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She swirled the last dregs of her tequila in the glass, watching the amber liquid catch the dim bar lighting like it held some secret. She should’ve known better. Should’ve protected herself better. Should’ve walked away before she got too deep. But when it came to Tim Bradford… she never stood a chance.
The stool beside her squeaked slightly, pulled back and filled with a heavy presence. She didn’t bother looking. Didn’t care. Until she caught the sigh one so deep, so weary, it almost echoed how she felt.
She turned her head slightly, eyes flicking toward the man who now mirrored her exact posture: hunched, elbows on the bar, fingers curled around a glass like it was the last thing tethering him to this godforsaken planet.
“You’ve got that look,” Lucy said, voice scratchy from disuse or maybe emotion. “Breakup?”
The man beside her huffed a laugh, surprised. He looked over, eyes still a little glassy. “That obvious?”
Lucy gave a small, crooked smile, lifting her glass slightly. “I’ve got the same look. Misery loves company.”
He glanced at her, paused, and then, with a barely-there smirk, lifted his glass. “To breakups and bad timing.”
They clinked glasses with a soft clack , and Lucy finally gave him a better look. Brown hair, good jawline, blue eyes that looked like they’d seen the worst kind of loss. And… familiar?
“I’m Lucy,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “LAPD.”
The man offered a hand. “Buck. 118.” He hesitated. “Firefighter.”
Lucy arched a brow as she shook it. “Ah. So you also run toward danger for a living.”
Buck shrugged. “Comes with the trauma.”
She let out a soft laugh. “Yeah… that tracks.”
They both turned back to the bar, silence settling again, not uncomfortable, just quiet. Like they were two people floating in the same storm, finding brief shelter in a dive bar off Sunset Boulevard.
“So,” Buck asked after a minute, looking at her sideways, “who broke your heart?”
Lucy didn’t answer immediately. She just drained the rest of her tequila and set the glass down with a soft thud. “A man who taught me how to be brave and then got scared himself.”
Buck exhaled. “That’s… yeah. I get that.”
Lucy tilted her head toward him. “And yours?”
Buck traced his finger around the rim of his glass. “His name’s Tommy. We tried… for a while. Thought we had it figured out. But he’s still figuring out what he wants. I guess I was just a stop along the way. Said I wasn’t really meant to be his last partner.”
Lucy stared at her glass. “Harsh”
“Yeah, well…what are you gonna do?” Bucky looked at Lucy for a moment, nearly hesitating as he asked. “So yours just got…scared?”
“My boyf-, Tim, well, we were good… until we weren’t. He pushed me away to protect me. Said he needed space. And now I’m here. Drinking bad tequila and trying not to text him. Like a complete and utter idiot.”
Buck gave a dry chuckle. “You know, it’s weird. You can save lives on a regular basis, run toward danger without flinching, and still not know how to fix your own heart.”
“Preaching to the choir,” she murmured.
They sat in a moment of silence, side by side, letting the hum of the bar and the buzz of disappointment settle between them.
“To something better?” Buck said, lifting his glass again.
Lucy gave a tired smile, but there was something real behind it this time. “Yeah. To something better. Whatever that might mean these days.”
They clinked their glasses again.
And for the first time in a long time, Lucy didn’t feel completely alone.
Nyla was flipping through the case file, brow furrowed, as Lucy leaned over her shoulder, eyes scanning the notes.
“I’m telling you,” Lucy said, tapping the printed photo clipped inside, “this guy’s lying. The timelines don’t match, and his alibi falls apart the minute you check traffic cam footage.”
Nyla gave a small nod, not looking up. “So we press him harder. If he’s not our guy, he’s covering for someone.”
Lucy chewed her bottom lip. “You think it’s the girlfriend?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time love made someone stupid,” Nyla muttered.
“Or loyal,” Lucy added quietly, a little too quickly.
Nyla glanced up at her then, catching the shadow that flickered across Lucy’s face before she pushed it away with practiced ease. Nyla didn’t press. She didn’t need to.
Before either of them could continue, the doors to the station opened with a creak, and in came Buck, wearing his usual smile and holding a massive Tupperware container like it was a peace offering.
“Ladies,” he greeted, walking straight toward them. “I come bearing breakfast. Or bribes. Dealer’s choice.”
Lucy’s face lit up the second she saw him. “Please tell me that’s what I think it is.”
