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1. Lucy – after studying for the detective’s exam
Tim isn’t surprised when he sees Lucy’s silhouette hunched over on the couch, haloed by the glow of the sunrise beginning to shine through the gap in the curtains. His girlfriend’s side of the bed had been ice cold when he’d woken a few minutes ago.
“Lucy.”
She starts slightly, but doesn’t take her eyes off the handwritten question she’s reviewing, feet tucked under her as she chews on the lid of the pen clutched in her hand. “Hm?”
“You didn’t come to bed last night.”
“One sec.” Her voice is elsewhere, clearly wracking her brain for something hidden in the pages of the textbook currently laying shut on the coffee table.
He takes a single step closer to the couch. “You need to sleep.”
Lucy lets out a sigh, throwing her head back in frustration when she evidently can’t recall the answer she’s looking for. “Why don’t I know this?” she huffs. Tim doesn’t think she heard what he’d said at all.
“You do,” he reassures her, “your brain is just overtired.”
“I should know this.”
“No, you should rest.”
“I just need to be sure I’ve got this chapter—”
“—you won’t ‘get the chapter’ when you’re running on fumes, Luce,” he interjects.
Finally, she turns to face him, frustration flashing in her eyes. “Tim.”
He stands his ground, his voice soft but firm. “Go to bed, baby.”
A glimmer of uncertainty shines in her eyes. “I can’t. If—if I don’t have every last letter of that book memorised,” she throws her arm out towards the coffee table, gesturing wildly in agitation, “Primm is going to trip me up on the most miniscule detail he can think of. He’s looking for any reason to put me as low as possible on that list, so I need to be perfect.”
Tim can hear the anxiety in his girlfriend’s voice and closes the distance between them, coming to stand behind where she’s sat on the couch. He places his hands on her shoulders and begins rubbing soothing circles with his thumbs.
“You know everything you need to know,” his voice remains low and soft. “You do. You just have to trust yourself.”
Lucy sighs heavily, throwing her head into her hands for a moment before flopping back against the couch cushions in agitation.
He knows her. He knows she’s tired, but also that she’s probably wound herself up too much throughout the night to sleep just yet.
“Why don’t I make you some camomile tea, and then you go lie down, okay?” he suggests. “At the very least, it’ll get you away from all these… words, for a few hours.”
He can feel the resistance to his words in her shoulders, the way they minutely raise towards her ears as she’s about to protest—he doubles down before she can.
“Come on, Luce.” Tim lifts a hand to remove her hair tie from where it’s barely clinging to a small section of hair at the nape of her neck, most of the hair having fallen loose from its hold throughout the night. Pulling the hair tie over his wrist so he doesn’t lose it, Tim gently runs his hands through her hair to smooth it out, getting rid of small knots and letting it cascade over her shoulders. “You need to rest.”
He feels the way she begins to lean back into his touch as he continues running his fingers across her scalp and through her hair.
“What if I mess this up, Tim?” Lucy’s voice is noticeably quieter now, vulnerability bleeding through the mumble coming from her lips as she leans further back into the plush blue cushions of the couch.
“Then… you mess it up. And life moves forward anyway,” Tim says plainly. “You try again, or you try something else. Either way, you just have to trust yourself and trust that you’ll always end up right where you need to be.”
His fingertips continue pressing into her scalp, trying to alleviate the headache that must have formed after a night of staring at fine print. Lucy always gets headaches when she’s been working at the same thing for too long; it’s why Tim has been sure to keep a blister pack of paracetamol in his back pocket since she was his rookie.
Lucy just hums softly in acknowledgement of his words, the tension in her entire body uncoiling underneath his touch.
“You’re the best cop I know, Luce,” he continues, his voice remaining low and gentle. “You’re bright and intelligent and you’ve got incredible instincts. You’re going to keep succeeding, whatever form your path ends up taking—whether you go on to become a detective, or a TO, or a sergeant, you’re going to excel because you have the ability to take on whatever is thrown at you. I really, honestly believe that. You’re amazing.”
Lucy’s head begins to droop slightly towards the back cushion. “Love you, Tim,” she murmurs. It’s barely coherent, her words slurring as she succumbs to the depths of long-overdue sleep, guided further under by his soft touch and low tones.
“I love you too, baby,” Tim whispers, a small smile lighting up his face, as though anything more would be blinding enough to wake her again. He presses a kiss to the crown of her head and rounds to the front of the couch, grabbing the throw blanket from the armchair behind him and draping it over her as she curls into one of the cushions. “Sleep well.”
