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Chapter Text

Chapter 1

The Mid-Wilshire bullpen buzzed with its usual rhythm—voices, footsteps, radios crackling faintly in the background.

Lucy smoothed the front of her blazer as she stood just outside Captain Grey’s office. She wasn’t nervous, not exactly—she’d earned her place here—but a new precinct meant fresh eyes, new dynamics. LAPD was LAPD, but every division had its own pulse, its own unspoken rules. She wanted her first impression to be clean, steady. Solid footing.

Grey waved her in, rising from behind his desk. “Detective Chen. Welcome to Mid-Wilshire. I’ve heard good things.”

“Thank you, sir.” Her smile was professional but not stiff.

“Let’s introduce you around,” Grey said, motioning her into the bullpen.

They stepped out just as a tall figure crossed their path, stride crisp, presence unmistakable. Grey caught his arm. “Bradford, a second?”

The man turned.

And Lucy froze.

Tim Bradford.

Eight years collapsed into a single heartbeat. He was broader now, shoulders built like stone, jaw sharper. His hair shorter, sun-marked at the edges. But his eyes—blue, vivid and so familiar—landed on hers, and the ground shifted.

Grey’s voice broke the silence. “Lucy Chen, our new detective. Chen, this is Sergeant Tim Bradford.”

Lucy Chen.

Her name was still echoing in Grey’s voice when recognition slammed into him. The same face, older now, steadier, but the eyes—dark, sharp, unforgettable. unforgettable. A flicker of memory—water, light, laughter—broke across his mind before he shoved it back down.

And he knew she remembered too. He could see it in the way her breath caught, the faint change in her posture. Two strangers to anyone watching, but beneath the veneer something electric hummed, alive with unspoken history.

He extended his hand. “Detective Chen,” he said evenly, though his voice carried a weight it hadn’t a moment before.

Her palm slid against his, firm and warm, and the jolt of contact nearly made her flinch. For a heartbeat, the rest of the bullpen faded—the chatter, the movement, even Grey’s steady presence.

“Sergeant Bradford.” Her reply matched his—polite, professional—but her pulse betrayed her.

He studied her with the same precision she remembered, eyes taking in the set of her shoulders, the controlled breath, the way her chin tilted like she was forcing herself to stand taller. She looked composed, but he caught the edge beneath it. First-day nerves, he decided.

And yet—he couldn’t ignore the rest. The curve of her jaw, sharper now, the poise she carried in her frame. She looked stronger, more self-possessed, but still… luminous.

“You’ll be working with Lopez and Harper,” Grey said, shifting them forward.

“I’ll take her,” Tim offered before he even thought about it.

Lucy fell into step beside him, every inch of space between them feeling charged, as if the air itself hadn’t caught up to the fact that they were here, side by side again.

Angela Lopez looked up as they approached, her smile quick and warm for Lucy. “You must be Detective Chen—welcome. We’re lucky to have you.”

Nyla Harper extended her hand. “Looking forward to working with you.”

The warmth eased something in Lucy’s chest.

But Angela wasn’t done. Her gaze flicked to Tim, sharp as glass. “Bradford escorting someone personally?” Her brow arched, her grin just this side of sly. “That’s new.”

Lucy felt heat creep at the back of her neck.

Tim gave her a look that should’ve been all stone-faced deadpan—but the faintest quirk tugged at his mouth. “Don’t start, Lopez.”

Angela just smirked, clearly filing it away. “Come on, let’s get you set up,” she said to Lucy, steering her toward the empty desk nearby.

Tim gave her a brief nod, as he walked back to his desk.

But even as he dropped into his chair, his eyes flicked back once. Then again. Each glance quick, careful, but restless—like he couldn’t quite leave her to the background. Like her presence alone shifted the air at his desk and left him feeling unsettled.

Lucy felt his eyes on her as she sat down, her legs a little weak after this unexpected encounter. She opened her bag, pulling some of her stuff out. A pen cup. A slim notepad. A coffee sleeve she’d scribbled a number on once and kept. A tiny potted plant.

She then pulled a small photo frame from her bag, thumb brushing the edge. Blue eyes stared back at her. Her hand trembled. With a sharp inhale, she flipped it face-down and tucked it into the drawer, shutting it firmly. Not here. Not now.

When she looked up, her gaze went instinctively to Tim’s desk. Empty. For a moment, disappointment pricked—gone already? But then she spotted him through the glass wall at roll call, posture commanding, presence magnetic.

Her eyes lingered too long until Angela’s soft throat-clear jolted her back.

Lucy glanced over, flushing as Angela gave her a knowing smile. “Looks like Sergeant Bradford made an impression.”

Lucy shrugged, forcing a smile. “Maybe.”

Angela slid a file toward her. “Here—your first case. Let’s get started.”

Lucy reached for it, grateful for the distraction.

Across the bullpen, Tim stood at roll call, but his thoughts weren’t fully on the briefing. His gaze kept slipping sideways, back toward the desk where she sat. Eight years, and somehow she still had the power to knock him off balance.

He exhaled slowly, pulling his attention back to the squad. But the unsettled beat in his chest stayed.

---

The precinct buzz had softened a little as the mid-afternoon lull settled in. Lucy pushed open the break room door, mug in hand, notebook tucked under her arm. The hum of the coffee machine and the faint clatter of mugs offered a comforting rhythm—mundane, ordinary, safe. Almost.

Tim was leaning casually against the counter, pouring coffee with that same calm confidence that had made her chest tighten hours ago. Their eyes met across the room, and a pulse of awareness flared instantly.

Keep it together, Chen, she thought. It’s just coffee. He’s just a colleague.

Well, it would be easier if he didn’t look so… so him.

She set down her notebook and started toward the counter, deliberately casual, only to find herself sliding into step beside him as they reached for the sugar at the same time.
Fingers brushed— causing a fleeting spark neither could ignore.

“Well,” he said lightly, glancing at her with a faint smile, “I never thought we’d run into each other like this.”

“I’m not surprised you’re a cop,” she replied, keeping her tone light. Yet her fingers tightened around her mug, betraying her calm exterior.

He arched a brow, something flickering in his eyes.
“I am surprised you are one.”

She didn’t take the bait, shifting focus instead. Her gaze landed on the NBA logo on his mug.
“Do you still play?” she asked, genuinely curious.

“On and off,” he said with a shrug. “Mostly coaching the kids in the neighborhood these days.”

Of course you are, she thought, a small smile tugging at her lips.

He watched her over the rim of his mug as she stirred her coffee.

“Wait. You take it black now? You used to drown it in cream.”

She blinked, cheeks coloring. “Habits change.”

He noticed the micro-frown she made as she thought about what to say next, the little line of tension along her jaw.
Still stubborn, still careful… he mused, almost fondly.

“I wonder what else has changed,” he murmured, then hesitated for a beat before adding casually, “We should catch up sometime. I mean really—hear how you ended up in LAPD. Might be interesting.”
Lucy gave a faint hum, pretending to focus on her coffee, careful not to reveal too much.

She caught him leaning back slightly, a subtle measure of ease creeping into his stance, yet his eyes kept tracking her, just enough.

Before he could press further, Harper stepped in, holding a folder. “Lucy! Hey, we need to go over the Ramirez case before the next briefing. Got a minute?” Lucy exhaled, relieved, letting herself be pulled into the discussion.

She didn’t miss the lingering look from Tim as he stepped back toward the bullpen, the slight tightening at the corner of his eyes, the brief pause before he disappeared from her sight.
This isn’t over, he seemed to say.

Even as she walked out with Nyla, reciting the details of the Ramirez case in her head, her mind kept flicking back to the brush of their fingers, the easy banter, the way he’d noticed her coffee choice, the subtle lift of his brows—all of it somehow both thrilling and unsettling.

----

The city lights blurred past as Tim navigated the freeway home, the hum of the tires on asphalt mingling with the soft strains of a late-night radio station.

He told himself he was focusing on the song, the rhythm, the mundane task of driving. But his thoughts kept drifting, uninvited, to her.
Lucy Chen. Eight years. And here she was, sitting just a few feet away in the same precinct, laughing quietly at something Nyla had said, brushing her fingers against his for the briefest moment in the break room.

It should have been simple. Casual. Colleagues.

But it wasn’t simple. It never was, he admitted silently.

The memory of her face—the curve of her jaw, the intensity in her eyes, the spark he had always remembered—kept replaying.

He exhaled slowly, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter, and suddenly the night shifted.
A flash of heat surged through him; he could almost smell the chlorine that was pulling him back into the past.

Eight years ago…

Chapter Text

Eight years ago..

Tim’s bus rolled onto the Northwestern University campus just after dusk, the low rumble of the engine fading as students hurried along icy paths.
He had been here before—visiting for basketball games as Michigan’s star shooting guard—but he couldn’t help noticing the contrast with his own campus.
Michigan’s broad quads and brick dorms felt open and familiar, full of energy and movement, a place where he could read every corner and anticipate the roar of the crowd. Northwestern, by contrast, pressed closer—the gothic buildings and narrow, winding walkways seemed to huddle against the sharp February wind rolling off the lake, giving the campus a chilly, almost mysterious feel.

The boisterous chatter in the bus quieted, as all the students got busy unloading their bags and gear, the snow crunching underfoot. His teammates had already headed for their dorms, exhausted from travel and practice, leaving the campus quiet except for the rustle of wind-swept trees and the occasional echo of distant laughter.

Tim, restless and full of energy, decided to take a detour before turning in. He had heard that the campus pool was heated and open until midnight—a perfect escape. He shifted his duffel bag to his other shoulder, thinking of the warm water after a long day. Add some much-needed solitude to that, and he was hurrying toward the small, stone-clad building at the edge of campus.

After changing into his trunks, Tim pushed the heavy door open. The humid warmth of the pool area hit him like a wave, steam rising from the water in gentle wisps and carrying the faint scent of chlorine. The lanes stretched long and empty under the fluorescent lights, the water rippling softly as if inviting him in.

And then he saw her—a lone figure cutting through the water with effortless grace, each stroke precise and fluid.
Even with the swim cap and goggles, he could tell it was a woman: the lean strength in her shoulders, the subtle curve of her form, the way her movements combined power and elegance.
Wisps of dark hair had escaped from the edges of her cap, trailing briefly in the water with each stroke. Something about her presence made him pause, an unspoken admiration stirring, a spark of curiosity he couldn’t explain.

---

Lucy kept her strokes steady, feeling the familiar rhythm of water sliding past her fingertips and the steady push from her legs. Swimming had always been her refuge—a chance to empty her mind, to feel her body move with purpose.
It was late, the campus mostly quiet, and she had deliberately come here for a few laps before turning in.

She sensed it before she turned—a subtle shift in the air, the faint sound of another presence. Her skin prickled, and she exhaled slowly, keeping her movements smooth and controlled.
Then she saw him: a lone swimmer in the next lane, powerful, deliberate, moving through the water with a commanding ease. Even from a distance, she could tell he was athletic—broad shoulders, strong arms cutting through the water, strokes long and confident.

He didn’t speak, and she didn’t either.

Yet somehow, the silent parallel of their laps felt charged, a quiet acknowledgment that neither had expected to share this space tonight.
Lucy adjusted her pace, deliberately falling into a rhythm that mirrored his strokes, each movement smooth and controlled. Her pulse quickened as she felt the energy in the lane beside her, the quiet power in his strokes sending an unbidden thrill through her. The strength of his shoulders, the effortless sweep of his arms—he moved like he owned the water, and she couldn’t stop sneaking glances at the way his body cut through the pool.
He noticed her too, of course. The lean, taut muscle in her back, the graceful strength in each kick—it was magnetic, and it made him hold his breath a fraction longer on each turn. He kept his eyes just ahead, but the curve of her form, the rhythm of her movements, drew him in against his better judgment.

They swam in silence, but the air between lanes seemed charged, each turn at the wall a heartbeat of anticipation neither could deny. When she slowed to a stop, her chest rising with exertion, she felt him watching, a heat behind his gaze that made her cheeks flush even under the pool’s harsh lights.

Lucy finally stepped out of the pool, wrapping her towel around herself and Tim’s gaze caught her just as she turned. The faint escape of water along her shoulders, the curve of her waist, the long, toned lines of her legs—it was all revealed in the brief instant she paused by the poolside.

He swallowed, breath catching in a way that surprised him.
She sensed, without looking directly, that he had noticed. A shiver ran through her as her pulse picked up, and she hurried toward the locker room, pretending to adjust her towel, but the awareness of his gaze lingered like fire on her skin.

He remained in the water a few strokes longer, trying to regain his composure, the image of her imprinting itself firmly in his mind.

She changed quickly, but curiosity—and perhaps hope—drew her back to the pool. She stepped back onto the deck, scanning for him, but he was at the far end, slicing through the water with the same effortless power.
She paused, letting the tension build, before giving a small, deliberate wave over her shoulder—a silent acknowledgment.

Tim glanced up just long enough to see her, a flicker of recognition and admiration passing across his features, before he resumed his strokes, the water rippling around him.

Lucy allowed herself a faint, private smile—perhaps this was meant to remain a wordless encounter, charged with unspoken energy; perhaps that is what made it special. She turned toward the exit, heart still racing, leaving the pool and the stranger behind—but knowing the memory would linger far longer than the night.

---

Present day..

Lucy sat at the dining table, the quiet of her apartment stretching around her.
A half-finished cup of tea sat nearby, forgotten, as her mind drifted back to that meeting in the pool—the feel of the water, the brush of his gaze, the memory of the stranger whose presence had left her feeling unnerved.
The memory was strong, she could almost smell the chlorine..

“Mom! Mom! MOM!”

The repeated calls jolted her upright.

Ethan, her seven year old son, sat at the table, spoon poised over his dinner.

“Did you hear what I just said, Mom? About my swimming class? The new strokes?” She blinked, flushing at her own distraction.

“I… I heard, baby. Sorry,” she said, reaching over to pat his elbow. “Tell me again.”

Ethan’s bright blue eyes looked up at her with eager expectation. They pulled her fully back into the moment, and she smiled, giving him her full attention as he eagerly recounted his day in the pool.

Even as she listened, she couldn’t help but feel that familiar stir in her chest—the pull of memory and longing mingled with the steady, grounding warmth of Ethan’s presence. The day’s earlier tension and wonder drifted, replaced by the steady rhythm of home: the scrape of a fork on a plate, the soft laughter of a boy who trusted her completely, and the reminder that, for now, her world began and ended at this table.

She didn’t know if anyone else might ever have a place here—at this table, in her heart.

And that was exactly why she should banish any thoughts of a certain handsome LAPD Sergeant who still made her toes curl with nothing more than a glance.

Chapter Text

Present day..

The bullpen hummed with low chatter, the usual shuffle of files and clack of keyboards filling the space as officers found their seats.
Lucy slipped in, not late but deliberately a minute before the clock ticked over—early enough to be professional, late enough that she didn’t have to linger under too many curious stares.

Her newness was still obvious. She could feel it in the way people’s eyes tracked her as she crossed the room, the quick assessments, the curiosity. She forced her shoulders back, posture straight, notebook in hand. Detective Chen. You belong here.

And then her eyes locked on him. Like they couldn’t help it.

Tim was already at the front, a case file tucked under one arm, coffee in his other hand. He was different now, she observed —broader, more solid, with a maturity in the set of his jaw and the weight of someone who’d lived through more than most. The years had marked him, no question, but some things hadn’t changed at all. He still had that quiet intensity, the calm certainty that made people straighten instinctively in his presence. Unshakeable. Grounded. A man who seemed to anchor the whole room without a word.

Her chest gave a traitorous flutter. She shoved it down.
Angela Lopez slid into the empty chair beside her, flashing a grin. “Relax. Bradford doesn’t bite. And in case you’re wondering —he’s single.”
Lucy blinked, heat rushing up her neck. “I wasn’t—”
“Uh-huh.” Angela smirked knowingly before sitting back, pen already tapping against her notepad.
Lucy stared down at her own blank page, pulse skipping. She hadn’t come here for this—for Tim, for the ghosts of those three carefree days they’d shared in college. She had come to work, to prove herself, to give Ethan the stable life he deserved. And yet, Angela’s casual words made everything ache with new sharpness. Single. Free. The reality of what she had kept from him suddenly felt heavier than ever.
When Tim started the briefing, his voice carried easily across the room. Calm. Steady. Certain.
And all Lucy could think was—he deserves to know.

---

The city stretched out in a late-afternoon haze as Lucy steered the department-issued black SUV through traffic, hands steady on the wheel.
The hum of the engine filled the silence, dispatch chatter crackling faintly over the radio.

Beside her, Tim sat angled toward the window, his presence filling the car in that quiet, deliberate way that made her hyper-aware of every breath.

It shouldn’t surprise her. Eight years ago, even when they’d been just college kids sneaking late-night fast food and trading stories on dorm steps, he’d carried the same centered gravity.

She tightened her grip on the wheel. Eight years. Eight years, and he still didn’t know.

“Grey figured I should tag along,” Tim said finally, breaking the quiet. His voice was even, clipped, but not unkind. “The CI trusts me. But I’m guessing you don’t really need backup.”

Lucy glanced at him, lips tugging into the smallest smile. “I don’t mind the company.”

For a beat, the corner of his mouth twitched before he shifted, resting an arm against the door.

“So—Detective Chen. Fast-track. Five years to gold shield. Most people take longer.”

The warmth his words sparked in her chest caught her off guard. She lifted a shoulder, keeping her voice light.
“Guess my psych degree came in handy. People like talking to someone who listens. Helps with interviews.”

Tim gave a short, considering nod. “Not just helps. Makes you effective. That’s not something they can really teach.”

The quiet praise in his tone sent heat crawling up her neck. She ducked her head, pretending to check her notes, though the words blurred. “Or maybe I just got lucky.”

“Luck doesn’t make a good Detective,” he countered without hesitation. His gaze flicked to her, steady, almost amused. “Skill does.”

Her heart stuttered, betraying her calm. His approval shouldn’t matter. Not anymore. But it did.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was alive, pulsing faintly between them as the city slid past the windshield.

Lucy forced herself to breathe, to focus on the road ahead. This wasn’t college. This wasn’t the dorm steps or that one night she’d let herself trust him completely.
This was work. Reality. She had responsibilities now. A son waiting at home. Secrets she couldn’t afford to let slip.

Still—when Tim’s eyes caught hers for just a second longer than necessary, it undid her. Because all she could think was that she could drown in those blue eyes all over again.

----

Eight Years ago – Northwestern University Campus

The morning air was brisk, sunlight cutting across the quad in sharp angles. Lucy balanced her psych textbook against her hip as she navigated the stream of students heading toward their first classes.

That’s when she saw him.

The guy from the pool the night before — taller now without the water flattening him, broader in a gray Michigan basketball T-shirt that left no doubt about why he was here. His dark hair was still damp, a gym bag slung over one shoulder, posture straight as if gravity itself respected him.

And then he looked up.

Blue. His eyes were impossibly, startlingly blue without the goggles masking them. They locked on her, steady, unhurried — and she felt her chest give an odd little jolt.
He crossed the walkway toward he, mouth twitching like he wasn’t used to smiling but couldn’t quite stop himself.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low, gravel-edged.

