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The apartment was quiet when Tim finished arranging the last of Lucy's favourite foods on the kitchen island. He stepped back, surveying his work with critical eyes—the golden-brown pastries from Nevins arranged just so, the jewel-toned berries glistening in their container, her favourite tea steeping and releasing tendrils of fragrant steam. His fingers trembled slightly as he adjusted a napkin. After everything they'd been through, after all he'd broken, these small offerings felt like promises. Everything needed to be perfect because Lucy deserved nothing less.
"Are you sure she won't be mad?" Celina asked when she handed over the spare key, her eyes narrowing with that protective gleam Tim had come to know well. "Lucy's been struggling to adjust and to sleep all week."
"That's exactly why I'm doing this," he'd replied, pocketing the key like a secret. "She deserves something nice to come home to."
Now, he checked his watch. Twenty minutes until Lucy's night shift ended. Forty-five until she'd walk through that door, shoulders slumped with the weight of twelve hours spent navigating the streets of LA. The timing needed to be perfect, too.
The lock turned before he expected it, and Tim froze, a smile edging across his face.
Lucy stumbled in, her body a monument to exhaustion. The soft skin beneath her eyes looked bruised with fatigue, and she carried the weight of her twelve-hour shift like armour she couldn't shed. But when she saw him, something flickered behind the weariness, a spark of light that Tim had feared he'd extinguished for good.
"Tim?" Her voice was a thread of sound, surprise raising her eyebrows but not quite reaching her eyes. "What are you—"
"Surprise." He straightened, gesturing to the table with a self-conscious wave. "Thought you might need this after your week. I know how challenging night shifts can be."
Lucy's gaze swept over the spread, lingering on the croissants. Something softened in her face, and Tim felt a familiar tightness in his chest, the way he always did when she let down her guard, even just a fraction.
"How did you get in?" she asked, dropping her bag by the door.
"Celina," he admitted. "Don't be mad at her. I can be very persuasive."
A ghost of a smile touched Lucy's lips. "That you can be." She moved to the couch, her body collapsing onto it as though her bones had suddenly turned to liquid. "This is... really nice, Tim."
"Go ahead and relax. I'm just finishing up." Tim moved to the kitchen, giving her space.
"So listen," Tim began, setting a spatula down carefully and turning off a burner. "I've been doing a lot of thinking over the last few months. As we've been doing whatever it is that we're doing. The hook-ups, the conversations about what might happen after you make sergeant, and now that we are here, I just want you to know that I would never assume anything about our future."
He paused, searching her face. Lucy's breathing had deepened, her chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of someone sliding toward sleep.
"I know the damage I did," he continued, his voice dropping lower, "and after a lot of therapy, I know why I did it. I've been doing the work. I have. I've been doing the work to fix what's been broken inside me."
"So, you can trust me when I tell you—Lucy, I will never hurt you like that again." The words hung in the air between them, weighty with promise. "If we're going to get back together, I think we should take the next step, and you should move in with me so we can give us a...a real shot."
The last word slipped out just as Lucy's head tilted slightly to the side, her lips parted in sleep. Tim watched her for a long moment, the confession still echoing in his mind. With a soft sigh, he reached for the throw blanket draped over the arm of the couch and covered her gently.
"To be continued," he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead and pressing a soft kiss to her temple.
Tim lingered there, watching the gentle rise and fall of Lucy's chest. The weight of his unheard confession hung in the air like suspended dust motes in the afternoon light. Had she heard any of it? Did it matter if she hadn't?
He'd planned this moment for weeks—rehearsed the words until they felt worn smooth like river stones in his mouth. But maybe this was better, he thought. Maybe some truths needed to be offered without expectation of response, planted like seeds that might someday grow into something neither of them could yet imagine.
Tim gathered the dishes quietly, his movements deliberate and soft. As he wiped down the counters, he found himself stealing glances at Lucy's sleeping form. She looked younger in sleep, unburdened by the armour she wore so naturally when awake. He remembered the first time he'd watched her sleep, years ago, before he'd broken what they had. Before he understood how fragile trust could be.
"I'll make it right," he promised silently, more to himself than to her. "However long it takes."
**
Lucy was floating somewhere between consciousness and dreams when Tim's words seeped into her mind, weaving themselves into scenes that flickered like old film reels.
"I've been doing the work to fix what's been broken inside me."
Tim stood in a room filled with clocks. He looked younger, his hair shorter, and his military fatigues tattered and dusty. He meticulously took each clock apart and put it back together with the same precision as a firearm drill at the academy. When he looked up, his ocean eyes were clearer than she'd ever seen them.
