Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Warmth.

That’s the first thing Lucy registers as she drifts into consciousness—soft, steady, and all-consuming.

Sunlight spills gently through the curtains, painting gold strokes across the room. But it’s the heat pressed against her back that truly anchors her.

Tim.

One strong arm wrapped securely around her waist, pulling her close even in sleep. Their legs are a tangled mess beneath the sheets, instinctively reaching for each other.

His breath fans over the back of her neck—slow, warm, rhythmic. Like the ocean at low tide. Safe. Familiar. Steady.

Her human furnace. Her own personal heater. Wrapped around her like a second blanket.

She once called him that, half-asleep, and he’d grumbled in protest even as he pulled her closer. The memory still makes her stomach flutter with butterflies… and lately, something more. Something deeper.

Some mornings, she still can’t quite believe this is real. That despite everything—the heartbreak, the distance, the pain—they ended up here. Together. Closer than ever.

Making sergeant.

Moving in.

Seven months of engagement.

Almost a year of marriage.

And now… this quiet shift between them. Unspoken, but always there. In every glance. Every touch.

And this?

This is her favorite way to wake up now.

No blaring alarms. No uniform. No frantic rush out the door. Just peace. Just the quiet chirping of birds, the strong thrum of Tim’s heartbeat, and him wrapped around her like he’s afraid she’ll slip away if he lets go.

He clings like a sloth, she thinks, biting back a laugh. A very warm, very large sloth.

It’s ridiculous.

Yet perfect.

She lets the moment stretch out, memorizing everything—the heat of his chest at her back, the rise and fall of each breath, the warmth of his hand seeping through her t-shirt. His palm resting low, just below her stomach.

That part always makes her pause.

He started doing it a few days ago—like his body knew before either of them fully did. And now, even in sleep, his hand finds its way there. Protective. Anchoring. Quietly aware.

She raised her hand to rest over his. She closes her eyes for a beat. Her fingers lazy brush over his knuckles, and she breathes in deep.

Time slows. The world fades. Right now, nothing else matters. Only this. Only him .

But eventually, she finds herself missing his stupidly handsome face.

Slowly, she shifts in his arms, moving carefully, trying not to wake him.

As she turns, his grip loosens… but only for a second. As if even in sleep, some part of him senses the shift and can’t bear the space it creates—he instinctively tightens his hold. Barely noticeable, but it’s there. Pulling her a little closer.

She smiles softly.

Of course he does.

Now facing him, Lucy takes a quiet moment just to look at him.

His face is so soft in sleep. So relaxed. Free of the tension he usually wears during the day. Lashes resting against his cheeks, features unguarded… gentle in a way almost no one ever sees.

He always looks so serious. Always alert. Focused.

But like this, he’s all calm. Carefree. Unburdened. Young, even.

Her fingers lift to his face, brushing his sleep-tousled hair away from his forehead. Her hand drops to cradle his cheek, thumb softly caressing the day-old stubble, tracing the familiar line of his jaw in slow, careful strokes—knowing it always lulls him to sleep.

This is her favorite version of him, she thinks.

Not because it’s quiet or easy, but because it’s vulnerable. Walls down. Unmasked. Unguarded. Real, in a way the world rarely lets him be.

And he lets her see it.

Which, for Tim, is… rare .

That alone sends a rush of warmth through her chest, so fierce it nearly steals her breath. Her love for him—raw and overwhelming—swells inside her, too deep to put into words, and too certain to ever question.

It’s been doing that a lot lately.

Like her heart is stretching to make room.. for all of it. Him. Them. Whatever’s quietly blooming inside her now, changing everything in slow, subtle ways.

He stirs a little, brow twitching faintly at her touch. Slowly, his eyes flutter open—blurry, dazed, confused. It takes him a second, but then his gaze clears, landing on her face just inches from his.

And instantly, his eyes soften in a way reserved only for her.

The furrow in his brow melts.

His tired eyes twinkle with quiet joy, and his mouth curves into a sleepy smile, the creases at the corners deepening.

“Mornin’,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep—low and warm, like everything else in this bed.

“Hey,” she whispers back, voice thick with affection and awe.

His hand glides up her back, pulling her even closer until there’s no space left at all.

Tilting his head slightly downward, eyes barely open, he mumbles, “You’re staring again.”

A smile curls at the edges of his mouth.

“Can you blame me?” she says—teasing, but not really.

He chuckles, the sound low and muffled. His thumb resumes its gentle circles on her waist, a habit he’s picked up since she moved in. But this time, it drifts lower. A quiet, wordless gesture that lands like a secret passed between them.

Her breath catches.

Not because it surprises her. But because it says so much.

His eyes drift closed again, heavy with exhaustion. He gives in, pulling her in tighter, burying his face in her neck.

“Just give me five more minutes,” he mumbles.

She smiles to herself, wrapping her arms around him, fingers stroking the soft hair at the nape of his neck—soothing. Steady.

“Take all the time you want,” she whispers.

And she means it.

Because there’s nowhere else she’d rather be.

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Sometime later, she stirs again with a soft groan, blinking groggily. Wait—what?

She must’ve drifted off again, curled up beside Tim. It’s been happening a lot lately which… honestly, tracks.

Still half-asleep, she reaches out instinctively, fingers seeking the familiar heat of him.

But her hand was only met with cool sheets.

She frowns, eyes still closed, and groans—quiet, frustrated. Too tired to move… but missing him too much.

With a sigh, she rolls onto her back, draping an arm over her face to block out the sunlight filtering in through the curtains.

The exhaustion clings like a second skin, heavy and relentless. But it’s worth it. Every yawn, every extra nap, every struggle—it’s all worth it.

A tired smile tugs at her lips.

She should probably get up. Even though she can’t find a reason why staying in bed would be a bad idea..

With a sigh, she throws the covers back, the movement releasing a puff of cool air that makes her instantly regret it. She plants her feet on the floor, wincing at the contrast between the warm sheets and the cold wood.

She scrubs a hand down her face, blinking slowly. A yawn slips out before she can stop it. She glances at the bathroom door, looking for any sign of Tim there. But there is none.

Where is he?

Almost immediately, the sound of the bedroom door opening draws her attention.

She lifts her head—and there he is.

Tim. Framed by the soft morning light, balancing a tray in both hands, moving carefully towards her with the stubborn determination he puts into everything. Not wanting to spill or wake her too abruptly.

His hair is damp at the ends—he must’ve showered—and he’s already dressed in the gray t-shirt she loves. The one that really brings out the beautiful ocean blue color of his eyes.

He looks surprised to find her already awake. “Oh—hey,” he says, voice low and gentle.

Lucy blinks at the tray, the plate, the mug and the bowl and—oh.

Her lips part, but the words take a second to catch up. “H–hey… um… what’s… what’s all that?”

He steps closer, a lopsided smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Breakfast for m’lady ,” he says, drawing out the last word with exaggerated teasing affection.

Lucy’s eyes slightly tear up—blaming them immediately on the hormones.

“Tim… you didn’t have to,” she says, a little breathless.

“I know,” he replies, quiet and earnest. “But I wanted to.”

She starts to rise, wanting to reach him.

“Nu-uh,” he says, pointing at her with a mock sternness. “Back in bed.”

She laughs and doesn’t hesitate. She settles back comfortably against the headboard. The grin on her face is impossible to hide.

Tim sets the tray on the bedside table and lowers himself next to her, knees brushing hers. His eyes drink her in for a second before his hand reaches for her—cradling the side of her head with a tenderness that makes her tingle with love.

She leans into the touch automatically. His other hand finds her shoulder, stroking slow and steady down her arm.

Then, with a quiet exhale, he pulls her forward—resting his forehead gently against hers.

“Mornin’ again, sleepyhead,” he teases, voice brushing her lips.

Lucy rolls her eyes, but her smile betrays her. She presses a soft quick kiss to his mouth, foreheads still touching when she pulls back.

“Mornin’,” she murmurs.

Their eyes closes for a beat, the world quiets around them. Peaceful. Comfortable.

When Tim pulls away, his hand find her knee, giving it a gentle squeeze to grab her attention. Her eyes flutter right open.

“You need to eat,” he says, already reaching for the tray and settling it across her lap.

“Pancakes with honey and some fruit on the side,” he explains, tapping his finger absentmindedly against the plate—Suddenly a bit anxious. It’s so new.. he doesn’t know exactly what’s he doing.

“Thought you might want something light… easy on your stomach.”

His eyes flicker—just briefly—toward her lower belly. A glance so fleeting, so careful, it might have gone unnoticed. But Lucy catches it. Feels it. The quiet acknowledgment of something new growing between them. Unspoken, but not unseen.

She internally melts from the immense care and thought he’s put into this. Each detail, every quiet intention speaking louder than words ever could. Her throat tightens, voice cracking slightly as she murmurs, “Thank you.”

And when she looks at him—her eyes are full. Overflowing with the love, appreciation, and gratitude she still doesn’t know how to express. Not fully. But she hopes he feels it anyway.

