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They say time slows down before the end… But that’s a lie.
In fact, it closes in on you… like lungs collapsing under heavy smoke, you shouldn't breathe in, but you do anyway.
It’s the static in your ear as you scream your partner’s name while the floor gives way beneath her feet. It’s adrenaline roaring louder than reason, because you are running out of… time. It’s the truth finally clawing its way out of your throat, too late, always too late. Because, time doesn’t slow down, if anything, time moves too fast in the end.
The air in the abandoned warehouse is thick with dust, rust and the metallic scent of dried blood soaked into concrete. Nyla presses her back to the cool wall, gun drawn, eyes scanning every inch of the place. Lucy mirrors her on the opposite side. They’ve now done this often, during undercover ops. After a string of drug busts, Grey had seen their success as a pair and decided to maximize on it by pairing them every time a lead looked solid and worth chasing.
Seven successful crackdowns in the past couple of months, four of them on major drug cartels so it was a no brainer to Grey.
In the field, they are each other’s only lifeline and now words were barely necessary. They moved in sync.
Lucy had sensed a shift between them with time, and heavily so since their last op. Something neither of them had dared to bring up. After their last assignment, when everything went sideways in that motel room, Nyla hadn’t hesitated to shoot Marcel in the head the second he lunged at Lucy. Lucy’s shaking hands, the knife still lodged in her stomach had reached for Nyla’s.
They were supposed to keep him alive. He had vital intel on his supplier. But none of that mattered once she saw Lucy hitting the floor. Nyla had stayed by her hospital bed long after visiting hours ended, looked right in Lucy’s eyes and said it was protocol, like Lucy didn’t know any better. Nothing was mentioned on the events leading to that moment.
They haven’t talked about it. God, they don’t talk about it. Nyla doesn’t do that, she doesn’t do talks. She’s a lone wolf.
But Lucy sees it. In the way Nyla’s eyes always flick to her first when there’s even a slight hint of danger. In the way her voice softens when she says Lucy’s name now. In the way Nyla never lets her go in first. She’s always ahead, scanning for threats, while Lucy follows close behind.
“I think I heard movement outside,” Lucy whispers, “Let’s split, cover more ground.”
Nyla’s expression hardens. She shakes her head. No.
Lucy glares. She knows Nyla is hovering, again, she has been doing this since Lucy got hurt. And while she likes to entertain it as sweet on her own time, it’s frustrating as hell at the moment.
“Nyla,” Lucy hisses and she seems to get her point across.
“Fine,” Nyla mutters, nodding. She gestures, Lucy to the left, Nyla to the right. They split, moving with practiced stealth, their footsteps nearly inaudible on the concrete.
They’re barely six feet apart when it happens.
A soft click beneath Lucy’s boot. She freezes. Nyla turns, eyes widening.
“Don’t… Don’t move,” Nyla says, voice slightly trembling as she rushes back toward her.
Lucy swallows hard, eyes flicking down. Her boot rests on a barely visible pressure plate, ancient looking, old tech. She’d never encountered one like it irl but she’s pretty seen it once in an academy manual during their explosives module. The loose canons.
“I think it’s a bomb,” she says quietly. “Shit.”
“No, no, no.” Nyla’s quietly mumbles under her breath, already at her side, crouched low, eyes scanning. She assesses quickly, a manual trigger, no timer that she can see, just a dead switch that Lucy seems to be pressing on. One wrong move, and Lucy will be gone before Nyla can blink.
“No visible wiring, you can’t disarm it,” Lucy says, more gently this time, as if trying to comfort them both.
Nyla’s hands tremble, as she reaches for her radio. She doesn’t want to step away, not even for a second. But she has to call it in. Part of her wants to scream at Lucy, this is why they should’ve never gone separate ways, but she’s knows it’s irrational, that’s either way, it may still have happened and it’s definitely not the time or place for that so she holds back.
She stands, moving just a few paces back, fingers tightening around the radio. She switches to an open channel, her voice lower than usual, but steady. Steadier and calmer than she feels.
This is Detective Harper, badge number 56464. We’ve got a live device. Pressure triggered. Some sort of old fashioned bomb. One of ours is standing on it.
A pause. Then the dispatcher’s voice comes through, distant, too clinical for the kind of fear and nerves in the room, but maybe exactly what is required because Nyla doubts she can hold it in if she had a friendly voice right now.
Copy, Harper. Bomb squad en route. Estimated arrival, seventeen minutes.
Nyla’s gaze flicks up to Lucy’s face. Beads of sweat starting to form on her brow. Seventeen minutes might as well be forever. She swallows, voice dipping lower as she continues.
We’re in the east quadrant of the abandoned Red Ridge Textile Warehouse off 9th. Possible hostile presence outside, no visual confirmation. It’s just us inside at the moment.