2. Tim – after a long Metro shift
It’s late when Tim finally comes through the door. Lucy glances at the clock hanging above the kitchen counter, which shows it’s just past 11 pm.
He’d spent most of the last 24 hours leading his Metro guys in staking out and apprehending a group of terror suspects—that’s all she got to know, the details of the op being burn-after-reading. With the preparation, numerous briefings and meetings beforehand, and the sergeant’s paperwork afterwards, it’s the first time Tim’s been back for the better part of two days.
She’s missed him.
So, she was determined to wait up for him tonight, no matter how late he got back—especially since she’s off-shift for a few days and doesn’t have anywhere to be in the morning.
The warm lamplight filling the room with its amber glow softly illuminates the shadows of Tim’s face as he shuts the door quietly behind him.
“Hey,” Lucy murmurs, giggling slightly when Tim starts at her voice, his eyes darting up to meet hers as he places his bag on the floor and toes off his boots.
“Hi,” he smiles. His eyes are shadowed and tired, eyelids already drooping as his shoulders visibly relax once he’s enveloped in the apartment’s warmth. “What are you still doing up? Don’t you have a shift in the morning?”
Lucy’s heart tugs at how worn out he looks. He shrugs off his jacket and barely manages to hang it on the wall hook, almost dropping it as his fingers fumble with the hanging loop. Some part of her mind distantly questions whether him driving himself home had been a good idea, but it’s a bit late now.
“I’m off for a few days, remember?” Her arms reach out for Tim on instinct as he rounds the couch and finally collapses beside her, pressing a warm kiss to her lips in greeting and immediately burying his face in the crook of her neck as she leans back into the cushions.
She feels Tim’s brow furrows against her skin as his brain tries to do the math. “Still? Wait—what day is it?”
Smiling softly even though he can’t see her face, Lucy wraps one arm around Tim’s shoulders while her free hand trails up the length of his spine. “It’s Wednesday, babe.”
This happens a lot. The unpredictable, sporadic hours of Metro mean Tim’s out random combinations of nights and days, and it’s all too easy for him to lose track completely.
Lucy will always be there to remind him of where he is, though.
“God, you’re kidding,” Tim whines, voice muffled by her shirt and gravelly with exhaustion.
Lucy can’t help but giggle. “Sorry to be the one to break it to you.”
Shifting them both slightly, Lucy twists so her back is against the armrest and kicks her legs up onto the couch, stretching them out in front of her beside Tim’s form.
“Do we get to lie in together in the morning, at least?” she asks as she feels Tim relax even further into the couch, his breath casting warmth across her collarbone. He shakes his head slightly against her shoulder.
“Got to head in early to finish the last of tonight’s paperwork,” he mumbles. “Wanted to get it done before I came home, but Pine came into my office and made me leave. Pretty sure I was about to fall asleep at my desk.”
“I’m not surprised,” Lucy laughs.
“I don’t sleep when ’m on duty.” Tim’s words are slurring slightly now, the tendrils of sleep pulling him under little by little.
“I know,” she responds. As she feels him begin to drift off, she shakes him lightly. “Hey, you need to eat something.”
Tim just groans in response, the vibration tickling her neck slightly as he curls tighter into her.
“Tim,” Lucy giggles.
“I love you.” The words amalgamate together, barely coherent, and he’s clearly already halfway asleep.
“I love you, too,” she whispers. When she presses a kiss to the side of his head a few moments later, she knows sleep has already taken him, his breathing evening out. Lucy resigns herself to the fact that he’s not moving anywhere, and therefore neither is she—his head is tucked in the crook of her neck and one arm is splayed loosely over her waist, his body taking up the gap between her and the back cushions of the couch.
Lucy supposes it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to sleep on the couch for one night. Grabbing a throw pillow to prop under her head, Lucy lies back, her boyfriend in her arms, revelling in the warmth and love surrounding her.
3. Lucy – on a road trip
They’re about six hours into their estimated eleven hours on the road when something shifts.
Tim and Lucy are currently travelling to visit Lucy’s aunt Amy, who just moved out of California to a cosy house in Kaysville, Utah. After insisting they wanted to help her unpack and settle in, the couple booked some time off and figured they’d make a trip out of it, packing some snacks and drinks and Kojo in the backseat.
They’d set off in the early hours of the morning, with a plan to switch out at specified rest stops in an attempt to get the journey done in one straight shot. With any luck—read: as long as they don’t run into terrible traffic—they should be there well before nightfall.