"I know the damage I did..."
The scene shifted. They were back in her old apartment, the one with the blood stain on the carpet and uneven floors. Tim was on his knees, picking up the shattered remains of the glass case of her shot in action radio. In her dream, Lucy struggled to place why it was important, only that its breaking had marked the end of something vital between them.
"I will never hurt you like that again."
They were dancing now, in a room with no walls, bordered only by horizon and possibility. Tim's hand was steady at her waist, bunching up emerald green fabric between his fingers. His touch is both an anchor and a compass. He guided her through steps she somehow knew without learning, their bodies remembering a language their minds had forgotten. With each turn, something calcified within her softened, something guarded unfurled. Trust, her dream-self realized with a throat-tightening clarity. This weightless certainty, this falling without fear. This is what trust feels like.
"You should move in with me so we can give us a real shot."
The dream shifted once more. Lucy stood in an unfamiliar hallway, keys in hand. Tim was there, opening a door that led to rooms filled with morning light. On the kitchen counter sat two coffee mugs, hers and his, side by side like a promise.
"Yes," dream-Lucy said, the word bubbling up from somewhere deep and certain within her. "Yes, I'll move in. Yes to us."
A sudden clang jolted her awake.
Lucy blinked, disoriented. She was still on her couch, the throw blanket tucked around her legs. The apartment was empty, silent except for the soft hum of the refrigerator and her own quickened breathing. Outside, the light had shifted, It was no longer early morning but the golden glow of mid-afternoon.
Beside her on the cushion was a folded piece of paper. Lucy reached for it, her fingers still clumsy with sleep.
"Lucy, you clearly needed the rest. I packed up everything, feel free to enjoy everything. Or don't. It's up to you. - Tim"
Lucy couldn't help but feel she missed something. The feelings from her dream nagged at her, insistent as a heartbeat. Had Tim actually said those things, or had her subconscious woven them from the fragments of wishes she'd never dared speak aloud?
The what-comes-next discussion had been thick between them since she'd passed the Sergeant's exam. But between their opposing shifts and the uncertainty of how to start the conversation, their reconciliation felt just out of reach.
She stood, checking the time. Mid-afternoon. Her shift had ended hours ago, which meant she'd been asleep for...
Lucy stared at the note in her hand, feeling something shift inside her, much like a key turning in a lock that had been jammed for too long. She'd been waiting for the perfect moment, the right words, some cosmic sign that it was time to move forward. But life didn't work that way. Real life happened in ordinary moments, in quiet kitchens and on worn couches, in dreams that felt more honest than waking hours.
She folded the note carefully and slipped it into her pocket, a talisman of sorts.
Lucy shook her head, suddenly decisive. She was done waiting! Done with the limbo of "whatever it is that we're doing." Tim's words from her dream echoed in her mind, feeling more real than memory had any right to.
She hopped in the shower quickly, a woman with a purpose. The warm water washed away the last cobwebs of sleep, but not the certainty that had taken root in her chest.
As she towelled off, Lucy found herself rehearsing what she would say. Words she'd held back for months now rushed forward, demanding to be spoken. She'd watched him change, not just saying he was different, but showing it in a hundred small ways.
The consistency.
The patience.
The way he never pushed but always showed up.
"It's time," she whispered to her reflection, "to stop pretending we're just figuring things out."
Dressed and determined, Lucy pulled out her phone and typed a message to Tim:
"Can you come back to my place? I need to talk to you about something important. About us."
She hesitated for just a moment before hitting send, then tucked the phone into her pocket. As she moved to the kitchen, Lucy spotted the container of croissants on the coffee table. His thoughtfulness this morning, and she'd fallen asleep. A smile tugged at her lips, and perhaps that was fitting. They'd both been sleeping through opportunities for too long.
At the door, she paused, glancing back at the couch where she'd dreamed of a future that suddenly seemed within reach. Then, with a deep breath and the taste of possibility sweet on her tongue, Lucy turned to prepare the apartment for a conversation months in the making.
**
Tim was halfway through his workout when his phone buzzed. Lucy's name on the screen made his heart stutter mid-rep. He dropped the weight, reaching for the device with suddenly clumsy fingers.
"Can you come back to my place? I need to talk to you about something important. About us."
He read the message three times, searching for clues in her words.
Had she been awake after all?
Had she heard his confession, or was this about finding him in her apartment this morning?
"About us." The words made his pulse quicken. He typed a quick reply. "On my way" before rushing to shower.
