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Chapter Text

Lucy 

Four Weeks Earlier 

Threats weren’t uncommon for the Chen family dynasty. When Patrick Chen’s business took off and he made his first million, the threats started. They came and went, but they were almost always aimed at Patrick. 

That was what made all of this so different from any other threats against their family — because, this time, the threats were not only becoming more violent, but actively threatening the ones that the tech mogul loves. 

The very first letter had been deposited within the mailbox that stood outside of the metal gates in a fragile attempt to keep the Chen family safe. 

From the outside, the envelope didn’t look like anything untoward. If anything, it looked exactly like the kind of envelope that the mailman would deposit from Lucy Chen, Patrick Chen’s twenty four year old daughter and sole heir to the family business, thus inheriting all of the money that came with it, too. 

Lucy stood outside of the gates, glancing around to make sure that no one was watching, that there were no wayward stragglers lurking in the shadows, before putting in her unique entry code, the gates opening slowly so as to let her slip in between the small crack in the middle. 

She watched and waited, cautious as ever, for the gates to close again, the telltale click of it locking, keeping the outside world from entering, before hiking her bag just that little bit higher onto her shoulder, allowing herself to enter her home. 

She’d had the day from hell, starting with her creative writing professor slating and mildly humiliating her in front of the entire class, and ending with her having to sit next to her recent ex-boyfriend during her psychology lecture. So, it was safe to say that being home came as a relief. 

Even if it did mean having to deal with the oppressive stress of her parents. Both of their cars were parked in the driveway, tipping her off to the fact that they’re both home from work already, but maybe she could slip her way inside, up the stairs and into her bedroom before they could notice. 

Her keys jingled as she turned her key into the lock, pushing the door open and entering the building that was far too large for a family of just three people. 

“Lucielle?” She heard the familiar lilt of her mother’s voice calling out to her, echoing around the comically large kitchen space. So much for slipping in unnoticed and escaping the added stress that her parents always weighed her down with. “Can you come into the kitchen please?” 

“Coming, mom!” Lucy called out, toeing off her shoes before padding into the kitchen, where her mother was standing by the oven, the smell of cooking pastries wafting around the air.  

“Something smells good.” Lucy commented, sliding herself onto the stool that sat in front of the kitchen island. “Have you been home long?” 

When her mother remained silent for several beats too long, Lucy felt anxiety begin to bubble in her stomach, creeping its way up her throat like acrid bile. 

“It’s custard tarts. Your father’s favourite.” Vanessa replied. “I thought he could do with a treat this evening, he’s been working hard all day.” 

Lucy nodded, giving her mother a broad smile, lighting up her face. “Your cooking always makes his day. I’m sure he’ll love them.” 

Her mother cleared her throat as she pulled the tray out of the oven, depositing it onto the kitchen counter, turning to face her daughter. “It also might help to butter him up a little.” 

Lucy’s eyebrows furrowed. “Why would he need buttering up?” 

The older woman scoffed, grabbing a manila envelope, one that was addressed to Lucy. It looked eerily similar to the kind of letters that came from her university. 

She’d always been a straight-A student, only ever receiving mail from any of her schools at the end of each term with her report cards. It was a well known fact that, if you got one before the end of term, you were in trouble. 

But being in trouble with the school was far better, easier and less terrifying than being in trouble with her parents. 

“Do you care to explain what this is, Lucielle?” Vanessa asked, her voice dripping with something akin to condescension. “What did you do to get yourself into trouble?” 

Lucy’s eyebrows furrowed. “I— I don’t know.” She answered, honestly. “I can’t think of anything.” 

Vanessa scoffed. “How convenient.” 

“Did you open it to see if it even is from the school?” Lucy asked, immediately regretting her question, knowing that her flippancy was bound to be misconstrued as disrespect. “I just mean…it could be anything. Junk mail, even.” 

“I think I know what a letter from your school looks like, Lucielle.” Her mother commented, dryly. “And I didn’t open it because you’re an adult, and I wanted to see if you would be truthful about what’s gotten you into trouble. But, since you haven’t, I think you should open it and read it aloud.” 

Vanessa paused for a brief moment. “Actually, let me call your father in here first. It’ll save me from having to be embarrassed by you twice in one day.” She turned to the side slightly, opening her mouth wide to bellow out a high-pitched, “Patrick! You’re needed in the kitchen!” 

Lucy swallowed thickly, anxiety curdling at her insides, her fingers absentmindedly fiddling with the edges of the unopened envelope, her mind so warped with a mixture of both confusion and worry that she hadn’t even noticed that she’d given herself several paper cuts, two of which were now bleeding. 

The anxiety inside of her only grew larger, a pit in her stomach filling with nausea, as she heard the echoing footsteps of her father as he entered the large kitchen space. 

“Oh, Lucy! You’re home early.” Her father commented, giving her a weak smile, before he, too, recognised the oppressive feeling in the air. “What’s going on? What’s so important that I had to leave a very important conference call with the Spanish ambassador?” 

Vanessa crossed her arms over her chest, face stony. “Ask your daughter, not me. We got a letter from her school today.” 

The look in her dad’s eyes changed immediately. Where just minutes ago there had been happiness to see her, they now only held anger and disappointment. “What did you do?” 

Lucy’s posture stiffened, her back ramrod straight as she tried to calm her breathing, to ease the anxiety that was weighing her down. 

Disappointing her mother was one thing, but disappointing her father? That wasn’t something that Lucy had ever been able to handle. It’s why she’d always been so meticulous and careful with her studies. With every aspect of her life, really. 

“I don’t know.” She whispered, her voice barely audible, mentally cursing at how weak and shaky her voice sounded. 

Her father raised a dubious eyebrow at her, challenging her to repeat herself. 