The last stop had been about thirty miles back, with Lucy climbing out of the driver’s seat and heading into the gas station to pick up some gum while Tim rounded the car for his turn to drive.
A carefully curated playlist of songs designed to span the length of their journey—Lucy’s handiwork, of course—has been playing through the speakers. Currently, the shuffle has landed on some new-ish pop song that Tim doesn’t really know, but he can’t help but tap his fingertips against the steering wheel as Lucy quietly hums along to the words.
This is what gives him pause, and Tim casts his girlfriend a sideways glance. Up until this point, Lucy had been actively singing along with every track that had started, her voice covering every manufactured melody like honey as she gestured with her hands—or hand, singular, when she was driving—in lieu of dance moves. It had been making the music an actually bearable experience. But now, she’s sitting back in her seat, head lightly bopping from side-to-side in time with the beat.
“You alright?” he asks, turning his gaze back to the road.
Lucy hums affirmatively, stretching her legs out slightly in the footwell. “Maybe we shouldn’t have—” she interrupts her sentence with a yawn, “—left so early.”
Ohh. Tim can’t help the soft smile that stretches his lips. “Tired?” Lucy nods, laughing slightly as she yawns again, lifting a hand to cover her mouth. “Sleep, if you want. I’m driving for the next few hours, anyway.”
“No, it’s okay; I don’t want to leave you by yourself.”
Tim’s brows furrow, his mouth opening and closing in mock confusion. “Luce, I’m not sure what you think happens when you fall asleep, but you know you don’t… disappear or anything, right?”
She scoffs, swatting at his arm limply. “Shut up. You know what I mean.”
He just grins in response.
Despite her assurances that she wasn’t going to fall asleep, the quiet rumble of the car as it glides along the highway must have a sedative effect on Lucy, and Tim watches out of the corner of his eye as she slowly begins slumping more and more into her seat over the course of the next ten minutes. And when the playlist switches to an acoustic song, one with quiet chords and soft edges, he knows she’s done for, her eyes closed and head dipping low.
When they’re rolling to a stop behind some unexpected traffic a few miles down the road, Tim reaches into the backseat where they’d packed some spare blankets—Lucy’s aunt didn’t have her bedding unpacked yet, so they’d brought their own to ensure the woman didn’t have to root through all her boxes—and gently drapes it over Lucy as best he can in the limited space of the passenger seat.
He takes a moment to just watch her, at peace and almost glowing in the sunlight.
How did he get so lucky?
Tim almost misses the traffic beginning to shift forward, returning his gaze to the windshield and suddenly seeing that the number plate of the car in front, the one that had been in his immediate view for miles, is suddenly a lot further down the road than it was a minute ago. Whoops.
4. Tim – after Mad Dog’s death
Lucy knocks sharply four times on the door—three times from muscle memory, and a fourth for good measure. It is late, after all.
But deep down, she knows he won’t be asleep right now. Isn’t that why she’s here?
Are you okay?
I am now.
Maybe in the moment, within the four walls of the elevator, that hug took the weight from his shoulders, her arms around him absorbing some of the burden he was carrying, but it wouldn’t have been a permanent solution. It wouldn’t have scrubbed the memory of what he’d seen.
And Lucy knows Tim, knows how the things he lives through end up painted on his ceilings. Loud, blindingly bright technicolour images that he stares up at in the darkness, watching back every second, every frame, over and over and over.
The silence of the night has stretched out a few seconds too long for her liking, and Lucy is halfway through raising her hand to knock again when she hears movement behind the door before it swings open.
Tim looks… haunted. But only for a split second, until the panic flashes in his eyes upon seeing the person stood at his door.
“Lucy? What’s going on? Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine,” she says plainly, “I came to check in on you.”
“At—” he turns to glance at the clock hanging in his hallway, squinting at it in the low light, “one thirty in the morning?”
“Are you telling me you were asleep?” She already knows the answer.
Tim opens his mouth to answer, presumably with a lie, before hesitating. He sighs and lets out a cold laugh. “Uh, no,” he admits, “I wasn’t.”
“There we go, then. Now, can I come in? It’s kind of cold out here.”
“What are you—?” Lucy makes her way into his house without waiting for a response, and Tim instinctively steps to one side to let her past before realising what she’s doing. “Lucy, you don’t have to—”
“Yes, I do,” she responds, leaving no room for argument.
She catches sight of his couch as she beelines straight for the kitchen. The decorative cushions are slightly askew, the throw blanket crumpled at one end. Tim has clearly been laying there, not even bothering to go to his bed. It tells her everything she needs to know.
