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Tim hates summer.
Hates the way his uniform suctions to his skin with sweat.
Hates that the air seems to get drier with every passing second.
Hates the way L.A. summers are perpetually sunny, hardly a cloud in sight.
Today is one of those days where the sun is working overtime, shining right in his eyes every time he moves his head. Working in Metro now means he doesn’t have to wear his standard uniform, but his black t-shirt only offers so much relief, especially when it’s paired with a vest. He’s sunburned from a standoff at a bank yesterday, his arms and the back of his neck baked enough that Lucy saw and worried and rubbed aloe vera on it before he fell asleep last night.
He's in an unmarked shop this morning, sunglasses on, visor down, and air conditioning blasting. The cold feels great against his skin. For once, he’ll be alright if this stakeout doesn’t morph into anything real, the usual zest for action dampened by the headache brewing behind his eyes and spreading to his temples. Tim grabs his water bottle and takes a long drink, relief washing over him as the water cools his throat. He’s forever grateful to Lucy for buying him it after one too many times of him complaining about water never staying cold long enough while he’s on shift.
“7-Adam-21, show us responding to that 146. 222 Crescent Drive.”
Speak of the devil.
Tim smiles.
He loves the sound of Lucy’s voice, so calm and sweet.
“7-Adam-21, suspect appears to be moving through the house.”
Tim settles further into his seat, eyes trained on the warehouse he’s parked outside of, but ears listening closely to Lucy.
“7-Adam-21, suspect spotted us and is on the run. Show us in pursuit.”
Her voice is steady, but a little out of breath, likely with adrenaline.
They’re on foot, confirmed by Lucy, and she recites the streets every minute or so. It’s close to 95 degrees outside in the middle of July, a heatwave surging up the west coast; he doesn’t like the idea of her chasing a perp through the residential streets in this heat. He’d much rather her be inside the shop. 95 is really hot, especially when the sun is beaming brightly, and the heat index is closer to 105 with a real feel of 110. There’s no relief in this type of weather. Tim finds himself scooting instinctively closer to the steering wheel, left foot bouncing against the floorboard.
“7-Adam-21, officer down.”
It’s Thorsen with the update this time.
Tim’s stomach drops.
“7-Adam-21, I repeat, officer down. I need immediate assistance at the corner of Watson and Granger.”
He puts the shop in drive.
Notifies his supervisor.
Flips on his lights.
And speeds to the scene, heart hammering in his chest.
But he has to stay cool. Calm. Collected.
He can’t let himself slip out of control, even though his palms are sweating, and anxiety coils in his gut like a snake. He feels nausea pulsing deep inside, his teeth chattering with stress. Lucy. Lucy. Lucy. His brain says her name on repeat, like a mantra. Like a prayer. A prayer that she’s okay. That it’s something small. Something they can handle. Something he can get her through.
And he realizes, then, that he can’t handle the thought of her not being okay.
He thinks about being shot on her second day. How fucked up and horrifying that must’ve been for such a new rookie.
And that same thing could be happening to her, right now.
She could be lying there on the pavement, blood spilling through her fingers as she grips at her wound.
And he’s not there.
Tim drives faster.
And feels a large part of himself separate. He’s a brain and a body. But that's it. The rest of him isn't real.
By the time he makes it to the corner of Watson and Granger, the scene’s been taped off.
There’s blood on the ground.
He jumps out of the shop, nearly forgetting to remove the keys from the ignition and lock it.
Tim wavers as he approaches, his vision blackening around the edges.
He takes a deep breath.
Lifts up the crime scene tape.
And steps inside.
“Sir, Lucy’s okay,” Thorsen says immediately, not missing a beat.
“Where is she?” Tim grates out. His voice doesn’t betray him. He sounds like himself. Commanding. Authoritative.
When all he feels like is a little boy scared for the future.
“She’s in the ambo.”
He pushes past Thorsen.
The ambulance is up ahead.
And he runs.
Runs like his life depends on it because, really, it does.
It takes everything in him to not fall to his knees and wrap her up in his arms the moment he sees her.
Because she’s here.
She’s breathing.
And now she’s looking at him with tears in her eyes.
And he can’t stand to see her upset.
“Tim,” she says. Her voice falters with pain.
She places her hand on her chest and winces.
It’s then that he sees the scrape on her chin. Blood staining both palms. Ankle elevated and stabilized.
“What happened?” he asks. His voice is quiet, strained.