Lucy cleared her throat. “I don’t know.” She repeated. “I can’t think of anything that I’ve done wrong. I’ve been doing extra credit, I’m pulling the highest grades in all of my classes, I applied for the teaching assistant position that Mr. Soundwell recommended me for, I’m always the last one to leave both class and the library. I haven’t done anything. I swear, dad, I haven’t — I couldn’t have — done anything.” 

Vanessa’s nostrils flared at the same time as Patrick’s eyes shuttered. Lucy could practically hear him counting down from ten in his head to calm him down, to help him not lose his temper. 

“Well,” her father started, his voice taut with barely concealed restraint, “if you’re so certain that you haven’t done anything wrong, then you won’t mind opening the envelope and showing it to us now, will you?” 

Lucy gulped, her throat sticking together as an uneasy, almost foreboding feeling rose up from her chest and into her throat. She felt like she was seconds away from throwing up. 

She slowly, with trembling hands, pulled the tab to open the envelope, pulling a singular sheet of paper inside. 

Her eyebrows furrowed in immediate confusion. This wasn’t from her school. Her school used special paper that had a very unique smell to it, with the school crest stamped on the upper right of the page, and none of that was there. 

She flipped the page over, her heart stopping for a moment, breath catching, eyes widening as they read the words on the page over and over again, willing them to either go away or make some sort of sense. It achieved neither. 

In fact, the delay in telling her parents, who were still practically looming over her, had only served to frustrate them even more. 

Vanessa tapped her foot, growing increasingly impatient and even more frustrated. “Lucielle, if you don’t tell me what that letter says, I will take it from you and read it for myself.” 

“It’s—“ Lucy’s voice cracked a little, a different pit bubbling within her stomach now. One that could only be attributed to stark fear. “It’s not from the school.” 

Patrick’s face morphed again. “Who is it from?”

“I don’t know.” She whispered, eyes glancing back down at the paper in her hand, the trembling in it growing worse by the second. “I don’t know.” She repeated. 

“What does it say? Show me what it says.” Her father requested, his voice surprisingly gentle given that his words were an order, not a request. 

Lucy pushed the piece of paper across the kitchen island, her heart thundering in her chest, breathing becoming a struggle as she watched her parents take in the sixteen words that had left her feeling the most scared that she could ever remember having felt before. 

Consider this your father’s first warning. Your life will be his last. I’ll see you soon, Lucy. 

Tim 

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” Genny, Tim’s younger sister, beamed as she wrapped her arms around his middle. “God, I missed you.” 

“I missed you too, Gen.” Tim murmured sincerely, his voice muffled from where his lips were pressed into his younger sister’s mass of hair. 

“So, that’s really it? You’re done? They’re not shipping you off anywhere else in a week or two like last time?” Genny asked tentatively, though she was unable to hide the sparkle of hope in her eyes. 

Tim shook his head. “No more deployments. I’m no longer on active duty, an honourable discharge.” He confirmed. “So, you’re going to have to put up with me a whole lot more for a lot longer. How does that sound?” 

Genny grinned, cheekily. “It sounds dreadful. Can you call your supervisor back and ask them to ship you out again?” 

“Ha ha.” He levelled his sister with a playful glare, his voice dripping with well practiced sarcasm. “So, where is my little nephew?” 

“Not so little anymore. He’s not here, though. I left him at home with Rob — I didn’t want you to be too overwhelmed.” Genny explained, stepping onto the porch to unlock Tim’s house for him. “Speaking of which, I may have tidied up the place a little bit. I…uh, well, I got rid of some of the things that Isabel got you, bought you some plants, made everything a little bit more homely for you.” 

Tim felt his heart ache for a moment at the mention of his now ex-wife. She’d called it quits in a letter, four weeks into his second deployment. Their divorce was finalised two weeks later, when Tim was at the base camp. 

It had been almost nine months, but the wound was still fresh. It hadn’t even really scabbed over yet. It was just there: this gaping wound where the love he had for his wife once lay, a love that was taken for granted and shoved aside when he was no longer a convenience for her. 

“I appreciate that, Gen, but you didn’t have to go to all this trouble. You’re busy yourself.” 

“Well, it’s a good job that she didn’t do it all by herself then, isn’t it.” A familiar voice called out from inside the building. 

A laugh bubbled up and escaped Tim’s lips before he could stop it from happening. “You thought Aiden being here would be overwhelming, yet Angela is here?” 

“I heard that!” The woman in question called out. “I thought you’d be happy to see your best friend of twelve years again after so long.” 

“I’m a grown man, I don’t have best friends.” He grumbled. 

Angela padded over to the front door, finally visible. “Yes, you do, and I am that best friend.” Her voice softened a little bit. “Plus, and if you tell anyone else this I will deny it, I missed you. Just a little bit.” 

Tim stepped over the threshold and into his home, dropping his duffel bag and singular suitcase onto the floor before wrapping his best friend into a hug. “I missed you just a little bit too.” He paused for just a second, letting himself enjoy the company of his best friend, before calling out to his younger sister. “Come join the hug, Gen!” 

“I can’t! I need to dish up dinner. I figured you wouldn’t have had time to eat much, if anything at all, today.” Genny told him, skirting around the doorway and into the kitchen. “And, before you ask, no, Angela did not have a hand in the actual cooking. She helped chop the vegetables and get out the plates and cutlery.” 

Tim let out an exaggerated sigh of relief as he extricated himself out of Angela’s stronghold. “Oh, thank God. I really don’t want food poisoning on my first day home.” 

Angela scoffed. “My cooking isn’t that bad!” 

“Yes, it is.” The siblings replied at the exact same time, causing the trio to burst out laughing. 

It was the most that Tim had laughed in a long time. Longer than he could remember. There weren't exactly many laughable moments in the middle of a war. 

Being able to laugh so freely, to not have to be so acutely aware of his surroundings, of every movement, every rustle of leaves or crunch of rocks underfoot was definitely going to take some getting used to. 