Buck held the container up proudly. “Blueberry lemon muffins. With cinnamon streusel. I made too many again, and Cap threatened to throw them out if I brought another batch in.”
“You know I love it when your emotional processing manifests as baked goods,” Lucy said, grinning as she took the container from him.
“It’s cheaper than therapy,” Buck quipped.
Nyla leaned back in her chair, watching the interaction. “Who is this man, and why have I not been receiving muffins?”
“This is Buck,” Lucy introduced. “Firefighter. Overthinker. Gourmet baker. My personal muffin plug.”
“Also, trauma support specialist, unofficially,” Buck added, then shot Nyla a sheepish grin. “We met after a bad breakup. There was tequila and... anyway, long story short, now I feed her and her teenager, and they make sure I don’t set my apartment on fire with grief baking.”
Nyla chuckled. “Well, you’re a damn upgrade from my post-breakup coping mechanisms.”
“I also make lasagna,” Buck offered, mock-serious. “You ever need carbs and emotional validation, I’m your guy.”
“Duly noted,” Nyla said, clearly amused.
As Buck turned to go, Lucy called after him, “Movie night still on?”
“Friday,” Buck called over his shoulder. “And yes, I’m bringing cookies.”
Lucy smiled down at the container in her arms before glancing at Nyla. “You were saying something about the perks of heartbreak?”
Nyla smirked. “Yeah. Yours apparently come baked and emotionally available.”
Nyla sipped her coffee slowly, eyeing Lucy over the rim as the younger woman carefully closed the muffin container and set it aside.
“So,” Nyla started casually, “is Buck just emotional support?”
Lucy gave her a look—half amused, half exasperated. “He’s just a friend. A really good one.”
Nyla arched a brow. “Uh huh.”
“I mean it,” Lucy said, leaning her elbows on the desk, her voice softening. “He’s kind. Thoughtful. A little chaotic. But he’s also... safe. And I need safe right now. I’m not looking for anything more than that.”
There was a pause before she added, more honestly, “I’ve got a lot to work through. I’m not ready. And I don’t want to use someone just to fill the space where something else broke.”
Nyla nodded slowly, the teasing fading from her expression. “That’s fair. Actually, that’s mature as hell. You know yourself.”
Lucy looked down at her hands, picking at a chipped nail. “I’m just tired, Nyla. I gave so much of myself, and I think... I think I forgot how to hold onto me. So I’m taking the time. To get her back.”
For a moment, Nyla didn’t say anything. Then she reached over and gently squeezed Lucy’s hand.
“You’re doing the hard part. And I’m proud of you for not rushing. Just don’t forget, I'm here, okay? Whenever you need to talk. Or yell. Or break a plate in the alley.”
Lucy blinked, her throat suddenly tight with unexpected emotion. “Thanks. That means more than you know.”
Nyla smiled. “I know more than you think. And hey, you’ve got a firefighter delivering muffins to your desk. If that’s not proof the universe hasn’t forgotten about you, I don’t know what is.”
Lucy laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Yeah, the muffins do help.”
“Damn right they do.”
The scene was chaos, sirens echoing off buildings, smoke curling high into the sky, and the frantic energy of both LAPD and LAFD swarming a residential block in crisis.
Lucy stood on the edge of the perimeter, eyes locked on Tim as he gave out orders in his commanding tone, sharp and composed even in the heat of emergency.
“I want every officer canvassing the block,” he said firmly, pointing to various sectors on the map one of the officers held. “We think the arsonist may still be nearby. No one goes in alone—”
But Lucy’s attention was already drifting. Something flickered at the corner of her vision. A flash of color. A shape. A scream.
Her head whipped up.
A second-floor window. Smoke pouring out. And behind the glass, a little girl, pounding with her fists and screaming for help, her face streaked with soot and panic.
“Tim!” Lucy called out, loud and urgent, but he was mid-command with his team and didn’t hear her.
“Captain Nash!” she called next, catching sight of him coordinating the fire crews.
Bobby turned her way just in time to see Lucy take off.
“Chen—stop!” he barked.
But she didn’t.
Because Lucy had already scanned the scene, every firefighter was accounted for and occupied. There wasn’t anyone else. No one available to reach that girl.
So she ran. Full sprint. Heart pounding. Smoke stung her eyes. She didn’t care.