“Did you even try and sleep?” Lucy asks, switching on the kettle and navigating through his kitchen area using muscle memory, pulling two mugs from the end cabinet. One blue, one yellow. Their mugs. She doesn’t even realise she’s done it until she’s turning back from grabbing the tea bags. Old habits, she supposes, her heart twinging slightly before she shakes her head. The past, what they had, doesn’t matter right now. That’s not why she’s here.
Tim is still frozen by his front door, barely having moved once he’d pushed it shut after Lucy had swooped in like it was second nature. He huffs out a quiet echo of a laugh, and Lucy hears him mumble under his breath.
“Yeah, right.”
“Well,” she calls out, leaning against the counter as the kettle begins to boil behind her, “I’m guessing you didn’t sleep last night, either.”
“Little difficult,” he responds, his footsteps approaching the kitchen area. “Went straight from work to the scene and then back to the station.” He’s missing the part where he stood in the hallway outside her apartment with their dog.
The click of the kettle lets Lucy know the water has boiled, and she turns away from where Tim is standing a few feet away to pour water into the two mugs.
“You need to sleep, Tim,” she says matter-of-factly. She hears him drop into one of the seats on the opposite side of the counter, but he still remains silent for a few moments, his hesitation almost palpable in the air.
“I just can’t—uh-” The way his voice cracks has Lucy turning her head as she lifts the two mugs, just in time to see Tim’s head fall into his hands as he begins to tug at his hair anxiously. She freezes. “I can’t get it out of my head,” he grits out. “He just—he just leaned backwards and went over and—and—God, I should’ve been faster, should’ve tried to—there was—there was so much blood, Lucy—I—” It’s like his mind can’t decide which agonising detail he should be focusing on, so it’s just flitting between them all, tearing him apart from the inside out.
“Hey,” she says gently but firmly, hurrying to put the mugs down on the counter between them so she can reach a hand out. She’s been trying to maintain some level of distance, wanting to make it clear that she’s just here to check in on a friend and it doesn’t change anything, but it’s obvious to her now that he needs her support more than she’d thought. She didn’t realise he’d be blaming himself—although, now she’s actually thinking about it, she should’ve known better. “There’s nothing you could’ve done, Tim.”
“I was right there—”
Lucy shakes her head adamantly. “No. Don’t do that.” She wants to say more, wants to get him to open up, wants to make sure he isn’t putting a lid—and chain, and padlock—on all this, but it’s late right now, and if her math isn’t completely off, the man slouched in front of her hasn’t slept for at least 40 hours.
Letting out a ragged, uneven breath, Tim sits up slightly, and Lucy gently squeezes his arm where it’s now folded over the other atop the counter. She uses her free hand to push the steaming blue mug closer to him. He stares at it, but his mind is clearly being pulled elsewhere.
“Chamomile,” she says by way of trying to bring him back.
It’s not a smile, but the corners of his lips turn up ever-so-slightly. “I figured.” She’s reminded now that he knows her, too. “Thank you.”
“Of course.” The gentle sincerity in her voice makes Tim look up at her, but for one of the first times in a long while she can’t decipher his expression.
His chest rises with a slow, steady breath of hesitation. “Look—it’s late. You should g-”
Absolutely not. “You shouldn’t be alone right now.”
“Lucy—”
“Tim.” She matches his tone, leaving no room for argument. “I’m not leaving.”
No further words are needed. Instead, they stare each other down for a few moments, steely gazes standing their ground against one another. Despite himself, Tim is the first to break, letting out a sigh. “You’re insufferable.”
“Don’t I know it,” Lucy says, taking a sip from her own mug of chamomile tea. Tim soon follows suit, and if Lucy didn’t already know he was exhausted, that would’ve been her conclusive proof—throughout their relationship, she’d tried time and time again to get Tim to join her in her nightly tea before bed, to no avail. Even if he was the one making it for her half the time, he’d always refused to have one of his own.
But now the floral, warm scent of chamomile fills the space between them, just like she’s always wanted, and Lucy can’t figure out if they feel closer together or even further apart.
They sit in a comfortable yet loaded silence as they drink their tea, feeling the weight of everything they aren’t saying. But there’s also a mutual awareness of the fact that neither of them are planning on saying it—not tonight. The clock in the entryway ticks a gentle metronome, every second dissolving into the steam wisping from the mugs.
When both their mugs are empty, Lucy drums her hands on the countertop. “Right, come on.”
Startling slightly, Tim looks up at her. “What—?”
“It’s a quarter to two in the morning, Tim. You’re going to bed.”