In all honesty, laughter wasn’t a large feature within his life even before he joined the army, before his first deployment. 

Whilst it wasn’t the same, Tim had waged a war before he was deployed for the first time — a war with his dad. 

Just like during his tours with the army, when you grew up in such a volatile and hostile situation, constantly walking on egg shells to keep the peace, laughter isn’t the most familiar of things.  

“What did you cook, Gen?” He asked, once the laughter between the trio died down just a little, the air far lighter than he had expected it to be upon returning home. 

Tim had thought that coming home would feel wrong. Returning to the foreclosed property that he’d bought after his first tour, the house he worked diligently to renovate, to make into a home, one that was perfect for not only himself, but for Isabel, the children that they’d wanted and the future they had planned for the first time since he and Isabel’s divorce should’ve felt wrong. But, for some reason, it didn’t. 

There was something lighter in the air, the energy different. Maybe it’s because he’s different from the person he was the last time that he’d returned home. 

It gave him a little bit of hope for the future, though he was loathe to admit it. After all, hope could so easily breed eternal misery. 

“I cooked mom’s famous pesto, basil, pine nuts, onion granules and buffalo chicken mac and cheese, with garlic bread on the side.” Genny beamed as she slid the oven mitt on, opening the oven, steam billowing out as she pulled the ovenproof pasta tray out, placing it on the counter next to the plate of still steaming garlic bread. 

Tim could feel his mouth watering as the familiar scent of the dish that his mom would only ever cook on good days. 

(It was safe to say that they didn’t have that dish very often.) 

They divided the dish into three, plating it up and moving over to the table. 

“This is incredible.” Angela practically moaned. “How did I not know that you could cook like this?” 

Genny snickered. “I did that on purpose. If you knew that I wasn’t terrible in the kitchen, you’d never leave.” 

“That’s true.” Angela laughed. “It doesn’t seem to matter how hard me or Wesley try to cook, we just can’t seem to get the hang of it.” 

Tim’s ears pricked up, his fork hovering in front of his mouth as the mention of the man that Angela had insisted was simply a part of an unserious friends-with-benefits arrangement. 

“Wesley is still around?” He asked, interest piqued. “I thought that he was just a fling.” 

After he’d returned home from his first tour, Angela had struck up a noncommittal relationship of sorts with Wesley — a law student  Tim had only met him a few times, but he had always seemed nice enough. They definitely weren’t best buds, or actual friends even, but they got along well enough. 

When he had last seen the two together, they’d both insisted that they weren’t actually dating, just enjoying one another’s company. 

He’d never truly believed them, but he also didn’t want to pry. If anything changed, Angela would tell him.

“Oh, she didn’t tell you?” Genny asked, mischievously. “They’re a whole lot more than friends with benefits now.” 

…Or not  

Angela felt her cheeks heating up, a smattering of pink blush slowly making itself known. 

Tim could count on one hand the amount of times that she had blushed throughout the entire length of their friendship. 

“Wait, seriously?” He asked, watching as his best friend nodded, though the movement was sheepish — awkward, even. “Why is this the first time that I’m hearing about this?” 

Angela shrugged. “We made it official a couple of weeks after you and Isabel signed the papers. It just didn’t feel right. It would feel like I was rubbing my happy relationship in your face.” 

He reached out, gently placing his hand on top of Angela’s own. “I never would’ve thought you were rubbing it in my face, Ange. I would have been happy for you. I am happy for you. You deserve this, you deserve to be happy.” 

“Thank you, Tim.” She cocked her head to the side just a little bit, her eyes narrowing. Tim could practically hear the sound of the cogs turning inside of her brain, weighing the pros and cons of saying this next thing.  “You deserve to be happy too, Tim. I know that you’re not ready yet, but you deserve to feel the way that Wesley makes me feel. You deserve to feel loved.”

“I already do feel loved.” He replied, a tautness to his voice that hadn’t been there before. “I feel loved when I’m with you guys, when I see my nephew. I don’t need to be in a relationship to feel loved.” 

“But maybe—“ Genny started, but was immediately cut off by her older brother. 

“No.” His voice, though it was harsh, was also rough with a painful emotion. “It hasn’t even been a full year since my divorce. I’m not ready to even think about moving on yet. I don’t want to hear anything about it, and I definitely don’t want you two meddling and setting me up on any of those ridiculous blind dates that you two love so much.”

“Hey! Don’t make blind dates the villain here. I met Rob on a blind date.” Genny exclaimed. 

Under his breath, Tim muttered, “yeah, you’re not helping your case any.” 

A moment of awkward silence lingered, before Tim decided to break it, concern that he’d been just a little bit too harsh in his rebuttal weighing on him. 

“As soon as I’m ready,” he started, slowly, “I’ll tell you both and you can work your so-called magic, okay?” 

That seemed to please the pair, but it didn’t stop Angela from interjecting. 

“Don’t say our magic is ‘so-called’. It’s real. We have a talent at setting people up! I mean, look at  Nyla and James, John and Jessica, Miles and Celina, Gretchen and Graham. We set them up, and now they’re madly in love.” 

Genny nodded. “It’s true! We have an almost 100% success rate. Nyla and James are on baby number two, Miles and Celina just moved in with each other and John and Jessica got engaged last week!” 

“You do realise that I don’t know who any of these people are, don’t you?” He retorted. 

“That doesn’t matter! You don’t have to know them to recognise that our statistics speak for themselves.” Genny argued. 

Tim scoffed as he chewed another mouthful of food. “I’m not ready, but I will tell you when I am, okay?” 

Angela huffed out a sigh, whilst Genny bit her lip. 

“We just want you to be happy, Tim.” Genny whispered, her voice a little choked and wobbly. 

He didn’t know how to respond to that, and so he didn’t. 

Angela, thankfully, picked up on his nonverbal cue for a change in subject.  “So, what are you going to do now?” 

He shot his best friend a look of confusion. 