She hesitates, just for a moment. Then…
Officer Chen is the one on the device.
Silence crackles through the line. Then, a low, almost regretful reply comes through.
Understood. Stay put, Harper.
Nyla doesn’t answer. She lowers the radio, turns back. Lucy’s face is pale, her expression set like stone but her eyes give her away. She’s trying so damn hard to be brave. Nyla has never been more grateful, because if Chen falls apart right now, she’s not sure what she will do…
Angela knew that tone all too well. Nyla’s clipped profession voice she usedto hide the fear underneath. She looked at Tim in the passenger seat and immediately swerved heading straight toward the call, her knuckles whitening where they gripped the wheel.
Neither of them had said a word for a minute or so.
“East quadrant, Red Ridge Textile,” Angela mumbled to herself, voice tight as she scanned the intersection for the fastest route through.
“It’s not real, right?” Tim asked, his voice barely audible over the sounds of the sirens.
Angela glanced at him. “What?”
“The bomb,” he said. “That call… it didn’t sound like a drill.”
Angela exhaled sharply, switching lanes around a slow moving truck without hesitation. She knows Tim is in denial, but she doesn’t have much patience for anything right now
“She said Lucy’s standing on it. On a fucking pressure plate, Tim.” She didn’t have to say what they both knew, pressure plates don’t wait for bomb squads.
Tim turned toward the window, jaw clenched so tightly it looked painful. He wasn’t thinking like a TO right now. Not like a cop, either. All he could see was Lucy, her laugh, the way her eyes lit up when she got excited, her fiery spirit as she stood up to him. She never let the job harden her. And now, she might die for it.
Angela’s voice pulled him back, softer this time, almost an apology for snapping earlier. “She’s not alone.”
Tim nodded, his throat dry. “No. She’s with Harper.”
“If anyone can keep her calm and steady… it’s Nyla.” Angela mumbled, more to herself once again.
Tim didn’t say what he was thinking, that yes indeed Harper was the one who could keep Lucy steady. He’d seen it in the way Lucy looked at her after every op. The hero worship initially was now clear admiration and an unwavering trust. That if Lucy had to die, she’d want it to be with Nyla by her side.
But he didn’t want her to die. Selfishly… hell, he didn’t want either of them to.
“They’re coming,” Nyla says softly, crouching beside her again.
Lucy exhales, a dry humorless breath. “You think they’ll be on time?”
“Yes.” Nyla doesn’t hesitate. Then she glances at her watch. “Seven more minutes. They’ll be here.”
Lucy lets out a quiet, sarcastic laugh. Seven minutes. The irony doesn’t escape her. She thinks about that theory about your life flashing before your eyes in the last seven minutes after your heart stops, or is it seconds, surely it’s minutes. She wonders what she'll see when, no if it happens.
Her mind suddenly drifts to a moment during their last op. A seductive dance, her lips on Nyla’s in the name of distraction as they waited for backup, Nyla had pulled her in closer and kissed her much harder than pretend required. Marcel hadn’t been fooled for long. He’d caught on and she’d been stabbed not ten minutes later after he patted her down and found the burner phone. She shakes herself from the memory.
A decision has to be made, she thinks. They both can’t just wait for disaster to happen.
“Go,” Lucy says, firm now. “Get out of here.”
"No" Nyla says firmly.
"Nyla." Lucy tries her surefire stern stare, but Nyla doesn't barge, and when that fails, she straight out begs, "Nyla please..." She doesn't want her anywhere in the vicinity of danger if by any chance this thing goes off.
“Not a chance in hell,” Nyla replies, standing. She is not leaving Lucy alone, not in this situation, not ever again if she can help it. She was already blaming herself for letting them go separate ways, they should've been sticking together, if this stupid thing goes off, they will go down together, everything she had to loose was after all standing right in front of her.
Their eyes lock, and for a moment, everything else fades away.They’re not cops. They’re not partners. They’re not pretending anymore. They’re just two women standing on the edge of a cliff, uncertainty, and so many thing unsaid.
Nyla’s breathe falters. She hesitates. Saying anything right now just adds to the deadliness of the situation and that’s the last thing she wants.
Lucy catches it immediately, brow furrowing. Her gaze flicks downward, at her foot on the plate, then back up, daring Nyla to hold back now.
Nyla looks away in attempt to keep it all in and the words spill out anyway. “We haven’t even got a chance,” she says quietly. “I haven’t even said it yet.”
It feels morbid, saying this like it’s a goodbye. But it is life or death after all, there’s no guarantee that the bomb squad arriving equals to disarming, it has gone the other was every now and then. But Nyla refuses to let Lucy die, not here, not now, and definitely not alone, the mere thought of it is fucking her mind up so she holds back from saying more.