“Lucy, I—”
“This isn’t a debate. Come on, up.” She motions with her head in the general direction of his bedroom.
She almost feels bad at the way his shoulders tense, his clear apprehension at what’s awaiting him in unconsciousness pulling at her heartstrings, but he needs to sleep, and she’s already resolved to be right here if he needs her.
The way she leads the way to his bedroom as he stands from his chair brings back echoes of another time, when things were simpler and laced with laughter and kisses and lightness, and her heart splinters slightly at the reminder of what they lost.
Pulling back the covers, Lucy gestures for Tim to climb in, replacing them over him once he does. As he lies his head back on the pillows and stares at the ceiling, there’s a vulnerability shining in his eyes that she loses sight of as he closes them momentarily, as if he can’t believe what he’s about to say.
“Lucy, I know—I know I have no right to ask you this, but—”
She cuts him off, knowing exactly what he’s about to ask—she’d be asking the exact same of him if the positions were reversed. “I’m not going anywhere, Tim.”
His voice is almost childlike. “Thank you.”
She steps away to grab one of his t-shirts from his chest of drawers, muscle memory taking over as she quickly changes before rounding the bed and climbing in beside him. Tim’s laying on his back, staring up at the ceiling like he always does when he’s about to spend a night spiralling into the past, and Lucy lies on her side, facing him and placing a gentle hand on his upper arm.
It’s not the closeness it used to be, not by a mile, but it’s enough.
With Lucy’s steady presence beside him, Tim closes his eyes, slowly relinquishing his stubborn grip on consciousness and letting the exhaustion pull him under. For the first time in two days, his shoulders lose some of their tension and his body relaxes as his breathing evens out, Lucy gently stroking a thumb across his arm.
And when he wakes with a gasp an hour later, tears shimmering in the moonlight as the memories replay and his heart breaks all over again, Lucy is right there.
5. Lucy – after a night shift as sergeant
Lucy’s already sighing when she walks through the door, and Tim kicks away from where he’s leaning against the kitchen counter, hurriedly finishing the last sip of his coffee.
“Hey, baby,” he calls out from the kitchen, crouching down to check on the food in the oven before standing and heading to greet her as she puts her bag down.
“Hi,” she says, reaching up to press a kiss to his lips.
Running a gentle hand down her arm, Tim eventually pulls away to help her take off her coat. “How was your shift?” he asks.
Lucy shakes her head, tutting softly as she shrugs out of her sleeves. “I thought making sergeant meant supervising cops, not babysitting toddlers.”
“Ah, that’s where you were mistaken,” Tim chuckles, stepping away to hang her coat on the rack. “Those are exactly the same thing.”
When he turns back to face her, she’s squinting tiredly against the sunlight streaming through a crack in the blinds. “I still can’t get used to the sun being up when I get home.”
“Well, that’s probably a good thing, since you won’t need to be used to it for much longer,” Tim reasons. “Two weeks ‘til you’re back on the day shift after Reeves’ transfer paperwork goes through.”
Lucy groans. “These are going to be the longest two weeks of my life.”
“The time’s going to pass anyway,” Tim says, pulling her in for a hug and swaying them back and forth as Lucy slumps tiredly against him, resting her cheek against his chest. “And then, soon enough, we’ll get to come home at night, together.” He feels Lucy smile slightly at the thought, and he can’t help his own smile, too. Home. Together. “Think of all the gas money we’re going to save.”
Lucy scoffs at that, slapping at his chest lightly. “You’re such a jerk.” There’s no heat to it.
Tim hums, pretending to consider this assessment as he furrows his brow. “Would a jerk have made you your favourite stuffed peppers for your dinner-slash-breakfast?”
Lucy gasps, raising her head to look up at him. “You didn’t.”
He beams at the pure joy in her tired eyes. “They’re in the oven now. You’ve got about ten minutes, so go get changed and I’ll set the table for you.”
“You’re amazing. Thank you.” She leans in to kiss him again and they both smile into it.
“Of course.”
As she heads off to their room to change, Tim gets to work setting the table, and his mind drifts a little.
He can’t believe just how close he came to wrecking all of this for good. He’d hit rock bottom and everything had splintered apart from the impact, but he’d put in the work and piece-by-piece, everything had rebuilt stronger than ever—both him and them.
And here they are.
Lucy’s books sitting next to his on the shelves. Her DVDs and CDs filling up the media unit. Her Switch living under the TV next to his PS5. Her mugs and bowls and salad forks sitting in the kitchen cupboards and drawers. Her clothes in the closet—all of them, now, not just a handful that had accumulated whenever she slept over—and they’re hanging up next to his, not just folded away in a drawer.