He does.

They stay like that for a long, suspended moment. Eyes locked. Hearts completely bare. No words. Just love radiating between them in slow, quiet waves.

Eventually, Tim glances away, clears his throat. That look she gives him—it still does something to him. Even after all this time. Years in, and her gaze can still shake him to his core. He doesn’t know how to explain it.

“You’re welcome,” he says softly, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

He reaches for her hand, cradling it in both of his. His thumb moves absentmindedly over her knuckles. He doesn’t want to let go. Not yet.

He lifts her hand to his mouth and presses a soft kiss to her skin, gentle and lingering. Then he looks at her again, the warmth in his eyes tinged with dread.

“I have to head into work,” he says, the disappointment unmistakable in his tone.

Her fingers tighten around his instinctively, grounding them both.

“I’ll see you later then,” she says, offering him a soft smile. But then her expression shifts—serious. “Oh—and don’t forget, we have the—”

“—appointment at seven,” he finishes for her, already nodding. “Don’t worry. That’s one thing I won’t forget.”

There’s a flicker of excitement in his voice, tainted slightly with nerves. Whatever they’ll find out today, is important. It’s real. And big. Life changing. And they both feel it.

Lucy tilts her head, admiration glowing behind her smile. “Okay then... You head out, don’t want you being late. And I’ll see you later,” she says quietly, giving his hand one last, firm squeeze.

“Yeah,” Tim whispers, reluctant as he lets her go. He stands, hesitates—then leans down again.

His kiss lands softly on her forehead, long and full of feeling. His palm rests against her cheek, thumb brushing across her skin softly.

She closes her eyes at the contact, soaking it in.

Before he can fully pull away, her hand comes up to cover his, holding it there. Her voice is soft with a new weight behind it when she whispers, “Be safe.”

There’s a tremble beneath her words, subtle but enough. A quiet urgency that wasn’t there before.

Tim hears it instantly. Feels it.

They have more to lose now. More to fight for. More than just each other.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he leans in, forehead resting against hers again, his hand sliding from her cheek and down—coming to settle over the curve of her lower stomach. Protective. Present. Anchored.

“Always,” he whispers, the promise heavy with meaning.

And for a few seconds more, they stay there. Wrapped in the hush of their own private world. Breathing each other in. Holding tight to this moment, this quiet morning, this love.

Because once they step outside… Nothing is certain.

Chapter Text

Time passes by at an agonizingly slow pace. Each minute stretching endlessly, each second taking triple the time to pass. It’s driving them both insane.

Back at home, Lucy is deep in the rabbit hole of Google, digging through every possible outcome, every what-if scenario. Her browser is a mess of medical articles, endless statistics, and personal stories that cause her to range from cautiously optimistic to utterly horrified.

She tells herself it’s about being informed. About setting realistic expectations. About protecting her feelings. Protecting Tim’s. But deep down, she’s well aware of what this really is.

Panic. Dressed up as preparation.
Maybe this isn’t even real.
Maybe the little dream they’ve been quietly living these past few days is just that. A dream.
Maybe they misread the signs. Maybe the test was faulty.
Maybe her missed period is just stress… or— or a delayed reaction to coming off birth control.

God, the timing. Ugh.

Had they planned this? Yes… sort of.
They talked… made the decision together.

— ↺ ↺ ↺ ↺ ↺ ↺ ↺ ↺ ↺ ↺ —

It had been game night at the Lopez-Evers household. A monthly ritual that had been established during difficult times. Now, it was something they all looked forward to. After everything they’d been through—long hours, tough calls, quiet victories, grief—their lives had subconsciously become so tightly woven together. And honestly? They couldn’t ask for a better family.

That night, Tim and Lucy had been on kid duty—each month a different couple took a turn entertaining the little ones so the others could actually focus on playing the games. This time, it was their turn.

They’d been married for seven months at that point. They hadn’t broached the topic of kids seriously yet. They were still basking in their honeymoon phase, soaking up every minute together. They both knew they wanted children down the road. They had even negotiated potential baby names while drugged on duty. God - they still couldn’t believe that actually happened—let alone that it aired on TV.

They had even allowed themselves to daydream about tiny versions of each other running around, giving life to the house they share. But they never put a timeline on it. Never asked when that dream might become reality.

Until that day.

Lucy’s gaze had lingered on Tim, who was carrying baby Emmy on his shoulders. Tiny hands gripping his bigger ones. Emmy pulling at his short hair, drooling all over his head and neck.

And him ? Not a care in the world. He was too focused on making her laugh—too invested in the moment to notice anything else.

He held her securely as he ran across the garden, Emmy squealing in delight. Her laughter—bright and contagious—filled the air and made Lucy’s heart ache in the best way possible. It felt too full, too much to contain.

And.. something else.
Something unknown.
A new kind of feeling.

It felt like something had shifted in her then.

After a few laps of nonstop running, Tim finally slowed to a stop, gently removing Emmy’s grip from his head and settling her against his hip. His breath came fast, voice light and breathy as he spoke—exhausted, but soft in a way that was only reserved for kids. Especially his godchildren.

“That’s enough, don’t you think?” he asked, smiling wide.

“No!” Emmy burst out without hesitation—her current favorite word.

“But I think we should rest a bit. Maybe take a break and then we can continue, hmm? What do you say?”

“No! Unca ‘im, shoders!” she demanded, pointing firmly to his shoulders.

He laughed—a deep, genuine laugh.
“But Uncle Tim’s shoulders are tired, Em,” he said, dramatically sighing like it was the end of the world.

Lucy chuckled to herself, watching the chaos unfold. She knew for a fact Tim wasn’t actually tired. He was trying to wear her out, hoping she’d eventually pass out for a nap. Clearly , it wasn’t working.

Emmy shook her head stubbornly, her adorable curls bouncing and smacking Tim right in the face.
“No! Peas, Unca ‘im! Me on yo shoders!” she pouted, giving him her best puppy eyes.

And how can he say no to those eyes?

Tim chuckled again, glancing over at Angela, who was seated next to Lucy, quietly watching her best friend get steamrolled by a toddler. Her eyes were soft, her face glowing with affection at their theatrics.

“She really does have your stubbornness, Angela. It’s exhausting,” Tim teased with a groan.

Angela smirked, sobering into her natural teasing mode. “You wish. Nah, she gets all that from Wesley.”

“Sure she does,” Tim said dryly, voice full of sarcasm.

“Exactly,” Angela deadpanned.

Tim rolled his eyes, but turned back to Emmy—still being stared down with the most manipulative toddler expression known to man. He folded instantly. Of course he did.

Lucy watched it all, trying not to laugh. The man didn’t stand a chance.

“Fine,” he finally caved. “But only two more rounds, okay?”

“’Otay!” Emmy beamed, grinning wide—fully aware she’d won.

Lucy’s cheeks ached from smiling. Eyes incredibly soft. Watching her no-nonsense, hard-headed husband fold instantly under the pressure of a three-year-old. She didn’t take her eyes off them for even a second.

And of course, Angela noticed .

Amused, eyes glinting with mischief, she shifted to fully face Lucy.

Lucy blinked, confused. Huh?

But Angela didn’t back down. She raised an eyebrow, smirking with that look—the one that said I see more than you think I do.

Okay, now she’s officially being weird.

“What?” Lucy asked, finally giving in.

Angela’s smirk deepened—if that was even possible.

“Nothing.”

“Uh huh,” Lucy muttered, still clueless about whatever Angela was trying to imply.

For once, Angela didn’t press. She just turned back to watching Tim and her daughter.

Honestly, Lucy was relieved. Angela could be relentless when she wanted to be. And she was far too observant for her own good, given her job as a detective. 

Still, something about that look lingered. That weird, gnawing feeling nestled in her chest.

Lucy shook it off and tried to focus on the moment. 

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Later that day, the energy had begun to shift. The chaos had softened.
The sun was dipping low, casting warm orange shades across the sky—effortlessly pretty, straight out of a painting. A true sight for sore eyes.

But that wasn’t the only beautiful thing that caught Lucy’s attention.

While Tim was deep in conversation with Wesley and James, Emmy had finally surrendered to sleep. She was curled against his chest now, head slumped over his heart. One arm lay sprawled just above it, the other clutching the collar of his shirt. Her breathing was slow and steady, her tiny frame melted into his like she’d been made to fit there.

And oh God , did that do something to Lucy.

She watched from across the room, arms loosely folded over her chest—like holding herself together might keep her heart from flipping straight out of her ribcage. Her lips tugged into a quiet, barely-there smile. She didn’t say anything. Just stood there… taking it all in.

The way Tim’s hand rested protectively on Emmy’s lower back, thumb moving in a slow rhythm—up, down, up, down—as if trying to lull her deeper into sleep. The gentleness in it. The instinct.

It tugged at something in Lucy’s chest. Stirred a picture she didn’t mean to draw in her head: a tiny bundle with blonde hair like his, and big brown eyes like hers, tucked carefully into those same strong arms.