“Hey yourself,” Lucy returned, her smile lighting up without effort. She tipped her head toward his shirt. “So you’re one of the visitors.”

“Yeah.” He glanced down briefly. “Michigan. Final year.” Then, after a pause, almost like he remembered his manners: “I’m Tim.”

“Lucy.” She shifted her psych book higher in her arms. “Sophomore. Psychology major.”

“Psych, huh?” His brows lifted slightly. “So you’re one of those people who can read me in five seconds flat?”

Her smile tilted playful. “Three.”

Before she could say more, the press of students surged around them. Someone shoved past, and Lucy stumbled forward, straight into his chest.
His hands closed around her arms, firm but careful, steadying her.

“You okay?” His voice was quieter now, close to her ear.

She tilted her head up, meeting his eyes. For a moment, she swore the world slowed.
Heat licked across her skin where he held her.
“Yeah. Thanks.”

He released her gradually, his hands lingering just long enough for her to notice.
Then, as she started walking again, he fell into step beside her.

Lucy shot him a curious glance. “You do realize the gym’s the other way, right?”

Cool, unbothered, he shrugged. “I can afford a detour.”

Her laugh bubbled out, light and surprised.

“So you came all the way here for basketball?” she asked.

“Tournament game tonight,” he said. “Northwestern’s supposed to be tough.”

“And you’re what — forward?”

“Shooting guard,” he corrected, glancing at her with a flicker of amusement.

She grinned. “Sounds important.”

“Team effort,” he replied, deadpan.

“Do you ever give more than a five-word answer?” she teased.

He considered this, lips twitching. “Depends.. who’s asking.
She laughed again, the sound spilling out easily, and he let the corner of his mouth lift in the faintest smile — like he hadn’t meant to but couldn’t stop it.

“You’re not like the other visiting players, are you?” she observed. “Usually, they’re… I don’t know. Loud. Surrounded by girls.”

“Not my style,” he said simply, eyes forward.

They entered the academic block and Lucy made her way up the stairs towards her classroom, Tim still walking beside her.

The tide of students pushed around them, and at one point someone brushed too close.
Without thinking, Tim lifted a hand, palm light at her elbow, guiding her clear of the jostle.
He dropped it quickly, but the warmth lingered, a quiet little imprint she didn’t comment on — though her heart noticed.
They walked to the end of the corridor in silence, stopping as they reached the door of her classroom.

Before she could step inside, he asked, “You should come to the game tonight.”

Her pulse jumped. “Maybe,” she said, keeping her tone airy, noncommittal. But the warmth in her cheeks betrayed her.
He gave a small nod, like he wasn’t going to push, then turned to leave.

Lucy dropped into her usual seat next to her roommate, Rachel.

Rachel’s jaw practically hit the desk. “Was that Tim Bradford you were just talking to?”

Lucy blinked, startled. “You know him?”
“Everyone knows him,” Rachel whispered fiercely. “Half the girls on campus would kill for him to look their way.
But he never does. He’s… different. Serious. Always focused on his game.”

Heat crept up Lucy’s neck. “He asked me to come to the game tonight.”

Rachel grabbed her arm, eyes wide. “Then we have to go. No excuses.”

Lucy ducked her head, biting back a smile. But through the rest of the lecture, her thoughts drifted—to his eyes, the way his hands had steadied her, the flicker of a smile meant just for her.

---

Across campus, Tim pounded the ball against the hardwood floor of the gym, sweat slicking his skin as he drove himself harder than usual.

But his concentration kept slipping—replaced by flashes: her smile, the warmth of her against him, the way she’d said his name like it was already familiar.
He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his damp hair.

“Focus,” he muttered under his breath. Tonight was a big game.

Lucy. Maybe she’d come.

He certainly wanted to see her again.

---

Chapter Text

Present Day..
The corner bodega smelled of fried food and stale coffee, its hum of refrigerators underscored by muffled voices.
To anyone watching, it looked like Lucy and Tim were just two cops grabbing a snack between calls. But tucked behind the counter, jittering with nerves, was their CI — eyes darting like a rabbit in a field of hawks.

Lucy leaned forward, elbows braced on the counter, keeping her voice calm.
“We just need a name. Someone’s supplying on the east side. You help us connect the dots, maybe that probation violation stays off the radar.”
The CI swallowed hard, muttering too fast, half lost under the clatter of a restock cart rolling by.

Tim shifted closer, his shoulder pressing into Lucy’s as he leaned in to hear. His head dipped, his breath brushing her ear.
“Slow him down,” he murmured, low and even. The warmth of his voice at her skin rattled her more than the threat of the CI bolting.

Lucy repeated the question, firmer this time.

The CI glanced between them, sweating. “I shouldn’t even be talking to you. People find out—”

“You’ll be fine,” Tim cut in, calm but edged. His notebook came out, his hand moving quick, precise, the scratch of pen against paper sharp in the noise.
Lucy’s eyes betrayed her, snagging on the movement. Those hands. She remembered the strength of them at her waist once, steadying her in the water. She forced herself back to the moment.

“Name,” Lucy pressed.

Someone jostled past with a bag of groceries, shoving her sideways. She stumbled — and before she could even think, Tim’s hand caught her hip, steadying her.
A flash of another time hit her. Another crowd, his hand at her back.
Déjà vu, sharp enough to leave her breathless.

The CI’s gaze flicked to the contact, lingering a beat too long before sliding away.

Tim’s arm dropped, his expression unreadable, professional.

The conversation dragged on, tension tight. A second wave of customers surged past them, and this time Lucy shifted sideways on her own, fluid and quick.
She caught Tim’s faintly amused glance — before his attention went back to his notes.

Finally, the CI scribbled a name onto a receipt and shoved it across the counter before bolting for the door.

Lucy exhaled. “Think it’s solid?”

“Better than nothing.” Tim tucked the slip into his pocket.

As Lucy edged sideways to make room for a customer brushing past, her shoulder skimmed against Tim’s. Not a heavy bump, just the faintest touch — but enough.
They both stilled for a fraction longer than necessary, glances meeting in the narrow space between them.

Then the noise rushed back in, and they turned away.

---

The bullpen was still humming when Angela sidled up to Tim’s desk, arms folded, eyes carrying that playful glint she reserved for when she was about to stir trouble.

“How’d the CI meet go?” she asked, voice easy.

Tim didn’t look up from the file in his hands. “Fine. Productive enough. Nothing we can’t work with.”

Angela gave a slow nod, then let the pause stretch just long enough. “And Chen? What’d you think?”

His eyes flicked up, then back down. “She’s smart. Good instincts. Quick on her feet. She’ll be an asset.”

Angela tilted her head, smirk forming. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. I’ve seen the way you two glance at each other. Hard to miss.
And unless I’m mistaken—no ring.”

Tim shut the file a little harder than necessary. “Not happening.” His tone was curt, final.

Angela only grinned, patting his desk like she’d scored her point. “Sure, Bradford.”
With a mischievous smile, she strolled off, leaving the air buzzing faintly around him.

Later, across the bullpen, Tim’s gaze strayed despite his best efforts. Lucy was laughing at something Nyla said, her eyes alight, her expression open and warm.
The years had sharpened her into someone steadier, stronger, but the spark was still there — the same spark that had drawn him in all those years ago. It tugged at him now just as easily, magnetic and dangerous.
He reminded himself it had only been a few days back in her orbit. But the connection felt anything but new.

---

Lucy felt it too.
She knew they had barely been together for a matter of days, but the connection had been strong, instant, and undeniable.

One afternoon with Tim and the memories came rushing back, along with the emotions she thought she’d outgrown.

Since Ethan’s birth, she hadn’t dated seriously — no time, no real desire, and no one who ever felt like more than a passing distraction.
But with Tim… it felt like she could. Too easy. Too natural.

She shook the thought off, reminding herself that it was only because Ethan was his son.
That the familiarity came from seeing the same stubborn focus, the same set jaw, the same unmovable posture reflected in her boy.

Her gaze drifted now, catching Tim at his desk, that same concentration etched into every line of him.
Warmth rushed to her chest before she forced herself to look away.

Because beneath all of it was the secret she carried — the one that made her restless, the one she wasn’t ready to lay bare.

---

The park was alive with late-afternoon noise—kids shouting, sneakers squeaking on asphalt, the rhythmic thump-thump of the basketball.
Tim stood at the edge of the court, whistle at his lips, calling out a correction as his group of boys ran another drill.

Across the park, Ethan was playing tag with a few neighborhood kids while his grandmother kept an eye from a shaded bench.
The ball slipped from the court, bouncing across the grass until it rolled to a stop at Ethan’s feet.
He picked it up with both hands, frowning thoughtfully at its weight, then wandered over toward the players.

“Hey, buddy,” Tim called as Ethan approached the boundary line, holding the ball a little awkwardly. “Thanks for that.”

Ethan grinned and tossed it back with surprising accuracy for a kid his size. Tim caught it easily, eyebrows lifting. “Nice arm. You like basketball?”

Ethan shook his head. “I love swimming.”

Something about the answer—and the open blue gaze that came with it—made Tim pause.
There was a flicker of familiarity he couldn’t quite place, like a chord half-remembered.

He crouched slightly, so his eyes met the boy’s. “Swimming, huh? How old are you?”

“Seven.”

Tim nodded, studying him for a beat longer. “Well, once you’re a little older, maybe you’ll give basketball a shot too.”

Ethan hummed noncommittally, then tilted his head. “Were you in the military?”

Tim blinked, caught off guard. “I used to be. Why do you ask?”

“My dad’s in the army,” Ethan said matter-of-factly. “My mom says they all have the really short haircut.”
He pointed at Tim’s close-cropped hair with the blunt honesty of a seven-year-old.

Tim laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “Guilty. I’m a cop now, but I guess I never outgrew the haircut.”

Ethan’s smile widened. “Cool. My mom’s a cop too.”

Tim’s breath caught. “Oh, I see—”

“Ethan! Time to go!”

The boy turned at his grandmother’s call, waving. “Coming!”
Then, glancing back once more, he added brightly, “Goodbye, Officer!”

Tim lifted a hand in return. “See you, Ethan.”

The boy jogged off toward the bench, and Tim turned back to the court.
His players were waiting, bouncing impatient on their toes. He raised the whistle again, but the sound of the basketball hitting asphalt—thump, thump, thump—pulled at something deep in memory.

And suddenly he was back in another gym, years ago, the sharp echo of a game night in college, Lucy’s laughter carrying from the bleachers as he took his shot—

---

Chapter Text

8 years ago - Northwester University

The gym was packed, noise bouncing off the rafters as bodies pressed into the bleachers. The kind of late-season energy where every cheer, every chant vibrated through the air.

Tim adjusted the ball in his hands at the free-throw line, but for once, he wasn’t tuned out of the crowd. His focus snagged, unshakable, on the dark-haired girl threading her way through the row of seats. She spotted him instantly, her lips tugging into a smile as she slid into a space with her friends. Lucy. She had come.

He forced his attention back to the rim, sank the shot cleanly — but his chest felt warmer than the cheers could account for.

Lucy settled in, pulse quickening the second her eyes found him on the court. He was impossible not to watch — powerful, precise, his intensity like a current pulling her in. The set of his jaw, the sharp focus in his eyes, the way his jersey clung to his frame when he pushed through the defense. She couldn’t pretend she wasn’t captivated.

The game was tight — a battle point for point, every possession contested. Tim played like the floor belonged to him, and when his team finally pulled ahead, it was because he willed it there. He was everywhere at once, blocking, driving, finishing with an emphatic dunk that brought the crowd to its feet. Lucy clapped and laughed, cheeks flushed, knowing full well he saw her stand. And he did — eyes finding hers even as his teammates slapped him on the back.

Michigan took the game, barely, but decisively. The buzzer sounded, the gym erupted, and Tim’s grin — wide, unguarded — flicked her way before he disappeared in the chaos of his teammates.

---

The crowd was still spilling out of the bleachers, voices echoing in the gym, but Lucy and Rachel lingered near the edge of the court. Tim was with a teammate, towel slung around his neck, laughing as he replayed a moment from the game.

Lucy’s pulse kicked when his gaze found hers. Just like that, the noise faded.

You came, his eyes seemed to say, locked on hers with quiet intensity.

Of course I did. Her smile carried the rest. You were amazing.

“Hey, Chen!” His teammate noticed her too, elbowing Tim lightly. “Who’s this?”

Lucy blinked, realizing Tim hadn’t moved. She stepped in before it got awkward. “This is Rachel,” she said, tilting her head toward her friend. “My roommate.”

Rachel offered a polite smile, shaking hands.

Tim cleared his throat, dragging his eyes back where they belonged. “Right. Uh—this is Nate. Point guard, pain in the ass.”

“Best shooter on the team,” Nate corrected with a grin, then turned to Rachel. “So—you two heading to the Phi Delt party?”

Lucy heard the words, but they barely registered. Her focus stayed on Tim, who was watching her in that way again—like she was the only thing he saw in the gym.

She flicked her gaze over him, taking in the damp hair pushed back from his forehead, the sheen of sweat still clinging to his temples, the way the dark jersey stretched across his shoulders. He looked sharp, dangerous in his intensity, but his eyes on her were soft.

Tim, for his part, noticed everything—her slim jeans tucked into boots, the fitted jacket she hadn’t unzipped yet, her hair falling in loose waves around her face. She didn’t look like the other girls he usually saw at games, all glitter and short skirts. She was simple. Effortless. And she was looking at him like he mattered.

Rachel nudged Lucy, bringing her back. “We’re going?”

“We are?” Lucy echoed, eyes darting back to Tim.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

Of course she was going. If that’s where he’d be.

---

The frat house was already pulsing by the time Lucy and Rachel stepped inside. Music thudded through the floorboards, the air thick with heat, chatter, and the tang of spilled beer.

Tim came in later, showered and fresh, his teammates still riding their win. They were loud in their jerseys, basking in the attention. But his eyes caught on Lucy almost immediately, and the background noise blurred.

She’d shed her jacket, and the sight made his chest tighten. Her top was simple—cream-colored, soft, fitted just enough to bare her shoulders. Not overt, not flashy. But there was a quiet, unshakable confidence in the way she wore it that stole his breath. Understated, yet impossible to ignore.

He crossed the room without thinking, claiming the spot beside her. His hand found her back, warm against the thin fabric—casual enough to pass, deliberate enough to make his pulse race.

“Drink?” he asked, leaning close so she could hear him.

“Cider,” she said, smile tugging at her lips.

A few minutes later, they were tucked near the edge of the room, away from the thickest crush of bodies. Beer in his hand, cider in hers, the hum of music vibrating against the walls.

Tim tilted his head toward her. “So. What do you do when you’re not swimming?”

Lucy took a sip of her drink, eyes sparking. “Depends. Sometimes I’m buried in coursework. Sometimes…” She hesitated, then smiled almost shyly. “I sing.”

“You sing,” he repeated, eyebrows lifting.

“Mm-hm. Open mic nights at the student club. Nothing big. Just for fun.”

That got his full attention. He leaned in, voice lower. “You’re seriously telling me you get up in front of a room full of people and sing, and you call it ‘just for fun’?”

Lucy laughed, bumping her shoulder lightly against his arm. “What, you don’t believe me?”

“I believe you,” he said slowly. “I just don’t believe anyone’s calling that ‘nothing big.’”

Her cheeks warmed, though she tried to play it off with a teasing tilt of her head. “You’re saying that like you’ve never been cheered on by a crowd before.”

“That’s different,” he shot back, grinning. “Running up and down a court with a ball? Not the same as standing under a spotlight, all eyes on you.”

“Guess we both thrive on adrenaline, just in different ways,” she said, sipping her cider.

Before he could respond, the music cranked louder, bass rattling the windows. The party was tipping over into rowdy territory—people shouting across the room, drinks sloshing onto the floor, laughter edged with something sloppier.

That’s when a guy in a jersey stumbled past, nudging his buddy with a grin. “Guess Michigan didn’t just take the game—they took the girls too.”

His glance at Lucy was fleeting, but it was enough. Tim’s jaw tightened, glare snapping to him like a warning shot.

Lucy leaned closer, brushing his arm with hers. “Let’s get out of here,” she murmured, her voice almost lost under the thrum of music.

Tim didn’t hesitate.

---

Lucy shrugged into her jacket, scanning the crowd for Rachel before heading out. The music had gotten so loud it was hard to think straight, let alone hold a conversation. She rose on her toes, craning her neck, but her roommate was nowhere in sight.

“Hang on, I just need to let Rachel know I’m—”

Tim nudged her shoulder, his eyes flicking pointedly across the room. She followed his gaze and found Rachel wrapped around Jake, one of Tim’s teammates, both of them laughing into each other’s necks like the party around them didn’t exist.

“She’s not going to miss you,” Tim said dryly, the corner of his mouth pulling upward. Then, softer: “Let’s go.”

He held out his hand.

Something inside her shifted at the simple gesture, the weight of his palm steady, warm, waiting. Without thinking too much about it—because if she did, she might lose her nerve—she slid her hand into his. Their fingers laced together like it had been inevitable, and her pulse jumped.

The cider’s buzz, the charged air between them, the way his thumb brushed against hers as he led her out—it all made her a little dizzy. Not drunk. Just heady.

They stepped into the night, the thrum of the frat house fading behind them. The crisp chill of late winter bit at her cheeks, but his hand was still wrapped around hers, solid and warm.

“There’s usually a truck parked just outside campus,” Tim said, steering them down a quieter street.

Her head tipped toward him, surprised. “You’ve been here before?”

He nodded. “Yeah. For the same matches in previous years.” His voice dipped slightly, almost thoughtful. “But this year’s… somehow turning out to be something special.”

Heat rushed up her neck, and she tried to deflect before she melted completely. “Is that what you say to every girl at every campus you visit?” The words slipped out more like self-preservation than accusation, light on her tongue.

But he didn’t laugh it off. Didn’t dodge. Instead, his eyes found hers in the pale glow of a streetlamp, steady and unflinching.

“I actually don’t,” he murmured, so soft it almost disappeared in the breeze.

Something in his gaze—earnest, unguarded—cracked through the last of the careful walls she’d put up. She blinked, dazed by the intensity in those blue eyes, the sincerity he hadn’t meant to let spill out. And judging by the way his jaw tightened, like he’d surprised himself too, Tim wasn’t used to admitting it either.

They reached the truck in silence, both a little rattled in different ways.

When it was her turn to order, Lucy leaned forward, cheerful again but not quite able to shake the echo of his words. “One veggie burger and fries, please.”

Tim’s eyebrows lifted, amusement flickering across his face. “Really?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “What?”

“Just surprised, that’s all. Who eats all that grease and still looks…” He trailed off, not finishing the thought, but his eyes lingered, appreciative.

Lucy smirked. “I swim hard, Bradford. I can eat what I want and burn it off.”

“Fair,” he said, still grinning as he placed his own order. “Grilled chicken salad wrap.”

She groaned. “Of course. Mr. Healthy.”

“Someone has to balance us out.”

Bags in hand, she glanced around, then tilted her chin toward the path that curved past the quad and down toward the water. “I know a spot. By the lake.”