Bobby’s voice trailed behind her. “LAFD can handle it! Officer—stand down!”
But Lucy didn’t. Couldn’t.
That girl needed someone. And Lucy wouldn’t stand still when she could be that someone.
The building groaned beneath the weight of the fire—walls crackling, smoke curling in thick waves, the heat licking at Lucy’s back as she pushed forward.
“Just a little further,” she muttered, voice muffled by the sleeve of her jacket as she bent low, guiding the small, coughing girl through the hallway.
The smoke was suffocating. Visibility was nearly gone. Lucy’s eyes burned, but she kept moving—one hand on the girl's back, the other outstretched against the wall to keep her bearings.
They turned the corner into the bedroom she had first spotted the girl in, where the window still offered a glimpse of light, only to be met by a horrifying wall of fire that had swallowed the doorway behind them.
“No…” Lucy breathed, pulling the girl tight to her chest.
The child was trembling. Muffled sobs shook her little body. Lucy knelt quickly, yanking off her jacket and wrapping it around the girl, pressing the child's face to her shoulder to help her breathe.
“You’re okay,” Lucy said, trying to believe it herself. “You’re okay, I’ve got you.”
But they were trapped. The flames crackled louder. The heat pressed in from all sides. The ceiling popped above them. Lucy braced herself in front of the girl, shielding her with her body, whispering calming words even though her voice broke.
And then—
CRASH.
The window exploded inward in a burst of glass and smoke and splintered frame.
A figure emerged through the chaos, face shielded by a mask and heavy gear—Buck.
“Lucy!” he shouted, eyes wide as they met hers. “Jesus, you idiot.”
She nearly cried.
Buck moved fast, his strength focused and sure. He grabbed Lucy first, checking her over quickly, then took the girl from her arms with gentle hands.
“I’ve got her,” he said, voice solid, grounding. “I’ve got both of you.”
Lucy was weak with relief, lungs aching. Buck pulled them both toward the window as the fire roared behind them.
One by one, he helped them out, lowered the girl first into the arms of waiting firefighters below, then reached back for Lucy.
“Come on, Chen,” he said with a grin under his mask, “don’t make me carry you like a princess.”
She let out a choked laugh and climbed into his arms anyway.
As they descended, Lucy clutched at him tightly. She was shaking, she hadn’t realized how much until now. When they hit the ground and the air felt cool again, Lucy’s knees buckled.
Buck didn’t let her fall.
“I told you I’d save you from yourself,” he murmured, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.
Lucy stared at him, eyes wet, chest heaving.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “You really did.”
The adrenaline had worn off, and the smoke in Lucy’s lungs had settled like concrete. She sat on the back of the ambulance, leaning heavily into Buck’s side as a deep, painful cough wracked her body.
“Easy,” Hen said gently, already pressing a nebulizer mask into her hand. “You’re okay, just breathe through this, alright?”
Lucy nodded, her body trembling slightly as she held the mask to her face, trying to steady her breathing through the cool mist. Buck hadn’t let go of her hand once. His thumb brushed over her knuckles slowly, grounding her. The warmth of his palm against her clammy one was more comfort than she could put into words.
“You scared the hell out of me,” Buck murmured, more to himself than to her.
Before she could say anything, the pounding of boots approached, and then—
“What the hell were you thinking?”
Lucy looked up, the mask still on her face. Tim. His voice was sharp and angry, but the fear in his eyes was unmistakable. He was disheveled, covered in soot, lips tight, and hands clenched at his sides, like he was physically restraining himself from doing more.
“You could’ve died, Lucy! There are protocols for a reason! You don’t just run into a burning building alone!”
She blinked at him, too exhausted to mount a defense, to fight back like she usually would. Her body was still shaking, lungs still working to function normally. The only thing keeping her upright was the oxygen and Buck’s steady hand in hers.
“She’s a goddamn hero,” Buck snapped, his tone sharp as steel. “She saved that kid when no one else could. Maybe instead of yelling at her while she’s barely breathing, you could, I don’t know, back the fuck off?”
Tim’s eyes snapped to Buck, noticing for the first time the intimacy of his hand still wrapped around Lucy’s. The quiet way Lucy leaned into Buck, not pulling away. The realization hit Tim like a punch to the gut.
Before he could say anything, Bobby stepped up behind Buck, his voice calm but firm. “Buck. That’s enough.”