She could see it. Just for a second.

But before she could fall too deep into the daydream, the peace was shattered.

CLANG.

Then again— CLANG CLANG.

Everyone flinched.

Angela didn’t even look up. She sighed, let her head fall against the back of the couch, and pinched the bridge of her nose.

Jack had found his favorite pots again and was marching around the corner of the kitchen, smacking them together with wild enthusiasm, completely unbothered by the concept of volume. Proud of the chaos he was creating.

Angela called out over the noise, “Jack, babe. Your sister’s sleeping.”

Jack paused, clearly considering this new information. Then gave the pots one last dramatic clang… before bolting in the opposite direction.

Angela turned to Lucy, voice dry: “He’s all yours.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” she said, smirking.

“You can’t be serious.” Lucy’s eyes went wide, completely lost on what to do.

Angela just hummed in reply, already leaning back into the couch like this was above her pay grade.

Lucy rolled her eyes, let out a deep breath, and followed the trail of little feet and clanging metal.

“Alright, Captain Chaos,” she called, spotting Jack halfway under the dining table. “I get that you’re bored, but we’re gonna have to retire the drums for tonight. Leah’s sleeping. Emmy too.”

Jack popped his head up from under a chair, blinking at her. “Then what do I do?”

“What do you want to do?” she asked, crouching to his level.

He looked around, considering his options. “Can we make spaghetti?”

Lucy blinked. “Spaghetti?”

Okay. That’s not so hard.

He nodded eagerly. “With cheese. And I get to stir. But not the hot parts.”

She smiled, genuinely excited for the challenge. “Deal.”
She stuck her hand out, and Jack grabbed it without hesitation, enthusiastically shaking it with both of his, his grin wide and eyes shining with pure joy.
Lucy couldn’t help but laugh at this little bundle of sunshine.

And she wasn’t the only one smiling.

Tim, still cradling Emmy on the couch, hadn’t stopped watching. If anyone ever wondered what heart-eyes looked like in real life… well there it was. His gaze was soft and full of so much love and affection that it was impossible to keep it hidden.
He tried to stay tethered to reality, but it was hard when all he could picture was Lucy as a mom.

Nope. Not going there.
He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the thought—but it lingered, refusing to be brushed off that easily.

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Ten minutes later, the kitchen smelled like garlic powder and tomato sauce. Jack stood on a chair beside Lucy at the counter, both hands wrapped around a wooden spoon. His tongue poked out in deep concentration as he stirred the pot, narrating their imaginary cooking show in a dramatic whisper:

“Now, we stir… but without spilling any of the yummy tomato sauce.”

Lucy worked around him, carefully adding pasta and sneaking in a handful of vegetables he didn’t notice. She was patient. Gentle. Endlessly amused by his seriousness.

Tim hadn’t moved. Emmy was still fast asleep in his arms. But his attention remained fixed on Lucy.

Not just watching— admiring .

The way she spoke to Jack with equal parts patience and curiosity. The way she instinctively kept a hand near him to guide him away from the stove. The way she laughed when he got sauce on his nose and just wiped it off like it was the most natural thing in the world.

She didn’t even realize how natural she looked.

But Tim did.

And Angela (aka his own personal tormentor) definitely wasn’t about to let it slide.

She settled onto the couch beside him, her tone light but unmistakably smug. “You’re staring.”

“I’m not.”

She raised an eyebrow.

Tim rolled his eyes, already bracing for the interrogation.

But as usual, after about five seconds of Angela’s silence, he cracked.
She was the only person—besides Lucy—he couldn’t lie to. Correction: couldn’t lie to without getting caught.

He glanced back toward Lucy, still cooking with Jack. Then spoke quietly, just above a whisper.
“She’s good with him.”

Angela’s smirk deepened. “She’s good with all of them.”

Tim hummed in agreement, gaze softening. “Yeah.”

Angela’s voice dropped slightly, the teasing edge gone. “You both are.”

He froze .

Her words hit him in a place he wasn’t ready for. He looked down at Emmy still sleeping in his arms, and felt a familiar tightness in his chest. He wanted to believe what Angela was saying. He really did. 

But the uncertainty was always there.

It wasn’t new, he’d always been afraid of what kind of father he might be. He didn’t have a good example growing up. Instead of the love and care a parent should offer, he received daily beatings and a lifetime supply of scars.

He knew he’d never repeat the same atrocities his father had. But that didn’t make the fear go away.

How was he supposed to do this?
How do you care for a child who depends on you for everything?
How do you discipline without crossing lines?
How do you find the balance between being gentle and being firm ?

Can he even achieve it?
What if he couldn’t?
What if he failed?
What if—

Angela nudged him with her shoulder, noticing the way his face had shifted. She knew that look. He was spiraling. So, in true Angela fashion, she dropped a bomb without warning.

And honestly, that was on him—he should’ve known better than to underestimate her chaos potential.

“So… when exactly am I expected to be Auntie Angela?”

Tim’s head snapped toward her so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash. His eyes wide, voice low and horrified:
“ Jesus - Lower your damn voice, Lopez.”

He scanned the room in full panic, relieved to see Lucy still completely absorbed in Jack’s chaotic narration about flying spaghetti and meatballs planets.

Angela, meanwhile, shrugged like she hadn’t just detonated a nuclear-level statement in the middle of the living room. “What? I’m just calling it like I see it.”

Tim pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “God, Angela… just—shut up.”

“Can’t help it. You two have been giving each other those looks all day. You thought I wouldn’t notice?”

Tim sighed, eyes drifting back to Lucy. “We- we haven’t really… talked about it yet.”

Angela scoffed. “Why not? A blind man could tell you’re both thinking it. If today’s anything to go by.”

Tim hesitated. “I don’t know- I don’t necessarily know how to bring this up. I don’t want to pressure her or ask for something she’s not ready for yet.”

Angela leaned in, voice lower. “You’ll never know if you don’t ask.”

“Yeah… I guess.” He downcast his eyes to the toddler in his arms.

Angela reached for his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. Her tone softened when she spoke “Look. All I’m saying is—talk to her. That’s it. That won’t hurt anybody. But keeping it to yourself? And making up assumptions on how it might go. That’s how you do mess it up. You already learned that the hard way.”

Tim didn’t say anything for a moment. Letting her word sink in. Then, finally, a small, quiet smile tugged at his lips.

“Yeah. You’re right.”

Angela grinned. “I always am. You should know that by now.”she says in an attempt to lighten the mood.

And it worked.
Tim chuckled softly, shaking his head. The weight didn’t leave completely.. but it lifted, just a little.

His gaze returned to Lucy, and just then, as if pulled by some invisible thread, she looked up. Their eyes met. And her cheeks flushed when she realized he’d been watching her.

She didn’t say a word.

But she smiled back.

And for Tim… that was enough .

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The ride home passes by in a blur . Exhaustion seeps deep in their bones—honestly, they’re lucky they made it back without falling asleep mid-drive.

But that wasn’t the only reason for the silence.

The car is quiet. No music on the radio. No small talk. No teasing. Just quiet.

Both Lucy and Tim are lost in thought.. thoughts racing at ten miles a minute. It has created a kind of silence that feels less like peace and more like pressure. Like there's too much to say, but no good way to start.

They needed the quiet, though. Time to think. To process. To just... sit with it all.

Eventually, Tim pulls himself out of his head long enough to glance at Lucy. She’s staring out the passenger-side window, body relaxed but distant. Normally, she’d sense his eyes on her and look back. But this time, she doesn’t.

And that worries him.

He doesn’t want to fall back into old habits—those early days when they’d both retreat instead of reaching out. When things got too big, too heavy, and they’d quietly drift until one of them broke first.

So he makes a silent promise to himself.

He’ll talk to her. Soon. Before the space between them starts growing.

For now, he just needs to feel her. So he reaches over, takes her hand in his, and presses a gentle kiss to her knuckles.

That gets her attention. She turns to look at him, startled at first, then smiling softly.

And just like that—his shoulders drop.

Maybe he is overthinking. Maybe she just needs time, too.

He doesn’t let go. He holds her hand between them, resting it over the console, thumb brushing softly across her skin.

When they pull into the driveway, he puts the car in park and kills the engine. They step out wordlessly, movement dependent solely on muscle memory—Lucy punches in the security code, both of them heading inside.

They slip immediately into their evening routine. No words, but no tension either. Just tired limbs and autopilot. Teeth brushed. Clothes changed. Lights closed. Quiet .

Tim finishes first. He collapses onto his side of the bed with a heavy sigh, one arm flung above his head, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

His head is spinning . Should he start the conversation now? Or wait? 
Maybe it’s not the best time—they’re both exhausted. But what if he hesitates too long and loses the courage to ask?

“You're thinking too loud,” Lucy says softly from beside him.

He blinks. Wait —when did she get there?

She’s under the covers now, propped up on one elbow, her thumb brushing gently over his bicep.

