lucy's bedside. He flicked his gaze at the monitor, searching for any sign of improvement. Still, the. The numbers remained dishearteningly stable, and he knew it meant the machine was doing all the work.
He swallowed past the tightness in his throat and reached for Lucy's hand. It felt slack but hot beneath his touch, a reminder of how distant she seemed, suspended between life and death.
Carefully, he navigated the tangle of IV lines, closing his hands around her fingers. Tears burned at the corners of his eyes as he bent forward, gently kissing her arm. He rested his forehead there, breathing in the faint scent of antiseptic and the lingering traces of her skin.
In the silence, his thoughts spiraled into countless what-ifs.
He imagined a future where she never woke, where he had to face the world alone. He thought about the guilt he would carry, the things he should have said and the times he should have been there for her, how he wasted time they had spent apart because he couldn't get out of his head.
Each possibility cut deeper than the last, robbing him of breath until he felt lightheaded. But among the dread, there was a desperate need to reach for hope, so Tim closed his eyes and craned his head to be closer to her face, letting the words in his heart finally break free.
"Lucy, I love you, " he whispered, his voice trembling, "I need you to return to me. "
He pauses, hoping for her fingers to twitch, to curl around his, but she remains lifeless.
"I wish I had said it more often. I wish I'd told you every single day, even when we were broken up, " he mumbles and hesitates, his voice thick as a lump forms.
"We were going to talk, and I was so excited to tell you that I have been working on myself…going to therapy….that I was bettering myself to be the man you deserve."
He lifted his head slightly, brushing a thumb across her knuckles in a gesture of tender desperation, hoping that somewhere in this shell of a lifeless body, her brain could hear him. "I was going to tell you that I want you back. I'm not going to hold back. No more dancing around. No more running and pushing away."
Another shaky breath left him, and he forced the next words out before his courage faltered. "I already planned to propose to you. Maybe not right away, but I couldn't stop imagining our life together, " his voice cracked , and Tim had to calm himself before she continued, "Lucy, I want to marry you. I want to have babies with you. I want to give you everything you deserve because you are incredible, amazing, and the love of my life. Pushing you away was and always will be my biggest regret. "
His voice faltered, and a single tear runs down his cheek. "I just need you to come back. I need you to wake up…yell at me for breaking hospital rules and tease me for being a stubborn idiot. Anything. Just… don't leave me."
Silence followed his confession, interrupted only by the mechanical sighs of the ventilator and the pulsing beep of the machines. He stared at Lucy, taking in her still form, the pale cast of her skin, the stark lines of medical tape and tubes crossing her body.
The sight was almost unbearable, but he refused to look away. Instead, he stayed where he was, holding her hand, his heartbreaking and mending with every desperate breath.
His eyes remained fixed on her.
Seconds, minutes, and hours tick by.
He doesn't move; he ignores the rumble of his stomach and the throb of his head. His eyes are dry now , and they hurt, but he doesn't care. His fingers caress her skin, and he occasionally moves to press his lips to her arm, hoping the touch will make her react.
But Lucy remained still.
Eventually, morning light spilled through the narrow window, washing Lucy's hospital room in a yellow and orange glow. Tim had been awake the entire time, slumped in the wheelchair by her side. His head throbbed relentlessly, but he ignored it.
Eventually, he heard Tamara stir from her makeshift spot on the chair, blinking as she took in the unchanged scene.
The room was calm for a few fragile minutes, filled only with the hum of monitors and the hushed beeps that measured Lucy's precarious hold on life. Then the door burst open, and a doctor strode in, trailing Lucy's parents behind him.
Immediately, the tension in the air increased.
Lucy's mother looked furious when her gaze landed on Tim. She muttered an angry curse under her breath and stepped forward with a venomous glare.
"What the hell do you think you're doing here? " she snapped, voice quivering with barely contained rage. "You need to leave. Now."
Taken aback, Tim tried to stand, only to have his legs wobble beneath him. He managed to stay upright thanks to Tamara's quick reflexes, her arms bracing him. His jaw tensed, and he felt raw and vulnerable , but he refused to back down.