“For work. With your life. Now that you’re back, I mean.” She expanded. “I’m assuming you have some kind of plan?” 

He shrugged, gently laying his fork down atop of the now empty plate. “Not really. It’s not like I’ve got many skills. I didn’t go to college, and most entry level jobs need a degree of some kind now.” 

“You could always go back to school.” Angela suggested. “I mean, you’re smart enough.”

Tim wrinkled his nose. “I hated every single second of school. I don’t want to put myself through that again.” 

Genny perked up this time. “Why don’t you come to my school? You could be the teaching assistant for my third graders! The school isn’t in a position to be picky, not with how many TA’s have quit over the past year, and how few people are even interested in being one in the first place.” 

His nose scrunched up even further in disapproval. “Don’t get me wrong, I like kids. I love being an uncle and I’m sure that I’ll eventually love being a dad, but running around after a class of thirty sticky, screaming third graders is my idea of my own personal hell. I seriously think I’d rather go back to Fallujah than do that.” 

The conversation halted for a moment. 

“I guess I could maybe teach self defence?” Tim said, though it was framed as more of a question. 

“Is that something you’d want to do? Something that you’d enjoy doing?” Genny asked. 

Tim shrugged noncommittally. “I don’t know. Not really. But what other kind of jobs are going to need an ex-soldier who knows four different types of self-defence?“

As soon as those words were spoken, it was as if a lightbulb went off inside of Angela’s head, her eyes sparkling and a wide smile broadening across her face. 

“Timothy Alexander Bradford, I think I have the perfect job for you.”  

Chapter Text

Tim

“Have you thought any more about that private security job that you were offered?” His almost life-long best friend, Angela, asked.

“Technically, I haven’t been offered it just yet. They just told me that they wanted to see me after you recommended me for the open position.“ He replied. “I haven’t called to set it up yet.” 

Angela picked up the dishrag and chucked it at her best friend’s head, rolling her eyes. “They’d be stupid to not be interested in you, Tim. You’d be a great asset to the business. They might even give you a case there and then if you do well with the interview portion. But before you can do anything of the sort, you need to schedule the goddamn interview, Tim.” 

Tim shrugged, a spoon of cereal halfway to his lips. “I’m just still unsure of whether this is actually what I want to do.”

“Timothy, I say this with love, but you don’t exactly have any other options, do you? You need this job, you need the money. Plus, it’s a really good job. So many people would kill for an opportunity like this. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

Once again, he rolled his eyes, quickly swallowing another mouthful of cereal. “Fine. I’ll call them and schedule that interview, okay?”

Angela looked away, biting down on her lower lip, the telltale sign that she was withholding some sort of information from him.

It turns out that, even with having barely seen one another over the past few years, after nearly ten years of friendship made it incredibly easy to read their faces, to recognise their expressions.

“Angela,” he started slowly, watching as the woman in question tenses just a little. “What did you do?”

“Nothing!” She exclaimed, but her voice took on a squeaky quality, another telltale sign of her not telling him something.

Instead of dignifying her with a response, he simply shot her an unamused and frustrated look, watching as her whole body started to sag, like a balloon that was running out of helium, as she finally lost the willpower to keep this from him.

“I may or may not have already called and got you that interview…maybe.” She mumbled under her breath, so quiet that Tim almost missed it. But, unfortunately for Angela, he didn’t miss a single word.

His eyes widened, dropping his spoon into the bowl with a loud clank. “You what?!”

Angela huffed. “I scheduled you for another interview. I knew that you either wouldn’t do it, or you would conveniently forget about it until the positions have been filled. Plus, I know who owns the business, I recommended you to him, and Grey told me that he trusts my recommendations, so it’s basically a sure thing. This interview is just standard procedure, gauging what you can, want and are willing to do.” 

He closes his eyes, taking in some deep and steadying breaths. “I— okay, fine. I’ll do the interview. What time is it?”

“It’s in two hours, and the headquarters are downtown, so you better get yourself moving! If you’re lucky, you’ll get on the road before the morning rush gridlocks everyone.” Angela beamed, watching as her best friend squirmed, clearly uncomfortable.

He shot her yet another glare. “Is this fun for you?”

“Of course!” Angela laughed. “But just because I think it’s fun, that doesn’t mean that I don’t think you’re perfect for this job, that I don’t believe in you, or that I’m not rooting for you to get it because I do! Your facial expressions were just so funny.”

Tim groaned, throwing his head back. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t. You love me. Now, go! Before you’re late!”

He let out any almost long suffering sigh and a mildly frustrated huff as he stood up, dumping his cereal bowl into the dishwasher, before stalking out of his best friend’s house, beginning his journey to what would be the greatest job he’d ever had.

“Mr. Bradford?” A deep, male voice called out, drawing Tim’s attention away from the bulletin board in the waiting area, advertising things like self-defence classes.

Tim pushed himself up out of the chair, wiping his surprisingly sweaty palms on the back of his jeans, before striding towards where the voice came from.

“Mr. Bradford?” The man asked again.

Tim nodded. “Yes, sir. But just call me Tim.”

The man gave him a warm, almost welcoming smile. “Tim, it is then. I’m Wade Grey. Angela hasn’t stopped talking about you and how perfect you are for this type of job. So, how about we head into my office so that I can assess that for myself?”

Wade gestured to the spacious room behind him, moving to the side slightly so that Tim could slip through the crack and into the room.

He eyeballed the room, unsure what to do or where to go.

Wade must’ve picked up on his hesitance and confusion, because he then says, “sit wherever you want. It’s not a test. You can’t sit in the wrong chair or anything like that.”

Tim chuckled, a little bit of a stilted and awkward noise before walking over and plopping himself down onto the two-seater brown leather couch, whilst Wade made himself comfortable in the leather swivel chair that sat behind an almost grand desk.