Buck tensed but said nothing else, eyes flicking down to Lucy to check on her again.
Tim’s jaw was tight. He looked at Lucy, softer this time, more careful. “I’ll radio ahead. Make sure they’re ready for her at Med.”
Then, with barely another glance, he turned on his heel and walked away, shoulders rigid.
Hen let out a soft sigh and muttered, “What an ass.”
Lucy watched him go, her heart twisting. Not at what Tim had said, but at what he hadn’t. He hadn’t said he was glad she was okay. Hadn’t asked if she was hurt. Hadn’t stayed.
Just walked away.
Lucy let the mask fall from her mouth, her voice a whisper.
“He always leaves.”
The hospital room was quiet except for the low beeping of machines and the distant chatter of nurses beyond the closed door. Lucy lay back against the pillows, her throat still raw and her chest heavy from the smoke, but the breathing treatment had helped. Her voice was little more than a rasp.
Buck stood at her bedside, looking hesitant. “Alright, I’m gonna go see what kind of food this place has that won’t immediately murder your stomach. Want anything?”
Lucy smiled weakly. “Something soft... and not neon.”
Buck gave her a two-fingered salute. “Got it. No hospital Jell-O.” He grabbed his hoodie and headed out with a wink. “Don’t let anyone steal my chair.”
Lucy let her head fall back against the pillow, breathing in as deeply as her lungs would allow. She closed her eyes—
The door opened again.
She thought it was Buck. But when she opened her eyes, it wasn’t.
“Tim.”
He stood awkwardly just inside the doorway, holding his hat in his hands like he didn’t quite know what to do with them. “Hey,” he said, his voice softer than she expected.
She blinked at him. “You came.”
“I just wanted to make sure you were alright.” His eyes flicked over her, the IV, the oxygen monitor, the tiredness in her face. “You scared the hell out of me, Lucy.”
Her voice was low, still hoarse. “I’m okay.”
He nodded, then stepped closer. “They said your lungs are doing better. Hen said you were lucky.”
Lucy let out a rough breath. “Guess I should’ve waited for permission before saving a kid.”
Tim flinched, guilt evident in his eyes. “I wasn’t—I didn’t mean to—”
She held up a hand, stopping him. “Don’t. It’s fine.”
There was a beat of silence, thick and heavy.
Then Lucy spoke, quieter this time. “Are you here as my Sergeant… or as something else?”
Tim’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. He looked down, swallowed hard.
Lucy nodded, understanding without him needing to say it. “Then you should go.”
He hesitated, biting his lip like he wanted to fight her on it. But then the door opened again and Buck returned, holding a tray with a triumphant grin.
“Look what I found, applesauce and a blueberry muffin. And okay, the muffin’s mine, but I’ll share.”
Tim stepped back immediately, the sight of Buck walking in like he belonged causing something in his face to shut down completely.
“Well,” Tim said, clearing his throat. “I hope you get better soon, Lucy.”
Buck stepped aside stiffly, barely moving to let Tim pass, his jaw tight as he watched him leave.
When the door shut, Lucy exhaled slowly and looked up at Buck. “Be nice.”
Buck raised an eyebrow. “I’m not good at playing nice with assholes.”
She rolled her eyes. “You don’t even know him.”
Buck handed her the tray, sitting back in his chair. “I know enough. That guy looks at you like you’re the sun, and still managed to walk away.”
Lucy picked at the applesauce with a plastic spoon, the corners of her mouth twitching. “He probably thinks we’re dating.”
Buck smirked. “Yeah, well… if you weren’t in love with him and I wasn’t giving up dating, maybe we’d be the most emotionally dysfunctional couple ever.”
“You mean, if I wasn’t still in love with that idiot and you weren’t in love with your best friend?” She laughed.
“What…I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Buck said unconvincingly.
Lucy blinked, then laughed, it was raspy but genuine. “Wait… was that supposed to be a secret? You’re clearly in love with Eddie.” Maybe it was a secret, but a secret to Buck.
Buck gasped in mock offense. “How dare you? I am not in love with him.”
Lucy grinned, finally settling back. “I mean, we could draw a diagram. Color-coded. Maybe a pie chart.”
Buck snorted. “Shut up and eat your applesauce.”
She took a spoonful, heart a little heavier than before, but grateful. For Buck. For honesty. For the laughter.
Even if a small, quiet part of her still missed Tim.