Tim places a careful hand on her shin. The knees of her pants are torn and dirty. He doesn’t want to hurt her anymore than she already is.
The EMT tending to Lucy turns around. “Took a bullet. Vest caught it. She’s very lucky.”
Tim’s eyes narrow. He feels sick. “Chest?”
The EMT confirms.
Lucy looks away.
Tim’s knees shake as he sits on the bench inside the ambulance, unable to keep standing.
He almost puts his head in his hands.
Almost starts crying on the spot.
Almost almost almost.
But he can’t because Lucy is here, and she’s watching him, and she doesn’t need to know how worried he still is.
Instead, he tries to slow down his rapid breathing.
“We’re gonna take her in. Do some imaging to be safe. We don’t think the bullet broke the sternum, but that’s our main concern. She’ll definitely need stitches in her palm. Right ankle might be broken, but we’re hoping it’s just a bad sprain. Wanna ride along?”
Tim nods. His mouth is dry. He still feels overwhelmingly nauseous.
The EMT sits on the other side of the stretcher after he closes the doors. He starts charting as the ambulance drives away from the scene.
“What happened?” Tim asks.
Lucy sighs and tries to move her hair from her face, but it’s hard with both hands bandaged; Tim does it for her, carefully tucking the fallen strands behind her ears. “Suspect started running after we caught him breaking into a house a few blocks away. Me and Aaron were chasing him. I was in the lead. All of a sudden, the guy turns around with a gun in his hand and… a-and he shot me. He actually fucking shot me.” She looks as terrified as Tim feels, eyes wide and unbelieving. “I guess I landed wrong. Fell in some glass too… I can’t believe he shot me. I-I… I can’t believe I’m alive right now.”
Tim reaches forward and wipes away fallen tears. “I’m so happy you’re alive right now,” he breathes out.
He can’t imagine his life without her.
And she was shot. In the chest.
She would’ve died if the vest didn’t catch it.
But she’s here.
She’s here.
He’s sure he’ll be reminding himself of that every few minutes for a long time.
When they make it to the hospital, Lucy is exhausted. Adrenaline crash. Tim waits close by as she’s taken for x-rays.
“You’re very lucky, Officer Chen,” the doctor says. “No breaks. Your chest is going to be sore for a while, but no penetration from the bullet and no breaks is the best outcome we can ask for.”
Tim breathes out a sigh of relief. He’s still shaking all over. “What about her ankle? And her hands?”
“Her ankle is sprained. It’s a fairly severe one, but, again, no breaks is what we like to see,” he says. “She needed six stitches in her right palm, but we were able to close the glass wounds on her left with a liquid seal. She’s getting a course of IV antibiotics as we speak.”
Lucy, listless against the hospital bed, asks, “When can I go home?”
“As soon as the antibiotics are done,” he informs.
Once the doctor leaves, Tim takes a seat on the mattress, tentative in not disturbing her injuries. He grins a little when Lucy curls toward him, her head securely in his lap. He cards his fingers through her hair, gently brushing over bruises and scrapes. She shudders, melting into the touch as she grips his cargo pants. She winces, and Tim uncurls her fists, careful of the IV.
“None of this feels real,” she says quietly, so quietly Tim barely hears her.
“No, it really doesn’t.”
“This… This could’ve been so much worse. So so much worse.”
He nods.
Pushes away the tears threatening to spill over.
He doesn’t cry. Can’t even remember the last time he cried.
And he’s been shot, stabbed, punched, kicked, left to die in ditches and dirt.
But this?
This is enough to shatter him.
But he’s not going to let it.
Lucy needs him.
“You’re safe,” he whispers.
“It doesn’t feel like it.”
“You are though,” he says.
Lucy inhales sharply. “Can we… Can we just go to your place once I get out of here? I don’t feel like being alone right now.”
Tim rolls his eyes. “As if I’d let you be alone.”
As if he’ll let her out of his sight.
“Can we order pizza?” she asks. “The mac and cheese one you think is an abomination but is actually really good?”
Tim leans down. He presses a kiss to her forehead. “We can get whatever you want.”
By the time Lucy is released, she’s mostly asleep and foggy from pain medication. Tim watches her rub her chest and swallow thickly as he situates her in the wheelchair, making sure her wrapped ankle is supported by a pillow. He rolls her out to her car, which Celina thankfully brought instead of his truck, and helps her into the passenger seat. He kisses her temple before closing the door, pretending that a small part of him is broken by the look in her eyes.