Under the spray of hot water, scenarios raced through his mind. Maybe she was angry about the invasion of privacy. Maybe she wanted to end things entirely, tired of their undefined status. Or maybe—and this thought he held onto tightly—maybe she wanted the same things he did.
He drove to her apartment, his grip tight enough on the steering wheel to blanch his knuckles white. The afternoon traffic crawled like time itself had slowed, every red light a test of his already fraying patience. At one light, he caught his reflection in the rearview mirror. The shadows under his eyes, the tight line of his jaw, the naked hope he couldn't disguise.
"Whatever she says," he told himself firmly, "you take it. You've earned whatever comes." The words tasted like pennies in his mouth, metallic with truth. He'd spent months rebuilding what his pride and fear had torn down, laying each brick of trust with trembling hands. Now came the moment he'd learn if bridges he’d carelessly burned could ever be rebuilt.
He drove the last few blocks to Lucy's apartment with the windows down, letting the fresh air clear his head. He needed to be present for whatever "this" turned out to be.
When she opened the door, Tim was struck anew by how easily Lucy unravelled him. Her hair was damp from the shower, and she wore his faded LAPD academy t-shirt she'd always loved.
"You came," she said, as if there had been any doubt.
"Of course," he replied, following her inside. The food he'd prepared earlier was arranged on plates on the coffee table. Two cups of fresh coffee steamed beside them.
Lucy sat on the couch, and Tim took the chair across from her, giving her space. The silence stretched between them, full of all the things they hadn't said.
"I had the strangest dream," Lucy finally began, her fingers tracing the rim of her mug. "While I slept here on this sofa this morning. It was about you. About us."
Tim's breath caught. "What kind of dream?"
"The kind that feels more real than being awake." Her eyes met his, steady and clear. "I dreamed you were talking to me about the future. About moving in together."
Tim felt heat crawl up his neck. "Lucy—"
"No, let me finish," she said, setting down her mug. "Because I've been watching you, Tim. All these months. I've seen you putting in the work. Not just saying you've changed, but showing it every day. The way you call when you say you will. The way you've respected my boundaries. The way you've rebuilt yourself."
She took a deep breath. "You broke us. But I've watched you carefully rebuild yourself and work to put us back together, piece by piece. And when I woke up from that dream, I knew I didn't want to wait anymore. I didn't want to waste any more time."
Tim leaned forward, hardly daring to breathe.
"I know it might seem fast," Lucy continued, her voice gaining strength like a river fed by rain, "but I was wondering... what if we didn't have to say goodbye at the end of every night? What if we could wake up together every morning , go to bed together every night ?"
She paused, and in that moment, Tim saw it all.
Her fear of stepping forward, the trust she was choosing, the love she was offering, like something wild and rare cupped in her palms. Vulnerability flickered across her face like morning light through leaves.
"Tim, what if we moved in together?"
The world seemed to still around them as her question hung in the air, vibrating with possibility. All the clocks stopped, all the noise of the world faded, and there was only this.
Lucy's eyes held his, her heart in her throat, as Tim let out a relieved chuckle.
Lucy's brows furrowed in curiosity.
Tim's voice was light, his smile beaming, "It wasn't a dream."
Those three words contained everything. A confession, relief, promise. An acknowledgment of everything they'd lost and everything they stood to gain. Between them stretched a history of false starts, of wounds inflicted and carefully bandaged. And now this, the truth hanging in the air between them, as tangible as the steam from their coffee cups.
Suddenly, all the pieces fell into place. Her dream and how it felt so real, but aspirational. Tim had shared his thoughts, and she'd heard it all without realizing. The universe, it seemed, had conspired to make sure his words reached her, even in sleep.
Shock painted her face, "Huh."
Six weeks later
The days between decision and action had passed in a blur of logistics and stolen moments. Lists made and remade. Furniture measured twice. Clothes were sorted into keep, donate, and the nebulous maybe pile that somehow kept growing. Through it all, Tim and Lucy found themselves pausing at odd moments, brushing teeth side by side at her sink, or his; sharing takeout on her floor after packing her kitchen; falling asleep mid-sentence while discussing paint colours and marvelling at how quickly "someday" had transformed into "now."
Lucy balanced a precarious stack of boxes labelled "BOOKS" in her arms as she navigated through the doorway of Tim's, no wait, their house.
The July heat had turned Los Angeles into a shimmering mirage, and despite his decent air conditioning, a thin sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead.
"Where do you want these?" she called out, peering around the tower of cardboard.
