Work Text:
Work had been a mess... just nonstop, one thing after the next. Reports falling through the cracks, officers screwing up basic calls, paperwork piling up faster than she could even look at it. Every time she thought, Okay, I’ve got this, something else blew up behind her. It was like trying to plug holes in a dam with no hands. She was moving fast, doing everything she could, but it still wasn’t enough. Not even close.
It hadn’t stayed at work either. At home, she’d been closed off… short answers, tired eyes, brushing past Tim like she couldn’t afford to slow down long enough to see him. She’d stopped laughing at his bad jokes, stopped making room for quiet moments on the couch. Some nights, she didn’t even look up from her laptop until it was time to drag herself to bed. Then wake up and do it all over again, like she’d never left the desk in the first place.
He never pushed. He recognised the signs. The exhaustion in her eyes, the way her shoulders carried a weight she couldn’t name. He knew burnout when he saw it.
So he stepped back, gave her space, hoped the quiet would help her breathe. But it didn’t.
She still brushed him off whenever he reached out. Gave him that look... the one that said, Don’t ask. And when he did, when he gently asked if she was alright, she'd close the door between them a little tighter. Like he was just another obligation. One more thing she didn’t have the energy for.
By Friday, the tension wasn’t just simmering anymore. It had settled into Tim’s chest, a weight he couldn’t shake.
Lucy was in the kitchen, unloading the dishwasher like it had done something wrong. Cabinet doors thudded shut. Plates clattered onto the stack. Every movement was tight, clipped, like her body didn’t know how to be still.
Tim stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching her for a moment. He didn’t say anything right away. He’d been seeing this storm build all week.
The stiff movements. The clipped tone. The exhaustion she refused to admit. He knew her well enough to recognise the signs, she was unraveling, and he was the nearest thing to grab onto.
He let the silence hang for a moment longer, then finally said, quiet and even, “Lucy…”
She didn’t look at him. “Don’t.”
The cabinet door shut with a thud that made him wince slightly.
“Do you wanna talk about it?”
That got her attention. She spun around, eyes sharp with frustration. “What’s there to talk about? Everything’s a mess. Work’s a disaster, and I can’t even come home and breathe without you hovering.”
Tim didn’t flinch, even if the words hit harder than she likely intended.
“I’m not hovering,” he said quietly. “I’m just... look, I’m trying to be here. For you. That’s it. I don’t have some secret agenda, I’m just... here.”
Her head snapped up, eyes blazing. “Yeah? Well mayb what I need is some space, not you standing there, watching me screw up everything I touch.”
“You’re not screwing up,” Tim said, a little too fast. He paused, steadied himself. “You’re not. I know it feels like everything’s pressing in, like no matter how much you do, it’s never enough. But that’s not the same as failing.”
Lucy shook her head, hard, like she was trying to shake something loose and couldn’t.
“Stop,” she snapped. Her voice was sharp, brittle. “Just... don’t try to make it better.”
Her voice lifted, brittle and breaking. Words came faster now, pushed by something deeper than anger.
“You always have to fix everything, Tim. Like if you just say the right thing, I’ll snap out of it.” Her hands flew up, helpless. “Can you just let me feel it? Just for one second without stepping in?”
Tim didn’t flinch. His jaw tightened, not from anger, but from the quiet wear of being kept at arm’s length for too long.
“A second?” he repeated, low and even. “Lucy, you’ve been snapping at me all week.”
She turned from him, couldn’t stay still. Her body caught the emotion her voice couldn’t hold. One foot, then the other, pacing now, words riding the motion. Her hands moved like they were trying to shape what she couldn’t quite say out loud.
“Maybe I just need to be mad,” she said, voice unsteady. “Just… angry, without feeling like there's something wrong with me for it.”
Tim shifted his weight, stepping in just enough to be close without pressing. His voice didn’t rise; it steadied.
“That’s not at all what I’m saying,” he said quietly. “You… you’re allowed to be mad. You’re allowed to feel every inch of it.”
His eyes stayed locked on hers, soft but unwavering.
“I know work’s been hell,” he said. “It’s not subtle. I’ve watched it chewing at you all week.”
She didn’t wait for more. The frustration had been waiting too long for a door.