She dozes off on the way to his place. He keeps one hand on the wheel and the other planted firmly on her thigh.
The mid-July sun blazes down on the car, but Tim keeps the air conditioner steady. Even. He knows how cold Lucy gets, and the last thing he wants to do is make her more uncomfortable than she already is, so he settles on keeping it on their feet instead. He’s sweating buckets when he pulls into his driveway, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters as long as Lucy is here and breathing and alive. He can deal with anything – anything – with her by his side.
Idly, he hopes he’s that comfort for her too.
“I’m gonna carry you inside, okay?” he whispers once he’s on his feet. “Just put your arms around my neck.”
Lucy shakes her head, petulantly with her bottom lip sticking out. “Your sunburn,” she slurs.
Tim blinks. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about that.”
Lucy pouts but folds herself around him anyway.
Her breath on his neck is hot. He loves it. He loves her.
Tim gets her inside without any issues and takes her straight to the couch. Kojo woofs but doesn’t jump. He must sense that something’s wrong, and, for that, Tim’s grateful. Tim makes sure she’s comfy with all the pillows and blankets she needs, elevates her foot, and gets to work unpacking medical supplies from the hospital. He smiles when Kojo hops on the sofa and perches at the end, vigilant over his mother and keeping her safe.
It isn’t long before he hears Lucy snore. It’s cute. Soft. Barely noticeable. But it’s always there, especially when she’s exhausted.
He puts the pain med and anti-inflammatory on the counter, noting the dosage times for both. He puts the gauze for her hands and the brace for her ankle in the bathroom. He puts the extra bottle of liquid bandage by her deodorant, hoping she won’t need it but realizing she might. She can’t use crutches while her palms are healing, but, once she does graduate to that, there’s a chance the pressure could split open the still healing wounds.
Tim marks her follow up doctor’s appointment on his phone calendar and sits in the armchair catty-cornered to the couch, hunched over and close by in case she wakes up and needs him. No TV. No noise. No distractions. Just the sound of Lucy’s quiet snores. He breathes. Focuses. Wishes things were different, that she didn’t get hurt today. That she wasn’t shot at, much less in the chest. But thankful that she’s here. And fortunate that he’s the one who will get her through this. That she is a part of his life. That they’re stronger together.
Lucy’s asleep for two hours. When she wakes up, it’s a quarter past three, and Tim jumps into action.
“Hi,” he whispers, kneeling down on the floor in front of her. He brushes her messy hair from her face. “How’re you feeling?”
Lucy presses her bandaged palm to her bruised chest. “Like I got hit by a bus.”
“I’m not surprised. You had a big day.”
She grins a little at that. “The biggest,” she says, but then she looks at Tim with slightly unfocused eyes. “Where’s that mac and cheese pizza you promised me?”
He chuckles. “I didn’t order it yet. Figured you’d want it fresh.”
“Ooh. Yeah. That sounds so good.”
“How about we get you changed into something more comfortable and then you feast?”
She tries to take his hand, but she grimaces. He’s sure it’s hard with the bandages on.
“Is… Is there any way you could help me take a bath first? I feel so gross."
He notes the hesitation in her voice and frowns. “Of course, baby. Why wouldn’t I?”
“I just… I feel… Well, am I asking too much of you? We haven’t been… We haven’t been dating that long, and I’m already over here bombarding your space.”
Tim’s eyebrows furrow. His stomach shrinks in on itself. “You could never ask too much of me. I’d give you everything in the universe if I could. And you’re not bombarding my space. In fact, I’d like it if you bombarded my space all the time.”
“You don’t like it when I put my feet on you in the middle of the night.”
“That’s because your toes are tiny icicles from hell,” he tells her. “But I stand by what I said. You’re always welcome here. You’re always loved here.”
“Okaaay,” she says, voice light. “Then don’t be surprised when I demand a back rub later on. I think I pulled a muscle when I fell.”
He kisses her nose. “Your wish is my command.”
So, Tim runs a bath, bubbles and lavender oil included. He helps her out of her white undershirt and leggings usually hidden beneath her uniform. He unwraps her foot slowly, applies waterproof bandages to the cuts on her palms, chin, arms, and knees, and carefully settles her in the tub. He smiles as she melts into the water, borderline scalding but just the way she likes it, and visibly relaxes. He puts a folded up towel behind her head and sits on the floor, knees to his chest and arms wrapped around his shins, taking all of her in.