"I'm not leaving, " he croaked, voice hoarse from fatigue. "I need to be with her. I…”
"You don't need anything, " Lucy's mother cut him off, pointing accusingly at him. "This is your fault. If you'd protected her, if you hadn't encouraged her to stick with this stupid career…. " her voice shook with anger, tears of grief blurring her furious glare. "She would have quit ages ago but stayed because of you and her feelings."
Tim opened his mouth, desperately trying to defend himself, but the pounding in his skull intensified, making him sway. Sensing his distress, Tamara stepped forward, placing herself between Lucy's mother and Tim.
And her eyes sparked with anger.
"Shut up, " Tamara snapped, her voice low but bristling. The unexpected ferocity in her tone startled everyone into silence, even Lucy's mother. "You don't get to talk to him like that. "
Her glare also fell on Lucy's father, who hung back looking uneasy, clearly reluctant to intervene. Tamara took a step forward, her cheeks flushed. The hurt of seeing Lucy like this had stoked every protective instinct she possessed, and she would not let Lucy's parents pin the blame on Tim , or the job that Lucy loved.
"You haven't been around for years, " she continued, voice trembling with pent-up frustration. "You are her parents, but Tim and I are here family. "
Lucy's mother made a scoffing noise in the back of her throat, but Tamara refused to let her speak. She pressed on, stepping even closer until there was barely a foot between them.
"Where were you all these years for all the milestones in her life? Did you once congratulate her for achieving anything? No? That is why Tim encouraged her; he knew how much she wanted to be a cop. You never cared about what she wanted. You just wanted her to be like you and do something you approved, not realizing she was unhappy."
A muscle in Lucy's mother's jaw twitched, and she looked ready to erupt with another outburst. But Tamara wasn't finished. Her voice rose, carrying over the steady beeps and whirs of medical machinery.
"And now, " she said, anger breaking into incredulous bitterness, "you suddenly sweep in here acting like you know what's best for her? Do you think it's okay to keep away from the people who love her most? The people who've been by her side through everything?"
She gestured toward Tim, who was gripping the edge of Lucy's bed with white-knuckled desperation, trying to stay upright despite the pain in his head.
"Tim may not be perfect, but at least he's been here for Lucy. At least he never turned his back on her. And what about me? Why did Lucy open her home to me? Because she didn't feel like she had one with you! "
Lucy's mother tried to cut in, her voice crackling with rage. "Don't you dare…. "
" No, " Tamara hissed, refusing to yield. "Don't you dare stand there and act like you have Lucy's best interests at heart while you're the one keeping her family away? The family she chose for herself. The family she loves ."
A tense silence gripped the room.
Lucy's father took a step forward, perhaps to comfort his wife or steady her, but he seemed unsure. The doctor, who had remained at the door, cleared his throat uneasily, likely sensing he was witnessing a deeply personal family clash. Tim lifted his head, trying to form words in Lucy's defense, but he couldn't manage more than a rasp before his vision spun.
Seeing Tim's fragile state only fueled Tamara's anger further.
"She wouldn't be here, on these machines, if it weren't for you people! " Lucy's mother pointed again, not just at Tim but seemingly at anyone wearing the badge. "If you'd done your jobs right, she'd be safe. She'd be home!"
Tamara took a breath, ready to argue again, but before she could speak, the monitors hooked up to Lucy shrieked in alarm. The machines' steady beeps turned into a sudden, urgent noise. Everyone's head whipped around to see Lucy's body jerking on the bed, sweat shining on her brow. Her back arched, and her arms quivered uncontrollably. The doctor was in motion before they could even blink, rushing to her side and calling for assistance.
"Seizure! " someone shouted.
Nurses scrambled in, pushing Tim, Tamara, and Lucy's parents away from the bed.
In a heartbeat, anger was eclipsed by pure terror. Tim tried to cling to Lucy's hand, but an ICU nurse gently forced him to release his grip. His exhausted body nearly sagged out of the wheelchair, and another nurse had to catch him, urging him out the door. Lucy's mother and father looked on in horror, their argument momentarily forgotten as they were ushered into the hallway.
-
A tense stillness settled over the waiting room, so profound that no one dared to speak above a whisper. Tim sat in his wheelchair, his hands clenched tightly around the armrests, fighting to maintain some semblance of composure.