“I’ve got a pretty solid guess what it’s about,” she adds. “But if you’re not ready to talk now… we can wait.”

Tim turns toward her, stunned. He thought he’d have to bring it up first. But now, hearing it from her—his heart rate spikes up like it’s trying to escape his chest.

“N-no, yeah—I mean… I’d like that,” he stammers. 

A pause. Then Tim breaks, unwilling to waste this chance. 

“Hmm… so do you want to start, or should I, or—uh—?” 

Lucy tries to hold in her laugh but fails, she squeezes his arm softly. “Hey. Breathe. No need to panic.”

“Right. Yeah.. uh- You’re right. Sorry.” His cheeks burning up.

She hesitates, then speaks quietly. “I know this may not be the most ideal time… but seeing you out there with Emmy and the other kids—” she trails off, searching for the right words. “I can’t explain it. It just… clicked. Something about it did.”

Tim exhales, something cracking open in his chest. “Yeah. I get it. Watching you with Jack… God , Lucy. My heart nearly gave out. You were unbelievably amazing. You are. And it just—it got me thinking…”

He falters, his voice low. “If you would want to- uh.. you know—”

“Yes,” she cuts in gently.

He freezes . Her face is soft, tentative, like she’s bracing for something. But all he can feel is the surge of hope bursting inside him.

“Yeah?” he whispers, breathless.

She nods, eyes glassy. “Yeah.”

“Are… are you sure?” His voice cracks.

“I am.” She laughs, blinking away tears.

He laughs too, teary-eyed and overwhelmed. “We’re doing this. We’re actually doing this.”

“We are,” she says, reaching up to cradle his face, her forehead resting against his. Her thumb strokes gently across his cheek.

Tim’s arms wrap around her waist, pulling her close, grounding himself in her warmth. He breathes her in.

After a beat, she leans back just enough to meet his eyes again. He opens them slowly, tear-streaked and shining.

She moves her thumb to brush off his tears as she speaks “I can stop taking the pills… We don’t have to overthink it. We just… let things happen.”

He grabs her hand, presses a kiss into her palm. Then leans in close, his breath ticking her lips as he speaks. 

“I love you so damn much, Lucy.” His voice cracking.

She kisses him. Soft and sure and full of everything she can’t say. She tastes salt—his tears, hers—it doesn’t matter. They’re here. They’re together.

When they break apart, she smiles, laughing through the emotion.

“I love you too, Bradford.”

They stare at each other, eyes full of love, full of hope for whatever comes next.

—— ↻ ↻ ↻ ↻ ↻ ↻ ↻ ↻ ↻ ↻ ——

So yeah.. they expected it.
But this soon?

Two months off the pill and now… possibly this?

It’s surreal. And completely overwhelming.

Lucy doesn’t feel different. No nausea, no tenderness, no fatigue that can’t be explained by late shifts and stress. No concrete evidence that her entire life is about to change.

She paces the living room for a while before sinking onto the couch, blanket wrapped tight around her like armor. She’s been holding her phone for the past twenty minutes, willing herself not to call Tim in panic. 

He’s at work. He doesn’t need her spiral bleeding into his already long shift.
And besides, he’s probably doing his own spiraling. Quietly. Internally. In classic Tim fashion.

She stares at the ceiling.

Four more hours.

Just four more hours until the appointment.
Until answers.
Until they can know for sure.

She lets out a long breath, tries to ground herself. Tim would tell her to breathe. To stop overthinking. To wait and see.

She wishes she could do that. Wishes she could quiet the storm inside her.

But the truth is—everything feels like it’s shifting beneath her feet, and she has no control over any of it.

Still. Just a few more hours.

She closes her eyes and lets herself wonder—and not for the first time—how Tim’s handling all of this.

Chapter Text

“Is there something wrong with the time, sir?” Miles asked cautiously from the passenger seat, finally breaking the tense silence in the shop.

“…Huh?” Tim blinked, momentarily disoriented and already on edge.

Miles hesitated. “You’ve been checking the time every two seconds like you’re waiting for it to sprout legs and take off. You’re driving yourself nuts, man.” He tried to mutter the last part under his breath, but subtlety wasn’t exactly his strong suit.

Tim shot him a sharp look—just a glance, but it landed with full force. Miles visibly recoiled, already shrinking in his seat. “…S-sorry, sir,” he mumbled quickly, voice tight with immediate remorse.

Tim exhaled, long and slow, shaking his head like he could shed the thoughts clawing at his brain with willpower alone. He wanted to focus on the shift, to shove the anxiety down and pretend he was fine. But it clearly wasn’t working.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the appointment. Couldn’t stop thinking about what it might mean.

Whether he liked it or not, his entire world was on the verge of changing completely. And the truth was.. he’s terrified.

He thought he’d have time. Time to work through the fear in therapy. To ease into the idea of fatherhood. But life had other plans.

Now, he was stuck in a tug-of-war between elation and sheer panic.

He was trying. He really was.

But it wasn’t enough to quiet the storm.

He couldn’t help but wish he were in Lucy’s arms right now.

He wanted her. Needed her. Needed the way she anchored him. Needed the one who always quieted his racing mind.
The one who looked at him like he was more than the sum of his fears.

The one who believed in him. The one who told him—with that quiet conviction of hers—that he was going to be a good father. That he already was the kind of man who could do this.

So he held onto that. Tried to focus on the good. The dream.

The image of a tiny bundle in his arms—half him, half Lucy. A little girl, a copy of her mother but with his eyes. Or a little boy with his dirty blond hair—but curly—his face, but Lucy’s beautiful brown eyes. The same eyes he fell in love with. The same eyes he still hopelessly drowns in.

God, just the thought of it made his heart twist.

And for a moment, it didn’t feel terrifying. It felt like something he wanted more than anything. Something he had dreamed about, for a long time.

If he was honest with himself..putting the fear aside, he couldn’t wait. He couldn’t—

“7-Adam-100,” dispatch crackled over the radio.

Tim straightened instantly, muscle memory kicking in. And for once, he was grateful for the distraction. This he could handle. This made sense. It gave him control. Stability.

He nodded, tightening his grip on the wheel.

Not long now.
The appointment was close. The answers were coming.

But until then…
Back to work.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

By the time lunch rolled around, Tim had already attempted several times to check up on Lucy. But LA crime wasn’t going easy on them today.

He was just hoping the universe didn’t have it out for him—and that the shift wouldn’t require him to stay later than planned.

He settled at one of the empty tables in front of the food trucks, takeout in front of him, and pulled out his phone to call Lucy.

One ring. Two—

“Hey,” her voice came through, distant and distracted.

“Hey, you,” he replied, skeptical. He could hear the aggressive typing of a keyboard on her end and had a good guess about what she was up to. “Uh… what are you doing?”

His tone was teasing, but carried a clear warning.

Lucy winced. Busted. She slammed her laptop shut with a loud thud, cringing at the sound. “Uhh… nothing. Just… chilling, you know.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” His sigh was audible, but he couldn’t quite hide the smile in his voice. “Please tell me you’re not driving yourself insane reading whatever nonsense the internet has to offer.”

“Pfft… what? Of course not,” she replied, extremely unconvincingly. “What makes you say that? I’m fine. Totally fine. Cool like a pool. Chill like… hmm—okay, look, I only Googled, like, eight pregnancy scenarios in the last hour. But only to be informed, not because I’m freaking out or anything. Definitely not.”

“…Uh-huh.”

“I mean, sure, I’ve had like three cups of coffee and my eye’s twitching a little, and I might’ve checked the time three—okay, it was eleven times in the last five minutes, but that’s just… productive nerves. Totally normal. Mental readiness. Not spiraling. I’m good. Really. Great, even. Don’t worry about me. Yup. I am fine.”

Tim knew the signs of a full-on Lucy-spiral. She was practically having three conversations with herself, speaking at insane speed, making very little to no sense.

He had to bite his cheek to keep from laughing. He could count the number of times Lucy had transformed into a busted radio bursting with anxiety, and this definitely made the top of the list.

“Are you done?” he asked teasingly, amusement laced in every syllable.

Lucy rolled her eyes, picturing his smirk like he was right in front of her.
She groaned. “Yeah. Sorry. That was… a lot.”

He chuckled softly. “Don’t apologize. It’s okay. But please, for the love of God—get off the internet, Lucy. Rest. It’s literally your day off. Don’t stress yourself out with worst-case scenarios.”

“I know,” she sighed, one hand rubbing at the growing ache behind her temple. “You’re right.”

“Look, we’ll find out what we need to know tonight. With an actual doctor. Not a Reddit thread. So, please rest. Just—I don’t know—go watch one of those ridiculous reality shows of yours. Anything but what you’re doing to yourself. Okay?”

She smiled faintly. “Fine.”

There was a pause. The mood shifted, quieter now.

“How are you?” she asked. “How’s the shift so far?”

“Not bad. Busy—which beats a boring morning. But nothing major, thankfully.”