The walk was quiet, moonlight spilling over the sidewalk, their shadows stretching long beside them. A breeze carried the faint smell of pine and damp earth; the world hushed except for the crunch of gravel under their shoes. When they reached the edge of the lake, Lucy spread her arms out with a grin.

“See? Worth it.”

The water mirrored the sky, dark and rippling, the moon casting a silver glow across the surface. Stars winked overhead, scattered like sequins, and the soft rustle of wind through trees made it feel like the rest of the world had dropped away.

They sat close on the low stone wall, bags rustling open. She passed him a napkin, stealing one of her own fries before offering the carton with mock generosity.

Tim shook his head; eyes fixed on her more than the food. “Not sharing with you. You’ve got your grease pile.”

“Your loss,” she said, biting into the fry with exaggerated relish.

But the teasing only half-registered. Because here, in the moonlight, with her shoulder brushing his, everything felt sharper. His fingers still carried the memory of her hand in his, and even with a paper bag of food between them, the charge hummed, unspoken but undeniable.

---

After they ate, they strolled back across campus. The night was still alive with laughter from lingering partygoers. Lucy didn’t rush, and neither did Tim. Every step felt stretched, the spaces between words loaded with something neither of them named.

Her phone buzzed. A quick glance.
Rachel’s not coming back tonight.

She slid the phone into her pocket without comment. If she told Tim, it would sound like an invitation. And she wasn’t ready to admit—to herself, let alone him—how much she wanted him to follow her upstairs.

They walked slower. The cool night brushed her cheeks, but his hand was warm when her fingers found his. He looked down, surprised, then gently clasped her hand, his thumb brushing the edge of her knuckles.

Sparks. Pure and unfiltered.

Neither of them said a word, but her pulse quickened as if the silence itself was a promise.

The dorm entrance loomed ahead, but Tim wasn’t ready for the night to end. Before they crossed the threshold, he caught her hand and tugged her into the quiet shadow of a brick alcove. His lips found hers, tentative for a beat, then deepening with a hunger he hadn’t meant to reveal.

Lucy melted against him, her fingers fisting in his T-shirt as their mouths moved together, heat building like an untamed current. When he finally pulled back for air, she was smiling—soft, secret, dangerous. Without a word, she laced their fingers again and led him inside.

The hallway was dim and hushed, punctuated only by the distant sound of laughter from another floor. Their steps were slow, reluctant, each one broken by a kiss—gentle at first, then more lingering, more insistent. He pressed her against the wall halfway down, her giggle muffled by his mouth before it turned into a sigh. By the time they reached her door, her lips were swollen from the constant pull of his.

At the threshold, he caged her against the frame, kissing her like he’d been waiting years instead of hours. She arched into him, breath stuttering as his mouth trailed lower, down her jaw, then her throat. A small gasp escaped when his hands slipped beneath the hem of her shirt, palms warm and rough against her bare skin.

For a moment, the world shrank to this: his touch, her heartbeat hammering against his chest, the taste of him still on her lips.

And then he stopped.

His forehead rested against hers, their breaths tangled, both of them trembling with restraint. His eyes held hers, the war clear in them—desire colliding with the sharp reminder that time was slipping away, that his departure was already looming over them like a shadow.

Her fingers toyed with the buttons of his shirt, unwilling to let go. “When… when do you leave?” she whispered, her voice caught between dread and denial.

Tim’s hand came up, steady, and he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, his thumb brushing her cheek with quiet tenderness. “The bus leaves at eleven tomorrow morning.”

The words sank heavy in her chest. She tried to mask her disappointment with a small smile, but the look in his eyes told her he felt it too—the same ache, the same reluctance to let this end. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss into her hair, and for a moment neither moved.

“Early morning swim?” he murmured against her temple.

She pulled back just enough to blink at him. “Really? After playing basketball tonight, you want to wake up early for a swim tomorrow?”

He grinned, faint but teasing. “What—are you scared I’ll beat you?”

Lucy gasped in mock outrage. “Excuse me? I don’t swim as a hobby, I’m on the university team.”

He shrugged with deliberate casualness, but the glint in his eyes was anything but casual. “So you’re game?”

“You bet I am,” she shot back, chin tilting defiantly.

The corner of his mouth curved as he leaned in and kissed her again—gentler this time, more lingering than heated. She sighed softly against his lips, the sound giving away more than she wanted it to.

“I’ll see you at the pool. Say… six-thirty?”

Her nod was almost shy. “See you tomorrow,” she whispered, voice low but sure.

“Tomorrow,” he echoed, backing away slowly before turning down the hallway.

Lucy stayed at her door, watching him go, her fingers still tingling from the press of his shirt buttons. Only when he disappeared around the corner did she slip inside, her back pressed to the closed door, heart still racing.

Chapter Text

Northwestern University – 8 years ago

The morning sun gleamed off the water as Lucy arrived at the pool, towel slung over her shoulder.

Tim was already there, slicing through the water with smooth, powerful strokes, the chill of the early hour barely touching him. When he spotted her, he slowed, pulling himself to the edge, eyes lingering on her with open admiration.

Lucy had chosen her swimwear carefully — a teal one-piece that accentuated her toned legs and shoulders, modest at the neck and back, but flattering in every curve. Her hair was piled high atop her head, no cap, and she offered him a teasing smile that seemed to say catch me if you can.

Without another word, she dove in, cutting through the water with controlled, fluid strokes. Her arms and legs propelled her across the pool, each movement precise. Tim grinned and followed in hot pursuit, enjoying the challenge, the temperature of the water easing his muscles and sharpening his focus.

Lucy reached the far edge first, turning to watch him glide closer, water sluicing off his golden, toned body. He rose beside her, powerful arms propelling him effortlessly. His eyes locked onto hers, full of unspoken desire. Before she could react, he pressed her against the side of the pool, the water rising to her chest, just around his hips. He bent to kiss her, warm and insistent, tasting her with a hunger that mirrored her own.

Her hands slid over his broad shoulders, down his back, savoring the feel of his muscles beneath her fingers. He deepened the kiss, and she responded just as fiercely, the water sloshing around them as they clung together.
Finally, they pulled back slightly, arms still wrapped around each other. “Race you to the other side?” Tim challenged, a playful spark in his eyes.
Lucy raised an eyebrow. “Okay…what does the winner get?”

“To kiss the other,” he said easily, as if it were obvious.

Lucy smacked his shoulder, laughing. “Tim! No. The winner gets to ask a question, and the other has to answer truthfully.”

He shrugged, giving in to her. “Alright…deal.”

They turned, took a breath, and pushed off from the wall. The water churned around them, arms slicing through the surface, legs kicking hard. Lucy finished just a few seconds ahead, surfacing triumphantly and shooting him a victorious grin.

Tim gave her an indulgent smile. “So…what do you want to ask?”

“Maybe later,” she said, letting the question linger, teasing him as much as the race. He shrugged, letting the moment slide, and they swam a few more laps, teasing, laughing, and stealing more kisses whenever the water allowed.
The sun had climbed a little higher, streaming through the skylight, across pool’s surface. After a few more laps and lingering touches, their laughter winding down, they finally decided it was time for breakfast. Hands brushing, smiles lingering, the world outside the pool felt distant, as if these stolen hours belonged only to them.

---

The small campus diner smelled of toasted bread and brewing coffee. Lucy slid into a booth, grateful for the warmth after the chilly morning swim. Tim followed, carrying a tray, setting it down across from her.

They shared a plate of eggs and toast, each reaching over to take bites, the closeness adding a subtle intimacy. Lucy stirred extra cream into her coffee, savoring the rich warmth, while Tim kept his black coffee simple, sipping slowly between bites.

Lucy watched him as he ate, the easy way he carried himself still catching her off guard. He wore a comfortable deep blue sweater over a T-shirt and well-worn jeans — nothing flashy, just natural and effortless, the color of the sweater bringing out the blue in his eyes.

“So,” she began, spearing a piece of toast, “what do you want to do after college? Are you planning to go pro?”
Tim shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “No. Army,” he said, taking a sip of coffee. “I’m already in the reserves. After graduation, I’ll see about deployment. Service…structure…discipline. It’s what I want.”

Lucy nodded, listening intently, noticing the pride and seriousness in his tone. “That’s… impressive,” she said softly, eyes flicking up to his.
They fell into easy conversation, sharing glimpses of their lives outside campus. Movies they loved, places they’d visited over the summers, little quirks from their hometowns — laughter punctuated their words, their fingers occasionally brushing as they reached for the same toast or coffee.

They lingered over the last bites of their breakfast, both aware that time was pressing.
“You have to go pack, don’t you?” Lucy asked, her voice light but betraying a twinge of reluctance.

Tim nodded, a hint of disappointment flashing across his features. “Yeah… I have to be at the front gate at 11 o’clock.”

Lucy sipped the last of her coffee, the creamy warmth doing little to ease the lump in her chest. She stood, grabbing her bag and sliding her jacket on.
“I’ll be there,” she said lightly, though her voice carried more weight than she intended.

They parted ways. Tim headed back to his dorm to pack, while Lucy made her way to the library to return a few books, the exhilaration of the morning swimming session slowly ebbing into a quiet melancholy. Her mind kept replaying every glance, every brush of fingers earlier that morning.

By the time she reached the front gate, a Michigan State bus was already idling, emblazoned with the school’s logo. Her heart sank. She watched, dread coiling in her stomach, as the bus started to pull away. Panic surged, and she ran the last few meters, but it was too late. The bus rolled down the street, taking him with it.

She stood, breath uneven, disappointment twisting in her chest. They hadn’t said goodbye properly. She hadn’t even asked for his phone number. For a moment, she just watched the bus vanish into the distance, feeling suddenly very alone.

Then, sharp and familiar, came his voice.
“Lucy!”

Her heart leapt. She spun around and saw him jogging up, duffel bag in hand, eyes wide but shining.

“I told my coach it’s the weekend,” Tim said as he reached her, “I’ll head back to Michigan on Monday.”

Relief washed through her. She threw her arms around him. “I’m so glad you didn’t leave without saying goodbye.”

He wrapped his arms around her, before pulling back to look at her, pleased by her show of affection.

“So I thought I could just stay at…” Tim began, trailing off as he realized he hadn’t thought it through. He hesitated for a moment, realizing belatedly how spontaneous this was — an unplanned stayover wasn’t his usual style. Impulsive wasn’t in his nature, and yet, here he was.

Lucy gave a smile that was almost bashful. “Rachel’s away this weekend.”

Tim’s gaze sharpened, and in that moment, he caught her hint. A small grin tugged at his lips. “Right. Then… I can stay.”

---

They stepped out of her dorm, after dropping off his overnight bag. It was a crisp February afternoon and the wind nipped at their cheeks. Tim glanced around, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “So…what do we do now?” His tone was light, but the question carried more than casual curiosity.

Lucy paused mid-step, the words catching in her throat. A small, nervous laugh escaped her.

Tim noticed the hesitation and immediately felt a twinge of self-reproach. “I…uh, I’m sorry. I didn’t even ask if you had other plans. I just—” His voice trailed off as he mentally berated himself. That’s why he never chose impulsive. He always planned carefully, mapped everything out. Staying an extra night, just like this…he hadn’t thought it through.

Lucy tilted her head, a soft smile forming. The sunlight caught the edges of her hair, making it glow, and it melted some of his guilt. “It’s just that… I remember I have a performance at the student club tonight,” she said, her voice low, almost hesitant, “to sing.”

He blinked, a spark of recognition in his eyes. Of course—she’d mentioned music before, the weekends she sometimes performed. She bit her lip nervously, her gaze flicking toward him. “You…you’ll come watch?”

He grinned, a slow warmth spreading through him. “Of course.”

Lucy exhaled, the tension easing from her shoulders. “Well…other than that, my weekend is wide open,” she added, the faintest blush rising to her cheeks.

Tim’s gaze lingered on her for a beat longer than necessary, noting the subtle curve of her smile, the way her hands fidgeted slightly at her jacket pockets, the easy confidence that seemed to radiate even when she was shy. His chest tightened, realizing just how much he wanted to make the most of every moment they had together.

“So…” he said finally, shifting his weight slightly, “we figure out a plan? Or just…wander and see where the day takes us?”
Lucy laughed softly, the sound carried by the brisk wind. “Wander sounds good. No plan. Just…you and me.” She reached for his hand, brushing her fingers against his. He caught her hand gently in his own, a spark running through his arm at the connection.

Tim smiled, heart suddenly lighter. “Then wander we shall,” he said, tugging her hand with a playful, confident pull, just enough to make her stumble slightly against him. She caught herself, laughing, and he leaned in, voice low. “Careful…or I might think you’re making excuses to get closer.”

Lucy rolled her eyes but didn’t pull away. “Maybe I am,” she teased. “Or maybe I just like holding your hand.”

The easy banter carried them forward down the snow-dusted paths of the campus, the city buzzing faintly around them, the promise of a weekend together stretching ahead. Every brush of their fingers, every shared smile, built a tension that neither wanted to break, not yet.

---

The streets of Evanston had a quiet charm that contrasted with the hustle of campus. The cold breeze made Lucy turn up the collar of her jacket. Tim wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close. Lucy couldn’t help herself from leaning in, feeling the reassuring heat of him against her.

They wandered past small boutiques, bookshops, and vintage record stores, occasionally peeking inside just to stretch the legs and spark some conversation. Every time Tim’s fingers brushed hers or he lightly kissed the back of her hand, Lucy felt a small shiver of delight.

They ducked into a small café when a sharp wind cut across the street. Warmth hit them immediately, the smell of baked bread and rich coffee filling the space. They grabbed a corner table by a frosted window, sitting close enough that their knees brushed.

“What do you want?” Tim asked, scanning the menu.

Lucy grinned at him, sliding her hand across his briefly as she pointed to the soup of the day. “Warm soup sounds perfect. And maybe grilled fish on the side.”

Tim raised an eyebrow, impressed. “Healthy choices. I thought we’d be sneaking fries somewhere.”

“Well, I like to eat what I want and not feel guilty,” she replied, smirking. “And I like the fish here.”
He gave her a fond look. “I’ll have the same then.”

Once the food arrived, they shared the soup, passing the bowl back and forth with playful ease. Every brush of their fingers when reaching for a spoon or napkin made Lucy’s pulse quicken.

“So…” she began, spoon poised over her bowl, “you really think criminal justice is the more practical degree?”

Tim leaned back, smirk tugging at his lips. “Absolutely. Psychology is… fascinating, sure, but understanding laws, systems, enforcement? That’s real-world stuff. Direct impact.”

Lucy rolled her eyes, mock offense flashing across her face. “Impact? Please. Understanding the human mind is the foundation for everything—crimes, justice, relationships. Criminal justice is just a fancy system for controlling people.”

Tim shook his head, feigning despair. “We’ll have to agree to disagree. I’m not backing down.”

“And I’m not either,” Lucy said with a grin. She leaned across slightly, brushing her knuckles against his hand as she reached for her water.

They fell into a quieter conversation then, talking about family. Lucy shared that she was an only child and that both her parents were psychology professors at UCLA. She described small details—her dad’s stubborn humor, her mother’s meticulous way of organizing research notes, how they had instilled in her a deep curiosity about people.

Tim, in turn, opened up cautiously. “Mom isn’t around anymore… passed a few years ago. Dad’s… well, he’s strict. Always has been. And I have a younger sister—she’s in high school, stubborn as anything, just like my old man.”
Lucy listened intently, noting the rare vulnerability in his voice. He hadn’t really mentioned his family yet, and she was glad he felt comfortable enough to share these small truths. Tim noticed her attentive gaze and the warmth in it, and he felt a rush of tenderness, even as his heart raced at the softness of her hand in his.

The afternoon sun slanted across the café window, casting long, golden shadows. They lingered over the last of the soup, neither wanting to leave just yet, the rest of the weekend stretching ahead like a promise.

Chapter Text

Northwestern University – 8 years ago

Lucy glanced at her watch and sighed. “I should head back and tune up. Performance’s at seven, but I like to get there early to rehearse.”

Tim’s lips curved, reluctant. “Already? I was hoping we could keep wandering a bit longer.”

She smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I know… but you promised to watch, remember?”
“Of course I promised,” he said, his eyes lingering on her for a beat longer before she turned and walked away.

Left alone, Tim felt a sudden urge to do something for her, something meaningful to mark this weekend and the rare freedom of being with her.
He wandered back toward the small shopping street they’d passed earlier, scanning the store windows.
Nothing off-the-shelf seemed right — too generic, too predictable.

He ducked into a small boutique that specialized in charms and trinkets, running his fingers across dozens of tiny pieces, imagining which ones would speak to her.
After careful searching, he finally settled on a small charm bracelet. It had three delicate charms: a miniature coffee cup, a tiny guitar, a swimming fin and just one more — each one representing something personal to her.
His stomach knotted with nerves. Would she like it? Would she see that he’d put thought into it?
He couldn’t shake the doubt, but he hoped the small gestures would convey how completely smitten he was.

He made a very brief stop at his dorm to change, tossing on a black leather jacket over a dark tee and jeans, and tightened his shoes.
Barely a minute later, he was back on the street, heading toward the student club, the crisp Evanston air sharpening his anticipation.

By the time he reached the club, the crowd had begun forming outside, the low hum of chatter and occasional laughter spilling into the chilly night.
He slipped inside and scanned the room. The stage was quiet for now, dimly lit, and a few crew members were moving equipment.
He spotted a table in the back, close enough for a good view once she started, and waited, his heart hammering with a mix of excitement and nerves.

---

The lights dimmed further, a soft spotlight illuminating the stage.
Lucy stepped into it, guitar slung over her shoulder.

Her outfit was simple yet captivating: a deep burgundy blouse with subtle shimmer tucked into high-waisted black trousers, sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the grace of her wrists and forearms. Her hair was loose, cascading over one shoulder, catching the faint glow of the stage lights. She exuded confidence, poise, and just enough vulnerability to draw in every eye.

Tim’s breath caught as he watched her move to the mic, adjusting her guitar with practiced ease. The first notes rang clear, delicate, yet charged with emotion. He was immediately captivated — not just by the music, but by her presence, the way she owned the stage without arrogance, the way her voice carried a longing that seemed to reach right across the room to him.
He had never heard her perform before, and it stunned him; every note revealed layers of her he hadn’t imagined, drawing him in completely.

The song — “Say You Love Me” by Jessie Ware — was perfectly suited to her sultry tone. Each note lingered, each phrase imbued with vulnerability and strength. Tim could see the subtle shift in her expressions, the flickers of feeling as she immersed herself in the melody. Goosebumps rose along his arms, his chest tightening with a mix of awe and desire.

The crowd responded instantly, leaning forward in their seats, murmuring appreciatively. But Tim barely noticed anyone else. His gaze stayed fixed on her, the way her fingers strummed the guitar strings with precision, the soft arch of her neck when she leaned into a note, the way her eyes momentarily flicked toward the audience before returning to the microphone.

When the last note resonated and the room erupted into applause, Tim found himself standing instinctively, clapping with a smile he couldn’t hide. She had captivated him entirely — voice, presence, and soul.

Lucy set the guitar down, cheeks flushed, hair slightly tousled from the movement. She caught his eye across the room and felt a jolt — relief, excitement, and something more, something that made her stomach flutter. She stepped off the stage, weaving through the crowd with confidence but a subtle air of anticipation, knowing exactly where she wanted to go.