Tim appeared from the kitchen, dish towel thrown over one shoulder. "Anywhere but in front of the AC vents," he replied with a grin, crossing the room to relieve her of the top two boxes. "I think we're going to need all the cool air we can get today."
“Funny, how you don’t mind AC when it’s for your own personal comfort,” she teased, recalling their constant arguments over air conditioning during her rookie year.
Their fingers brushed during the handoff, and even after all this time, Lucy felt that familiar flutter in her chest. The one that had started that afternoon six weeks ago, when Tim had confirmed that her dream wasn't really a dream at all.
"You two are disgustingly cute," Celina declared as she entered behind Lucy, carrying a potted plant nearly as tall as she was. "Your auras are blidning"
"Says the woman who texted me sixteen heart emojis when she told me Penn was moving into my old room," Lucy shot back, setting her remaining box on the coffee table.
"That's different. Penn and I are roommates. With benefits." Celina set the plant down in a corner and straightened, hands on her hips. "Besides, someone needed to take the apartment. LAPD salary doesn't exactly scream 'financial independence' in this housing market."
Tim handed Lucy a cold bottle of water from the fridge. "Smart move subletting the apartment, though. Good insurance."
Lucy raised an eyebrow. "Insurance?"
"Yeah," Tim shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eye. "In case I snore too loud or leave the toilet seat up one too many times."
"Or in case Lucy realizes she could do better," came Nolan's teasing voice as he appeared in the doorway, lugging what looked like Lucy's entire shoe collection in a massive clear container.
Bailey appeared behind him, struggling with a tower of pizza boxes. "I come bearing sustenance! Moving day isn't complete without pizza and beer."
"You're a saint," Tim declared, clearing a space on the kitchen counter. "And that's the last of it, right?" he asked, looking at Nolan.
"One more box in the truck. Labelled 'Bedroom - Private,'” Nolan replied, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "I thought I'd leave that one for you."
Lucy felt heat flush her cheeks that had nothing to do with the July temperature. "I'll get it," she said quickly, ignoring the knowing looks exchanged between her friends.
"I'll help," Tim volunteered, following her out the door.
Once they were alone on the walkway, Tim caught her hand and pulled her into a quick embrace. "Are you having second thoughts yet, Sergeant Chen?" he murmured against her hair.
"Not a chance, Sergeant Bradford," she replied, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. "Though I'm beginning to regret enlisting the peanut gallery in there."
"You keep telling me they're family," Tim said simply, and Lucy felt something in her chest expand at those words. It had been a long road for both of them. Broken trust, separate paths, and careful reconstruction. Now here they were, not just back together, but building something stronger, more honest than before.
"Come on," she said, tugging his hand. "Let's get that last box before they eat all the pizza."
When they returned, Nolan had already cracked open beers for everyone and was midway through some elaborate story involving his latest rookie and a misunderstanding with the K-9 unit.
"—and then the dog just takes off, dragging poor Hansen across the parking lot!" Nolan was saying, gesturing wildly with his free hand. "I swear, that kid attracts disaster like you wouldn't believe."
"Reminds me of someone else I used to know," Tim said, setting down Lucy's box and accepting a beer from Bailey.
Lucy rolled her eyes. "We can’t pick on John today, he helped us move."
"Nolan is a trouble magnet; now it’s just rubbed off on his rookies." Tim pointed out, taking a swig from his bottle.
Bailey lifted her beer bottle. "I think this calls for a toast," she announced. "To Lucy and Tim. They went from the most unlikely training officer and rookie pairing to the most annoyingly perfect couple I know."
"To second chances," Nolan added, raising his bottle.
"To keeping separate Netflix accounts because I'm not messing up my algorithm with your true crime documentaries," Tim said, nudging Lucy's shoulder.
Lucy laughed, lifting her own beer. "To finally figuring out what comes next."
Their bottles clinked, and as Lucy looked around at the faces of the people she loved most in the world, surrounded by the boxed-up pieces of her life waiting to merge with Tim's, she felt a deep certainty settle in her bones. This was where she belonged.
Tim watched Lucy laugh, her head tilted back, the late afternoon light catching in her hair. There had been days, weeks, even when he'd convinced himself he'd never hear that sound again, at least not because of him. Now, surrounded by boxes and friends and the promise of tomorrow, he felt something long-knotted inside him finally unravel. This wasn't just Lucy moving into his space. He was stepping into the life he'd been afraid to want.
**
Three hours, two pizza boxes, and several beers later, they'd said goodbye to their friends. The door closed behind Celina, the last to leave, with a soft click that seemed to underscore the new reality: they were home. Together.