This is their home.
He’d eventually re-delivered his practiced speech, the one Lucy had slept through the first time—the one about giving them a real shot—and this time it had ended up being less polished, more spontaneous, with raw edges and watery eyes. She’d agreed to move in, although he couldn’t quite believe it until she’d placed the final cardboard box of her belongings inside his living room and closed the door behind her. He wouldn’t have blamed her at any point if she’d turned and run.
But she didn’t.
She stayed, and so did he.
Lost in the memories washing over him, Tim jumps when the timer goes off. He switches the oven off, calling out since Lucy hasn’t emerged from their room yet. “Luce?”
Not a sound. Furrowing his brows a little, he makes his way towards their bedroom, trying again. “Luce?”
Nothing. He knocks gently, waiting a moment before pushing open the door and leaning into the room. “Luce, your dinner’s read—” He breaks off with an involuntary smile when he sees she’s still fully clothed, fast asleep atop the covers.
These night shifts really are doing a number on her. He’ll be just as glad as she is when they’re over, if only for the fact she’ll be less exhausted.
Slipping into the room silently, Tim gently removes her shoes from her feet, shaking his head fondly. Lucy’s the only person he knows who’s happy to wear shoes on the bed, and it baffles him—how the hell can that be comfortable?—but he’s willing to overlook it. It’s a small price to pay for getting to share a life with her.
Not wanting to disturb her too much by trying to get her under the covers which she’s already laying atop, Tim grabs a soft blue blanket from the closet and drapes it gently over her form, before retreating from the room silently.
He leaves her dinner where it is in the oven, pulling a stack of pale yellow sticky notes from one of the drawers and penning a note telling her as such, putting it in the centre of the place setting he’s made for her at the table.
Dinner’s in the oven, hope you enjoy.
I love you – Tim
Glancing at the clock in the hallway, Tim realises he’s about to be late for his shift, grabbing his flask from the kitchen counter and heading to put his boots on. As he picks up his bag from where it’s leaning against the wall just outside their bedroom door, he takes one last peek inside at Lucy’s sleeping form. In their bed. Their home.
As he finally tears himself away from the doorway to head to work, he throws a prayer of gratitude to whatever force pulled the strings to get him his second chance—because he has what he has right now, and he’s determined to hold on to it this time.
+1. Lucy and Tim – at the station
Miles stops in the dead centre of the bullpen, throwing his hands up in frustration and confusion.
He must have lapped the place at least four times looking for his TO, but there’s still no sign of the guy, and the rookie is starting to get antsy as roll call creeps closer. He knows Bradford had pulled overtime last night to help out on an overnight assignment, but he’d said he’d be in as normal in the morning—had asked Miles to come in and meet him early, in fact. Something about wanting to go over how they stock their war bags.
Miles was just surprised he hadn’t been roped in to help out on the overnight shift, in all honesty—his TO will use any excuse to turn something into training. But maybe the man was just feeling generous. Even if he does say so himself, Miles has done a pretty great job this week.
Jury’s still out on how long that streak of greatness will last, though. At this rate, both he and Bradford are going to be late for roll call, and Miles decides he’s done playing it cool. The last thing he wants is his first blue page—for lateness of all things—when he’s more than halfway through his training. So, he approaches the detectives’ desks, heading towards two people he knows must have some idea of where to find the missing sergeant.
“Penn, you look like a lost puppy,” Harper remarks from where she’s leaning against Lopez’s desk. “What’s up?”
“Either of you seen Sergeant Bradford? He asked me to come in early today to go over a couple things, but I can’t find him.”
The two detectives share a glance. “He pulled OT last night, right?”
“Yeah, some stakeout detail. It was him, Sergeant Chen, and a few other officers.” Wait— “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen Chen around, either—did they come back from the assignment? Did something go wrong? What happened?” Concern starts to bolt through him as his mind begins to conjure up all kinds of worst-case-scenarios, but the knowing smile that forms on Lopez’s face dispels those thoughts quickly.
“No, they’re definitely back,” she says. “You try the break room?”
Well, he’d walked past and peeked through the gaps in the blinds, but when he hadn’t seen the sergeant stood at his usual post next to the coffee machine, Miles had ruled it out and continued on his path.
But, glancing at his watch, he’s really about to be late, and he knows Bradford would chew him out for not coming to find him, especially if he was in the break room of all places, so… “I’ll—I’ll give it another go, I guess,” he shrugs, turning on his heel to retrace his steps. “Thanks, ladies.”