“I had to explain today why a domestic victim landed in the hospital,” she snapped, the words cutting sharper than she meant. “Jan and Webb botched the call. Completely. And somehow it loops back to me, like I’m supposed to babysit every last move, like it’s on me to hold the whole thing together.”
Her voice cracked then reloaded. A bitter breath escaped, no fire, just fallout.
“Grey lit me up in front of everyone,” she added, a dry laugh sliding off her tongue. It didn’t carry weight, just the echo of something raw. “I mean... you were there. You heard it.”
“I’m the sergeant, I get it. It’s my team, my responsibility.” Her voice dropped, low and tight with frustration. “But I wasn’t even on scene, Tim. And still, somehow, it’s on me.”
“And every time I come home, you’re just… calm. And patient. And it makes me feel worse because I know I’m being awful and you’re still standing there, being perfect. And I hate it, I hate feeling like I can’t keep up, like I’m not pulling my weight at work or here or… with us.”
Her voice cracked, but she pushed through it. “And if you’re just waiting for me to snap out of it, or to magically be the easy girlfriend who doesn’t fall apart after a rough shift, then maybe, maybe we’re not…”
The words hit harder than he wanted to admit. He knew she didn’t mean it, knew it in his bones, but the way she said it, sharp and hopeless, twisted something in his chest.
He’d spent all week trying to be her anchor, and now she was cutting the rope. And still, he stood there. Letting her unravel without pulling away.
“God… okay. I don’t even mean that, I just…” Her hands trembled slightly. “I don’t know how to be okay right now.”
The kitchen went still. Lucy didn’t move, just stood there, breath catching like she’d finally felt the weight of her own words.
Tim didn’t say a word. He walked to the sink, filled a glass, and brought it back... no lecture, no dramatics. Just an offer.
She didn’t take it at first. Just looked at it, like her brain hadn’t caught up yet. Like something that ordinary didn’t belong in a night like this.
Then her fingers wrapped around the glass, slow and uncertain. It was nothing, really. Just water. But somehow, in that moment, it felt like the most solid thing in the room.
“Are you done?” he asked after a beat, his voice even.
Lucy looked at him, guilt surfacing behind the anger. She nodded slowly.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I really didn’t mean any of that.”
“I know,” he said. “That’s why I stayed quiet. I know you, Lucy. I know when it’s the stress talking.”
He leaned back against the counter, bracing his hands on either side like he needed something solid to hold onto. He wasn’t angry. Just tired, and steady in that way only Tim could be, like nothing she said had shaken how he felt about her.
She turned, leaned back against the counter across from him. Arms crossed, shoulders drawn in like she was holding herself together. The glass made a soft sound as she set it down. “I don’t want to push you away."
Tim’s voice came quiet, no hesitation in it.
“You’re not.”
“I know work’s a mess right now,” he added, voice steady but a little quieter. “But when you take it out on me… it doesn’t help. Not you, not us.”
Lucy looked down, her jaw tightening again, this time with guilt instead of anger. The silence that followed wasn’t sharp anymore, just heavy.
Tim watched her for a moment, making sure she was still with him. Still present. Then he stepped forward, slow and careful, leaving space if she needed it. She didn’t.
“Listen.” His voice was soft as he reached for her hands, cooler than usual, and wrapped them in his own.
"I love you," he said, voice low and steady.
He let the words settle, didn’t rush to fill the silence. Just watched her, giving her space to take it in, to actually hear it. Then, quieter this time, but no less sure, he added, “I’m not just saying it to make you feel better. I mean it… I’m in love with you.”
Her lips parted like she might respond, but nothing came out. Then she looked away, like meeting his eyes might crack something open she wasn’t ready to face.
“And one day…” he said gently, waiting until her eyes came back to his. “I want to marry you.”
A breath snagged in her throat, brief, almost invisible, then passed. Her fingers stirred against his, not quite a movement, more a whisper of one. Like instinct got there first, before thought could catch up and call it back.
“And I want to have kids with you.” He didn’t look away. His eyes didn’t waver. He held her gaze, calm and unwavering, like he was anchoring her to the truth of it... like if she looked long enough, she’d see he meant every word down to the bone.
They’d mentioned it before, kind of sideways, joking about names, making someday plans that didn’t feel close enough to touch. It used to be casual, half-jokes, someday talk, easy to wave off like smoke. Nothing solid. But this ? This felt different. He was saying it like it carried weight. Like it had shape, and edges. Like it mattered in a way that couldn’t be undone with a laugh.