Lucy felt herself relax without even realizing it. Just knowing he was okay settled something inside her she hadn’t known was clenched. She guessed that her need for him to be safe had only grown with this shift. Understandably so.

“That’s good. I’m glad.” Then, more softly, she continued, “But you didn’t answer the first question. How are you? And be honest.”

The irony of her saying that wasn’t lost on either of them.

“Honestly?” Tim hesitated. “Been better. My head’s a mess. I just… I want it to be seven already. Time couldn’t move any slower.”

“I know the feeling,” she said quietly.

He paused, then added, with quiet certainty, “It’s going to be okay though. We can get through a few more hours. The waiting sucks, yeah… but whatever happens, we’ll figure it out. As long as we’re doing this together, I can handle the rest.”

Her chest tightened, but in a good way. A steady kind of reassurance settling in.
“Yeah,” she said, her voice stronger now. “You’re right. We will figure it out together. We always do.”

“Yeah.” He echoed, softer this time, yet earnest.

A beat of silence followed. Not heavy. Just full. Full with all the questions that await them tonight. With all the hope quietly blooming beneath the fear.

“What’s with the ridiculous dopey smile plastered on your face, Bradford? Wait—lemme guess. Lucy?”

Angela’s voice jolted him out of his haze. She was suddenly beside him, digging right into his lunch like she hadn’t just crash-landed into his emotional trance.

Tim groaned, lowering his head into his free hand. “Well. Lopez is here. So I’ll spare you the torture.”

“You did not just say that,Timothy,” Angela said, mock-offended.

Lucy laughed on the other end. “Good luck with that.”

That laugh. He’d never get tired of it.

“Thanks,” he murmured. “I’ll see you soon.”

“I can’t wait,” she whispered. “I love you.”

His heart skipped. Every time, it hit him like a wave.

“I love you too,” he said, voice soft, quiet just for her.

“Bye.”

The line went dead.

Tim closed his eyes for a second, just letting her words settle over him like a blanket with the warmth they provided. Then he straightened and turned to face Angela.

Here we go.

“So… you still haven’t answered my question. What’s with the emotional rollercoaster today? One second I hear complaints about you being unusually on edge, next you’re smiling from ear to ear. If you’re borderline, you know you can tell me. I’m always here to mock you with love,” Angela said, smirking with full amusement, clearly enjoying herself.

Tim groaned, already exhausted by the mere direction of this conversation. “Mind your business, Lopez,” he muttered, not even bothering to look up.

Partly because he was nursing the worst migraine from stressing himself half to death, and mostly because if he looked up, she’d read him like a damn book.

“Oh, please. You are my business,” she said, raising an eyebrow like it was the most obvious fact in the world.

He clenched his jaw. “It’s nothing,” he replied. Too fast. Too sharp. Too obvious.

Angela narrowed her eyes. “Right. And I’m the Queen of England.”

“Don’t you have something better to do? Or am I just that special?” he tried, grasping for escape.

“Oh, so you do know the answer. Then why ask?” Her eyes glistened with amusement.

He groaned again, dragging a hand down his face. “You are so infuriating.”

“Right back at you,” she said, not missing a beat—while stealing a sip of his drink like it belonged to her.

A beat of silence passed. Then, her tone shifted. Softer. A little more serious. She took another bite of his burrito, chewing thoughtfully before she spoke.

“So… are we gonna talk about it or not?”

He didn’t answer.

Angela leaned in, voice low but clear. “You came into the station with your shoulders practically glued to your ears, looking like someone ran over your dog. Penn’s been walking on eggshells like you might blow up if he so much as breathes wrong. And then, suddenly, you’re smiling like the world is fine again.”

Tim sighed, rubbing his temple angrily. “So I’m not allowed to smile anymore? That’s new.”

Angela gave him a look. “You know that’s not what I mean. I’m just checking in. Nothing more, nothing less.”

He paused. “If that’s the case… I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me.”

She tilted her head. “You’re lying through your teeth, but okay. I’ll let it slide… for now. Just know I’m watching you.”

He snorted. “You’re wasting your time, but sure. Like I’ve ever known how to stop you from doing anything anyway.”

“You bet your ass,” she said proudly, slurping his drink with zero shame.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

'2:00 PM'

'3:00 PM'

'4:00 PM'

'5:00 PM'

Finally.

Tim slammed his locker shut without a second thought, already halfway out the door before anyone could question his mood. His feet were moving on instinct—no hesitation, no delay. He just needed to get home. To Lucy. To answers.

He couldn’t believe he made it through the shift without completely losing it—despite Penn’s prediction that he’d implode by noon. But somehow, he survived it. Barely. But he did.

Now, he was driving like a maniac. Speeding. Swerving. Definitely breaking at least three traffic laws—not that he cared. Not today.

As soon as he turned onto their street, something in him shifted. He eased into their driveway and shut off the engine, the silence sharp and overwhelming.

For a second, he didn’t move.

He just sat there, hands gripping the wheel, letting his breath slow. He had to pull himself together—shake off the nerves and panic, anchor himself.

He needed to be solid.

The steady ground Lucy could lean on.

He lowered his head to the steering wheel, exhaling slowly.

One breath.
Then another.

Okay.

He got out of the car and headed inside. The house was quiet, lights dimmed, everything still and a little too perfect. Too tense.

Lucy must’ve stress-cleaned. The place was unusually organized and systematic. And he got it—he understood the desperate need to feel in control. When everything else is spinning on its own axis, you hold tight to what you can control. Honestly, he was relieved she found something to distract herself.

The sound of Kojo’s feet scrambling across the floor broke the spell.

Tim smiled softly, already picturing the chaos. He set his keys on the counter, hung up his coat, and knelt down just in time.

Kojo barreled into him like a missile.

“Hey, buddy,” Tim said, voice soft as he scratched behind his ears. Kojo’s tail wagged furiously before he launched into full assault mode—licking Tim’s face with sloppy, uncoordinated affection.

Tim chuckled, the tension slipping away. This big, slobbery monster of his somehow made everything feel easier.

“Okay, that’s enough kisses,” he laughed, swiping at his face. But Kojo was already in zoomie mode—his whole back end wagging as he leaped up, accidentally sending Tim’s back into the wall.

Tim wanted to command some order, trying to sound firm. “Alright, that’s enough, Kojo. Stop.”
But the giddiness in his voice betrayed him, and Kojo wasn’t buying it.

Kojo whined dramatically, then shoved his head into Tim’s chest like a needy toddler.

“You’re bossy. Yeah, you are. So, so bossy,” Tim cooed in the high-pitched tone Lucy liked to call his puppy voice.

He didn’t have a puppy voice. He was a full-grown man, for god’s sake.

Speaking of Lucy.

“Oh, thought I heard you come in.”

She was walking towards them, dressed and ready, curls falling over her shoulders, smile easy and warm.

Tim’s breath caught a little. She looked so effortlessly beautiful it almost felt unfair. He wanted to reach her, but he was still being held hostage by 60 pounds of clingy fur.

“Wow. I see we’re picking favorites now,” she said, arching a brow, leaning her shoulder to the closest wall. “Should I come back when you’re done making out with my dog?”

Tim smirked, “Our dog,” he corrected between slobbery kisses, making zero effort to get up.

“Good to know where I stand in this household hierarchy,” she muttered under her breath.

“I heard that,” he called back, eyes sparkling with amusement.

She rolled her eyes but stepped closer. “Not that I want to interrupt, but we need to get going.”

Her voice softened, tone shifting as the weight of the appointment slipped back in.

Tim chuckled softly. “Yeah yeah, give me a second.” He finally wrangled Kojo off and stood, brushing his hands on his jeans before stepping forward to properly greet her.

“Hey,” he said quietly, pulling her into his arms. One arm secured around her waist and the other cradling the back of her head, while her arms wrapped around his waist and her head rested on his chest.

She melted into him without hesitation. Taking a moment for both of them to breathe before he pulled back a little and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. She hummed in response, content and grateful that he was finally here, resting her forehead against his.

“..Hi,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

He closed his eyes and just breathed her in. And just like that, he felt a little steadier. Calmer.

And Kojo—being Kojo—got jealous from the lack of attention and decided to nudge both of their legs and whine dramatically.

They pulled back to look down at their furry friend and laughed at his mad expression.

Tim glanced at the watch on his wrist. “Umm… we better get going. If you’re ready, I can get the car ready while you close up?”

Lucy nodded. “Yeah, that sounds good,” giving him a quick peck on his cheek before they parted, meeting up a minute later at the car.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Once they’d filled out the form, they sat in the dreaded waiting room, waiting for their names to be called. Lucy’s stress level rose with every passing second—and Tim noticed immediately.

He reached over, placing a steady hand on her thigh to stop its restless bouncing, gently pulling her back from the edge of her spiral.

“Not long now. We’re literally a door away. Just relax… we’ll get our answers in a minute, okay?”