The others from Mid-Wilshire gathered at the hospital, forming a protective circle around him and Tamara. Lucy's parents stood off to the side, their postures rigid, grief and anger mingling behind their eyes as they stared at the group of people.
Every now and then , footsteps shuffled by in the corridor or an intercom crackled with announcements for the ICU. But otherwise, they waited in near silence, wearing holes in the linoleum with anxious pacing and vacant stares.
It felt like an eternity before the door to the ICU finally swung open. A doctor stepped out, mask around his neck, his expression grave. All eyes turned to him at once, hearts hammering with equal parts hope and dread. Tim tried to speak, but the words tangled in his throat. The doctor's gaze, however, went straight to Lucy's parents.
He took a moment to gather himself, then spoke, voice low and deliberate. "Mr. and Mrs. Chen, " he began, nodding in acknowledgment. "We stabilized your daughter after the seizure, but I'm afraid her condition worsened. "
Tim's vision wavered. He watched Lucy's parents step forward, their faces taut with apprehension. Like an invisible support shield, the others formed a loose semicircle behind him. Tim's heart thundered so loudly that he was sure everyone could hear it.
"Her lung trauma led to two cardiac arrests during surgery, which is why we put her on the heart and lung machine, " the doctor continued quietly, "which means two vital organs were already not working on their own. "
" We know; that's why we decided to put her on life support, so she can heal, " Lucy's father finally spoke up, and the doctor nodded.
"Yes, but we also had to remove her left kidney. Due to the bullet fragments and all that caused her body to be under immense strain., " he explained, and Tim could almost feel the shock rippling outward through the group.
Angela pressed her hand to her mouth while Wesley hugged her; Nolan bowed his head as Aaron wrapped his arms around Celina. The others stood there silently, tense, listening to what was being said.
"Unfortunately, Lucy has gone into septic shock during the night, which caused a fever and led to the seizure you witnessed. And now… " He paused, choosing his words with care. "Her remaining kidney shows signs of acute failure."
No one uttered a word. Tim's hands began to tremble on the armrests. He forced himself to breathe, imagining Lucy's small, motionless form in the ICU. She had already lost so much, and now her body was failing her further.
"And her bloodwork also shows that her liver is not working as it should, which means that she's going through multiple organ failure, " the doctor said quietly.
Everyone stared, and Tim bit the inside of his cheeks so hard he drew blood, processing the words that were being said. He wants to scream, to cry, to do something, but he remains seated in his wheelchair, eyes fixed on a spot on the ground.
Lucy's father finally found the courage to ask the question everyone was thinking. His voice was strained and hollow as if the answer might break him. "What…what are the chances she'll pull through?"
The doctor hesitated, a flicker of empathy crossing his face.
"We can place her on dialysis to help support her kidney. We can continue aggressive antibiotic therapy and do everything in our power to fight the infection. But…” He took a measured breath. "In her current state, that will only stave off the inevitable unless her body shows some sign of recovery. And so far, it hasn't, and if her liver fails as well, there isn't anything we really can do for her. "
A low, painful sound escaped Lucy's mother. Her father stood rigid as though bracing himself against an unseen blow. Tim stared at her, and he gripped the armrest of the wheelchair so tightly it seemed he would rip him off.
Lucy is dying.
The realization makes his heart feel like it had been torn from his chest. His entire body became numb, and a faint buzzing filled his ears. He barely registered the doctor's careful phrasing, just enough to catch the dreadful implication.
Lucy's parents were being asked if they chose to let her go.
His head whipped up, and Tim stared at them, almost pleading, silently willing them to say something hopeful. But they exchanged a look and then gave each other a short, resigned nod.
It was Lucy's mother who spoke first, her voice hollow. "Turn them off."
Several gasps and muffled sobs echoed through the waiting room, and a flurry of sniffles and sobs were being heard, but it was Tamara who let out a sharp cry, one hand clamping over her trembling lips while her knees buckled.
The only one not reacting was Tim. He sat there, stoic, eyes glued to Lucy's parents. He watched, uncomprehending, as the doctor nodded.
The door to the ICU clicked open at the press of a button, and the doctor gestured for Lucy's parents to follow him inside. As they began to move, Tim's confusion and disbelief gave way to blind panic. Adrenaline flooded his system, and he lurched forward in the wheelchair, nearly tumbling out.