“So, Mr. Bradford— sorry, I mean, Tim. It says here on your application and in your file that you were in the military.” He comments.

Tim blanched a little at that, surprise colouring his face for but a moment. His application? His file?

Oh, he was so going to kill Angela for this.

“Yes, sir.” Tim nodded, pushing himself up higher, his back now ramrod straight. “I did two tours in Afghanistan, as a sergeant and squad leader. I was honourably discharged following an injury to my back after an IED explosion.”

Wade made a hmm noise under his breath, tapping on his computer mousepad. “Well, thank you for your service.” He paused briefly. “There are a few questions that I need to ask you before I can decide if you’re right for not only this type of job, but also for the person you would be guarding if you were to be hired. Is that okay?”

Tim nodded, hiding how uncomfortable he felt with a skilled precision. “Ask away.”

Wade clicked on the mousepad again, drawing up a checklist on the screen before pulling a black biro pen and a yellow legal pad out, setting it to his right.

“Your application,” the older man started, eyes scanning the computer as if to double check that he had the correct information, “stated that you know multiple types of martial arts, specifically for using as a form of self defence. What types do you know?”

Tim watched as Wade clicked the end of his pen so that the nib was visible, picking the notepad up next. “I know taekwondo, kickboxing, aikido, and wing chun. I also did a little bit of boxing for a while. I’m not sure if that’s applicable as an answer to your question, but it felt worth mentioning.”

The noise of a pen loudly scribbling down onto paper filled the room. “It’s definitely worth mentioning.”

Wade paused to scan the computer again. “As you mentioned earlier, you were honourably discharged as a result of an injury sustained in the line of duty. Does, or will, your previous injury make it more difficult for you to do your job? Say you needed to run, would that be an issue?”

The younger man shook his head, his hands fidgeting in his lap. “No, it wouldn’t be an issue. I did several weeks of both physical and occupational therapy which has gotten me back to the strength that I had before I sustained the injury, just not in a way that meant I was able to return to the army.”

Wade nodded in understanding before asking his next question. “Angela mentioned that you have no real ties. You’re divorced, you live in a paid off house, and you don’t even have so much as a dog in your life.” Oh, Tim was definitely going to wring his best friend’s neck when he saw her next. “So, would it be a fair assumption that living with whoever you may be guarding?”

God, this felt a whole lot like an interrogation rather than a job interview.

Tim shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

Wade chuckled. “I just have one more question, and that one is a little bit of a doozy.”

Tim shifted uncomfortably in his seat, anxiety clawing its way up his stomach, into his chest and throat. “Go ahead.” He said, hoping to whatever deity may be out there that the slight tremor in his voice had gone unnoticed.

“Given that you’ve only recently returned from fighting in a war, I am concerned with the potential effects that has had on your mental health. Have you ever been assessed for things like PTSD, or gone through a series of tests to gauge your mental stability?”

Tim shook his head. “No, I haven’t. I didn’t even know that was a thing until right now.”

Wade nodded. “Well, I think, before we have you assigned to a case, it would be beneficial for all of us to ensure your mental stability. As soon as you’ve been assessed, we’ll schedule an appointment, and we can see what case would suit you better. Does that sound reasonable?”

Tim swallowed thickly, the idea of having to relive some of his most traumatic moments to some stranger making him feel almost nauseous. Still though, he said, “definitely. Perfectly reasonable.”

“Great! Well, if you go over to the reception desk, and she can get you booked in for your assessment and your follow up appointment with myself. It shouldn’t be too long of a wait — a week at most.”

“Well, I guess I’ll see you in a week.” Tim replied, giving him an uneasy and crooked smile.

TWO WEEKS LATER

After rigorous testing of his mental state, gauging that he is stable enough to keep another person safe, just five days after their first meeting and three after the testing, Tim had officially been hired and put on the company’s website as an official security guard for hire.

However, Tim being approved only proved to create more problems than solutions, with every single problem created by Tim himself.

There had been six files handed his way, cases that — according to Wade, anyway — were perfect for him in the week and a half that he’d been officially hired. Yet, he still has yet to actually become a bodyguard for someone.

None of the people suggested felt right. He couldn’t quite explain it, but he knew that he wasn’t meant to be with these people.

Today’s interview was yet another bust, and Wade was exhausted. He was, so very quickly, running out of cases to offer an entry level bodyguard, and Tim’s lack of commitment and willingness was practically driving him up the wall.

“Please don’t tell me that this was a bust, too.” Wade practically groaned, eyeing his newest bodyguard with intense frustration.

Tim shrugged. “It just didn’t feel right.”

If Wade were to have taken a shot every single time he heard those words, he’d have drank himself into an early grave.

His fingers came up to rub at his temples, attempting to stave off the incoming stress induced migraine.

With a huff, he bent down to open up his bottom drawer, pulling out yet another manila folder.

“I was waiting and hoping to give this case to someone who was a little bit more experienced.” He started. “But, I am going to give you a chance. I’m going to allow you to prove yourself to me by taking this case on.”

Tim opened his mouth to interject, but was cut off before so much as a squeak could pass through his parted lips.

“This is the biggest case that this company has ever had. That makes it incredibly important that you take this seriously.” Wade started, sighing. “This is the last case that we have as an option for you. If you say no, then you won’t be working for this company any more.”

Tim gulped. “What case is it?”

“You would be protecting the daughter of the CEO of Chen Industries.” Wade started. “She’s been on the receiving end of several rather alarming threats to her life. Her father’s security have already intercepted three attempts on her life.”

“If her dad has security, then why does she need a personal security guard?” Tim wondered aloud.

“Because he needs his bodyguards for himself. Lucy, Patrick Chen’s daughter, is still attempting to maintain some kind of normal life. She goes to college, is in choir, takes photography classes, volunteers at the homeless shelter and reads at the library to disadvantaged children. Her safety has been challenged one too many times now, and she desperately needs someone to keep a watchful eye on her and to try their damndest to keep her safe without jeopardising her day-to-day life. The only questions that I have are: is that person going to be you, and are you experienced enough for that?”