“Said what?” Lucy whispers.
Nyla looks back at her, eyes shining with tears she refuses to let fall. Her voice cracks and she finds herself answering involuntarily, once again. “That I’m stupid in love with you. That I think you’re the most gorgeous, most amazing woman I’ve ever met. That I think about you more than I should. That i contemplated murder when i heard you and Nolan used to date, no one would miss him anyways." Lucy chuckles, Nyla smiles slightly and continues."That I should’ve told you after you almost died the first time, hell even, I should have told you sooner than that because i was sure.”
There’s a long silence, an eternity wrapped in seconds. Then Lucy breathes out, a bitter, broken laugh. She wants to joke about how the third time’s the charm. That maybe Nyla should’ve waited for that. But instead, softer words fall from her lips.
“I thought it was just me,” she whispers. “I thought I was losing my mind.”
Nyla takes a cautious step closer. Her eyes scan the floor, then Lucy’s face. Lucy nods, giving silent permission. They’re playing with fire, and they both know it. but the air feels so charged that they almost can’t help but need the contact right now.
Nyla reaches out, hands gently touching Lucy’s face. Her thumb brushes a tear from Lucy’s cheek.
“It’s not just you. I love you. I can’t lose you. I love you Lucy Chen” She leans in, eyes closed and her lips brush Lucy’s, tender and trembling.
Behind Lucy’s boot heel, a soft light flickers to life.
A red blink. Nyla sees it as soon as her open. The timer, one that hadn’t existed seconds ago, has come to life without warning. There’s no sound. Just a blink and a faint display.
06... 05... 04... 03... 02... 01.
And then… Boom.
A deafening roar shattered the air, dust and flames erupting from the core of the building. Angela shouted, “GO!” but Tim was already jumping out before she could even park the car.
They rushed inside, not waiting for backup or bomb squad clearance. Two of their friends, hell even, family were inside and only one might walk out, maybe both might not even walk out.
Thick smoke and dust clogged the air, S.W.A.T. sirens in the distance. Debris and sputters flesh lay scattered, it hadn’t been a large impact bomb.
Nyla’s body lay still inches from her, a few meters from the crater formed by the blast. Blood coated her, her leg shattered from the impact, fragments scattered around. Her hand was outstretched, as if still pushing Lucy away from the blast.
Lucy is alive, lying on the floor, uncontrollable tears streaming down her face, some of Nyla’s blood is on her. She cries and screams Nyla's name… and not a single sound comes out her mouth. With a desperate move, she drags herself forward, closing the distance and collapsing onto Nyla.
She presses her forehead to Nyla’s unmoving chest. Whispering words she should have spoken months ago.
“I love you. I love you. I love you.” Like a chant and Nyla’s not there to hear it anymore. Her lips move but still, not a single sound comes out.
Nyla had pushed her out of the way before she could even register what was happening. And now Nyla was lying on the ground, dead.
That’s how Tim and Angela find them.
Tim reaches them first, but Angela sees it first. The crater, then Nyla, unmoving beneath Lucy, who looks more like a crazed person with lips moving with no sound.
Angela stops cold. She stumbles forward and drops beside her friend, fingers trembling as they press to her neck, then her wrist… Nothing.
“No,” she whispers, tears stream down.. “No, no, no…” She presses her forehead to Nyla’s shoulder, sobbing, shaking, whispering, “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Tim takes it all in, and there’s a pain in his chest for Nyla that he can’t make sense of right now but there’s a sense of relief as well at seeing Lucy alive. He drops to his knees beside Lucy, voice shaking. “Lucy!” he says gently
She’s alive and he is so damn relieved, but barely she registers his presence. “Lucy. Lucy, hey, look at me.”
She blinks, dazed. “Tim?” she mouths, barely lifting her head or arms from Nyla’s chest, where she’s wrapped them tight around her.
He grabs her face, the little of it he can access. “I got you. You’re okay. You’re okay.”
“No.” Her voice cracks. “Nyla…”
“Nylaaaaaaaa…” she screams and this time, her lungs show up, Lucy screams.
Angela looks up. Lucy is now screaming aloud, Tim holding her tight as she clings to Nyla’s body, repeating her name like a mantra that might bring her back or a desperate prayer to a God that is not listening. And Angela can only sit and stare at the wreckage, her own heart shattered beyond measure.
Tim gently tries to help Lucy up, but she’s immovable, still clutching onto Nyla’s body. The paramedics have to sedate her before they finally manage to tear them apart.
Nyla Harper is gone. And nothing feels real anymore.
Lucy sits on her bathroom floor two weeks later, back pressed against the cold tile, knees pulled to her chest, the same way she had that first night back from the hospital, the only way she falls asleep these days. Her hands are still wrapped in gauze where the bomb fragments had cut her. She doesn’t notice the pain.