Her chest is a mirage of deep purple and blue bruises, some almost black, especially on her left breast, where it seems the bullet struck. There are smaller cuts, ones he doesn’t see until now, flecked across her lower neck. The skin on her chin is puffy, starting to swell. Beneath the water, her ankle is twice the size it should be, and her fingers are covered in road rash from where she hit the ground. But she’s strong. So strong. He knows she’s not going to let any of this stop her for very long. Which is why he’s going to take care of her as much as she’ll let him, even if it means carrying her everywhere until her hands heal enough for crutches.
Tim helps her wash her body and hair, laughing when she gives him a Santa Claus bubble beard and smiling when she insists on using his shampoo.
When the water starts to lose its heat, he quickly picks her up, wraps her in two towels, and carries her to his bedroom. She decides on sleep shorts covered in stars and one of his t-shirts, the red one he usually wears when he does housework. He re-wraps her ankle and brushes her hair, taking time to make sure all knots and tangles are out before he stops.
“Couch?” he asks.
She nods. “Yes please.”
Tim lifts her into his arms, chuckling when she blows raspberries against his neck.
“You should shower too. You smell like sweat,” she teases as he gets her set up against the cushions, resting her foot against a plushy pillow on the coffee table. He pads her left side with pillows, doing his best to make sure as much pressure is off her chest as possible. Kojo returns to his post at the end of the sofa, keeping a watchful eye on his mom.
“It’s July. Sweating is all I do,” he points out. “But I’ll shower here in a minute. Do you want me to order the pizza now?”
“And garlic knots?”
“And garlic knots,” he agrees.
“Sounds good.”
Tim places the order on the app.
In the meantime, Lucy turns on the TV and flips to Food Network.
“Pizza should be here in half an hour. Will you be okay while I de-stink myself for you?”
“I’ll be fine if you grab me another blanket. It’s cold in here.”
Tim obliges, draping a blue throw over her, pausing to kiss her cheek before heading to the bathroom. He turns the A.C. up a few degrees, knowing he’ll regret it later when he’s trying to sleep, but he’ll be okay. He’ll do whatever he can to make Lucy comfortable. He showers with lightning speed, quickly throws on a t-shirt and shorts, and runs the towel through his hair.
He’s terrified to be away from her for too long. What if she tries to get up and falls? What if she has trouble breathing? What if one of her wounds re-opens?
“You still okay?” he asks as he pads into the living room, feet bare and hair messy.
“I’m fine,” she says with a small smile. “Come sit down with me.”
He does so without another word, settling against her pillowed side. Lucy immediately lays her head against his shoulder. He inhales the scent of dandelions and relaxes for the first time today.
“Thank you for taking care of me,” she says, voice soft.
“Always,” he whispers, kissing her wet hair.
“No, I mean it, Tim. Me… This… It’s a lot. I’m a lot. Probably too much.”
“You’re not a lot, babe. You’re just you, and I love you.”
She snuggles into him harder. “I love you too.”
Soon, the doorbell rings, and the food arrives. Tim brings it into the living room and fixes Lucy a plate.
And he notes that she can’t pick up the pizza properly, not with her hands bandaged and her fingers covered in road rash.
He picks up the slice of specially ordered mac and cheese pizza and holds it to her lips.
“You do not have to hand feed me,” Lucy says. “I’ll find a way.”
He shakes his head. “You’ll get grease on your fingers. It’ll sting. Or you’ll move too much and irritate the cuts. Let me do this for you.”
She thinks about it, eyebrows furrowed in that cute concentration that always gets him going, and gives in. “Fine, but tomorrow we’re eating fork and spoon friendly foods… Like cake and ice cream.”
“Is it your birthday?” he asks. Lucy takes a small bite, and he grins.
“Nooo, but yours is in September. That's close enough for cake and ice cream.”
He laughs. “Yes, dear. I’ll place a grocery order in the morning.”
“You’re the best,” she says through another bite. “Seriously, Tim, thank you.”
“Anything for you. I don’t care what I have to do.”
“Even if it involves spiders?”
“Even spiders.”
“Wow, you must really love me.”
“I do, and I always will.”
Later on, once the pizza is gone and the sizzling summer day is a forgotten memory, Lucy curls against him, sleeping soundly.
Tim presses a kiss to her temple, thankful she’s here with him, and closes his eyes.