Tim bit his lip, pondering. His silence was taken as uncertainty, his boss beginning to fill the almost uncomfortable silence that had befell the room.

“Look, Tim, it’s a good job. It pays a lot of money — money that you apparently need. You can’t afford to be picky.” Wade huffed out, pushing the folder towards the younger man. “Plus, I know the Chen’s well. Lucy is practically a saint.”

That earned a scoff and an eye roll from Tim. “So, you’re going telling me that I’m going to have to deal with Princess Mother Theresa? Yeah, I think I’ll pass.”

Wade quirked his eyebrow at the ex-soldier, challenging him. “Is that your final answer? Because I have several guards that would kill to work for the Chen’s and earn this kind of money. Hell, she still might not even want you to be her bodyguard. Her parents are letting her decide which person it will be that’s, as the girl in question had so delicately put it, following her around like a lost puppy. But there is also a chance that she may want you to be her guard, and that will be a one time offer only, Bradford. If you say no, there’s no going back. You wouldn’t be able to change your mind when the going gets tough.”

Tim tipped his head backwards, internally groaning as her bolstered himself to give his answer. “Okay. I’ll do it. I’ll work with the glorified Mother Theresa, but if she was a nepo baby.”

“Great. I’ll let you know once the Chen’s have made their decision on who they want as her bodyguard. If you’re chosen, they would want you to move in within three days, minimum.”

Tim nodded, his face blank but one thought was running through his mind over and over again: what the hell did I just get myself into?

Lucy

“No.” Lucy stated firmly, arms crossed over her chest. “This is completely unnecessary.”

Patrick Chen sighed, clearly frustrated. “This is the twelfth letter threatening your life in a matter of weeks, Lucielle. You’re lucky that we haven’t insisted on this sooner.”

“I already have one stranger following me around, do I really need another one?” Lucy shot back, attempting at levity but missing by a long shot. “I won’t leave the house. I’ll do the rest of my degree here. Or I’ll learn taekwondo. Or karate. Some form of self-defence. Just…not this, dad. Please. I’m already a social pariah at school because of who my father is, I don’t need it to be made even worse by this glorified mall cop trailing after my every step.”

It was her mother that stepped in then, her eyes cold and face stony. “We’re hiring a personal security guard for you with or without your consent. These folders just mean that you get to choose who it is.”

Lucy opened her mouth to protest some more, but when she caught the looks on her parents faces, she thought the better of it, leaning forwards to grasp one of the folders, pulling it onto her lap before thumbing the page open.

Inside was a picture of a…not exactly unattractive man, his dark blonde hair cropped short, an army uniform and the subtle reflection of dog tags around his neck peeking out at the bottom of the image.

Timothy Alexander Bradford. 27. Former soldier (staff sergeant and squad leader). Two tours in Fallujah before an honourable discharge six months ago following injury. Trained in self defence. Willing to be a live-in security guard, provided he works with the police on the night shift to coordinate a plan to ensure Miss Chen’s safety.

It sounded like her worst nightmare, honestly. She’d take the threatening letters over this stranger living in her sanctuary, tracking her every single movement.

She barely got enough privacy as it stands, what with having overbearing parents that consistently want to make sure that you’re not failing or disappointing them. She didn’t want to give up the tiniest shred of it that she’d managed to hold onto. 

Unfortunately though, it didn’t seem like she was going to get much of a choice  

With much reticence, Lucy closed the folder again and pushed it towards her parents, their eyes still burning a hole into her from where they had refused to remove their gaze.

“Him. I want it to be him.” She stated, barely concealing the insecurity and anxiety that lay in wait inside of her voice.

Patrick peered over at the folder himself this time, humming. She couldn’t tell if it was a good or bad hum. Was there even such a thing?

“Are you sure?” Her mother asked, eyebrows furrowed. “He seems a little bit too… young.”

“Oh, come on, Vanessa. He’s only a few years older than Lucy.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “By young, you mean attractive.”

“Well, I…” Her mother started, but this time, Lucy cut her off.

“I want it to be him. No one else. You told me that I could choose, and I choose Timothy Alexander Bradford.”

Whoever the hell that was.

Chapter Text

Lucy

“Your parents are what?” Jackson, Lucy’s best friend of almost ten years, asked. His eyes were wide, an expression of shock etched into his face. “Isn’t that a little bit overkill?” 

“That’s what I said! But apparently, no. It’s not.” Lucy groaned, rubbing her aching head. “I know that they’re scared, but the last thing I need right now is some random guy that I’ve never met before following me around school. I need them to trust that I know what I’m doing, and they just…they don’t. They don’t even try to see it from my point of view, it’s always their way or the highway.” 

“What about if I volunteered my services? I could protect you! I’d even do it for free. Or, well, actually, I’d do it for cheaper. My fees for saving someone’s life would be higher.” Jackson jested. 

Lucy rolled her eyes. “Right, yes, of course, because my parents would be thrilled that the person in charge of my safety failed gym three times, and was cut from both the football and basketball teams for being terrible.” 

Jackson mocked a hurt look. “How ungrateful!” There was a brief pause. “When are you meeting the guy? Wait, is it a guy? You haven’t really told me much. Did your parents pick someone good?” 

“Oh, that’s one thing that they let me have a modicum of control over — choosing who my glorified stalker is.” She commented drily. “I haven’t met him yet, though. He should be here today.” 

Jackson’s jaw dropped agape. “You’re meeting your hot bodyguard today and you didn’t tell me? I’m offended.” 

“How do you even know that he’s hot?!” Lucy exclaimed. 

“I don’t know.” Jackson shrugged, eyes sparkling with mirth. “Call it a gut instinct. You, miss lactose intolerant, might not be able to trust your gut but I can sure as hell trust my own. He’s going to be hot. Wait! You said that you chose him, does that mean you saw a picture of him?” 