“Anytime.” Harper’s voice is uncharacteristically gleeful, and Miles raises an eyebrow as he walks away.
Heading back down the hallway towards the break room, he glances through the blinds and still doesn’t see Bradford waiting for the whirring machine to pour a cup of coffee. Resigning himself to another dead end but figuring he may as well be thorough, Miles pushes open the door, stepping into the room and instantly stopping in his tracks.
There, on the couch tucked away in the corner, out of sight of the breakroom window, is his TO.
Asleep.
With Sergeant Chen.
But, somehow, that’s not the weirdest part—no, the weirdest part is the fact they’re almost intertwined with one another. Bradford is leaning back into the couch cushion, legs crossed at the ankles, while Chen’s legs are thrown over his thighs, kicked up onto the couch as her back rests against the armrest—she’s almost sat in his lap, her head tucked into the crook of Tim’s neck. His head gently rests against hers, his cheek atop her hair, while her arm is loosely draped over his midsection.
What the hell is he seeing right now?
Miles just stands there for a few moments, mouth slightly agape as he blinks repeatedly, as though the mirage is going to vanish before his very eyes.
They look so peaceful. It’s definitely the most at peace Miles has ever seen his TO—although, admittedly, that bar is astonishingly low. But that level of… comfort is not something he’d expect to see between two co-workers. He knows they’re friends, of course—after so long on the job together, you’re obviously going to develop a level of closeness—but this?
Realising that with every passing second he’s running the risk of either of the sergeants waking up and catching him staring at them, Miles slowly backs out of the room, pulling the door closed as quietly as he can. He freezes outside, listening for any movement or some kind of indication that he woke either of them. Hearing nothing of the sort, he turns and beelines straight back to the detectives.
“Alright,” he starts before he’s even technically in their earshot. “What the hell is going on there?”
As the detectives are turning their heads his way, he hears another voice from behind him. “Going on where?” It’s Celina, strolling over with her usual to-go cup of tea, making a detour from her route towards roll call to catch up on the gossip.
He turns slightly so he can face his fellow officer and the detectives, wanting to tell them all exactly what he’s just witnessed. Lowering his voice slightly, Miles murmurs, “Sergeant Bradford and Sergeant Chen are currently asleep together in the breakroom, looking mighty cosy with one another.”
Celina just makes what Miles can only describe as heart eyes. “Aww.”
That’s… not the reaction he was expecting. It’s tame, especially coming from Celina, who thrives off chatter and speculation.
He’s about to say more, when Lopez cuts in, “I don’t think our resident boot has come to his major realisation yet.”
Celina pauses for a second before snorting. “Well, Miles, I sure hope your career aspirations don’t involve making detective.”
The Texan is baffled by the turn this conversation has taken. “What—what’s that supposed to mean? What am I missing?”
The three women just stare at him expectantly, like they’re waiting for some penny to drop. But he’s still confused at what he’s just seen, and shrugs hopelessly as the silence stretches out.
Eventually, Celina huffs. “Oh, this is just painful. Tim and Lucy are in a relationship, you idiot.” She enunciates every syllable of the word, sounding it out like he’s three, and Miles rears his head back in surprise.
“What? Since when?”
“Since long before you got here,” Nyla replies.
The women all have looks of amusement on their faces, and after he thinks about it for a second, Miles realises what’s going on.
There’s no way he missed something like that.
“Oh, I get it—ha, ha, very funny. Y’all really are just out here lying like tombstones.”
A beat of silence. The same one that usually follows after his Texas slang slips out—he can’t help it. Celina’s nose wrinkles in confusion. “You—what?”
“You’re messing with me,” he says matter-of-factly.
“Oh, we’re really not, Texas,” Nyla laughs, shaking her head.
“No? Then how come I never—” he cuts himself off when he distantly hears the breakroom door open, and he turns slightly just in time to see Bradford and Chen emerging from the nearby hallway.
They’ve both clearly just woken from their nap, and Chen rolls her neck from side-to-side, wincing slightly—Miles isn’t surprised, it had been at a slightly steep angle where her head was resting against Tim’s shoulder. Tim reaches for her shoulder and presses at it slightly, presumably trying to work out the crick, and it’s just another intimate scenario to stack on top of the one he’d witnessed minutes ago. And then Lucy covers Tim’s hand with her own, and Miles feels his mouth drop open again. He’s going to catch flies, at this rate.