Tim’s pulse quickened as she approached. His leather jacket felt suddenly heavier, his hands itching to reach out, to pull her close.

The music shifted in tempo and volume, blending into the background as the club’s energy transformed into a pulsing dance beat.
Yet he barely noticed the others around them. He saw only her.
Their eyes met, and in that moment, unspoken understanding passed between them.

Every glance, every small shift in posture, was loaded with the tension of the day, the game, the lingering touches from earlier, and the undeniable attraction that had only intensified.

As she drew nearer, Tim instinctively leaned slightly forward, catching her wrist gently, guiding her through the crowd with a protective awareness that masked his burning desire.

As they reached the dance floor, the beat enveloped them. Lucy pressed herself against him, and Tim felt the memory of their kisses flicker between them. Their bodies moved in sync with the music, every brush of her hand against his, every subtle sway, sending sparks through both of them.

Her arms threaded around his neck, his hands slid lightly along her sides, and the raw intensity between them grew with each heartbeat. The music thudded in rhythm with their pulse, a backdrop to the storm of desire they both felt but had held at bay until now. Each glance, each touch, was loaded with longing, the memory of last night’s closeness making every movement more charged, more urgent, yet still sweetly restrained.

---

The song shifted again, heavier bass, faster tempo, and Lucy felt the pull of Tim’s hands along her waist. She leaned into him, letting herself get lost in the heat of his presence, the memory of last night’s stolen moments lingering like fire along her skin. Tim’s pulse was loud in her ear, steady yet urgent, every subtle brush of his fingers igniting small sparks that ran down her spine.

They wove through the crowd, Tim’s hand never leaving hers. Every turn, every press of his body against hers, sent her heart racing, a delicious mixture of anticipation and restraint. She caught his gaze, and the unspoken agreement was clear: whatever happened tonight, it would be theirs, in this moment.
No distractions, no hesitation.

Outside, the cold hit them like a shock, and Lucy shivered slightly. Tim tightened his grip, sliding his arm around her shoulder and pulling her close. Heat radiated between them despite the chill, the contrast making every touch feel sharper, more intimate. Her head rested just under his chin as they walked, and Tim stole small glances at her, thinking how impossibly magnetic she was — her eyes alight, hair tousled from the club, lips slightly parted, and the intoxicating scent of her perfume lingering on the air between them.

By the time they reached the dorm, the world felt small, contained, almost theirs alone. Tim’s hand squeezed hers, a silent question she answered with a small, eager nod. He guided her up the stairs, each step a tantalizing prelude, their bodies brushing, lips nearly meeting in fleeting, charged touches.

The chill from outside lingered on their skin, but inside her dorm, it didn’t matter. Tim pressed Lucy against the wall near her door, lips crashing onto hers with a force that stole her breath. Her hands roamed over his back, pulling him impossibly closer, feeling the hard strength beneath his shirt. Every touch, every kiss was charged, electric, insistent.

He tugged her into the room, closing the door behind them with one hand, the other never leaving her body. Clothes became an afterthought, discarded in a messy trail as their hunger for each other took over. Tim’s lips traced hers, down her neck, along her collarbone, leaving fire in their wake. Lucy responded in kind, hands on his chest, feeling the taut muscles, the heat, the relentless pull between them.

When their movements slowed for a heartbeat, Tim broke the kiss to catch his breath, fingers brushing over her skin. “Are you—” he hesitated, voice low and rough, “are you protected?”
Lucy looked up at him, her pulse racing, eyes bright and steady. “I’m good,” she said, her tone confident. No hesitation, no doubt.

Satisfied, he claimed her again, this time with a fierceness that made them both gasp. The bed, small and cramped, offered little space, but they didn’t care. Every thrust, every touch, every kiss was a crescendo of need they couldn’t suppress. The first wave of passion was urgent, raw, all-consuming. When it finally ebbed, it left them trembling and breathless, clinging to each other, unwilling to break contact.

But the fire didn’t die. Later, as they lay pressed together, skin slick and sticky, there was another round — slower, deeper, more intimate, each touch and kiss exploring every familiar and new contour. Tim’s lips trailed along her shoulder, her neck, over her collarbone again, eliciting soft gasps, whispers, and moans. Lucy’s fingers tangled in his hair, over his back, memorizing the feel of him, the heat, the power.

Hours passed with stolen kisses, lingering touches, and a rhythm that built and ebbed, leaving both of them sated and yet hungry, bodies entwined in the cramped bed but completely lost in each other.
When they finally fell into a deep, exhausted sleep, their hands stayed intertwined, and lips brushed in the semi-darkness, a silent promise that the world outside didn’t exist for these hours — only the fire they had ignited between them.

---

Tim leaned in at the side of the bed, setting down the tray with coffee and eggs. “Morning,” he murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. Lucy stirred, blinking up at him, still warm from sleep, a sleepy smile tugging at her lips.

She reached for the cup of coffee, cream swirling in her mug, and took a careful sip. Tim watched her, the curve of her neck, the way her hair tumbled loosely. The closeness was intoxicating, their fingers brushing occasionally as she reached for the food.

“So, you’re actually making me eat in bed,” she teased, a soft laugh escaping her.

“I think breakfast tastes better when you don’t have to get dressed for it,” he replied, eyes locking with hers.

They nibbled on eggs and toast, passing bits back and forth, teasing each other between sips of coffee.
Every brush of skin, every shared glance carried a charge, the warmth between them growing. When their hands lingered together, it sparked flashes of the night before, and they shared quick, heated kisses between bites.

They lingered in the sheets, bodies entwined, hands exploring, lips tracing slow, teasing paths across each other’s skin. Each touch carried a memory of the night before, but also the hunger of now, urgent and tender all at once.
Tim’s hands roamed over her back and sides, Lucy’s fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer with every gasp and sigh.

Their movements built together in a rhythm that was both familiar and new, each kiss and caress deepening the connection.
Time seemed to stretch and fold around them, the morning light soft on their skin.
When they finally eased apart, breathless and flushed, they held each other close, foreheads touching, the quiet intimacy lingering.
No words were needed—just the shared warmth and the pulse of desire that hadn’t yet faded.

---

Chapter Text

By late afternoon, they were bundled into jackets, hands intertwined, walking toward Grosse Point Lighthouse. The winter wind off Lake Michigan was sharp, but they didn’t mind; closeness and the soft heat of their bodies kept them warm.

They climbed the path together, occasionally pausing to take in the view of the icy water, the glinting sunlight, and the sparkling city skyline in the distance. Lucy laughed as Tim exaggerated a mock slip on the icy pavement, catching her by the waist before she could even react.

The movement brought her chest to his, and he smelled the faint vanilla of her shampoo, felt the warmth of her pressed against him. Lucy gasped softly, teasing and provocation mixing together, and the tension coiled tighter between them.

They wandered along the water, hands brushing more deliberately now, fingers tangling and untangling, small kisses pressed to the backs of hands, the nape of her neck, the corner of her lips. Tim would glance down at her laughing, flushed face and bite back a growl of desire; she caught it sometimes, arching an eyebrow in mock challenge.

At one point, they found a quiet overlook where the lake spread wide and the lighthouse stood sentinel against the sky. Lucy leaned against the railing, and Tim pulled her close from behind, hands resting just above her hips. The moment was electric, the faint scent of the water mixing with their shared warmth. He bent to brush his lips along her shoulder, teasing, feather-light, and she shivered, resting her hands on his forearms, fingers digging in just a little.

“You’re impossible,” she murmured, tilting her head back to meet his gaze, eyes sparkling with mischief and something deeper.

“And you like it,” he countered, pressing a kiss to her temple, his voice low, throaty. She laughed softly but didn’t pull away, leaning into him instead, letting the tension hang between them like charged air.

They continued along the path, stopping occasionally to watch the lake, stealing touches, leaning into each other. Even the wind seemed to urge them closer, the intimacy growing without words. Every laugh, every nudge, every lingering touch stoked the fire that had begun the night before, a promise of more to come.

---

After leaving the lighthouse, Lucy walked beside Tim in near silence, her fingers barely brushing his. The thought of him leaving the next day gnawed at her, a tight ache in her chest. She tried to focus on the warmth of his hand in hers, the soft murmur of his voice pointing out the lake’s shimmering surface, but every glance at the looming horizon reminded her of how fleeting this weekend had been. She swallowed hard, forcing a small smile, but inside, the weight of goodbye already pressed heavily on her heart.

Tim broke the quiet with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “How about we grab some Mexican food? Maybe a little tequila too—make tonight feel less like tomorrow’s coming.” He nudged her gently, hoping to lift her spirits. Lucy let out a soft laugh, nodding. “Okay, but only if you promise to focus on the food and not on doom-and-gloom.” He chuckled, squeezing her hand reassuringly before ducking off toward the liquor store, leaving her to pick up their dinner. Even as she walked, she felt the tension in her chest loosen slightly, grateful for the attempt to make her forget the inevitable for just a little while.

---

Lucy stepped into the small takeout spot, the warm air inside a sharp relief from the winter chill. She ordered the Mexican food they’d both been craving—spicy tacos, grilled peppers, and a little guacamole on the side.

As she walked paced the sidewalk near the restaurant, waiting for her order, her eyes drifted to the display window of a souvenir shop. A selection of vintage watches sat gleaming softly under the warm lighting. One in particular caught her attention: a brass pocket watch, the front etched with the silhouette of a lighthouse. She picked it up carefully, sliding the cover open to admire the classic watch face. A soft smile tugged at her lips as she imagined Tim seeing it, the lighthouse reminding him of the day they’d spent at Grosse Point.

At the back, there was space for engraving. She quickly asked the shopkeeper to etch his initials. Tucking it into a small bag alongside the neatly packed food, she felt a flutter of anticipation. She hoped it would remind him of her and the weekend they’d shared, a quiet connection they could carry with them even after the inevitable goodbye.

---

Tim quickened his pace as he headed to the liquor store, his mind a storm of thoughts. Every time he replayed Lucy’s smile from the lighthouse, the way her fingers had brushed his, the soft laugh that had made his chest tighten, his pulse quickened. He’d never felt like this before—not for anyone. The thought of this weekend ending, of leaving her behind, gnawed at him. Could it really continue beyond this fleeting time?

As he browsed the shelves for tequila, his phone buzzed in his pocket. The subject line made his stomach tighten before he even opened it: Deployment Orders – Next Month. He had been waiting for this for months, but now that it was here, it brought mixed emotions. He read quickly, the weight of reality crashing in. He was graduating next month, the deployment was just after that. But this… this meant long-distance, uncertainty, and too many months of separation. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the tension in his shoulders.

A quiet, painful truth settled in: he couldn’t ask her to wait, couldn’t ask her to put her life on hold for him. Even if she might have been willing to try, it wouldn’t be fair. His jaw tightened as he set the bottle of tequila back down. The weekend—this one shared, electric weekend—was all they could truly have. And yet, the thought of letting go made his chest ache.

---

Back in the dorm room, the comforting aroma of Mexican food filled the small space. Lucy set down the bags, then reached for the small package she had picked out—the little pocket watch. Tim set the tequila on the counter, his mind still buzzing with the weight of the deployment email.

Lucy’s gaze flicked to his phone, lying unlocked on the counter. A notification caught her eye: the same subject line he had read minutes ago. She paused, feeling a quiet pang in her chest, but she didn’t reach for it. Instead, she focused on the gift in her hands, thinking about the weekend they had shared—the laughter, the touches, the closeness—and how fleeting it all felt. She didn’t want to tie him down, didn’t want him to feel guilty about the life he was about to step into.

Tim glanced up, catching her thoughtful expression. Something in her posture, the slight tightening of her shoulders, told him she had seen something—but he said nothing, simply offering a small, tense smile as he poured two glasses of tequila. Lucy returned the smile, masking the flicker of worry in her eyes, and held her hand out.

---

He looked down to see the small pocket watch that she as holding out to him, her fingers brushing his as she passed it over. “I saw it and thought… well, maybe it’d suit you,” she said softly, her voice betraying just a hint of vulnerability. “Something to remember this weekend by.”

Tim lifted the watch, examining the lighthouse silhouette on the cover, then sliding it open to reveal the delicate face. His initials were etched neatly on the back. A low whistle escaped him. “Lucy… this is—” He stopped, unsure how to put the mix of gratitude and emotion into words. His fingers traced the engraving, then hesitated on the smooth edges of the watch. “I… I love it. Thank you.”

Her chest warmed at the intensity in his eyes, the rare, unguarded look that made her heart thrum. She stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, and he instinctively leaned in, closing the small distance between them.

Then Tim reached for the small bag he had set aside. “I got something for you too,” he said, his voice low, almost hesitant. He handed her the gift, and her fingers trembled slightly as she opened it to reveal the charm bracelet. A swimming fin, a coffee cup, a miniature guitar - she smiled ss she slipped it on, he’d definitely put a lot of thought into it. As she held her hand up, she curiously looked at the fourth charm, a tiny star.

Tim’s eyes softened as he watched her. “The star,” he whispered, as he lifted her hand, lightly kissing each fingertip in turn, “is for the way you light up a room when you walk in.” Lucy’s throat tightened with emotion, and she rested her head against his chest, savouring the steady thrum of his heartbeat. Tim tightened his arms around her, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of her head. They stayed like that for a long moment, letting the quiet intimacy settle between them.

Then Tim pulled back slightly, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. “We skipped lunch,” he said, shaking his head. “Let’s eat before we… drown in our own thoughts.”

Lucy laughed, still warm from his embrace, and started setting up the food on the small table. Tim poured the tequila into shot glasses, and Lucy grinned as she placed the little packets of salt and wedges of lemon the restaurant had packed for them.

“To us,” Tim said, clinking his glass lightly against hers. They downed the first shot, warmth flooding through them, cheeks tinting pink almost immediately. The next round followed, and then another. The usually disciplined, measured Tim allowed himself a little reckless abandon, laughing easily at Lucy’s playful toasts and teasing remarks.

The food disappeared almost as quickly as the tequila, and soon they had lost count of the shots. Lucy leaned back, giggling, the warmth in her chest spreading beyond the alcohol.

Tim’s eyes held a mischievous glint as he watched her and tilted his head. “You’re… a little tipsy,” he remarked, his voice low and warm. Lucy only laughed, leaning closer, her hand brushing his. The combination of intimacy, alcohol, and unspoken desire made the next hours feel suspended, as if the rest of the world had fallen away.

---

A soft glow from the bedside lamp cast playful shadows across the walls as Tim’s firm hands on Lucy’s hips pulled her closer, while her fingers danced over the planes of his chest and shoulders, tracing lines. They laughed into each kiss, teasing and exploring, lost in the haze of desire and alcohol, too far gone to think of safeguards.

Lucy arched into him when he kissed the nape of her neck, a shiver running down her spine that had nothing to do with the winter air outside. Tim responded with a growl that was both possessive and soft, his lips moving over hers with a mix of urgency and care. Their bodies melded together, limbs tangling and twisting.

They moved together with a fluidity that was almost hypnotic, kisses punctuated by whispered names and low laughter, hands mapping curves, shoulders, and backs. Every gasp, every brush of skin, carried a charge. Fueled by the burn of tequila and the weight of goodbye, their restraint shattered, giving way to desire - raw, unfiltered. Clothes fell away until there was nothing but the heat of their bodies pressed tightly together, skin against skin, hearts pounding in tandem.

Time became slippery. Minutes bled into hours as they alternated between soft touches and urgent need, the world outside the dorm fading to a distant hum.

As the night deepened and the sharp burn of desire softened into a languid warmth, their passion gradually gave way to a slower, more intimate rhythm. Tim’s hands lingered over her back and shoulders, cupping her face, brushing strands of hair from her eyes, holding her close with a reverence that made Lucy’s chest tighten. She rested her head against him, listening to the steady drum of his heartbeat, letting herself feel secure in his arms.

A single tear slipped down her cheek despite herself, unbidden and quiet, as if acknowledging the intensity of the moment, the vulnerability, the knowledge that this connection was fleeting. Tim noticed immediately, tilting her chin with careful fingers, his blue eyes soft but intense. “Hey,” he whispered, voice low and thick with emotion, “shh… it’s okay. I’m here Luce.”

Lucy pressed herself against him, letting the warmth envelop her, relishing the way he uttered her name like an endearment, the way his lips brushed her temple, the gentle, protective press of his chest against hers. For long minutes, they lingered like that, suspended between the heat of the night and the creeping dawn, neither needing words, letting touch and breath convey everything.

Their limbs entwined, fingers twined, and bodies pressing together, it was a cocoon of intimacy, where desire and tenderness existed simultaneously. Finally, as the first muted light of morning edged across the blinds, they allowed themselves a quiet exhale, lingering in the afterglow, holding on to the closeness they both knew would soon be shadowed by reality.

---

Chapter Text

Northwestern University – 8 years ago

Monday morning arrived with a pale, slanting light cutting through the blinds. Lucy tightened the straps of her jacket around her but the chill in the air was nothing compared to the weight of goodbye pressing in. Tim’s overnight bag hung from one shoulder, his other hand brushing hers as they walked slowly toward the edge of campus.

The streets were quiet, the town just waking up, and the cold air made their breaths mist in front of them. They kept their fingers intertwined, grasping for every last bit of warmth between them. Tim’s jaw was set, eyes distant and Lucy recognized the silent struggle behind the calm he tried to project.

As they reached the bus stop, Lucy willed the world to pause, to grant them more time. But the Greyhound stood waiting, exhaust curling into the cold air.

Tim’s stride slowed. For a flicker of a moment, the discipline in his bearing slipped, replaced by raw hesitation. He could stay. He could decide right here, right now, that she mattered more than orders, more than the future he’d built toward.

But they had always known what this was, had gone into it with eyes open. It was brief, it was borrowed, and it had to end.

And yet, the urge clawed at him — the need to protect her from the ache in her eyes, to keep her laughter and warmth within reach.

Lucy saw it—the way his jaw clenched, the brief crack in his calm. Her stomach twisted, but she gave a small, steady smile and whispered, “I’ll be fine.”

His blue eyes searched hers, as though testing the words, tasting their weight. He gave her hand a last, steady squeeze, but inside the truth burned: he wasn’t sure he’d be okay.
He leaned in, pressing a final, lingering kiss to her lips, soft but heavy with everything they couldn’t say out loud. She responded just as fiercely, pressing her palms against his chest, feeling the solid, steady beat of his heart against her hands. They pulled back slightly, foreheads resting together, the sound of the bus engine filling the silence.

“I’ll… see you,” Tim murmured, voice low, almost breaking under the moment’s weight.

Lucy nodded, her own throat tight, fingers still twined with his. “Take care of yourself,” she said, her hands sliding down his chest, to grasp his fingers.

He gave her hands one last squeeze, then stepped back, sliding the bag over his shoulder, and climbed aboard.
Lucy stayed for a heartbeat longer, watching him settle into the seat near the front, the bus doors closing slowly. She pressed a hand to her lips, holding the warmth of their goodbye, then turned, walking back to campus with heartache and his memory pressed close.”