Lucy’s eyes, wide with anxiety, searched his face as if she was only now registering what he’d said. Then she finally nodded and exhaled, placing her hand over his and leaning her head on his shoulder. She inhaled his familiar scent—cologne, aftershave, and something that was just so uniquely him—and felt her nerves begin to settle.

He ran a calming hand through her hair.
Soothing her.
Soothing himself, too—he needed the comfort just as much.

Two minutes later, a nurse stepped in with a clipboard.
“Mrs. and Mr. Bradford?” she called out, tone professional but not unkind.

They both shot to their feet. Tim gripped Lucy’s hand immediately, anchoring them together as they approached the nurse.

“Yeah, that’s us,” he said.

“Doctor Brown is ready for you.. it’s the second door on the left,” she said kindly.

“Thank you,” Tim replied.

They walked slowly in the direction she pointed. As they neared the door, Tim gave Lucy’s hand a light squeeze, noticing how distant she seemed. Her eyes were unfocused, her expression clouded.

“We’re here. You ready?” He whispered softly.

“…Oh. Uh- yeah. Let’s go,” Lucy said, her voice unsteady.

Tim knocked and opened the door.

The room was clean and softly lit, the gentle hum of a nearby monitor filling the silence. The walls were decorated with watercolor animals—lions, rabbits, and a too-smiley elephant clearly meant to ease anxiety.

Lucy wasn’t sure it was working.

A woman in her mid-forties with kind eyes and calm confidence stood as they entered, offering a warm smile.

“Hi there. You must be Mrs. and Mr. Bradford. I’m Dr. Brown, welcome, and congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Tim said, a slight tremble in his voice.

Lucy managed a small, slightly strained smile. “Thanks. And please—Lucy and Tim are just fine.”

“Okay, then. How about I bring you the changing gown while I send in a nurse to take your blood samples, and then we’ll begin?” Dr. Brown offered, tone easy and unhurried.

“Yeah… uh- sure. Sounds good,” Lucy nodded anxiously. Dr. Brown handed her the gown and stepped out to give them privacy. Lucy stood frozen for a second, processing, and then Tim gently squeezed her hand to help pull her out of the fog.

“Go behind the curtain and change,” he nodded toward the bed and the privacy curtain. “And if you need any help, just let me know. It would be good practice, after all,” he added teasingly.

Lucy gave a weak smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes and swatted his arm.
“You’re impossible,” she muttered, disappearing behind the curtain.

A few minutes later, Dr. Brown returned. Lucy was already changed, and her blood had been drawn.

“Okay, let’s get started,” she said in a cheerful tone that didn’t quite match the tension in the room. “First things first, how are you both feeling?” she asked kindly.

Tim looked at Lucy, prompting her to speak. She always processed better out loud—it used to drive him insane when she was a rookie, but secretly he’d always appreciated the way she trusted him with her thoughts.

Lucy looked back at him questioningly, their conversation silent but clear.

She gave in, turning to the doctor.
“Um… we’re both pretty anxious, to say the least. It’s um.. all very sudden, so it kind of caught us off guard. We’re still trying to make sense of it all,” she said honestly. Then, she smiled faintly as she looked up at Tim, her voice softening, “But nevertheless, we’re both excited for what’s ahead. Very excited.”

Tim nodded, offering her a soft smile as his gaze lingered on her, getting momentarily lost in the warm brown of her eyes.

It was the doctor’s voice that gently pulled him back.

“Well, that’s totally normal. Most first-time parents feel that way—especially at the first visit. But we’ll take everything step by step. Today’s really about getting to know each other, confirming the pregnancy, and making sure everything’s off to a healthy start.”

Tim and Lucy nodded, visibly more at ease.

Dr. Brown settled on her rolling stool and glanced at Lucy’s chart.
“Looks like you’re somewhere between eight and ten weeks based on your last period. Is that right?”

“I think so, yeah. My last period started on May 7th,” Lucy replied.

“Perfect. That gives us a good estimate.. and we’ll get a more accurate due date once we do the ultrasound.”

Dr. Brown tapped a few keys on her tablet.
“Before we begin, I’ll ask a few questions. Just to get your medical history. Nothing scary.”

Lucy nodded. “Okay.”

“Have you had any previous pregnancies, miscarriages, or complications?”

Lucy shook her head. “No. This is my first.”

“Any chronic conditions—like high blood pressure, diabetes, asthma, thyroid issues?”

“No.”

“Do you take any medications regularly?”

“Just some supplements,” Lucy said. Then she hesitated. “Uh—actually… I only stopped birth control two months ago.”

Dr. Brown looked up with a kind smile.
“Got it. Pills or something else?”

“Pills,” Lucy said. “I stopped them in early May. Then I got what I thought was a normal period.”

“That checks out,” Dr. Brown said gently, making a note. “Usually when someone comes off birth control, cycles can be a little unpredictable at first. But it sounds like things resumed quickly for you.”

Lucy glanced at Tim, her mouth pulling into a half-smile of disbelief.
“Yeah. I guess they did.”

Tim blinked. “We thought it would take months.”

Dr. Brown chuckled.
“Most couples do. You’d be surprised how often I hear that. But biologically, once the hormones clear your system, fertility can return almost immediately.”

Lucy nodded slowly, as if still catching up to that truth.

She continued.
“Any allergies? To medication, latex, or foods?”

“Nope.”

“Do you smoke, drink, or use recreational drugs?”

“No,” Lucy said, then hesitated. “I mean—I had a glass of wine here and there before I found out. But I stopped right after the test.”

“That’s perfectly fine,” Dr. Brown reassured her gently.

She turned the tablet slightly.
“Now let’s talk family history. Any known genetic conditions in your family? Things like cystic fibrosis, muscular dystrophy, sickle cell?”

Lucy blanked out, and Tim felt her fingers tense slightly in his.
“Not that I know of. My mom’s side is clean. But I don’t know anything about my biological father.”

Dr. Brown nodded without missing a beat.
“Okay, no problem. If anything ever comes up, we can talk about carrier screening. But there’s no pressure.”

She turned to Tim.
“How about on your side?”

Tim cleared his throat.
“As far as I know, there’s nothing genetic. No conditions that I recall.”

“Okay. Thank you, both. We’ll run standard prenatal labs and a carrier screen just to be safe. It’s all precautionary.”

She glanced back at the screen.
“So here’s how today goes. We’ll start with an internal ultrasound to confirm dating and check that everything’s developing normally. After that, we’ll talk about your next appointments, early screening options, what to expect over the next few months. And yes,” she smiled, “you’ll likely hear the heartbeat today.”

Lucy didn’t respond right away. She just blinked, nodding slightly, like the idea of hearing a heartbeat might be too much to comprehend.

Tim gave her hand a squeeze.

Dr. Brown stood.
“Go ahead and get comfortable on the table there. You’ll stay dressed—just pull your gown up from the bottom. We’ll do a transvaginal ultrasound since it’s early. Totally normal.”

A nurse reentered to assist and dimmed the lights. Lucy lay back slowly, stiff with nerves. Her fingers still tangled in Tim’s, hoping to absorb any calm from his steady grip.

The ultrasound machine beeped to life as Dr. Brown prepared the probe.

“All right. You’re going to feel a little pressure.”

Lucy flinched slightly but nodded.

A few seconds of static, some shifting grayscale blurs—and then something distinct flickered on the screen.

“There we go,” Dr. Brown said softly.

Lucy’s breath caught. Tim sat at her side, staring at the monitor with the same wonder that was now blooming across her face.

“That little blob right there—that’s the baby,” the doctor said, pointing gently.

And then they heard it.

A fast, rhythmic sound filled the room.

Thump-thump-thump-thump.

Lucy and Tim froze, breath hitching, afraid the moment might vanish if they moved or exhaled too quickly.

“There it is. Strong and steady—about 170 beats per minute. That’s exactly what we want to see.”

Lucy stared at the screen, eyes wide, lips slightly parted. The flickering pulse. The tiny form. The noise of it—so alive. So real.

“That’s really… that’s it?” she whispered. “That’s the baby?”

Dr. Brown nodded, smiling.
“That’s your baby. Measuring right on track—just over nine weeks.”

Tim didn’t say anything. He just stared, both of his hands clutching Lucy’s like they were lifelines. His eyes glistened with unshed tears, not quite believing what he was seeing. A human being—his child.

Dr. Brown snapped a few images and printed out three small ultrasound photos, handing them to Lucy with care.

After the scan, she helped Lucy sit up and gave them a moment to adjust. Lucy blinked hard, the photos in her lap like something sacred.

“Your bloodwork will be sent to you today, and I’ll give you a packet—recommended parental vitamins, food to avoid, all the usual lists,” Dr. Brown said gently. “You’re officially pregnant. How are we feeling?”

Lucy let out a shaky breath, glancing at Tim’s disbelieving state, then back at the photo.
“Uh… it’s all a bit too surreal. I’m not quite sure yet.”

“That’s kind of how it goes. I’ve got two of my own—best thing that ever happened to me,” Dr. Brown said, her voice kind and proud.