Lucy made a humming noise of confirmation. “Yes, I did see a picture of him, and yes, he’s not exactly…unattractive but he could just photograph well. He might be the equivalent of an ogre in real life for all I know.” 

“Okay, that’s it. What time is he meant to be there?” Jackson asked, his best friend eyeing him warily as he pushed himself up off of the pillows behind him, the camera moving around, giving away that he was standing. “And…wait, is he moving in?” 

Lucy shook her head in disbelief, rolling her eyes as she quickly glanced at the time on her phone clock. “My parents said something vague about having whatever bodyguard I chose moving in and acting as a 24/7, live-in bodyguard, but I think they were joking.” She gulped. “At least, I hope they’re joking.” 

Jackson hummed under his breath. “And the other question? When is he coming?” 

“In about half an hour, I think, but there is no way in hell that you’re going to be here to gauge whether he’s hot or not, Jackson.” 

“Hey!” He exclaimed. “It’s my duty as your best friend that I deem your bodyguard worthy of your time.” 

“Don’t lie, you just want to see how hot he is and if he’s gay. Which he isn’t, by the way. He’s married,” she stopped before quickly tacking on, “to a woman.” 

”He could be bisexual for all you know!“ Jackson chuckled. “No, but seriously, if you need someone there to hold your hand, just say the word and I’ll be there.” He assured her. 

Lucy nodded. “I know. You’ve always been the only person that has steadfastly been there for me, no matter what. I can’t and don’t thank you enough for that, but I appreciate you—“ 

Her words of appreciation for her best friend were interrupted by the ding-dong of their doorbell, the previous anxiety rearing its ugly head all over again. 

“Was that your doorbell? Is it him?” Jackson asked excitedly, almost like a child on Christmas Eve. 

Lucy rolled her eyes. “I don’t know, Jacks. I don’t know if you knew this about me, but I don’t have the ability to see through walls.” 

“Ha ha.” Jackson retorted. “You could at least look outside your window, so that I— I mean you can see what he looks like in the flesh. In the sizzling hot, protective flesh.” 

“Fine! God, you’re exhausting.” Lucy exclaimed, very clearly exasperated, walking over to her half drawn curtains, peering out at the front lawn. 

“But you love me!” Her best friend sing-songed, rousing a brief smile from Lucy.

Her eyes immediately found the man, as if she was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. He was there, standing on her doorstep, the person from the picture in his file — the person that she had chosen to be responsible for her safety. He looked the same, but also so…different.

He’s definitely not an ogre. Not even close.

“Turn the camera around! Let me see!” 

Lucy obliged, cringing inside just a little bit when he let out a low whistle of approval. 

Just as she began to step back and away from the window, out of her new bodyguard field of vision, he looked up and very clearly caught her watching, a smirk attaching itself to his face. 

“Did he just…did he just wink at you?” Jackson asked, almost in disbelief. Incredulous, perhaps. Lucy answered with just a shake of her head, no words needed. “Oh, God. What year does he think we’re in?!” 

There was a pause. 

“He is very hot though, even you have to admit that.” Jackson said.  “And because he’s as hot as he is, I think we should get you changed, and do your makeup before you go downstairs. After all, first impressions are everything.” 

Lucy groaned. “Seriously? He’s here to be my bodyguard, not my boyfriend. He’s going to have to see me without makeup at some point, so what’s the point of all this?” 

“The point is, my dearest Lucy,” her best friend started, “to have some fun, and that’s starting with you hanging up, dressing up all nice and pretty, and making his first impression a good one.” 

She shook her head, choking back a laugh, but eventually giving in. “Fine. I’ll talk to you later, okay?” 

“Oh, you better talk to me later or else I will be the one you need to worry about threatening your life. I want every single detail, alright? Every. Single. Detail!” 

“Every detail.” Lucy promised, quickly hanging up the phone before Jackson could say anything further. 

Her timing couldn’t have been better, because as soon as he laid her phone down next to her, the familiar lilt of her father’s voice travelled up the staircase, entering her room, the words immediately making her stomach lurch with anxiety and anticipation. 

“Lucielle, he’s here!” 

If she could get out of this, she would, but apparently her safety is more important than her comfort…which, in the grand scheme of things, is a good thing, except it was hindering her life, her plans, and that made it almost unbearable. 

Still, though, she took Jackson’s advice, swiping a sheer lip gloss over her lips, curling her eyelashes and applying a generous coat of mascara, giving herself a once over in the mirror before standing up and doing the thing that she desperately didn’t want to. 

She started descending down the stairs to meet her bodyguard. 

Tim

Tim walked up the obscenely long gravel driveway, subtly eyeing the outdoors, especially the well kept and beautiful garden. 

If this was what just outside the front door looks like, he could only imagine what the inside of the building looked like. 

If he knew people with more money than sense, which he did, the inside was probably unnecessarily extravagant. 

Finally reaching the front door after what had turned into a very unexpected and long descent up the driveway, he leant forwards to press the doorbell, a muffled ding-dong sound piercing the air through the front door. 

Tim stepped backwards just a little bit, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans, his eyes trailing across the entire building, each and every storey. 

He was about to return his stare back to the front door as he waited for it to open, but a flash, a glimpse, of something — or, more accurately, someone — in one of the windows took his attention. 

His eyes caught sight of a girl — no, a woman, that he could immediately recognise as being Patrick Chen’s daughter, Lucy. The girl that he’d been hired to protect. 

Tim saw as she noticed him having noticed her, choosing to send her an unplanned wink, watching intently as a look of sheer panic covered her features, and almost as quickly as she’d been spotted, she disappeared. 

A smirk tugged at the edges of his lips, though it quickly fell as the front door opened after what felt like forever. 