As the bus pulled slowly away, Tim pressed his forehead against the window, eyes following Lucy until she was a mere figure in the morning light. She raised a small hand in a wave, fingers trembling slightly in the cold air.

Tim mirrored her wave, a soft smile tugging at his lips, and his gaze dropped for a moment to her wrist, where the charm bracelet caught the sunlight.
The little charms shimmered—the star, the swimming fin, the coffee cup, the tiny guitar—and in that instant, the image of her, laughing and warm and impossibly alive, etched itself into his memory.

He knew, with a quiet certainty, that no matter where deployment took him, that snapshot of Lucy—the curve of her smile, the glint of the bracelet, the strength in her eyes—would stay with him forever.

—-

The dorm room felt unbearably empty the morning after Tim left. Lucy sat cross-legged on her bed, staring at the faint indentation on the pillow he had used. The sheets still carried the faintest trace of his cologne, sharp yet grounding, and the silence pressed on her like a weight.

Rachel breezed back into the room, suitcase rolling behind her, humming under her breath from her weekend away. One look at Lucy’s face stopped her in her tracks.
“Hey,” Rachel said softly. “You okay?”
Lucy tried to muster a smile, but it came out more like a grimace. “Yeah. Just tired.”
Rachel wasn’t fooled. She knew Lucy well enough to notice when her best friend had retreated into herself. So she filled the space with chatter about her trip and swim team drama, throwing in exaggerated jokes until Lucy at least nodded along.

The next morning, Lucy forced herself to dive back into the pool. She couldn’t let her team down, couldn’t fall apart completely. But as the cold water closed over her, her chest tightened. Every stroke reminded her of him. She could see Tim leaning against the wall, that guarded smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he watched her swim. She remembered the heat of his mouth on hers when he’d pulled her against him in the water, his hands steady on her waist, the way his walls had cracked open just enough to let her glimpse the man underneath.
Her rhythm faltered. She swallowed water, sputtered, then pushed herself harder, determined not to break down in front of her teammates. But when practice ended, she fled to the locker room, locking the stall door before burying her face in a towel and letting herself sob, silently, fiercely, into the terrycloth.

Nights were harder. She tried going to the club with Rachel, tried to pretend everything was normal. But when the spotlight fell on her and the microphone was in her hand, she froze. She couldn’t sing. Not when she knew her eyes would only scan the crowd, searching for those broad shoulders clad in leather, for piercing blue eyes that softened only when they found her. She set the mic down and walked offstage, murmuring an apology. Rachel squeezed her hand but said nothing.

—-

Weeks slipped by in a blur of classes, practice, and avoidance. Then came the late night she sat cross-legged at her desk, calendar open in front of her, stomach twisting. She counted once, twice, three times. Her period hadn’t come. She closed her eyes, heart hammering.

Had she taken the pill that night? The tequila had blurred so much. She remembered his laughter, the warmth of his breath against her skin, but not that small, routine act she had always been careful about. Panic closed in like a fist.
Rachel found her sitting frozen at her desk the next morning, eyes red and swollen. She didn’t need an explanation. Within an hour, she was back with a paper bag from the pharmacy. She pressed the test kit into Lucy’s shaking hands.

Lucy locked herself in the bathroom, sat on the cold tile floor, and waited. Minutes stretched unbearably until the faint pink line appeared. Positive.
She sank back against the wall, tears spilling hot and fast.

Rachel was waiting outside, arms wrapping around her the second Lucy opened the door. “We’ll figure this out,” Rachel whispered. “You’re not alone.”

But Lucy felt alone. Utterly. The first thought that crashed through her was Tim. She could tell him. She had his number. He was deploying in days, but if she reached out—

Her hand trembled as she picked up her phone. Tim’s number glowed on the screen, so familiar, so achingly close. One call, one word, and he would know. He deserved to know. She imagined his voice on the other end, low and steady, asking where she was, telling her he’d come. She imagined him holding her, promising it would be okay, the two of them figuring it out together.

But another vision pushed in—colder, harsher. His face tight with resentment. The clipped silence as he realized what this meant for the career he had worked toward, the freedom he had chosen. She imagined him staying out of duty, not love, every touch heavy with obligation, every glance a reminder of what she’d cost him.

Her thumb hovered over the call button. Minutes passed. Her heart pounded so hard it ached. She wanted him. She wanted his steady arms, his rough laughter, his presence. But the fear of losing him—of watching him fade into bitterness—was sharper than the hope of keeping him.

With a choked breath, Lucy set the phone down. She folded her arms around herself and whispered into the empty room, “You deserve better. And so do I.” But the words cracked, hollow against the silence.

That night she made another decision: she would keep the baby. She couldn’t bring herself to imagine otherwise.

——

When she told her parents, she left out his name. She only said the father wasn’t in the picture. At first, there was anger, disappointment, fear. But then—slowly, to her surprise—acceptance. They promised to stand by her, no matter what.

She moved back to Los Angeles, into her parents’ home. Transferred to UCLA. The pregnancy was difficult, managing it along with her coursework was harder, but she endured. And the day her son was born, in her junior year, everything changed.

The labor had drained her, left her trembling and weak, but when the nurse placed the small, warm bundle on her chest, Lucy felt a line drawn in her life—before him, and now, after. His skin was soft against hers, his cries sharp and fragile, his tiny body curling instinctively into her warmth.

She wept. Not quiet tears but ragged sobs, tears soaking into the crown of dark hair pressed beneath her chin. She traced the curve of his cheek with a trembling finger, marveled at the impossibly small hand that clutched her gown with startling strength.

When his eyelids fluttered open, Lucy froze. Blue. A piercing, familiar blue that stole her breath. Tim’s eyes—only new, only innocent, only hers. In that moment, it hit her all at once—grief and love, colliding with such force she could barely breathe. She whispered, “Ethan,” naming him aloud for the first time.

With every gentle breath Ethan released against her, love, devotion, and protectiveness swelled inside her. In that instant, she became someone new—not just Lucy, but Ethan’s mother.

—-

She took a semester off to care for Ethan, the long nights of crying and rocking leaving her exhausted. But with her parents’ steady support, she returned, balanced coursework with motherhood, and eventually graduated. She’d always known she wanted more than music or teaching. She wanted purpose, to serve, to protect.

And so, when Ethan turned two, she entered the LAPD Academy. Her mother moved with her, staying nearby to help with her son during the grueling months of training. Lucy threw herself into it with everything she had, the discipline and determination she had once admired in Tim now fueling her own path.

Every lonely night, though, dreams came. Dreams of him—his rough laughter, the safety of his embrace, the weight of his hand against her back. She wondered if he was safe, if he had ever thought of her again. But she didn’t reach out. Couldn’t. She had chosen her silence, and now she had Ethan, the living reminder of a love story that had lasted only a weekend but had changed her forever.

When she finally graduated from the academy, Ethan’s small hands clapped from the audience, his grandparents beaming at his side. The sight anchored her more than any medal could. She carried that strength into her career—first as a rookie, then step by step into detective work.

The years tested her, made her resilient, but they never broke her. Every step of the way, she carried the memory of those three days in Evanston, of the man with piercing blue eyes who had made her heart ache and soar all at once, and of the deep connection that had given her Ethan—the child whose eyes mirrored the ones she had fallen for so deeply, and perhaps never truly gotten over.

---

Chapter Text

Present Day, Mid-Wilshire Division, LAPD

---

Grey stood at the head of the table, folder open, his tone clipped. “Our target is Carter Mills. Small-time smuggler who thinks he’s bigger than he is. He’s sloppy, and he likes to brag. The right pretty face stroking his ego? He’ll talk himself straight into a cell.

Tim leaned against the edge of the table, arms folded, listening. Grey didn’t need to spell out who in the room fit the bill.

“We’ve got intel that Carter’s crew is moving another shipment tonight. We need confirmation before we can make arrests.” Grey finished, looking around the room expectantly.

Lucy spoke before anyone else. “I can do it.” Her voice was calm, confident, as she drew the folder toward her.

Tim’s jaw tightened. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her — she’d built a reputation for sharp instincts and quick improvisation. Still, the thought of her stepping into a room full of smugglers with no one at her side knotted something low in his chest.

You’re not in college anymore, he reminded himself. She’s not that girl. You’re not that guy. She doesn’t need you watching her back.

But his mouth moved anyway. “We’ll need solid comms. Eyes on every entrance. And Lucy—don’t make a move without checking in first.”

Her brows flicked upward. There it was — that look. Exasperation, threaded with the faintest amusement.

“Copy that, Sergeant,” she said, tone polite but her eyes daring him to push further.

---

The music pulsed through the club’s walls, low bass thrumming in Tim’s chest as he watched the feed from the van. On screen, Lucy leaned against the bar in a fitted jacket, all effortless charm and razor focus.

“Target’s approaching,” Tim said into her comm.

“I see him,” she murmured, even and unshaken.

He watched her slide closer to Carter, fingers brushing his sleeve like muscle memory. Perfect body language. Too perfect.

He knew it was a role. Still, when she laughed at something Carter said, heat climbed through his knuckles, his grip tightening on the console.

Breathe. Stay professional.

Then Carter leaned in, close enough that Tim’s pulse spiked. Before he knew it, the van door slammed open, his body already moving — until Lucy’s voice crackled through his earpiece.

“He’s talking. I’ve got him.”

And she did. Within minutes, Carter was spilling details about the next drop, guard down beneath her coaxing. Tim listened, jaw set, until he heard enough.

The takedown was quick and clean—uniforms cuffed Carter, seized the shipment.

---

The case wrapped smoothly. Suspect in custody, evidence logged.

Lucy dropped the file on Grey’s desk with quiet satisfaction. “Carter sang enough to give us the whole chain,” she reported.

Grey nodded. “Good work, Chen. You too, Bradford,” he said, as he walked away to his cabin.

“You’ve got that look, Sarge,” Angela sing-songed as she walked over to them.

Tim scowled. “What look?”

“The one you always get when Chen’s in the room.”

Lucy froze mid-step, pen in hand. She ducked her head quickly, pretending to write a note, but her cheeks warmed.

Tim glared at her, but it was useless. His ears went hot. Lucy’s head snapped up from the paperwork, and she caught Angela’s grin before quickly ducking her gaze back down. Her pen trembled just slightly in her hand.

That look. She knew exactly what Angela meant. And the worst part? Lucy had caught it too — the way Tim had stared at her a second too long.

The last time she’d seen him look at her like that, it had been in the dim light of the Northwester dorm corridors, his thumb brushing her cheek, like she was the only person in the world. 
She shoved the memory down hard.

He couldn’t know she still thought about it. Not when she’d built her whole life on the lie of moving on.

---

Tim found her later by the coffee machine, the hum of the station muffled around them. He leaned against the counter, watching her stir sugar into her cup.

“You were good in there,” he said finally. His voice was low, rougher than he meant.

Lucy’s lips curved in a small smile, though her gaze stayed on her coffee. “Thanks. Though I don’t need a babysitter.”

“I know,” Tim answered quickly. And he did. But the part of him that lived on instinct and stubborn loyalty, that couldn’t stand the thought of her in danger, didn’t care.

She reached for another stirrer, and this time, he reached too—his fingers brushing against hers deliberately, lingering for a breath. Her lashes lifted, eyes locking with his.

The air between them shifted, taut and undeniable. In that fragile pause, they weren’t Sergeant and Detective anymore. They were just Tim and Lucy, standing too close, too aware.

If he knew the truth, would he still look at me like this? The thought came sharp, unbidden, and she pushed it down before it showed on her face.

“Lucy…” Tim began, voice barely above a whisper. “I—”

Her phone buzzed loudly in her pocket, shattering the moment. She blinked, pulled her hand back, and gave him a quick, apologetic smile, as she glanced at the phone. “I have to take this.”

And then she was gone, stepping away with her phone pressed to her ear.

Tim stood rooted, the unspoken words burning in his throat.

Lucy walked toward the hallway, but her chest tightened with every step. Because when she closed her eyes, she wasn’t in the station anymore. She was in Evanston, twenty years old, heart racing as a boy with piercing blue eyes kissed her like he’d never let go.

And she was terrified how much she still wanted that man now.

---

Lucy stepped into Mid-Wilshire a few mornings later, phone tucked under her arm as she flipped through notes for Grey. The low rumble of Tim’s voice drifted across the bullpen, drawing her gaze before she could stop herself. He was standing near the whiteboard, shoulders relaxed, his usual intensity softened into something warm.

The reason became clear fast enough—he wasn’t alone. A blonde cop stood with him, laughing at something he’d said, her hand brushing his arm in a way that seemed entirely too comfortable.

Lucy froze for half a heartbeat, an unexpected pang sliding through her chest. He looked at the woman with genuine affection, the kind of look that said history lived between them.

Nyla appeared at Lucy’s side like she’d been waiting for it.
“Relax,” she murmured, lips twitching. “That’s Isabel.”

Lucy blinked. “Isabel?”

“His ex,” Nyla confirmed, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Oh.

Lucy’s spine stiffened, the air in her lungs catching.

Ex or not, Isabel was beautiful—confident, poised, with a laugh that seemed to light Tim up in a way Lucy wasn’t ready to process.

“Come on,” Nyla nudged her shoulder. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed the way he looks at you. That?” she nodded toward the blonde. “That’s friendship. Don’t overthink it.”

Lucy wasn’t sure she believed her. Because even friendship shouldn’t look that warm.

She squared her shoulders and headed for Grey’s office, trying not to glance their way as she passed—only to hear her name.

“Lucy.”

Tim’s voice. She stopped. He was already stepping toward her, Isabel at his side.

“Detective Lucy Chen,” he said, almost too quickly, as if eager to make the connection. "This is Detective Isabel Holloway, Vice.”

For a split second, Isabel just looked at her. Then her brows shot up—so high Lucy almost choked back a laugh. “Lucy Chen?” Isabel’s gaze swung back to Tim, sharp, incredulous. “The Lucy Chen?”

Tim’s jaw tightened. His ears went red. He looked anywhere but at Lucy. “Uh…” He cleared his throat. “It’s not—”

Lucy’s eyes narrowed, studying him. He’d mentioned her. To Isabel. Probably back when he and Isabel were dating. Why?

He gave the faintest shrug, a silent later.

Isabel, oblivious to the undercurrent, extended her hand warmly. “It’s lovely to finally meet you. I’ve heard… things.”

Lucy shook her hand, distracted by the glint of a wedding band.

Married. Isabel was married now.

And yet—Lucy’s stomach twisted, hot and irrational.

Why was she standing so close to Tim? Why did it make Lucy want to plant herself at Tim’s side like she had every right to?

She excused herself before she could spiral further, heading into Grey’s office with her heart pounding in her ears.

Across the bullpen, Tim watched her go. Isabel said something, but his focus had already shifted.

He couldn’t stop replaying the look Lucy had just given him—sharp enough to cut through Kevlar.

Great, Bradford. She thinks you’re still hung up on Isabel when the only woman you can’t get out of your head is her.

Isabel had been important once, sure. But they’d burned fast, fizzled faster, and settled into friendship because the spark wasn’t enough to keep them together.

She was happily married now, and he was genuinely happy for her.

What he wasn’t happy about was Lucy Chen, shooting daggers his way like he’d betrayed her, when she was the one who still had him twisted in knots.

---

By the end of shift, the case files on his desk were nothing but words swimming on paper. He stayed behind longer than he needed, telling himself it was because of paperwork. Truth was, he was waiting.

When Lucy finally rose from her desk, he did too, pushing the file aside like it suddenly didn’t matter. He caught up to her at the door, slipping into step beside her, casual as he could manage.

“Heading out?” His tone was light, neutral. Too neutral.

She glanced up, cautious. “Yeah.”

He smiled—polite, practiced—but couldn’t help the little rush in his chest when she didn’t pull away. He held the door open for her, falling into step as though it were coincidence.

God, she made him feel like he was twenty-three again, nerves buzzing under his skin, fighting the urge to say something stupid.

By the time they reached her car, his restraint had worn thin. He touched her shoulder lightly, halting her before she could unlock the door. She turned, brows raised.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” he said, voice dropping into something low, deliberate. “Really talk. Without interruptions.”

Her heart skipped. His eyes didn’t waver, steady and blue, making it hard to breathe.

He swallowed. “Would you… want to have dinner? With me?”

Her mouth parted in shock. It was there and gone in a blink, quickly masked with practiced composure.

But inside, she felt the tremor. Dinner. Just the two of them. Maybe a chance to finally come clean about Ethan. Maybe a chance to stop pretending she didn’t want this.

She nodded once, careful. “Tomorrow at seven.”

His grin was subtle, but the warmth in his eyes gave him away.

“I’ll text you the place,” he said, backing away before he did something ridiculous like pump his fist in the air.

Really, Bradford? You’re a sergeant, not some college kid.

His inner voice mocked him, but for once, he didn’t care.

Because tomorrow, Lucy Chen was having dinner with him.

---

Chapter Text

The late-morning sun painted the ocean in shades of silver and blue, and the air smelled of salt and sunscreen. Setting down their picnic bag on the sand, Lucy let Ethan tug her eagerly toward the shoreline, grateful for the day off, for this time with her son.

“Come on, Mom!” he called, already splashing into the shallows, his hair flying wild in the breeze.

She followed, laughing when the first cold rush of water curled around her ankles. Ethan ran ahead, the waves only reaching his knees, his laughter bubbling over as he tried to out-splash the ocean itself.

Lucy chased him down, grabbing him by the waist and swinging him up just as a bigger wave rolled in. Ethan squealed with delight, clinging to her shoulders. “You don’t drop me, Mom—I mean it!”

“Never,” she said, kissing his damp cheek before setting him back on the sand.

They spent the next hour sculpting a crooked sandcastle, Ethan’s small hands piling towers too quickly, Lucy carefully trying to shape them before they crumbled. She found herself laughing more than she had in weeks—real, unguarded laughter—as Ethan narrated a dramatic battle to defend their territory from invading enemies.

“Mom, hurry! If we don’t build the wall higher, they’re gonna take our base!” Ethan said, eyes shining as he shoved more sand toward her.

Lucy dutifully built it higher, glancing at his sandy hair, his sun-pinked cheeks. He was the center of her world, every bit of it. And yet… as she patted down the wall, her mind betrayed her, painting another image over the scene—broad shoulders bent beside her, strong hands steadying Ethan’s smaller ones, a low chuckle at their lopsided fortress.

She blinked the thought away, heart aching at how natural it seemed to picture Tim there.

Later, they rinsed off in the shallows again before stretching out on their towels to dry. Ethan sprawled across half of hers, his head pillowed on her stomach as he stared up at the gulls wheeling overhead.

“Can we do this every weekend?” he asked drowsily.

Lucy smoothed a hand through his damp hair. “Maybe not every weekend. But as often as we can.”

He nodded, satisfied, his eyes slipping shut. Lucy let the silence settle between them, the sound of waves crashing steady and soft. And still, her thoughts slipped back to the evening ahead—Tim’s warm eyes and the hope that had flickered there when he asked her out.

The courage to dream little dreams, right here, under the open sky.

—-

The burger joint was tucked along the boardwalk, its open windows letting in the breeze off the ocean. The scent of grilled patties and fried potatoes filled the air, making Ethan practically bounce in his seat as they slid into a booth by the window.