The pair just gaze at each other for a few moments, and Tim gives a cursory glance around the station—clearly still slightly foggy from sleep, because he completely overlooks the group watching them from by the detectives’ desks—before leaning down and giving Lucy a chaste kiss.
Miles’ brain blue screens.
It’s over in a heartbeat, as Lucy then checks her watch, visibly startling before she grabs Tim’s wrist and begins to pull him in the direction of the briefing room. Tim grins as he follows behind her.
The rookie can’t comprehend anything, staring blankly at the hallway the sergeants just vacated. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
“Mm. Not sure how you missed that,” Lopez laughs.
Miles can’t help but start to replay every interaction he’s seen the pair have, from his first day as a rookie to now, viewing everything in a completely new context. He’d always thought certain comments here and there were… particularly friendly, or noticed a few extended moments of staring into each other’s eyes—like the instance he just saw in the hallway—but he’d justified it all as being LA affection that he didn’t quite have a grasp on.
As the snapshots of memories fire off in his head, one particular incident suddenly strikes his chest like lightning, and he feels his blood run cold.
“Oh, shit,” he murmurs.
Lopez hums in question as she takes a sip from her coffee.
“I—I called Chen ‘darling’ once—”
The coffee ends up in Lopez’s lungs as she begins to laugh unexpectedly, and Harper pats her on the back as she splutters. “Oh, that’s unfortunate,” she chokes, eyes beginning to water.
“That’s pretty rough,” Nyla quips, casting Miles a sideways glance as she hands Lopez her water bottle. “I, for one, am surprised you still have all four limbs.”
“Me, too,” Celina agrees. “When the hell did you say that? And why?”
“Maybe a—a couple weeks into the job? You remember how I was back then; cocky and arrogant, thinking I knew everything—”
“Oh, you escaped by the skin of your teeth, my friend,” Celina says. Miles frowns in confusion, and she clarifies, “they were still broken up back then.”
Hold on. “Broken u- how much did I miss?!”
Celina laughs, “everything, apparently.”
“Yeah, that tracks,” Angela says, still hitting her chest slightly to dislodge the last of the coffee from her windpipe. “Tim would’ve had your head if he wasn’t trying to act all blasé about his and Chen’s relationship back then.”
They all nod before Nyla shakes her head in disbelief. “Honestly, I just can’t believe you didn’t question how you got away with not helping out on last night’s stakeout. You have met your training officer, right?”
“I—I just figured he was in a giving mood yesterday.”
“Yeah, right,” Celina scoffs.
Angela explains, “the only reason you weren’t on that stakeout is because Chen also signed up for the OT; they paired up together.”
Well. That does make more sense than Sergeant Grumpy randomly deciding to cut his rookie a break.
“Hold up,” Celina says, raising a hand in Miles’ direction. “They live together now. You’re saying you’ve never noticed them drive home together?”
Oh, Lord, this is just getting embarrassing.
Trying to save some face, Miles shrugs defensively. “I don’t know! I figured they just liked to walk to their cars together, had set parking spaces or something. I’ve never hung around to see them actually get into a car, that’d be weird.”
They all shake their heads in disapproval.
“Your investigative curiosity needs work, Penn,” Celina tuts.
“Clearly,” he sighs.
He just… he can’t believe what he’s been assuming to be LA-brand platonic fondness has actually been love this whole time.
It warms Miles’ heart, a little. He’s always been a bit of a hopeless romantic.
He distantly wonders if he’s ever misread any romantic advances since moving here, mistaking them for his apparent misinterpretation of LA friendship, when—
“Penn! Juarez! You’re late!”
While Miles jolts at Bradford’s harsh tone snapping across the bullpen, his posture straightening involuntarily as he scurries towards the briefing room with Celina in tow, the earlier visual still replays in his mind. And even when he nods apologetically towards Bradford and Chen as they begin leading roll call, authority and an intrinsic demand for respect radiating off them, he marvels at how intensely the memory of what he saw contrasts with what’s now in front of him.
His harsh, no-nonsense training officer—who’s currently commanding the room as he provides details of a BOLO—was leaning his head against his fellow sergeant as they slotted together like puzzle pieces into place, both their guards completely down; the authority that’s currently surrounding them replaced with an atmosphere of warmth and safety as they gravitated towards each other in sleep.
In fact, even as they work together seamlessly to deliver roll call, Miles doesn’t have a clue how he could’ve overlooked any of it for so long—what they feel for each other is obvious. It’s permanently shining in their eyes whenever they look at each other, and it’s in the clear safety they feel when they sleep, transcending consciousness and everything beyond.
The way they love each other is just… instinct. They can do it in their sleep.