She reached for the doorknob, pausing with a smile.
“Welcome to the wildest adventure of your life.”

Then she stepped out, gently closing the door behind her.

Lucy sat on the bed in silence for a moment, brushing her thumb over the glossy black-and-white images. Her thumb slowly moved over the small white blob in the sea of black.

She looked up at Tim, who hadn’t spoken since the ultrasound. Her lips trembled into a watery smile, eyes shining with emotion. He stared back, his own gaze mirroring everything she felt.

He had known this moment would matter.
He just hadn’t known it would absolutely undo him.

A single tear slipped down his cheek. Lucy gently pulled him down to sit beside her, then reached up to brush the tear away. Her thumb lingered on his skin as she leaned in, pressing a deep, full kiss to his lips. When she pulled back, her hand stayed cradling his face, eyes searching his.

They stayed like that, suspended in a quiet moment.

Then Tim let out a breathless chuckle, thick with disbelief. His eyes were glassy, his heart overflowing. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers.

Lucy raised her free hand, gently threading her fingers through the short strands at the nape of his neck.

Neither of them spoke.
And they didn’t need to.

Chapter Text

It’s not until they’re both in bed that the words finally come. Other than the few tears Tim let slip in the doctor’s office, he hasn’t really spoken much.

Lucy isn’t worried—she knows him too well for that. She knows he needs the quiet to untangle the storm inside him before he can even attempt to voice what he’s feeling.

So she waits. Doesn’t push.

And he loves her a little more for it. Loves her for how effortlessly she gives him the space he needs, while still making sure he’s never alone in it.

For how well she understands him like no one else does.

She may never truly grasp how deeply grateful he is for her presence in his life—but that doesn’t stop him from trying, in all the small, quiet ways he knows how.

They’re curled into each other now. Limbs tangled, foreheads nearly touching. Her fingers card slowly through the short hair at the nape of his neck—the way she knows settles him.

His arm is a warm anchor around her waist, thumb tracing idle circles against the dip of her spine.

Time blurs. Minutes? Hours? Who knows.

It doesn’t really matter.

There’s nowhere else either of them would rather be.

Then she sees it.

The soft, barely-there smile tugging at Tim’s lips. It catches her off guard, causing her fingers to still.

He doesn’t notice—too lost in whatever thought has put that look on his face.

She studies him. The way his eyes are distant but bright. The way his expression has gone tender in a way she’s only ever seen in their most private moments.

It’s not a memory, she realizes. It’s a dream.

A future he’s playing out behind his eyelids.

Her chest tightens. Warmth floods her.

They’d talked about this, yes. Wanted it. But a part of her had still worried it might be too much, too soon—especially for him.

But seeing him like this? Soft and smiling. Completely unguarded. It soothes those fears like nothing else could.

She can’t help the smile that mirrors his own. Or the quiet chuckle that escapes her. The love pulsing through her veins drives her to lean in and brush a soft, featherlight kiss to his cheek.

It pulls him back to her.

He blinks. Brows furrowing as he focuses on her face. “What?” he murmurs, voice rough from disuse.

“Nothing,” she whispers. But her voice cracks on the word. Her emotions getting the best of her.

He watches her for a beat. Then his confusion gives way to understanding. His expression softens even more. His hand lifts to cradle her cheek. Thumb brushing the curve of her bottom lip like he’s memorizing her. Like he needs the anchor of her skin beneath his fingers to say what comes next.

“It’s just—” Tim starts, then stops.

His gaze drifts past her shoulder, as if searching the dark for the right words. When his eyes find hers again, they’re glassy with emotion.

“Thank you.”

He brings her hand to his lips. Presses a soft, steady kiss to her knuckles that feels like a vow.

“For you. For this.”

His voice is thick. The words spill out like he can’t hold them back any longer.

“I never thought I—I’d get this. God, Lucy—” He cuts himself off. Exhales sharply. Then tries again.

“I never let myself imagine this. A home. You. And now—hell, tiny footsteps running around?” He huffs, swiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. Trying his best to keep his tears at bay, but failing miserably.

“I’m just so damn grateful it’s you. That I get to do this with you. There’s no one else I’d want by my side for this.”

The raw honesty in his voice steals her breath. She surges forward, capturing his lips with hers. Pouring every ounce of love and promise into the kiss.

He meets her with equal fervor. His hand tangling in her hair to hold her close.

When they finally part, both are breathless. Foreheads pressed together. Hearts pounding in sync.

“I’m glad it’s you too, Bradford,” she whispers into the space between them.

He huffs a quiet laugh, and kisses her again. Chaste and sweet.

Then he settles back against the pillows, his arm tightening around her, pulling her even closer.

After a beat, she nudges him gently.

“So… I take it you’re not disappointed with the news?” She already knows the answer. But she needs to hear him say it.

Tim pulls back just far enough to level her with a look so incredulous it’s almost comical.

“Are you kidding me?” His voice is firm. Steady. Leaves no room for doubt.

“Terrified? Absolutely. Overwhelmingly underprepared? Hell yes. But disappointed?”

He cups her face again. Thumb brushing over her cheekbone. “Never, Lucy. Not in a million years.”

The certainty in his eyes is all the reassurance she needs.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Thankfully, both of them had the day off tomorrow, allowing them to sleep in as much as they wanted.

Well…

Tim bolts upright, the sheets tangling around his legs as he scans the room for any sign of distress. He’s not even sure what woke him—until he hears the retching. His hand flies to Lucy’s side of the bed, finding only cold sheets.

He heads straight for the bathroom, and the sight of her stops him dead in his tracks. She’s so pale. His heart twists in worry.

He immediately drops beside her, his knees hitting the tiles hard—but he barely registers the pain. He’s too focused on the way Lucy’s shoulders tremble under the strain of it all. She’s bent over the toilet, knuckles bone-white against the porcelain, her whole body tense like a wire about to snap.

He gathers her hair back with both hands, the strands damp with sweat.

“Tim…” Her voice is weak and raw, rough from acid and exhaustion. She doesn’t even have the strength to lift her head.

The smell of mint toothpaste still lingers in the air from last night, now mixed with something sour. He swallows hard, pushing down his own worry and nausea.

“I’m here, baby.” His palm rubs slow circles across her back. “It’s okay, it’s going to be okay. Just breathe. It’ll pas—”

Almost immediately, she topples over and pukes again without warning, her body convulsing so violently he has to brace an arm around her waist to keep her steady.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, voice cracking despite his effort to stay steady. His other hand stays tangled in her hair, thumb stroking her scalp in what he hopes is a soothing rhythm.

“Just let it out. I’ve got you.” His body growing more frantic, unable to conceal the panic at the sight of her emptying an already hollow stomach.

When she finally sags against him, her whole body giving up, knowing he’ll be there to catch her, he risks a glance at her face. Tear tracks glisten in the dim light, her lashes clumped together. His throat tightens.

God. Is it always going to be like that?

“We’re calling Dr. Brown,” he says, voice leaving no room for argument. “This isn’t just morning sickness, Lucy—you’re shaking.” He may not know much about pregnancy, but he knows that he can’t stand the sight of her this pale and weak in his arms.

“No.” Her protest comes out barely audible, so she tries again. “No, it’s okay. I’ll be okay.”

“Says the woman who was fused to the toilet thirty seconds ago,” he mutters, but the panic is already ebbing as he feels some of the tension leave her body.

Lucy huffs a weak laugh that dissolves into a groan. “No doctors. Just… gimme a minute.” Her forehead drops against his shoulder, and he feels her nose press into his shirt, inhaling deeply. Oddly, his scent seems to steady her, cutting through the acidic burn in the air.

Tim exhales through his nose and gives in. Compromise. He can do that.

“Take all the time you need,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her damp temple. His thumb swipes gently at the tears on her cheek. “But if you’re not better in an hour, I’m carrying you to the car.”

“Hmm.” The sound is more vibration than word, exhaustion pulling her under.

Tim seems to sense it, the increasing heaviness of her body against his. He gently prompts her to move. “Come on. Let’s get back to bed,” he whispers against her forehead, thumb still stroking her cheek.

Her eyes flutter open as she tries to straighten, but a wave of dizziness sends her sagging back against the toilet seat.

Tim takes the opportunity to stand, flushing the mess away before grabbing a hair tie from the counter. His fingers work quickly, braiding her hair with practiced ease. A skill he'd mastered early in their relationship.

She smiles through the fog when she realizes what he's doing. God, she loves him.

The gentle tug of his fingers through her hair nearly lulls her to sleep right there.

He notices immediately, chuckling softly as he speaks. “Nope. Wake up.” His arms slide under hers, hauling her upright with care. “Let's wash your face first.”

She nods more to convince herself than to answer him, hands shaking as they grip his forearm. He tightens his hold around her waist.

“There you go. Don't worry. I've got you.” He guides them to the sink, turning on the faucet with one hand. Cool water pools in his palm before he sweeps it over her face, wiping away the lingering sweat and tears. The towel follows, blotting gently.

