Chapter Text
Lucy.
The name cracked through the air like a fault line. Tim’s head jerked up—too fast, too hard. Pain lanced down his neck. But his heart had already stopped.
She was there. Standing right in the middle of the precinct. Covered in dust.
Her hair was a mess. A bandage cut across her temple. And that damn smirk—crooked, stubborn—the one she always wore when everything was worse than she let on.
Like she hadn’t gone radio silent after the blast. Like she hadn’t nearly died under the rubble. Like she hadn’t just ripped something out of him.
The station stopped. Everything. Everyone. But Tim only saw her.
Lucy.
His breath caught hard. His heart slammed into his ribs. He shouldn’t move. He knew that. Knew where they were. Knew how many eyes were watching.
But the fear hadn’t gone. Not really. And he’d never been good at waiting. Not with her.
Three steps. That’s all it took. And then—he kissed her.
Rough. Desperate.
One hand gripped her back. Tight. Like if he didn’t hold on, she’d disappear again. His breath crashed into hers—hot, uneven. And for a second—a beat—she froze.
Then she gave in.
Her fingers clawed at his jacket, yanked him closer. Her heart burst open in her chest. Just one second. One second where nothing else existed but him.
Like everything he’d locked away—day after day—had broken loose.
He didn’t let go. Couldn’t. He pulled her tighter, grounding himself in her weight, her warmth, the raw truth that she was here. Still breathing. Still his.
A stunned silence rippled through the room. Nobody moved.
No one had ever seen Tim Bradford lose control.
Angela blinked. Nyla raised an eyebrow. A glance between them—half shock, half something else.
Did he really just do that?
Lucy held on like she didn’t know where else to be. Her breath caught against his. And for a few seconds—there was nothing. Just them.
Then he pulled back. Just a little. His forehead pressed to hers. He felt it—her breath, trembling.
She parted her lips. Hesitated. Blinked. Still shaking. Somewhere between shock—and something else.
And then it hit her. All at once. The stares. The silence. The burn crawling up her cheeks.
“Well… that’s not exactly regulation, Sergeant.”
Somewhere behind them, someone choked on a laugh.
Then came the cough. Sharp. Deliberate.
Grey.
Tim closed his eyes. Just for a beat. Shit. He turned. Wall of stares. Angela—arms crossed, suspended between disbelief and something dangerously close to delight. Nyla, eyebrow raised, smirk just beginning.
Grey sighed. Long. Heavy. Done.
“Sergeant Bradford. Perhaps you’d like to… take this somewhere else?”
And that’s when Lucy realized it. Really realized it. Where they were. What they’d just done. And everything crashed down at once. Heat. Shame. The full weight of it.
“Oh… shit.” Barely a whisper, before she buried her face in Tim’s chest, hiding.
He felt her breath shudder against him. Felt her fingers curl tighter into the fabric of his uniform like she needed something—anything—to hold on to.
His hand moved. Instinct. Up her back. Fingertips brushing the nape of her neck. Gentle. Steady. Protective.
“It’s a little late for that,” he murmured into her hair.
She groaned. He smiled. Grey cleared his throat again. Louder this time. Sharper. “My office, Bradford. Now.”
Lucy whimpered softly against his chest. “You’re a dead man.”
Tim looked down at her. Smiled again. Soft. Quiet.
“Maybe. But I don’t care.”
He held her tighter. Just a little more. His thumb moved along her back. Slow. Grounding.
He wasn’t letting go. Not now. Not after this.
And he pulled her even closer.
TBC