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The morning starts with a dull ache in Lucy’s lower abdomen—annoying, but familiar. She barely glances at the clock as she pads into the kitchen, still half-asleep. Her fingers skim through the cabinet shelves until they land on the bottle of Advil. She twists the lid open and peers into the white bottle.
Empty.
She stares at the bottle for a second, her head tilted, eyes narrowing in frustration. Of course.
There’s no time to dwell on it. She throws on her jacket, grabs her keys, and sprints down the street to the nearest Shoppers, cursing every red light along the way. The cashier is slow, her receipt curls up wrong, and by the time Lucy is speeding toward the station, she swiftly swallows a capsule.
She’s late.
Not by much—five minutes, tops—but the second she steps into the briefing room, Tim’s gaze locks on hers. It’s not dramatic. No yelling, no scene. Just one look. Cold, sharp, disappointed.
That look stings more than any words might.
After roll call, he pulls her aside. Arms crossed, jaw set. “You're late, Boot.”
“I—” she starts, already kicking herself.
“Doesn’t matter why,” he cuts in. His voice is calm but short. “You’re a rookie. Every second counts.”
“I won’t let it happen again.”
“See that you don’t.” He pauses, eyes scanning her face, but whatever flicker of concern he might have had is buried deep beneath the usual steel. “Set up the shop.”
She nods, swallowing the apology she knows won’t matter. There’s no room for excuses in Tim Bradford’s world, even if you’re running on cramps and no sleep.
As she walks out to the parking lot, pain twisting sharper in her side, she forces herself to breathe through it. She won’t give him another reason to be disappointed.
Not today.
The morning shift rolls on like any other—code calls and the usual soundtrack of dispatch crackling through the radio. Tim drives in focused silence, his jaw tight, eyes fixed on the road like she personally offended him. Lucy sits in the passenger seat, trying to will the pain in her stomach into submission.
It’s worse now. Her dull cramps shift to an acute and concentrated pain in her lower abdomen. She's almost certain that this isn't just a really bad cramp but she keeps her face neutral, hands folded in her lap, breathing carefully through her nose.
Tim hasn’t said a word since they left the station.
She tries to lighten the tense mood. “You ever been to that new taco truck near Sixth? I heard Officer Lopez say—”
“We’re not here to eat tacos, Boot.”
Right. She nods, sinking back into silence. The ache shifts again, stabbing lower, and she swallows hard.
They get the call just before noon—large group disturbance, possible public intoxication. Nothing serious, at first glance. But when they arrive, it’s chaos. Seven or eight people, clearly drunk, shouting at passersby, a few shoving each other and gesturing wildly.
Tim’s out of the shop before it’s fully stopped. Lucy follows.
At first, it’s control. Measured orders, their hands lightly brushing over their tasers, a calm but firm tone. But then someone lunges. Punches get thrown, causing the group to swell and turn hostile, and suddenly it explodes, turning into a full-blown brawl.
Tim’s voice is steady as he calls for backup, tossing Lucy a quick, tight nod before engaging. “Hold your ground.”
She nods, pulling her taser out from her belt. Her stomach seizes with the motion, pain flaring hot and sharp, but she pushes it down. Just a few minutes. Just long enough to handle this.
She holds her own—barely. Dodging punches and landing her own. She scans the crowd. But then someone gets too close. A heavy fist connects squarely with her abdomen, and she doubles over with a strangled gasp.
The pain in her stomach explodes.
She drops to her knees. Breath gone, balance gone. Her fingers fumble for her taser, but her vision is already graying at the edges.
“Chen!” Tim’s voice is distant, but there—rough, urgent. She sees him trying to cut through the group toward her, his face twisted with something she can’t name. But he’s stuck. Too many bodies between them.
Lopez and West arrive just in time. Then Bishop. Nolan. The tide turns fast.
Lucy is still on the ground, her fingers twitching around her taser, her breath coming in short, ragged bursts. She tries to speak, tries to move, but the pain keeps her stiff on the cold asphalt road.
Finally, Tim gets to her. He drops to a crouch beside her, his hand on her shoulder. “Chen. Talk to me.”
She blinks up at him, her voice barely audible as her hand clutches her lower right abdomen. “M-my stomach...”
His hands hovered above her shaking hands. “Yeah,” he says, softening slightly before placing his hands on top of hers, trying to keep her steady, “I’ve got you.”
In the ambulance, she’s barely conscious. Tim rides beside her, one hand gripping the edge of the gurney, the other still on her hand. He’s calling her name—Lucy now, not Chen—his voice taut with worry, threaded with something deeper.
She hears it, just once, before she slips under: her name, spoken like a promise.
The paramedics are fast and professional. Questions fly—Where does it hurt? How long have you felt this way? But Lucy can barely form answers, the words stuck at the back of her throat.
Tim stays at her side the whole time, his hand gripping the edge of the gurney as they load her into the back of the ambulance. His jaw is tight, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes are locked on her like she’s the only thing keeping the world in place.
He doesn’t hesitate when the EMT gestures. He climbs in without a word.
Lucy shivers, teeth clenched against the pain, eyes fluttering. She hears him murmur something low to the paramedic—something about vitals and response time—but it fades into a blur. Her head turns toward him.