She hadn’t even registered the pain at the scene. The hollowness in her heart had made it impossible to feel anything.
Lucky!!! They told her she was lucky. She didn’t feel lucky. She felt hollow, appalled, stupid, anything but lucky.
Grey offered her a grief counselor and she had peer support. Tim had stood beside her during the funeral, his hand hovering near her back but never quite touching. Angela brought her soup she never ate. Jackson hovered, Tamara constantly checked in. None of it helped.
Because none of them knew what it’s like to wake up screaming someone’s name who’ll never answer again. None of them had lost their somebody when it was clearly them meant to go. None of them pictured a full life with someone only to loose it all a few seconds later. None of them had to relive that moment, again and again and again.
The confession. A flicker of hope. The blink. The flash. The blast. A lifeless body, nothing and… repeat.
She goes through the motions. Gets in her car, sits at the precinct, files paperwork she doesn’t remember touching. Politely nods when Grey stops by to check on her, tightly smiles when it’s Tim or Angela. Tim often sit next to her when he’s on break from patrol, he doesn’t say much or even anything most times, just quietly sits, it’s a gesture she appreciates, Angela makes sure she’s fed, like clockwork and at times like these, she can almost understand the concept of being lucky, that she’s lucky to have a steady support system but almost, is never enough. A big part of her just wants to be left alone but the rational part of her knows she’s only alive right now because of Tim and Angela. There’s nothing she desires more than being where Nyla is at. And maybe it’s true time heals all wounds, but she is yet to see that, the hole in her heart is far from starting to even heal, if anything, she feels more hollow everyday.
She stares at Nyla’s empty desk. She drives by Nyla’s house. She drives by the warehouse.
Sometimes she can still see Nyla walking into the precinct, coffee in one hand, a judgmental raised eyebrow, teasing with something like “I leave you alone for five minutes and you’ve already adopted a bunny in custody and offered a criminal therapy. Classic Chen.”
She’d give anything to hear that voice again. To be teased again.
Tonight, she drives by the house. It’s already up for sale, bizarre she thinks, how quickly the world seems to move forward, and yet, she hasn’t moved an inch from that day. So she drives by the warehouse. Then by Nyla’s former house again. And then back to the warehouse, this time, she goes in.
It’s still taped off with signs saying… No Trespassing. Danger. Lucy steps through the yellow tape.
She stands in the middle of the crater, Right where Nyla went down, willing it to swallow her whole.
She says nothing for the longest time. Then she bursts out, “I was supposed to die, it was supposed to be me!” she screams into the wind, for the ghosts, for the universe, for anyone, for Nyla.
The words feel ugly in her mouth, they leave a bitter taste on her tongue. Like she’s ungrateful. Like she’s spitting on the sacrifice. But it’s the truth. She’s not grateful to be alive, not when Nyla is dead.
She should be living double, for the both of them. But she doesn’t feel much like living at all.
“You were smarter, better, faster, and I…” Her voice cracks. “I’m the stupid one who stood on the goddamn pressure plate.”
The wind doesn’t answer. The ghosts don’t either. Nyla definitely doesn’t.
Lucy sinks to her knees. “It should’ve been me,” she chokes out with stifled sobs. “I should’ve gone with you.”
She hadn’t seen or heard the timer, hadn’t registered it. Because when Nyla said I love you, and brushed her lips against Lucy’s, She had forgotten everything else. She felt truly alive, even in the face of death. And now? She’s just another ghost in the city, chained to the rhythm, going through the motions. Lucy just stays there for an extensive amount time, it's the closest she can get to Nyla.
Back in her apartment, Lucy opens her laptop. She pulls up the last video Nyla ever recorded on her bodycam.
The clips are edited to play side by side, Nyla’s point of view, Lucy’s face captured in hers and Nyla’s face clear in Lucy’s pov. She’s pretty sure Grey, Tim and Angela must have seen the footage, with the way they all tip toed around Nyla’s name when she was around.
The footage is dark, grainy, full of static but the audio is clear and it’s Lucy’s favorite media now.
“I’m stupid in love with you. I think you are the most gorgeous and most amazing woman I’ve ever met. I think about you more than I should. I should’ve told you after you almost died the first time.” Nyla’s airy voice through
Then her own voice comes in soft and stunned “I thought it was just me. I thought I was losing my mind.”
Nyla steps closer. Brushes a tear from Lucy’s cheek.
“It’s not just you. I love you. I can’t lose you. I love you Lucy Chen”
And then it cuts. Only a few seconds, seven seconds in fact. Lucy rewinds and plays it again, and again, and again, she loops it nearly fifty times that night.
This is her new normal. This is the only way she feels close to Nyla. This is how she’s coping.