“But if that’s really going to happen,” he said, steady but quiet, “something’s gotta change. I’m here. I’ve been here. But I need you to meet me halfway.”
For a moment, Lucy didn’t say anything. Her expression flickered, surprise first, then something quieter. Maybe shame. Maybe just hurt. A flicker of vulnerability slipped through, like a crack in armour she hadn’t meant to reveal, and couldn’t quite hide.
He stepped toward her, voice quieter now but no less certain. “I know you’re overwhelmed. I know work’s been terrible. And I know you didn’t mean half the things you just said.”
She blinked, her mouth parting slightly as if to speak, but she didn’t.
“But I can’t do this,” he said quietly. “Not like this. I won’t let us turn into the kind of couple that fights like this in front of our kids someday.”
Lucy’s expression shifted, the edge in her face starting to ease. Her shoulders dropped a little as his words settled in.
“I grew up in a house like that,” he went on, voice low.
He paused, steady.
“I don’t want that for us. I don’t want to feel like staying silent is the only way to keep things okay.”
He looked up then, eyes steady on hers.
Tim let the words settle, watched her take it all in, the silence stretching between them, full of everything they hadn’t said before now.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “But you have to let me in. You don’t have to have it all figured out, you just have to tell me when it’s too much.”
Silence settled, but it wasn’t cold. It was thick with meaning. Tim stood there, open, raw in a way he rarely allowed himself to be.
She let out a breath, shaky and uneve, but her shoulders dropped, just a bit. Her eyes were still glassy, holding back whatever hadn’t fallen yet, but the corner of her mouth lifted. Barely a smile. Still, it was something.
“Maybe I need to book a session with your therapist,” she said, half under her breath. Her voice was rough, but a ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “You’re getting way too good at this feelings stuff.”
Tim let out a low laugh, more breath than sound. “Pretty sure the guys at my vets group would love to hear someone say that.”
Lucy let out a quiet breath that almost passed for a laugh. It wasn’t much, but it was more than she’d had all week. Her shoulders dropped slightly. Not all the way, but enough to feel the difference. She stepped into his arms, not because she needed fixing, but because she needed to feel something that didn’t move under her.
Tim wrapped her up without a word. No pressure, no rush, just there. His hands settled at her back, steady and warm. She let herself sink into it, into him, and for the first time in a while, she didn’t try to hold everything up alone.
She leaned into him slowly, letting herself settle in piece by piece. Her cheek came to rest against his chest, eyes slipping closed as her breathing began to find his, not all at once, but gradually, like her body was learning safety again through touch alone.
They stood like that for a while, quiet.
No more arguing. No more defences.
Just the two of them in the soft hum of the kitchen, the last of the afternoon sun stretching across the floor beneath their feet.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, the words barely more than breath.
“I know. You don’t have to keep saying it.”
She searched his face for doubt, for judgment, but all she found was patience. A little weariness, maybe. But still him.
“How do you do it?” she asked. “Stay so calm.”
Tim gave a half-smile. “Years of swallowing it down, mostly. Not something I recommend.”
That earned a faint huff of a laugh from her.
“Now I go to group. I talk. I unpack it before it explodes.”
Lucy raised an eyebrow. “You saying I need a support group?”
“I’m saying you don’t have to carry all of it alone.” He ran his thumb gently across the back of her hand. “Not anymore.”
Later that night, they lay in bed, backs against the pillows, a stretch of quiet between them as the ceiling fan circled overhead.
Tim's breathing was steady beside her, the rhythm of someone who wasn’t pushing, just waiting. Present.
She turned her head on the pillow, eyes adjusting to the dark, voice soft and tentative. “So… you want to marry me.”
A beat. Then his low reply, almost amused.
“Have I not made that obvious?”
She didn’t answer that. Instead, a whisper: “And kids.”
Tim shifted slightly, enough to turn his head toward her. He didn’t try to fill the silence right away. He knew better.
“Yeah,” he said finally. “I want that. With you.”
Lucy stared up at the ceiling. “Even after tonight?”
He exhaled, slow. “Especially after tonight.”
That made her glance at him. A shadow of a smirk touched her lips. “You must really like a challenge.”
Tim smiled in the dark, his hand finding hers beneath the sheets.