“Good?” He asks while tucking away a loose strand of hair.

“Hmm, yeah.” Brushing her teeth will have to wait until morning.

He tosses the towel toward the laundry basket—missing, but neither cares—and steers them back to bed. Lucy melts into the mattress with a sigh. And she can swear that it has never been comfier.

Tim tucks the comforter around her, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

“Mmm, thank you,” she slurs, already half-asleep.

“Of course, Luce.” He whispers softly, smiling at how she fists the blankets like a child.

She’s utterly adorable.

And not for the first time in the past 24 hours, his chest aches with how much he loves her—as if it’s stretching to accommodate everything he feels.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

He glances at the glowing clock on the nightstand.

It’s ‘5:57 am’

Close enough. Might as well get ready for the day.

He slips into his workout clothes and quietly heads out to walk Kojo, careful not to wake Lucy.

The morning air is cool, but his mind is already racing. As Kojo sniffs at fire hydrants with single-minded devotion, Tim starts building his own mental checklist. Anything that might help.

         ☐ Look up meals that are gentle on the stomach. (Oatmeal? Bananas? God, he should’ve paid more attention in health class.)
         ☐ Pick up anti-nausea meds and ginger tea. (And those antacids Lopez was basically inhaling.)
         ☐ Download those parenting books everyone talks about. (Do audiobooks count if he listens to them during patrol?)         
         ☐ Interrogate Angela & Genny about any tips they can offer. (He will bribe them. Maybe over donuts.)

Also, seriously… how did Angela survive pregnancy without murdering Wesley?

Then it hits him.

Wait. Are they telling people now? Is Lucy ready for that?

They hadn’t talked about it yet.

Fine. Add it to the list.

         ☐ Talk to Lucy about who they’re telling, and when.

That should cover it. For now.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Four hours later, the apartment smells like ginger and toasted bread. Tim’s already:

         ☑ Researched “bland food for pregnant women” until his eyes crossed.
         ☑ Gone to the grocery store and pharmacy.
         ☑ Meal prepped a variety of dishes, just to experiment on what might sit best in Lucy’s stomach.

And yes, he did survive the judgmental stare of the cashier when he bought every nausea remedy known to man. Barely.

Now, he carefully places exhibit A on a tray: a mug of ginger tea, scrambled eggs, toast, and thin slices of apple and banana. Nothing too heavy. He just hopes this time, it stays down.

He’s just about to leave the kitchen when he hears soft footsteps padding across the hardwood.

Tim turns—and there she is.

Her brown eyes meet his, tired but warm. She’s got a serious case of bedhead despite the braid he’d done earlier. Topping it off with an oversized shirt she stole from him last night, heavily wrinkled and hanging off one shoulder. She looks exhausted.

Yet adorable.

He lets out a soft chuckle as he circles the counter to meet her.

She shuffles forward, and the moment she reaches him, her forehead drops to his chest with a quiet thud, too tired to hold her own weight.

“Hey,” she murmurs groggily, her voice still rough with sleep and lingering annoyance. Probably from the whole vomiting-at-dawn situation.

He chuckles again, his arm circling her waist automatically while his other hand gently smooths down her wild hair.

“Hey, baby. How are you feeling now?” he whispers.

“Hungry.”

Tim barks out a laugh, relief flooding him. He presses a kiss to the top of her head.

“Lucky for you, I come bearing gifts.” He nods toward the tray. “Got a whole buffet of blandness ready for your approval.”

Lucy peers at the spread with narrowed eyes. “You made… five different meals.”

“For experimental reasons,” he exclaims proudly.

She groans but reaches for the bananas first. Tim watches her nibble at the slices, holding his breath—until she hums in approval and takes another bite.

Thank God.

“So,” he says casually, sliding the ginger tea closer to her, “I thought we could binge-watch the new season of Top Chef today. Unless you’d rather—”

“Tim.”

He freezes. “Yeah?”

Lucy sets down the banana and looks up at him, eyes still tired but clearer now. “Come here.”

When he steps closer, she grabs his shirt and pulls him down into a kiss that tastes like sleep and bananas and home.

“Thank you,” she murmurs against his lips.

Tim’s chest goes warm, his eyes softening as he gazes into her beautiful golden eyes.

“Anytime, Luce.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Halfway through episode three, Tim’s mind has drifted, no longer following the plot but instead circling the question that’s been tugging at him all evening: Who do they tell, and when?

Lucy’s head is nestled in his lap, her eyes half-lidded, content. His fingers move gently through her hair in slow, steady passes, and he can feel how settled she is. Which is exactly why it feels like the worst time to bring it up.

But also maybe the only time.

Ehhh… He probably should let her enjoy this moment.

But when has 'should' ever stopped a Bradford?

"So..." His thumb traces the shell of her ear, stalling. "About telling people..." He swallows hard. “About the pregnancy and all.." The word still catches oddly in his mouth. It sounds foreign, too big and new. He hesitates for a beat, then continues. “When were you thinking we'd... you know. Do that?"

Lucy stirs, lifting her head slightly, brows pinched in thought. “Uh…” She hasn’t really considered it yet. It would be nice to let their close circle know. But probably not just yet.

She fidgets the blanket between her hands. “Maybe after the first trimester,” she says finally, voice soft. “Three weeks isn’t that long. Right?”

She lifts her head, her uncertain brown eyes searching his face. “What do you think?” she asks, her tone softer than before.

He smiles at her with all the admiration a person can hold. “In three weeks is perfect,” he says simply, as if agreeing with her is the easiest thing in the world.

She smiles back, cheeks flushing under the weight of his gaze. Ducking her head, she lets out a small breath. “Okay then…” Her eyes meet his again. “It’s settled.” She extends her hands toward him like an official handshake.

He raises his brows, giving her an incredulous look. She only mirrors him, her own eyebrows arching in stubborn defiance. Always challenging him. Always pushing back.

God, that stubborn tilt of her chin had intrigued him from day one at Mid-Wilshire, back when she was just a rookie and he was too damn stubborn to admit how much he was fascinated by the mystery called Lucy Chen.

Not that he’d ever tell her that.

He rolls his eyes, even though the grin on his face betrays his act. He clasps her small hand in his. “Deal.”

She laughs, the sound full and triumphant, taking his surrender as a victory. Again. And she doesn’t even try to hide the smugness radiating off her.

And Tim, being Tim, absolutely cannot let that stand.

In one fluid motion, he raises their joined hands and attacks her ribs with his free hand.

"TIM!" She yelps, legs kicking against his chest, laughter spilling out in helpless bursts. "I swear to God—AH!—I am going to pee myself, stop!"

His own cheeks ache from laughing so much, his gaze in awe by the amount of love one can feel for another.

A full sixty seconds of merciless tickling later, he relents. Lucy collapses against the cushions, gasping for air, her hair wild around her furious face. "You're impossible," she wheezes, swatting weakly at his chest.

“I know,” he chuckles, looping an arm around her waist—

“Don’t you dare,” she warns.

"Yes, ma'am," he deadpans, pulling her flush against him anyway. Like gravity, her head finds its home in the hollow of his shoulder.

A beat.

"Hey Tim." Her whisper cuts through the quiet.

“Hmm?” he murmurs, his voice thick with approaching sleep, eyes already half-closed.

“Can you check with me before telling Genny and Angela?" she whispers, her tone carrying a weight that wasn’t there moments ago. "I want to… uh—I just need to do something first."

His eyes snap open, and when he looks down, the expression on her face hits like a punch to the gut.

She smiles regardless of the pain. Her face soft but her glittering eyes tell a different story.

She’s happy, yes. But something’s heavy.
It’s a look of longing. Yearning.

And it clicks.

He doesn't need words. Years side by side have made translation unnecessary. Tim gathers her closer, his lips pressed to her hair as if he could breathe his strength into her. They stay like that. Two souls. One heartbeat, one breath.

"Of course, Luce." His voice doesn't waver. "You don't have to ask me twice."

If he could, he’d do more. He’d fix it. He’d take the ache away. But for now, this—his arms, his presence—is all he can give.

"Thank you." Her lips brush over his heart, a silent promise against his skin.

“Can you believe it? I can barely wrap my head around it,” she says, wonder lacing her voice.

A wet laugh escapes her. “God, I never thought this day would actually come—let alone with my former TO.” She says, shaking her head in disbelief.

Her fingers trace the carved letters of his name. "You would've given me so much shit about it."

Her smile fades, replaced by something tender. “The things I would give to hear your terrible jokes right now…” Her voice breaks, breath catching in her throat.

The wind carries her whisper as she brushes dirt from the grave marker. “You would’ve been the best godfather,” her eyes burning. “I just know it.”

Minutes pass. Hours maybe. Lucy rests her forehead gently against the cold stone, tears trickling down her cheek.

“I miss you,” she says finally, the words tearing something deep from her chest.

“So much.”