“I want the biggest burger on the menu,” Ethan declared, flipping through the laminated card like he was about to strike gold.

“You can’t even finish a small one,” Lucy teased, plucking the menu out of his hands. “You’ll get a cheeseburger and fries. And maybe—” she leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially, “—a milkshake if you promise not to bounce off the walls later.”

Ethan grinned, teeth flashing, and nodded solemnly as if he’d just agreed to a top-secret mission.

The food came quickly, baskets of golden fries and burgers steaming, and Ethan wasted no time attacking his plate. Lucy sat back, sipping her iced tea, watching him dunk fry after fry in ketchup with an intensity that could rival any detective’s.

She realized she was smiling—softly, unconsciously.

Ethan caught her. “What?” he said around a mouthful of fries, eyes narrowed mischievously. “Why are you staring at fries like that? Do you love them or something?”

Lucy laughed, shaking her head. “I’m not in love with fries. I was just… thinking.”

“About what?” he pressed, already reaching for more fries.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” she said, ruffling his hair.

But inside, the thought had slipped in before she could stop it: If Tim were here, he’d lecture them about sodium and trans fats… and make them both feel guilty for even looking at these fries. The image was so vivid she almost chuckled aloud—Tim’s mock sternness, the inevitable smirk when she rolled her eyes at him.

Her smile lingered, tinged now with something deeper. Something she couldn’t explain to Ethan, not yet.

Ethan, oblivious, licked ketchup off his fingers and lifted his burger with both hands. “This is the best day ever.”

Lucy leaned her cheek against her hand, watching him with a mix of gratitude and ache. It really could be… if only…

—-

The mall arcade was loud and chaotic, the kind of place that made Lucy’s head spin after the quiet rhythm of the ocean. But Ethan’s eyes lit up the moment they stepped inside, darting from the neon lights to the whirring machines, and Lucy couldn’t deny him.

“Laser tag first!” he declared, already tugging her toward the glowing room with plastic blasters.

Lucy laughed, adjusting the vest over her sundress as she followed him in. The moment the game began, Ethan was all focus—ducking behind barriers, rolling into position like a miniature action hero. Lucy snuck up on him twice, firing until his vest blinked red.

“Not fair, Mom!” he groaned, flopping dramatically against the wall. “You always win.”

“Maybe you should keep your eyes open,” she teased, sticking her tongue out before he darted off again.

By the time they stumbled out, both breathless and laughing, Ethan was already plotting their next battle. But then, he spotted the basketball machine across the floor.

“Okay, your turn to lose,” he grinned, grabbing her hand and pulling her toward it.

Lucy slipped the tokens in, bouncing the first ball. It clanged off the rim, rolling back down the chute. Ethan snorted with laughter.

“Wow, Mom. Great form.”

“Oh, hush,” she said, squaring her shoulders and trying again.

He was good—surprisingly good. The way he focused, the quick snap of his wrist—it tugged at something inside her, pulling her back to a night at Northwestern when she stood in the bleachers and watched another pair of blue eyes light up the court. Tim had always looked invincible when he played, like the ball was just an extension of himself.

“This coach at the park saw me throw the ball. He said I should try playing for real when I’m older,” Ethan said, grinning.

“Did he, huh?” Lucy asked softly, her chest warming at his excitement.

“Yeah. He said I had a good arm. Do you think I’d be good at it?”

Lucy studied him—the determination, the spark in his eyes—and smiled, brushing a hand over his cheek. “I think you’d be amazing at it. You can do anything you put your mind to.”

He shrugged, embarrassed, and stuffed another token into the machine. “I’m still going to beat you again, though.”

Lucy laughed, grabbing another ball. “Bring it on.”

—-

The arcade prizes—an oversized yo-yo, neon sunglasses, and a rubber ball Ethan was already bouncing off every surface—clattered against the table as they slid into a booth at the mall’s pizza place. The smell of garlic and tomato sauce wrapped around them, instantly making Lucy’s stomach growl.

Ethan leaned across the table, eyes shining. “So, we need extra cheese. And pepperoni. And breadsticks. And root beer! Definitely root beer.”

Lucy arched a brow. “You planning to eat all that, champ?”

“Maybe not all by myself,” he said with a sly grin, as if he already knew she wouldn’t resist.

The food arrived soon and Lucy couldn’t believe how quickly it seemed to disappear into their stomachs. For the next thirty minutes, Ethan talked about everything under the sun—dinosaurs, a science project he wanted to do with baking soda, how he thought penguins probably got bored sliding on ice all day, and whether pizza tasted better in triangles or squares.

Lucy half-listened, half-watched him, her heart swelling with a kind of quiet wonder. His imagination never slowed down; his joy was so unfiltered it caught her off guard sometimes.

At one point, he caught her staring and narrowed his eyes. “Are you smiling at the food again?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “No, I’m smiling at you.”

That seemed to satisfy him. He grinned, licking marinara off his fingers before diving back into another story, this time about how he was going to invent a “robot backpack” that carried your homework for you.

By the time the plates were cleared, Lucy felt lighter than she had in weeks. Ethan had that effect on her—like no matter how heavy the world was, his laughter could make it bearable.

Later, in the car, he hummed to himself in the backseat, hugging the stuffed penguin from the arcade like it was treasure. When they pulled up to her parents’ house, he leaned forward between the seats. “This was the best day, Mom. Seriously.”

Her throat tightened. She turned and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I’m glad you think so.”

He bounded out of the car, waving his prizes in triumph as her parents came to the door to greet him. Lucy lingered for a moment, watching him disappear inside, the quiet of the car settling around her.

It was only then that she let herself exhale, the memory of blue eyes from her past tugging at her—unbidden—reminding her how much was left unsaid.

---

The car felt unnaturally quiet when Lucy finally turned the key, heading to the restaurant that Tim had selected. Ethan’s laughter still echoed in her ears, warm and unburdened. But her chest was tight, her mind circling back to the secret that pressed harder with every passing day.

I can daydream all I want, but how do I actually tell him about Ethan? Her fingers clenched tighter on the wheel. What if I lose him the second I speak the truth?

She thought back to the conversation with her mother, when she’d dropped Ethan off.

“Are you pulling a late shift on your night off?” her mother had asked, brows lifting with suspicion.

“Nope, I’m just… going to have dinner.” The words had slipped out before Lucy had realized the implications.

Her mother’s eyes had sharpened instantly. “Dinner? Is it a date?”

Heat had rushed to Lucy’s cheeks, betraying her. Her mom had clapped her hands together, delighted. “Wow, I didn’t think you were ever going to try. You’re so young, Lucy, and you’ve been carrying so much on your shoulders. We won’t be around forever. You need to build a complete family.”

It was a familiar speech, one Lucy could practically recite herself from the number of times she’d heard it. In the past, she’d always brushed it off, insisting she didn’t need anyone else. Her family was complete with Ethan.

But tonight her mother’s words stuck like burrs under her skin, maybe because—for the first time—Lucy wasn’t so sure she believed herself anymore. Maybe because she could almost see it, what complete might look like. With him.

At a red light, she smoothed one palm over her dress, feeling the soft fabric beneath her fingertips. Dusky rose, with sleeves that brushed her elbows and a hem that skimmed her knees. Subtle, but flattering. She’d paired it with beige sandals and the small pearl studs she rarely wore. The kind of choices that felt like her, but elevated. Careful. Hopeful.

Her other hand shifted on the wheel, and the bracelet glinted in the dashboard glow. The charm bracelet. She’d fastened it on with trembling fingers before leaving the house, her breath catching as the memories rushed back.

Please remember, she thought. Please forgive me.

The light turned green, and she eased the car forward, her stomach twisting with nervous energy. She’d handled high-stakes cases, faced down dangerous men without flinching. But tonight, she felt like she was walking into something even riskier.

Dinner with Tim.

---

Chapter Text

Tim sat in his truck outside the restaurant longer than he should have, engine off, fingers drumming against the steering wheel. To anyone else, it was just dinner. Two old college friends catching up. A casual night out.

But he knew better.

The moment Lucy had said yes, something had shifted in him—subtle, but undeniable. He wasn’t blind to the tension that always hummed between them at work. And now, with the possibility of more dangling just ahead, he felt both restless and strangely unsteady.

He glanced down at himself for the fifth time. Dark jeans and crisp button-down. He’d gone through three shirts before settling on this one, and that alone told him he was in trouble. He didn’t do nerves. He didn’t do indecision. But Lucy Chen had always been an exception to his rules.

And damn if he hadn’t thought about her more times than he cared to admit since they’d run into each other again.

A memory pushed in—her in the bleachers at Northwestern, cheering, eyes shining, that bright smile aimed straight at him when he glanced up from the court. He hadn’t thought about that night in years. Now it played in his mind with dangerous clarity.

Get it together, Bradford.

This wasn’t the time to lose his footing. Still, as he finally pushed the truck door open and stepped out into the evening air, he couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight wasn’t just dinner. It was something more. Something that could change everything.

---

Inside, the restaurant glowed warm against the night, the low hum of voices wrapping around him as he found a spot at the bar. Tim leaned back on the stool, the fabric of his deep blue shirt pulling slightly across his shoulders. He rolled the sleeves once, twice—more for something to do than anything else. His drink sat untouched. He wasn’t here for that.

He’d ended his shift early, something he almost never did. But with the paperwork squared away and no calls pressing, he’d been restless. She hadn’t been in the precinct today, and he’d felt her absence more sharply than he cared to admit.

The bullpen had seemed quieter without Lucy’s laugh cutting through the monotony. Without the way her expressive eyes sparked whenever she challenged him—or anyone else—on a point. She had a knack for making the room feel alive, and tonight he realized just how much he missed that.

He checked his watch out of habit, though he already knew he’d come too early. Eager. The word sat uncomfortably with him, but it was the truth. For all the walls he’d built, anticipation still coiled tight at the thought of seeing her.

And he couldn’t believe how much it mattered—how much she mattered.

For years, discipline and order had been his armor, but tonight anticipation drummed steady in his chest, threatening to break through the cracks. 

The restaurant door opened, and he straightened instinctively, muscles tight. Then he saw her.

Lucy.

The rose-colored dress skimmed her figure with a quiet elegance, the hem brushing just above her knees. Pearls glinted at her ears, understated and perfect. And on her wrist—he caught it in the dim light—a delicate bracelet, one he hadn’t seen in years.

For a split second, it was like no time had passed. Just her, walking toward him, eyes scanning the room until they landed on his. 

Something in his chest loosened and pulled tight all at once.

---

He stood as she approached, every step somehow both slow and too fast. Her smile flickered, nervous at the edges, but still it was directed at him. It hit him square in the chest how much it meant to him.

“Hey,” she said softly, her voice carrying just enough over the din of the restaurant.

“Hey,” he echoed, his own tone rougher than he intended. He cleared his throat, forcing his composure back in place. “You look…” He stopped himself, realizing words were failing him in a way they rarely did. “Really nice,” he finished, quiet but certain.

Color rose in her cheeks, and she tilted her head slightly, like she was trying not to give away how much the words meant to her.

For a beat they stood there, caught in a pocket of silence that felt separate from the rest of the room. Then, with a steadiness he didn’t entirely feel, Tim gestured toward their table. As they walked, his hand brushed lightly against the small of her back— without pressing, a simple touch that somehow carried all the unspoken things he couldn’t yet say.

She glanced up at him, that flicker of awareness in her eyes, before sliding into the chair across from his.

“You’re early,” she teased gently.

“So are you,” he countered, a ghost of a grin tugging at his mouth. “Guess that makes us both eager.”

Her laugh was small, caught between nerves and delight, but it was enough to ease the tightness in his chest. He sat back down, studying her in the low light, the bracelet glinting every time she moved her hand.

---

Lucy skimmed the menu, realizing with a grimace that she’d already eaten enough for three people today—burgers, fries, garlic knots, and pizza with Ethan. Her stomach wasn’t even hungry anymore, but her nerves were.

A smile tugged at her lips as she wondered what Tim would say if he knew. Probably launch into a lecture about saturated fats and carbs, his tone half-serious but his eyes giving him away.

“What?” His voice broke into her thoughts, low, curious, as though he’d caught the edges of her smile.

“Nothing,” she said quickly, shaking her head. When the waiter arrived, she ordered a salad she had no intention of finishing. “I’m not hungry.”

Tim’s brow lifted slightly but he didn’t comment. Instead, he ordered the grilled chicken steak with vegetables and then nodded toward the wine list. “Red or white?”

“White,” she said, maybe too quickly. He gave her that patient, unreadable look, then asked for a chilled bottle.

The moment the glasses were poured, Lucy picked hers up and took a few quick sips, hoping the rush of alcohol would steady her nerves. It didn’t. Not really.

Tim leaned in, forearms resting on the table, his presence too large, too solid for her to ignore. When she dropped her gaze to her hands, fidgeting against the edge of the tablecloth, he reached out—slow, deliberate—and let his fingers trace lightly over her wrist.

The bracelet.

He brushed over the charms, recognition flickering in his eyes.

Her pulse stumbled. She tried to meet his gaze, but the intensity there burned straight through her. She looked away, shivering under the heat of his touch, taking another quick sip of wine to cover it.

God, he looked good. The dark blue shirt clung to his shoulders and chest, the faint stubble roughening his jaw giving him a sharper, more dangerous edge. Sexy in a way that made her fingers twitch with the urge to touch—to thread through his hair, to trace the hard line of his chin, to feel the rasp of his jaw against her neck as he kissed her—

“Lucy.” His voice was quiet, steady, pulling her back to him.

She startled, blinking as though she’d been caught in something she couldn’t explain.

“What happened?” he asked softly, eyes steady on hers, his thumb still brushing the bracelet.

Like he knew she had worn it with intent today. A reminder that their past was sitting right there between them.

Lucy forced a quick smile, taking another sip of wine as if the glass could shield her. “Nothing,” she said, her voice lighter now, breezier than she felt. “You’re imagining things.”

Tim’s eyes narrowed slightly, like he didn’t buy it, but he didn’t press. His thumb stilled on her bracelet, then he let his hand fall back to his side of the table.

To distract herself from the strange ache of losing his touch, Lucy tilted her head and asked, “So… what about you?”

“Me?”

“Yeah.” She nudged her glass in his direction, pretending casual curiosity. “How’d the Army stint turn out? When did you come back? And how does someone go from military to the LAPD?”

It worked—his expression shifted, his shoulders easing just a little as he leaned back in his chair.

“Not exactly a straight line,” he admitted, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. “I came back a little older, a little more beat up than I left. Needed something to… keep me steady. Law enforcement made sense.”

Lucy twirled the stem of her glass between her fingers, studying him carefully. His voice was even, but she could hear what he wasn’t saying in the spaces between his words. That the Army had left marks on him that went deeper than the surface. That he’d needed more than just a job when he came back.

“And the LAPD was the answer?” she teased gently, her tone just soft enough to ease the weight in the air.

Tim shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching like he almost wanted to smile. “Guess I like running toward trouble.”

That, she believed. Too much. 

But the question pressed anyway, slipping out before she could stop it. “Why did you leave the Army? You’ve never really said.”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. His jaw worked as though he was biting down on words he didn’t want to let out. Finally, he gave a half-shrug. “Circumstances forced my hand.”

Her brows knit together. Almost without thinking, she reached across the table and laid her hand over his. Warm, small, steady. He glanced down at it, the tension in his knuckles easing just a fraction.

“Tim,” she said softly, urging him on.

He exhaled slowly, gaze drifting past her shoulder as if it was easier to look at the wall than her face. “My dad passed away while I was deployed. Hit my sister hard. She… didn’t handle it well.” His voice was low, almost flat, the words coming out in careful pieces. “By the time I came back, she was in bad shape. Had to go into rehab. I couldn’t just—leave again. So I stayed. LAPD was… the next step.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy, just raw. Lucy’s thumb brushed lightly against the back of his hand, grounding him.

“So… how’s she doing now?” Lucy asked quietly.

Tim’s eyes flicked back to hers, some of the hardness in his expression softening. “She’s good. Got a steady job, her own place. Still has rough patches, but… she’s solid. Stronger than she knows.”

The way he said it carried pride, but also that thread of protectiveness Lucy had come to recognize—the kind that never really let go, even when things were better.

“I know you would have done the best you could, to take care of your family,” she murmured, her tone threaded with quiet conviction.

Tim looked at her then, really looked, like he wasn’t used to someone holding space for his pain without trying to fix it. He didn’t say anything back, but the muscle ticking in his jaw eased, and he didn’t pull his hand away.

The spell was broken only when their plates were set down in front of them—her salad, neat and delicate, his steak steaming with roasted vegetables. Their hands drifted apart as they murmured polite thanks to the waiter, but the air between them stayed charged.

Lucy lifted the bottle and tipped it toward his glass. “More?”

He nodded once, sliding his glass closer. “Yeah.”

She topped his up, then her own, the clink of glass against glass when they set them down again strangely intimate.

---

Lucy didn’t know what she should do next, no matter how much she turned it over in her head. Every version of the words she rehearsed ended in disaster, the truth landing between them like a bomb she couldn’t take back. Her hand tightened around the stem of her wine glass, white-knuckled, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tremor. But of course, he did. Nothing slipped past him.

He watched her with quiet patience, steady as ever, the line of his jaw set but his eyes softened, like he could see the storm moving through her and was content to stand in its path if it meant she wouldn’t face it alone. She looked at him, caught in that unwavering gaze, and for one sharp second she thought she might actually say it.

But instead, she reached across and plucked a baby carrot from his plate, slipping it into her mouth without a word. Her hand moved instinctively, stealing from his plate like she always used to, and for one dizzying moment, it felt as if no time had passed at all. The gesture was effortless, almost absentminded, but it stirred something deep in him. He remembered the laughter, the shared meals, the quiet intimacy of her fork casually trespassing onto his plate like it belonged there. A smile tugged at his lips before he could stop it. And when he looked at her again, he wanted her to see—wanted her to feel—just how much he’d missed that.

She remained silent, and he found himself reaching for words to fill the space between them.

“So… you still sing?”

The question came out softer than he meant it to, a gentle nudge — an attempt to coax her out of that careful, guarded quiet.

Her eyes flickered, distant for a moment, searching through old memories. “Not really,” she murmured, and the pang that hit her chest startled her with its sharpness. She hadn’t realized how much she missed it—how much of herself she’d quietly tucked away, hidden alongside the memories of their weekend together.

He kept watching her, his gaze steady, warm, almost glowing in the low light. He saw the distance in her eyes, but he didn’t press. He let it be, even though it hurt to know she had buried parts of herself. When she shook her head at the dessert menu, he didn’t argue, just reached for the bill.

And when his hand found the small of her back as they left, it was instinct—solid, guiding. She felt it ripple through her like heat against the chill of the night. The air bit at her skin, sharp and cold, but what truly stole her breath was the sudden flood of memory. Walking side by side on campus after a late-night meal, fingers laced together, the world shrinking to just them. She could almost feel it again—his hand fitting perfectly with hers, safety and belonging rolled into something she couldn’t name.