Lucy collapsed onto the couch, surveying the landscape of cardboard boxes and bubble wrap surrounding them. "I had no idea I owned so much stuff," she groaned.
"The curse of a woman with good taste," Tim replied, sinking down beside her. He stretched his arm along the back of the sofa, his fingers finding the nape of her neck, massaging gently. "We don't have to unpack everything tonight."
Lucy leaned into his touch, her eyes drifting closed. "I can't believe we're here," she murmured. "After everything. Both sergeants now. Together. Living together." She opened one eye to peek at him. "It doesn't feel real sometimes."
Tim's hand stilled on her neck. "Having regrets already?" His tone was light, but she could hear the thread of vulnerability beneath it.
She turned to face him fully. "No regrets. Wonder," she corrected. "A year ago, I thought we were done for good. And now..." she gestured at the house around them, boxes half-opened, her plants already nestled among his decor, her colourful throw blanket draped over his practical furniture. Already, the space was transforming into something new. Something theirs.
"Now we're home," Tim finished for her, his voice soft but certain.
Lucy smiled, letting that word settle between them. Home. It had been such a fraught concept for both of them, for different reasons. To claim it together felt like more than just moving in. It felt like a declaration.
"I'm exhausted," Tim said, his head dropping back against the couch. "Who knew moving a woman's possessions could be more strenuous than metro training?"
Lucy arched an eyebrow, a slow smile spreading across her face. "Too tired to help me celebrate moving day properly?"
Tim's eyes darkened as he caught her meaning. "I thought you'd never ask," he said, his voice dropping to that low timbre that never failed to send shivers down her spine.
She made a show of looking around at the boxes. "Though I suppose we should really be responsible adults and finish unpacking first..."
In one fluid motion, Tim stood and scooped her up into his arms. Lucy let out a startled laugh, her arms automatically wrapping around his neck.
"The boxes can wait," he declared, carrying her toward the bedroom— their bedroom now.
"My hero," Lucy teased, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw as he navigated carefully around the stacks of books and clothes.
Once they crossed the threshold, Tim gently set her down but kept his arms loosely around her waist. In the dimness of the room, lit only by the golden evening light filtering through the blinds, his expression was soft with wonder.
"I can't believe you wanted to wait until we were living together," he murmured, his thumbs tracing small circles at her hips. "April was a long time ago, Lucy. This is July."
Lucy's hands slid up his chest to link behind his neck. "I wanted this to be different," she said quietly. "I wanted us to do this right. To prove that we weren't just falling back into old patterns."
"And?" Tim prompted, his forehead coming to rest against hers.
"And I think we did it right," she whispered, tilting her chin up to brush her lips against his. "I think we're exactly where we're supposed to be."
Tim's response was to deepen the kiss, one hand sliding into her hair while the other pulled her closer. Lucy melted against him, the familiar heat between them intensifying as Tim walked her backward until her legs hit the edge of the mattress.
As Tim's lips traced constellations across her skin, Lucy was reminded of her dream, the room with no walls, the horizon stretching endlessly around them. Except this was better. This was real. His hands weren't guiding her through a dance but mapping her body like familiar and thrillingly new territory. Trust, her very-much-awake self realized. This is what trust feels like when it's lived, not just dreamed.
They tumbled onto the bed together, a tangle of limbs and laughter that quickly gave way to something more urgent. Tim's hand found the hem of her t-shirt, his fingertips grazing the sensitive skin of her lower back.
"Is this okay?" he asked, his voice rough with restraint.
Lucy answered by pulling her shirt over her head and tossing it aside. "More than," she assured him, relishing the way his eyes darkened as they traced over her body. "I've been thinking about this for weeks."
"Just weeks?" Tim teased, pressing a kiss to the hollow of her throat. "I've been thinking about this for months."
Lucy's laugh turned into a soft gasp as his lips travelled lower. "Well then," she managed, her fingers working at the buttons of his shirt. "We should probably make up for lost time."
Tim's answering smile against her skin was both tender and wicked. "Sergeant Chen," he murmured, "I believe that's the best idea you've had all day."
As the last rays of daylight faded outside their window, they rediscovered each other with unhurried hands and whispered affirmations.
The boxes could wait.
The unpacking could wait.
The rest of the world could wait.
For now, there was only this—the two of them, finally home, finally together, both building and becoming the dream that had once seemed impossible.
And as night settled over Los Angeles, Lucy knew with absolute certainty that some dreams don't fade with daylight.