As it slowly opened, Tim came face to face with the man that he could only assume was Patrick Chen. 

“Are you here about the body guarding position?” The older man asked, without so much as a hello, or even just a halfhearted wave. “Mr. Bradford?”

Tim nodded, holding his hand out for Patrick to take hold of and shake, yet he never did. “Yes, that’s me. But, please, call me Tim.” 

Patrick’s eyebrows raised, stepping backwards so that there’s a gap between where he was standing and the door itself. 

He may be on a first name basis with Tim, but Tim was most definitely not on a first name basis with him. 

Tim stepped into the threshold of the large house, his eyes scanning the walls, looking intently at all the pictures and decor that adorned them. 

“You have a beautiful home, sir.” He commented, to which Patrick only grunted an affirmative. 

Getting blood from a stone would be easier than getting a full sentence out of this man. 

Maybe Tim had made a mistake by applying for this job. No amount of money was worth this sort of hostile environment. 

“Vanessa! Lucy! He’s here!” The older man called out, startling Tim just a little bit, right as Patrick turned to face him. “Vanessa is my wife. Lucy is my daughter, she’d be the one under your guard and protection.” 

Tim only nodded in understanding, opening his mouth to reply only to be caught off guard by a set of footsteps descending down the grand staircase. 

He looked up, eyes meeting the girl that he had seen looking out of the window just a few minutes ago. 

She was even prettier up close. 

“Lucielle, where is your mother?” He asked, his voice pointed and stern. 

Lucy shrugged. “I’m not sure. The garden, maybe? I was on the phone with Jackson.” 

Her father sighed heavily, turning on his heel. “I guess I’ll go and find her myself. Introduce yourself to Mr. Bradford here, Lucielle. Get to know him.” 

“Okay. Of course, dad.” Lucy replied meekly, the woman that had seemed larger than life when she came down those stairs having now shrunk in on herself, holding her breath until her father left the room. 

Tim knew more than a little bit about that. 

“It’s Tim. Not Mr. Bradford.” He gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile, holding out his hand for her to shake. Much to his surprise, she did.

She had a strong grip, he noted. 

“Tim.” She tested out. “It’s Lucy for me, not Lucielle.” 

Neither of them got the chance to say much else to the other, as almost as quickly as he had disappeared, Patrick Chen had come back into the room, this time with his wife in tow. 

Tim forced a smile onto his face, hoping that it might win her over more than it had Patrick. “You must be Mrs. Chen.” He commented. “I’m Tim.” 

Once again, he didn’t get much of a reaction. The Chen’s definitely weren’t the happy family that they projected themselves to be to the media and the public. 

“Shall we move this to the kitchen?” Vanessa asked, all politeness, her back ramrod straight as if her posture was being graded. 

Patrick shook his head. “I’d actually like to give Mr. Bradford the tour of the house. It shouldn’t take too long, and then we can go over everything together.” 

“Go over everything?” Lucy parroted, clearly confused and overwhelmed. “What exactly is there to go over? What haven’t you guys told me?” 

Patrick sighed, squeezing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. “We’ll discuss this as a group shortly, Lucielle. I just want Tim to get settled into his room and know his surroundings before we do. Right this way, Mr. Bradford.” 

“His room?” Lucy echoed. “Wait, he’s actually living here? I thought that was a joke! You’re not bringing some random stranger — no offence,” she threw over her shoulder at Tim, to which he murmured a quick and quiet ‘none taken’, “into our home. No way. How do we know that he isn’t the person sending the messages? Again, no offence.” 

He stifled a laugh. 

“Seriously, I think I will start taking offence if you say anything else.” He said, teasingly. 

“We can talk about this later.” Her father commented, his voice stern and his words strict. 

The older man brushed past his wife and daughter, making his way up the grand staircase. 

As Tim made way to follow him, he was stopped by a touch, a gentle hand, on his arm — a hand belonging to Lucy. 

“Be careful.” She whispered, so quiet it was barely audible. “Just nod or shake your head. Agree with him on everything. It’s the only way you’re making it out of this tour alive.” 

Tim had to hold back a laugh, but managed to rein it in before it could escape. “Thank you.” He whispered back, shooting her a, hopefully, reassuring smile, before making his way up the staircase as quickly as possible, hoping to reach her father, his new boss, before he was too far behind. 

The initial show around the house was spent in virtual silence, the only comments made were words with no real purpose, just vague explanations of what each room was to be used for. It was a strict environment, but that wasn’t anything unusual for Tim — he was a former soldier, after all. 

They drew to a halt outside of a closed door so suddenly that Tim almost bumped into the older man. 

“This is Lucy’s room.” He started, slow and almost cautious. “You aren’t permitted to be in here unless expressly told otherwise or you feel as though Lucy is in any form of danger. That is a rule that, if broken, would be grounds for immediate termination. Understood?” 

“Of course, sir.” Tim replied, nodding his understanding, standing to attention like he was in front of his commanding officer all over again. 

“And while we’re on the topic of my daughter, I would like to remind you that any kind of connection or relationship that goes beyond that of a strictly professional capacity is forbidden and, again, grounds for immediate termination.” He paused, eyeing the younger bodyguard with a piercing gaze, as if he was trying to see within, to pick apart all that he is or isn’t, trying to gauge whether hiring him was a mistake or not. “I know your type. My daughter needs protection, not more complications in her life. Your job is to protect her. Nothing more, nothing less, understood?” 

“Absolutely, sir.” Tim affirmed again, a bit of dread snaking around in his stomach. 

Patrick forced a smile onto his face, nodding. “Well, then, let’s show you to your room, and then we can head downstairs and sign that paperwork.” 

He followed Patrick once again, like a puppy following at their owner's heel, with one thought running through his mind: what on earth had he gotten himself into? 

This was either going to be the worst mistake of his life, or the best thing that he could ever do. 

He just wasn’t sure which one it was quite yet.