By the time they reached her car, her chest ached with the weight of everything unsaid. She turned suddenly, too fast, and found him closer than she expected—so close the warmth of his breath ghosted over her skin. Her eyes lifted to his, steady and warm, and the words tried to claw their way free. “Tim…,” she started, but the syllables collapsed, leaving her throat dry and tight. If she said it now, she might lose him. If she kept it in, she might drown in it.

He got there first. His hand moved with that quiet confidence that had always disarmed her, brushing a lock of hair gently back, his fingers lingering against her cheek. The touch was tender, but not tentative. “There’s something you want to tell me Luce?” His voice was low, more statement than question.

Her eyes widened, surprise flashing through her. Was she really that transparent? She thought she had buried it well, hidden it behind smiles and careful silences. But the sound of Luce on his lips hit deeper than she was prepared for, tugging at something tender she’d tried so hard to protect.

His mouth curved in the smallest smile, a softness that undid her. “And you’re not sure if you’re ready to share yet?” This time his tone dipped with caution, like he was testing the waters, offering her a way out.

All she could do was nod, her voice tangled somewhere she couldn’t reach.

Their eyes held, and she felt herself unravel under the gentleness in his gaze. His thumb traced the line of her cheekbone, his other hand settling lightly at her shoulder, and she had to clench her fists at her sides just to hold steady. She didn’t know what she had done to deserve this kind of patience, this unshakable warmth—it broke something open inside her.

“I’ll be right here,” he said quietly, each word deliberate, as if it mattered that she heard them. “Whenever you’re ready to tell me.”

Her throat burned. She lowered her head before the tears could spill, forehead pressing lightly against his shoulder. Just a beat, just enough to take in the solid warmth of him, enough to steady her heartbeat against the chaos inside her.

His hands shifted—gently, almost cautiously—sliding from her shoulder to rest at her lower back. He ached to pull her closer, but held himself still. Her trembling gutted him, yet he let her decide the distance, set the pace.

He allowed himself one small thing.
He dipped his chin, letting his lips brush the crown of her head—a touch so brief it almost didn’t count.
Still, it jolted through him like a vow.

He didn’t know what secret she was holding, or why she was so afraid to let it out. But he knew one thing with absolute certainty: he wasn’t going anywhere.

The night closed around them, hushed and intimate, as if the world itself knew it was too sacred to intrude, too fragile to name.

---

Chapter Text

Lucy entered the precinct a few days later, her eyes finding Tim almost instinctively. He stood in the middle of the bullpen with Nolan, head bent over a file, that steady presence she could always count on. Her steps faltered as her mind replayed his quiet promise from a few nights ago—I’ll be right here, whenever you’re ready. The words had lodged themselves in her chest, resurfacing at the most inconvenient times.

So caught up in the memory, she didn’t even notice where she was going until she nearly bumped straight into Angela.

“Whoa,” Angela said, catching her with an amused look as she leaned back against Lucy’s desk. “Eyes forward, Chen. Or are we a little… distracted?”

Lucy flushed, mumbling something about not paying attention as she dropped her bag onto her chair. Angela, of course, only looked more entertained.

“Good,” she said, crossing her arms. “Because I’ve got something you’re perfect for. You handled your last UC like a pro. Nobody else I’d trust with this.”

Lucy blinked. “You want me undercover?”

Angela nodded. “There’s a crew out there looking to expand. Problem is, they don’t trust anyone solo. But if you show up in a pair? That plays like loyalty. That’s the kind of thing they buy into.”

Lucy shifted uncomfortably, trying to keep her voice steady. “So… a couple.”

“Exactly.” Angela’s smile was knowing, edged with mischief. “And if you’re going to fake that, you need someone who already has your back, someone you can read without even trying. That’s what will make it convincing.”

Lucy’s throat went dry. “You mean…”

“Bradford,” Angela said simply, like it was the most obvious answer in the world. She tilted her head toward where Tim still stood, utterly unaware of their conversation. “You two together? Totally believable.”

Lucy’s stomach flipped. Heat crawled up her neck before she could stop it, her mind rushing ahead with images she had no business entertaining. Him. With her. Like that. She forced her expression neutral, but her pulse betrayed her, thrumming in her throat.

Angela nonchalantly patted her desk and stood, brisk and certain. “Don’t overthink it, Chen. Trust me.”

---

Angela leaned against the cool metal of the lockers, watching Tim fold his jacket with military precision.

“So. UC op. Nyla’s CI made contact with a crew that hits banks, clean and fast. They’re recruiting, but only pairs—they want loyalty baked in, no lone wolves. It sells better if you come as a package deal.”

Tim shut his locker with a sharp click. “So why me?”

Angela arched a brow. “Because you can play it. You’ve got the tactical head, the discipline, and—” she smirked—“because the person going in with you already trusts you with her life.”

His expression didn’t change, but the muscle in his jaw ticked.

Angela tilted her head, voice turning sly. “Of course, I could pair Chen with Nolan. He’s eager, plays nice, people buy that.” She let the words hang, enjoying the way his shoulders stiffened.

“Nolan?” Tim said, his tone flat.

Nolan wasn’t the problem. The problem was Lucy, out there without someone who knew her tells, her limits, the way she worked. She needed a partner who could read her in an instant, someone steady enough to keep her covered. 

And that wasn’t Nolan. 

That was him.

“Mm-hm,” Angela said, all innocence. “Unless, of course, you’d rather be the one watching her back. But hey—if you’re not up for it—”

“I didn’t say that.” His words came out clipped, final.

Angela grinned, all too pleased with herself. “Thought so.” She pushed off the lockers, brushing past him. “Besides, everyone already buys the chemistry. You two won’t have to fake a thing.”

---

The fluorescent lights hummed softly over the briefing room, casting everything in that washed-out LAPD gray. Files were spread across the table, crime scene photos and surveillance stills clipped together in neat stacks. Tim sat rigid in his chair, posture all military discipline, arms folded as his eyes tracked every detail Angela pointed out. Beside him, Lucy leaned forward, focused, her hair brushing her cheek as she made notes. He had to remind himself not to stare.

Angela tapped the board. “This crew has been active for six months. They specialize in bank hits, fast in-and-out, military precision. But they’ve lost a couple members. Which means—” her eyes flicked deliberately between Tim and Lucy “—they’re recruiting. That’s our in.”

Nyla folded her arms, calm and commanding. “The CI, Jimmy can get you introduced. But this crew isn’t stupid. They test loyalty, they test cover stories. Which is why you won’t go in as singles. You’ll be a package deal. A couple who pulls jobs together.”

Tim’s jaw tightened. He kept his expression neutral, but he felt Lucy shift slightly next to him, the faintest pause before she nodded.

Angela smirked, just a little. “On paper, she’s the driver - UC name Sava Wu. You’re the lookout, the muscle - Jake Butler. Your pitch is simple: you work best together, you don’t trust anyone else. That’s what sells it.” Her eyes cut toward Lucy.“As for making it believable—” Angela’s tone dipped into mischief “—you won’t have to work too hard on the chemistry.”

Lucy’s cheeks warmed, but she kept her eyes on the files. Tim didn’t flinch, didn’t look at Angela, but his hand flexed against his armrest, betraying the tension in his chest.

Nyla brought it back, her tone crisp. “Your first meet is in two days. Keep it clean. No grandstanding, no freelancing. And remember—they’ll be watching for cracks. The more natural you make it, the easier it’ll be.”

Tim exhaled through his nose, a short measured breath, then glanced sideways at Lucy. Her head was still bent over her notes, but he could feel the same current running through her as it was through him. That push-pull between duty and something he didn’t want to name.

Angela clapped her hands once. “Good. Then it’s settled. You’re the couple - Jake and Sava.”

---

After the briefing broke, the room thinned into the low shuffle of paperwork and keyboards.

Lucy leaned over her desk, eyes on the report. She told herself to focus on the numbers, the patterns, anything but Angela’s words—you’re the couple—still looping in her head.
“Tim, do you think we should—”
“—cross-check these numbers with the ledger?” he finished, already pulling the binder from the shelf.

She nodded. “Yeah.”

Neither of them thought much of it. This was just how they worked—easy, automatic. But even as Lucy buried herself in the details, she couldn’t ignore the way the word couple pressed like a thumb against her ribs, throwing her off balance.

A few minutes later, Tim started, “Lucy, have you—”
“—run the background on Carter’s contacts?” she cut in, her tone clipped, steady. Her pulse wasn’t.

Tim didn’t react, just kept writing. For him, finishing each other’s sentences felt like muscle memory, nothing to notice. The rhythm didn’t bother him. What did was how easily the word “couple” slipped into his head now, uninvited, every time they fell in step like this.

Later, Lucy pointed at a line in the report. “And maybe we could—”
“—flag this entry for Lopez,” Tim supplied, already underlining the text.

Their cadence never faltered. To them, it was just efficiency. To everyone else, it was uncanny.

Across the room, Aaron and Nyla stood with arms crossed and their eyes on the couple, quietly entertained. 

Aaron leaned toward Nyla, brow raised. “Do they even realize how in sync they are?”
Nyla smirked. “Not a clue. But anybody else would clock it instantly.”

Angela poked her head in, grinning. “Exactly. That’s why this plan works. They don’t even have to fake it. The timing, the chemistry—it’s already built in.”

Nyla just shook her head, amused, before nudging them both toward the break room. “Come on. Let’s give them space.”
Their voices faded, leaving the bullpen quieter, just the hum of keyboards and the occasional ring of a phone.

Tim leaned back in his chair, eyes still on the report but thoughts already elsewhere. After a beat, he said, low enough for just her to hear, “So… how did we meet?”

Lucy blinked, caught off guard, then realized what he meant. The cover story.

She opened her mouth, then closed it again, her mind slipping unbidden to a different memory. Chlorine, cool water, the echo of a mostly empty pool. Eight years ago, two students sneaking in a late swim after hours. She remembered the way his strokes cut clean through the water, efficient and powerful. How she’d surfaced at the edge and found him watching her, admiration in his eyes that he hadn’t bothered to hide. How her gaze had lingered too, just a beat too long.

Judging by the stillness in his posture, she knew he was remembering the same thing.

Her throat tightened. She cleared it quickly, forcing a smile. “I’m sure I can come up with something. You’ll just have to follow my lead.” She closed the folder, slipping it into her bag. “Do we really need to practice? I’ve got… something to get to tonight.”

Tim just nodded, hiding whatever had flickered across his mind. “Alright.”

Lucy pulled her things together, moving briskly toward the door. But at the threshold, she glanced back once, eyes catching his for a brief second before she disappeared into the hallway.

Tim watched the door swing shut, the bullpen suddenly too quiet. His gaze lingered on the empty space where she’d been, the memory of cool water and her laughter refusing to fade.

—-

The late afternoon sun spilled gold across the cracked blacktop, sneakers squeaking as Tim’s group of kids darted up and down the court. He blew the whistle, called for a reset, then crouched low to demonstrate a pivot.

He’d figured coaching would clear his head, shake off the whole “couple” talk from the UC briefing. Usually, the rhythm of the game helped—whistle, reset, repeat—but even here, with the scrimmage in full swing, the thought refused to stay benched.

Out of habit, his eyes scanned the sidelines—and landed on a familiar face.

Ethan.

The boy was perched on the low bleachers, elbows braced on his knees, watching the scrimmage with wide, curious eyes. When Tim’s gaze found him, he straightened, lifted a hand in a cheerful wave.

“Hey, Ethan,” Tim called, jogging toward the sideline. “You’re back?”

“Yeah!” Ethan’s grin was infectious. “I played on the machine in the mall arcade last weekend. You know, the basketball one? I defeated my mom.” His voice rose with pride, chest puffing out like he’d just won a championship.

Tim chuckled, the sound softer than he meant it to be. “That’s pretty cool.” He hesitated a beat, then added, “Next time, why don’t you bring your mom along? I can talk to her about you joining in.”

Ethan’s eyes lit up. “Really? But you said I might have to wait a couple of years…”

“Yeah,” Tim nodded, crouching so they were eye-level. “You’re a little young still. But we’ll have a practice game. See how it goes.”

“Okay!” Ethan practically bounced where he stood, the excitement spilling out of him. “You know, my mom says I can do whatever I put my mind to.”

Tim felt the words catch somewhere in his chest. He smiled, steady and sure. “I’m sure you can.”

Ethan grinned back, radiant, and gave a quick wave before sprinting toward a cluster of kids waiting by the swings.

Tim straightened, blew his whistle, and turned back to the scrimmage. The kids hustled back into position, their sneakers squeaking on the asphalt, their laughter echoing through the park. Still, a thought lingered at the edge of his mind—nice kid. Bright-eyed, easy smile, the kind who’d throw himself into anything without hesitation. The kind you wanted to see win.

---

The clink of forks against plates filled the small kitchen as she set another helping of pasta onto his plate. Ethan’s face lit up as though he’d been waiting all evening for the right moment.

“Mom, will you come to the park with me? Coach said we could talk about me joining basketball.” His voice brimmed with excitement, eyes wide and hopeful.

She paused mid-sip of water, tilting her head. “Basketball, huh? You’ve already got science club, and your swim meet’s coming up. You sure you’re ready to commit to another activity?”

“Yeah!” Ethan nodded quickly, enthusiasm spilling out of him. “Swimming’s great, but basketball is different. And Coach said we could have a practice game to see how it goes.”

Her lips curved despite herself. His excitement was impossible not to catch. “Alright,” she said softly. “I’ll speak to the coach.”

Ethan beamed, setting his fork down just long enough to lean across the table and wrap his arms around her. She held him tight, her heart swelling at the warmth of him, the sheer certainty with which he believed he could take on the world.

Later, as she cleared the dishes, her mind drifted. She wished she could find the same courage to confess what weighed on her heart. Maybe Tim would end up coaching Ethan, maybe he’d be there on the sidelines cheering him on. The image unfolded in her mind like a picture she hadn’t known she was painting—a quiet joy filling her chest at the thought of them together.

But for now, she had to focus on other things. Like going undercover as a couple, the next day. With Tim.

—-

Chapter Text

The warehouse smelled of oil and cigarette smoke, the kind of stale air that clung to clothes long after you left. Lucy kept her posture easy, relaxed, the way Nyla had drilled into her — confident but not cocky, approachable but not naïve. 

Tim was beside her, shoulders squared, his presence radiating don’t test us to the room at large. But when his gaze cut down to Lucy, it softened — the kind of look that could’ve been mistaken for adoration. 

The introductions were smooth enough. The CI, Jimmy, did the talking, laying out their story, his words aimed at the man in the corner, seated with his back to them, methodically cleaning the pieces of a handgun on the scarred table. 

“Joe,” Jimmy addressed him, his tone edged with respect. 

The man didn’t so much as glance up. Broad shoulders, cropped hair, his focus steady on the weapon in his hands. The crew seemed to orient around him without needing to be told — a gravity that marked him as the one in charge. 

For now, though, he let Jimmy talk, like they weren’t worth his full attention yet. 

Lucy let her smile flicker in at the right moments, gave quick nods that sold her interest without overdoing it. Tim kept mostly silent, his gaze tracking the room, cataloguing exits and threats — until his eyes landed on Lucy again. Then, his expression shifted, intent — the kind of look that lingered, like she was the only thing in the room worth seeing.

That was when one of the crew drifted in from a back room, his gaze skimming over Tim with mild disinterest—until it landed on Lucy. Then it sharpened into something darker, hungry.

Tall and wiry, tattoos snaking up his neck, hair slicked back with grease, he prowled closer.

“Vince,” Jimmy muttered in greeting.

“Damn, Jimmy,” Vince drawled, grin flashing all teeth, his eyes locked on Lucy. “You didn’t say you were bringing me a gift.”

Lucy’s stomach knotted, but she tipped her chin, letting a sly spark light her words.
“Careful,” she said, nodding toward Tim. “He doesn’t share.”

Tim’s hand slid low across her waist. In one smooth, unhesitating motion, he tugged her tight against his side, his gaze cutting Vince like a knife. “She’s not your type,” he said evenly, the words quiet but laced with steel. 

The grin was wiped off Vince’s face. He glanced at the firm set of Tim’s jaw, at the cold warning in his eyes — so different from the suggestive heat he’d shown Lucy seconds ago — and raised his hands in mock surrender.

“Hey, relax, man. Just appreciating the view.” Tim’s arm stayed firm around Lucy’s waist, his stare flat and unforgiving until Vince actually stepped back. 

Only then did Lucy let out a small laugh, turning her face up toward Tim with a spark of provocation. “You’re gonna scare off all my admirers,” she murmured, loud enough to play. Tim glanced down at her, his expression relaxing again — indulgent, almost affectionate, like he was humoring a partner who knew exactly how to push him. 

For a beat, it looked less like cover and more like a couple lost in their own bubble. 

Vince chuckled low and ugly, muttering something under his breath that made the others snicker. 

“Enough.” 

The word cracked through the room, sharp as a whip. 

Every laugh died on the spot. Joe stepped forward from the corner, slow and deliberate, his stare fixed on Vince. 

He didn’t raise his voice; he didn’t need to. The crew stilled under it, the shift in the air immediate. 

“Enough, Vince.” Joe’s tone carried a lazy kind of authority, the corner of his mouth curling like he almost enjoyed the scene. His gaze flicked to Tim as he added, “You don’t mess with what’s already claimed.”

Vince swallowed, the bravado leaking out of him as he slunk back toward the card table. 

Only then did Joe’s eyes move — to Lucy, sharp and assessing, and then to Tim, weighing him with the same cool calculation. 

“You got a mouth on you,” Joe said finally, his tone not hostile, but not friendly either. More like he was filing Tim under maybe useful, maybe dangerous.

Tim didn’t flinch. “Only when I need one.”

Something like amusement tugged briefly at Joe’s mouth, there and gone — not warm, but approving, like he’d just been entertained by the bite under Tim’s calm.

He leaned back, easy again, and the tension in the room eased with him. The conversation shifted again, Jimmy moving things along, the crew’s attention drifting back to business. 

But Lucy could still feel the burn of Tim’s hand against her hip, the steady pressure of his fingers possessive, as if he was daring anyone to try again. She tilted her head, just enough to look at him. His gaze flicked down to meet hers, and for a heartbeat too long, neither of them moved. No words. No teasing. 

Just that charged glance — one that said he hadn’t done it only for cover.

---

When the crew sank into their drinks and cards, Tim and Lucy drifted toward the back room. It felt smaller than it was — cramped by a sagging couch, a scarred poker table, and the low hum of an ancient fridge. Shadows pooled thick in the corners, the only light a bulb that flickered overhead. On the battered leather couch, they leaned in close, bodies angled like a couple sneaking heat while the others laughed and cursed in the main room. But their whispers were sharp, deliberate — strategy disguised as intimacy.

Lucy’s sequinned tank clung to her in a way Tim could barely look at without his chest tightening, even with the light jacket that she wore over it. He knew it was cover, knew it was tactical — but damn if every inch of her didn’t make his pulse run hotter than it should. She let her fingers toy idly with the buttons on his shirt, then leaned in, lips grazing close enough to his ear to make it dangerous.

“You know,” she murmured, tone deceptively light, “I didn’t need you jumping in like that earlier. I’m a cop, Tim. A creep leering at me isn’t exactly going to throw me off my game.”