“Tim…”
“I’m here.” His voice is quiet now, closer to her ear. The usual edge is gone, replaced by something quieter. Warmer.
She blinks at him, lips parting like she wants to say more, but then her eyes close, and her body goes still.
Tim doesn’t say anything after that. Just sits there in the flashing red light, the sirens screaming overhead, and watches her breathe.
Watches. Waits.
And doesn’t leave.
The sterile smell of the hospital room hangs in the air, mixing with the faint hum of machines. Tim sits beside her bed, eyes fixed on her face as she stirs. Each second drags like an hour. He wants to reach out—but his fists stay clenched and still.
Lucy blinks, groggy, as her vision clears. She winces slightly at the dull ache in her abdomen, then furrows her brow when she notices Tim sitting beside her. For a second, her mind is foggy and disoriented.
“What… what happened?” Her voice was raspy, and her mouth dry. She shifts slightly, the movement causing her to wince again, but she tries to hide it.
“You had an appendicitis,” Tim says, his voice rough but controlled. He stands up slowly, the chair scraping against the floor as he leans in a little. “They had to take your appendix out. You’re going to be okay, Chen.”
She nods slowly, still processing the words. “How long…?”
“Just a few hours ago. You’ve been in surgery for a bit. You’re lucky we caught it when we did,” he says, avoiding her gaze for a second, looking down at the ground, his fingers tapping lightly against the metal bed frame. “Could’ve been a lot worse.”
Lucy stares at him for a moment, taking in the concern in his eyes, the way he’s not quite meeting her gaze. There’s a tension between them, a quiet energy that neither of them can ignore.
She swallows, clearing her throat as she tries to push past the fogginess. “I didn’t… I didn’t want to cause any more trouble. You were already upset with me.”
Tim shifts uncomfortably, his eyes darting toward the window for a split second before he locks eyes with her again. “You’re not trouble, Lucy. You never were.”
The words hang between them, both of them acutely aware of what’s unspoken. Tim is the first to break the silence, clearing his throat. “You should’ve told me. If something was wrong, I’d have… I don’t know, done something.”
Lucy shrugs slightly, the movement slow and cautious. “I didn’t want to make things worse. You had enough on your plate.”
Tim’s jaw tightens as he leans against the wall. His eyes flicker toward her, a soft, almost imperceptible look of frustration mixed with something else—something he’s not quite ready to acknowledge. “You can’t handle everything on your own, Lucy. You shouldn’t have had to. We're a team, remember?”
She meets his gaze, her breath catching for a moment. Her eyes soften, and for a brief second, the distance between them feels less significant. “I know, Tim. I just didn’t want to be a burden…”
Tim’s features soften, and the air shifts again. There’s a moment where neither of them knows quite what to say. They’re both standing on the edge of something, something more than just colleagues, but neither of them is ready to fall into it.
Before he can respond, the sound of the door opening interrupts them. Dr. Sawyer steps into the room with a small smile. “She’s awake. Good sign,” she says, looking at both of them with a knowing glance.
Tim stands up straight, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Thanks, Doc.”
Dr. Sawyer nods. “You’re welcome. Just make sure she gets plenty of rest and no sudden movements. We’ll need to keep an eye on her for a while.”
“Got it,” Tim says, a little too quickly. His eyes flick to Lucy, a silent understanding passing between them before he turns to the doctor. “Anything else we should know?”
Dr. Sawyer gives a small shrug, turning to leave. “Just don’t let her try to go back to work too soon.”
Tim nods again, the usual sternness in his tone returning. “I wasn’t planning on it.”
The door clicks shut behind the doctor, and the room is quiet again. Tim stands near the foot of the bed, arms crossed, his posture stiff. Lucy watches him closely, the tension still thick between them.
She clears her throat, breaking the silence. “I guess I should say… thanks for not letting me bleed out on the street.”
Tim lets out a small, breathless chuckle, but it’s rough and dry. “It wasn’t exactly my plan.”
Lucy’s eyes twinkle a little, a tired but amused smile pulling at the corner of her lips. “You looked like you were about to murder a few people, though.”
Tim smirks back at her, but his eyes remain serious, the weight of the situation not quite gone. “Don’t go making a habit of it, Boot.”
The nickname sounds less biting than usual. Less like an insult and more like a reluctant, comforting familiarity. Tim knows it, and Lucy knows it. But neither of them acknowledges it out loud.
For a long moment, they simply sit in silence. Tim shifts slightly, his eyes flickering to her again, but he doesn’t speak. Lucy tilts her head, her eyes studying him in a way she doesn’t usually allow herself to do.
She wants to ask him more, but she doesn’t—about why he’s here, about the worry she saw in his eyes. She doesn’t press.
Instead, she gives him a quiet, “I’ll be fine, Tim. You don’t need to keep hovering.”
Tim looks at her for a long moment before replying, his voice soft but steady, “I’m not hovering, Chen. Just… don’t get yourself killed next time.”
Lucy chuckles, her eyes lingering on him as he turns toward the door. There’s something between them, something neither of them is willing to voice yet. But it’s there, as undeniable as the soft tension in the air.
As Tim leaves the room, Lucy’s gaze follows him, the ache in her chest growing. She’s not sure what it is—what they are—but she knows it’s something she doesn’t want to lose.