"No, " he choked, voice raw. "No, you can't… "
He tried to scramble to his feet, dizziness damned, desperate to follow them and stop what felt like a terrible, irreversible mistake. Angela and Wesley lunged to catch him, their arms wrapping around his shoulders to keep him from hitting the floor.
"Tim, " Angela whispered urgently, tears streaming down her face. "Tim, you're hurt…you can't…."
He pushed her hands away, not out of anger but sheer desperation. He was staring at Lucy's parents, and he gestured wildly for them to look at him.
"Please, I need to see her," he begged, his voice cracking. "Please, please, please."
His gaze flicked to Lucy's mother, brimming with agony. "I love her. Please."
But her expression was set in cold determination. She pinned him with a hard stare, pain warring with resentment in her eyes. Tim's breath hitched as if the floor were about to crumble beneath him. The single syllable she uttered felt like a final blow when she opened her mouth.
"No."
A raw, agonizing sob tore from Tim's throat. His knees buckled, sending him back into the chair, and for an instant, the room seemed to close in around him. It was Grey who finally stepped forward, slipping in front of Lucy's mother to speak in a measured, calm tone, one hardened by years of negotiation and leadership but laced now with grief.
"You can't do this to them, " Grey said, nodding at Tim and Tamara. "They're her family, too, and if this is really what you're set on doing…they deserve to say a proper goodbye. "
Lucy's mother pressed her lips together, trembling with the weight of the moment. She looked to her husband, who gave a slight shrug, his eyes dark with sorrow. Slowly, after a breath that felt like an eternity, she exhaled and gave a reluctant nod .
"Fine, " she whispered, her voice so tight it was almost inaudible.
Tamara immediately went for the chair and pushed Tim through the doors. An almost reverent hush fell over the small group as they entered Lucy's room. The lights were dimmed, casting everything in a soft glow that made the machines appear ghostly, their blinking lights and hissing tubes more ominous than ever. Tim's gaze never left Lucy's still form on the bed as they moved closer, his breath coming in short, painful bursts.
The moment he was close enough, Tim pushed up from the wheelchair, nearly stumbling. Tamara reached for his elbow, trying to steady him, but he shrugged off her help, placing all his weight on the edge of the bed.
One hand flew to Lucy's face, trembling as he threaded his fingers into her hair, his thumb grazing her temple. A tear ran down his cheek, and he let out a shuddering breath as he leaned down, pressing his lips to her forehead.
"I love you, " he whispered, voice breaking. "Lucy, I love you so much. "
He said it over and over again , kissing her forehead, cheekbones, and eyelids as if somehow that repetition could tether her to this world.
The doctor's voice broke through the agonized hush, instructing a nurse to increase Lucy's pain medication. Machines beeped, a flurry of motion around Tim, but he couldn't look away from Lucy's face. He took her hand, folding it between both of his as if to lend her strength, as if it could travel through his fingers and into her failing body.
A few soft clicks sounded behind him, and then the ventilator ceased its steady rush of air.
One by one, other systems began shutting down. The hum of the heart-lung machine, the drip of the IV pumps, the endless beeps that had once signaled her weak hold on life. Tim's heart thundered against his ribs, but Lucy's remained quiet, the heart monitor slowing until it became one droning tone.
He closed his eyes as the sound resonated with a piercing finality that signaled the unthinkable. When the nurse removed the ventilator tube and disconnected the last lines, Lucy's head lolled toward Tim, and the sight of her lifeless body shattered whatever was left of his composure.
A guttural wail tore from his throat, full of heartbreak and helplessness. He sank to the bed, burying his face in the curve of her neck, tears soaking into her hospital gown. For an awful moment, he expected her to stir, to lift a hand and comfort him.
But there was nothing.
No rise of her chest.
No flutter of her eyelashes.
No sound coming from her mouth.
No nothing.
Tamara wrapped her arms around Tim from behind, trying to be strong yet undone by her own grief. She pressed her cheek against his shoulder, anchoring him as he shook with sobs. Tim clung to Lucy, unwilling to accept that she was truly gone, his anguished cries filling the silent space where her heartbeat used to be.
TBC