He blinked, caught off guard. Of all the angles she could’ve pressed, he hadn’t expected this one. His jaw flexed as he kept his face schooled for their audience. “It was cover,” he muttered, the words low, almost defensive.

Lucy tipped her head, studying him with eyes that caught every flicker of truth he tried to bury. A slow, knowing curve touched her mouth. “Right. Just cover.”

For half a beat too long, his silence said more than he meant it to. So, he shifted, letting his arm drape across the back of the couch, pulling her in closer, playing the part. His eyes swept over her — the shimmer of her top, the black leather pants that fit her like a second skin. “Yeah, cover” he said at last, mouth skimming her hairline, “otherwise I’d never be caught dead in jeans this tight.” His voice carried a smirk, but inside, his chest was taut, the line between cover and something real pulling thinner with every breath.

Her laugh dropped into something low and sultry, enough to pass for foreplay. Her fingers traced lazily along his chest as she leaned in closer, her lips barely brushing his ear. From the corner of her eye, she scanned the room — Joe with his beer, two guys at the card table. Jimmy had left the warehouse. There was muffled laughter from the crew outside, Vince with two other guys. Six in total. Too many eyes. Too many unknowns.

She giggled as if he’d whispered something filthy. In reality her words cut sharp: “All they told us is downtown LA… could be ten different banks. We need something more solid.”

Tim’s palm was firm at her side, resting with the kind of proprietary weight that made the act convincing. His eyes never stopped moving, tracking Joe, cataloguing exits, logging every detail. He grunted like a man distracted, but his voice was low, for her alone: “Yeah. We’re blind unless we find a breadcrumb.” His lips brushed her temple for show, but his pulse had already shifted into mission mode.

“Cute act.”

The voice carried from the other side of the room. Beer dangling from his fingers, leaning back in his chair, Joe didn’t look stern — he looked entertained, amused by their shameless energy. “So… how’d you two meet?”

Lucy felt Tim go still beside her. Slowly, deliberately, she turned her face toward him, her eyes warm, mouth curving into something wicked — like she was replaying a memory she couldn’t help but savor.

“He was on the run from the cops,” she purred, her tone dripping with fond amusement.

Tim didn’t miss a beat, his voice low, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Bank robbery had gone wrong.”

Lucy’s gaze lingered on him, then she turned back to Joe. “He ended up in my building — frantic, looking for a place to hide. And…” she let the word hang, eyes sparking, “…I opened the door for him.”

Tim’s fingers traced lightly along her side, his thumb brushing over the fabric of her top. “She lied to the cops for me, man,” he added, the tone light but edged with awe, the words just loud enough for Joe to hear.

Lucy tipped her head, lips curling into a languid smile. “And it got me so hot that we hooked up while they were still searching the building.”

Tim’s hand lingered on her hip before sliding up her back, the touch deliberate. Inside, her words burned through him, the images her story painted hitting too vividly, too hot — he couldn’t afford to feel that, not here. Damn it, Lucy…. 

Outwardly, though, he let his expression darken, eyes fixed on her like he was recalling every filthy detail of their time together.

Across the room, Joe let out a low chuckle, shaking his head, clearly entertained. He leaned back, beer in hand, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. The pair had audacity, chemistry, and nerve—enough to keep him watching, intrigued, and, for the first time, genuinely amused by potential recruits.

After a moment, though, his attention drifted. His eyes dropped back to the glow of his phone, as if their little performance had earned his approval—at least for now.

---

Lucy’s body shifted over his, the press of her thigh sliding across his as though she were just upping the ante of their act — but her mouth was a whisper against his jaw. “The phone. Joe’s. That’s where the plans are. We just need the number. Long enough for a trace.” She moved like she was teasing him, her hair brushing his cheek, but her eyes were locked on the device glowing faintly from the table, tethered to the charger like bait.

Tim followed her gaze, his own expression unreadable save for the faint twitch of his jaw. But inside, her earlier story still burned hot — the imagined adrenaline and heat, her voice purring about wanting him while cops searched the halls. It had hit too vividly, too filthy, and it rattled him more than he wanted to admit. And yet here she was, steady as stone, eyes cool and calculating, already moving the mission forward.

He dragged in a breath, shoving it down. Focus. Assess. She wanted them to grab the phone. Risky. Too close. Too easy to get burned. Still, if Joe really was the brains of the operation, that phone was their ticket. He gave a slow nod, careful not to draw attention, and let his hand slide deliberately lower on her back, making their cover look seamless.

He thumbed out a message on his burner with one hand hidden between their bodies, the screen shielded by Lucy’s hair. Need distraction now, he sent to Angela and Harper who were in the surveillance van parked in the next street.

A few minutes later, the reply came. Not in words but in sound — a sudden eruption outside. Shouts. The violent crash of glass breaking against brick. Laughter turning sharp as threats were thrown. The two card-players snapped upright, exchanging curses before bolting for the door.

And then there were three.

Joe stayed, bottle tipping lazily to his lips, his phone still pulsing faint light where it charged.

Tim felt the shift in the air — the mission snapping into its moment. He pulled Lucy closer, murmuring against her ear, “This is our window.”

---

They rose from the couch in unison, their bodies still fused in the lazy rhythm of a couple too wrapped up in each other to care about the chaos outside. Tim’s mouth skimmed Lucy’s throat, calculated but slow, lips grazing, stubble scraping, his breath hot enough to make her shiver. To anyone watching, it looked like hunger. But to Lucy, every movement carried precision—measured, deliberate.

She let out a breathless laugh, a perfect act, and tugged him with her, fist knotted in his shirt as though dragging him closer. Inch by inch, they edged toward the table.

Outside, the noise spiked—shouts sharper, glass shattering louder. Joe cursed under his breath, set his beer down, and pushed up from the couch. For a suspended heartbeat, Lucy thought he’d sit right back down, but instead he lumbered toward the doorway, shoulders tight with curiosity. His phone stayed on the charger, its faint glow pulsing.

This is it, Lucy thought, pulse hammering. Her back was to the door, Joe’s attention fixed on the noise outside. She didn’t hesitate. With one smooth sweep, her hand brushed the table and the phone vanished beneath her sleeve. Her heart thudded so violently she wondered if Tim could hear it where his chest pressed against hers.

But then Joe’s head turned, his gaze cutting back into the room.

Tim saw it immediately—the flicker of suspicion, the danger sharp as glass. If Joe noticed the phone was gone, the entire mission was blown. Instinct surged. His hand tightened on Lucy’s waist, hauling her against him, lifting her onto the table in one fluid, possessive motion. Her gasp broke free, legs hooking instinctively around his waist. To Joe, it was nothing but heat swallowing reason.

Then Tim kissed her. Hard.

His mouth crashed onto hers—rough, claiming, every ounce of it a distraction, a show for onlookers. But the second his lips touched hers, the act seared into something else. Her taste hit him like a gut punch—sharp, sweet, undoing. His control slipped, just for a beat, and he kissed her deeper than he should have.

Lucy was supposed to keep it shallow, perfunctory, but her body betrayed her. The moment his mouth pressed harder, her fingers curled tight in his shirt, pulling him closer. God, why does it feel like this? It wasn’t supposed to slip past her defenses. It wasn’t supposed to feel this easy.

From the corner of his eye, Tim caught Joe’s grin—amused, indulgent, like he was entertained by their audacity. A silent dare hung in the air. Tim flicked his gaze up for just a second, sharp as if to say, do you mind? Joe winked, then turned back toward the noise at the warehouse entrance.

Perfect.

Tim slid the phone into his hand, shielded by the press of Lucy’s body. His thumb brushed the screen, dialing a silent 911 call. One ring. Disconnect. Enough for tech to intercept, plant the malware, and wipe any trace.

He could feel Lucy’s palms splayed against his chest, trembling faintly—not all of it from nerves. His lips brushed her jaw, feigning distraction. She made a sound, low and unsteady, and he nearly forgot himself.

By the time Joe shifted again, the phone was already back on the table, cord slipped into place with practiced ease. Mission secure.

Tim should have pulled away then. Should’ve let the act die the second it wasn’t necessary.

But Lucy was still there—perched between his legs on the edge of the table, eyes dark, chest rising fast. Too close. Too tempting. The adrenaline buzzed like fire in his veins, and before he could stop himself, he leaned down again, capturing her mouth.

This kiss wasn’t for the mission.

Her breath caught, then she yielded, her lips softening against his in a way that undid him more than the rough kiss ever could. God, she’s letting me in. His heart slammed hard enough he wondered if she could feel it through his chest. 

Nothing about the way she kissed him back felt like an act.

Lucy’s thoughts spun, a blur of heat and confusion. If she kept telling herself it was cover, maybe she could ignore how much she wanted him. She should have stopped, should have pulled back before the lines blurred beyond repair. The poise she clung to slipped, undone by the sudden, aching clarity of how much she wanted him.

Tim’s hands flexed at her hips, holding her still as though stabilizing himself. He could taste the adrenaline in his own breath, sharp and raw. One more second, he told himself. Just one more. But when she pulled him closer, he knew there wouldn’t be enough seconds in the world.

For one dangerous, dizzy heartbeat, the mission didn’t exist. Only her. Only this. And neither of them could tell where the lie ended, and the truth began.

-----

The bullpen was nearly empty when they walked back in, still in their undercover clothes. The sharp fluorescents overhead felt almost jarring after hours of beer-soaked shadows and adrenaline.

Nyla and Harper were waiting, arms crossed, eyes sharp.

Nyla didn’t waste words. “Nice work. You got the number.”

Lucy forced herself to nod, her lips twitching toward a smile. Beside her, Tim gave nothing away, standing steady with his arms folded, but she could feel the heat of his gaze flicking toward her for the briefest second. They both knew what it had taken to pull it off.

Harper slid the tablet across. “Tech traced it. They’re hitting People’s Wealth Bank, South Broadway. Tomorrow. First thing.”

“LAPD units will already be inside,” Nyla added. “Plainclothes. The minute those guys walk in, we’ve got them boxed. But until then? You two are still cover-deep. They buy even a hint of hesitation, we’re sunk.”

Tim’s jaw flexed. He nodded once. Lucy mirrored him, though her throat felt dry. The mission loomed large, but her mind wouldn’t stop replaying the feel of his mouth on hers, the way the line between fake and real had blurred until she couldn’t tell the difference.

The briefing wound down. Chairs scraped back. Orders were confirmed. But through it all, Lucy felt the press of his presence, the weight of the kiss still lingering on her lips.

They walked out together into the cool night, the precinct quiet around them. The air felt sharp, clean, too different from the stifling heat of that apartment. For a moment, neither spoke.

At the lot, they stopped between their cars. Lucy’s heart pounded. 

She thought of his voice, soft with patience the night he’d told her he’d wait. Of his kiss, held in check when he could have devoured. And of the secret she clutched to her chest, the truth she was terrified to lay bare.

It pressed on her chest like a weight, harder to hide with every day she spent at his side. She had to tell him. Soon. Before her head exploded.

“See you tomorrow,” she said softly, forcing her mouth into something that looked like a smile.

He only nodded, but his eyes lingered — steady, unreadable. His hand twitched once at his side, a movement so small she might’ve imagined it, like he’d almost reached for her.

She slipped into her car, shut the door, and drove off. But even in her rearview mirror, she could still feel him — his gaze pressed against her skin like a hand she couldn’t shake.

And she wondered how much longer she could keep the truth locked inside before it broke her wide open.

---

Chapter Text

The next morning found Lucy brushing a kiss across Ethan’s warm forehead, before gently patting his head. His lashes fluttered but he didn’t stir, only murmured something soft in his sleep and turned his face into the pillow. Her chest squeezed. 

“Don’t forget he has swimming class today, Mom,” she whispered as she straightened. Her mother gave a nod from the doorway and Lucy gave her a grateful smile, she knew she could always count on her mother.

By the time she pulled into the gas station lot, the world outside had shifted back to the mask she wore. Tim was already there, leaning against his UC SUV, coffee in hand. Even in jeans and a plain T-shirt, he carried that coiled readiness that screamed military, and Lucy felt the familiar tug of comfort and danger rolled into one.

“Morning,” he greeted, his voice low, neutral, but his eyes lingered on her a fraction too long before flicking away, leaving her pulse unreasonably loud in her ears.

Lucy ducked into the restroom with her bag. A few minutes later, when she glanced up at her reflection in the mirror above the sink, she wasn’t Lucy Chen anymore. She was whoever the job demanded—sharp edges, no softness, no tells. 

A black camisole clung to her frame, just visible beneath the dark grey shirt she left open, the sleeves shoved carelessly to her elbows. Black jeans, sneakers, hair tied back but with just enough loose to frame her face. Practical, forgettable, the opposite of last night’s sultry distraction.

Tim’s gaze swept over her once, assessing, professional. But she caught the tick in his jaw, the unspoken memory of their cover last night. She looked away before she could dwell on it.

They slid into the SUV, the morning air cool as the city yawned awake.

“Quick run-through,” Tim said, starting the engine, his voice all business.

“Crew meets at the warehouse,” Lucy replied, her tone sharp, controlled. “They’ll confirm the time. We ride along, keep our eyes open. The moment we spot the target, Harper and Angela move the pieces in.”

Tim nodded, glancing at her as they merged onto the street. “No mistakes today. They’ll be wired tight after last night.”

Her fingers drummed once against her thigh, nerves buzzing. “We just need them to believe we belong. The rest will fall into place.”

His hand tightened on the wheel. “We make it fall into place.”

Silence stretched, thick with what wasn’t said. About the kiss. Kisses. About how the line between cover and truth had blurred more than either of them had intended.

Lucy shifted, leaning back in her seat. “Let’s just hope they’re too busy planning the heist to notice us watching.”

Tim gave a short nod, eyes fixed on the road, but she saw his knuckles flex against the leather of the wheel.

They drove on toward the warehouse, two cops hidden in plain sight—hearts still tangled in yesterday’s heat, minds already locked on the dangerous day ahead.

---

“Get in,” said Joe, pointing to the rear door as he slid into the passenger seat of the white sedan outside the warehouse.

She and Tim slid across the cracked vinyl backseat, shoulders pressed together, as Joe twisted in the passenger seat to look at them.

“I’m the getaway driver,” Lucy snapped, staying in character. “So why the hell am I not in the driver’s seat?”

The guy behind the wheel, wiry and silent, didn’t even glance back. Joe smirked. “Relax. We’ll pick up another ride on the way. You’ll drive that one.”

A new car. Untagged. Unmonitored. Lucy’s stomach tightened, the shift too sudden. She flicked her eyes at Tim—his jaw clenched, his eyes hard. He hated it, but his tiny nod said what she already knew. Too late to pull out. They’d have to wing it.

Before she could process, the rear door yanked open again. A mountain of a man squeezed in, forcing Lucy closer—so close she was practically in Tim’s lap. His arm brushed against her as he settled in.

“‘Scuse me, sweetheart. Scooch.”

Lucy shifted, her thigh pressed flush against Tim’s. The air thickened instantly, his solid warmth grounding her even as her pulse raced.

From the front seat, Joe chuckled. “Look at her—sticks to him like glue. Was all over him last night too.”

Tim’s glare cut like a blade, but Lucy only tilted her chin, smirking.
“Well, he’s my man,” she fired back, leaning in. She pressed her mouth lightly to Tim’s, a deliberate, lingering mmmm curling at the edge of the kiss.

Tim caught the tremor in her fingers even as she played bold. He kissed her back, slow and steady, more reassurance than heat—though the contact tugged at something deep inside him. His lips brushed hers as he murmured, low enough only she could hear:
“Of course I am.”

“Damn,” the big guy beside them snorted. “How do you two get any work done with all that necking?”

Lucy tossed him a sultry glance, then slid her gaze back to Tim with a smile sharp as glass.
“We’re professionals,” she purred.

Tim grinned, quick and dangerous, the look of a man who knew the joke was theirs alone.

Joe’s amusement thinned. He glanced back; voice edged with threat. “You better bring your A-game today.”

The car jolted forward, carrying them deeper undercover, binding Lucy and Tim closer together in ways neither had anticipated.

---

The white sedan rattled to a stop near a cracked curb in East L.A. Tim watched Joe lean forward in the passenger seat, casual as ever, but his tone had that sharp edge that always put Tim on alert.

“Switch cars,” Joe said, nodding toward a black SUV idling in the alley. Its engine hummed low, steady, like it had been waiting for them.

Beside him, Lucy didn’t flinch. She caught the keys Joe tossed, smooth and easy, already sliding out of the sedan. Tim followed, his eyes sweeping the alley — reflex, habit. New vehicle. New variables. No chance to vet it. He hated it. But Lucy had already slipped into the driver’s seat like she belonged there.

He climbed in next to her, the leather seat cold under his palms, the faint smell of gasoline lingering in the air. Her fingers wrapped around the wheel, steady, sure. She didn’t look at him, not directly, but he felt the charge of her presence all the same — the quiet defiance in the set of her shoulders, the grit that lived under her skin.

Joe and the big guy piled into the back, muttering something about the smell, but Tim barely registered it. His focus was on Lucy, on the way she adjusted the mirror, on how her jaw tightened as she guided the SUV into gear.

He shifted closer, his arm brushing hers on the console — subtle, intentional. Her eyes flicked to his for half a heartbeat, and that was enough. She knew he was with her. Whatever was coming, they’d take it together.

---

The SUV rolled to a stop at the mouth of a narrow alley behind the bank. Lucy’s pulse thudded as she watched the crew get ready. Joe and the big guy sat in the back seat, quiet now, pulling masks over their faces. They checked their guns with slow, steady movements, too calm for what they were about to do.

Ahead, two more men emerged from behind a dumpster, slipping their masks into place. It was still early—quiet streets, hardly anyone around. Perfect for what they had planned. Lucy’s gut told her they were going to hit the bank the moment it opened.

Tim got out without hesitation. He was the lookout, the muscle, the one who could blend in without looking like he was trying. She tracked him with her eyes as he followed the crew down the alley. The first three men slipped inside the bank’s side door, Joe bringing up the rear. Tim lingered at the entrance, a sentry, his broad frame blocking the morning light for a moment before he melted back into the shadows.

Lucy sat in the driver’s seat, fingers drumming against the steering wheel. Waiting. She hated waiting. Her nerves hummed under her skin, sharper than the caffeine she’d swallowed that morning. Her gaze drifted to Tim’s back, steady, purposeful, always there. She’d been thinking about him a lot. Too much, maybe. But she’d made a decision—tonight, she would tell him. About Ethan. About the son he didn’t know existed. She’d planned it all: her mom would take Ethan for the night, she’d invite Tim over, and she’d finally stop carrying the secret alone.

Her thoughts scattered when she suddenly lost sight of him. Tim stepped out of the alley and onto the main street, vanishing from her line of vision.

What happened? Why would he leave his position?

The answer came in a rush of chaos. Gunfire cracked inside the bank—loud, violent, echoing down the alley like thunder. Lucy’s heart lurched into her throat.

Footsteps pounded behind her. Lucy spun in her seat. Joe was charging toward the SUV, mask half torn, eyes wild with panic. He was shouting, waving, signaling for her to start the engine. Move. Now.

The alley was narrow, the SUV too big to maneuver quickly. She locked the doors, rolled up the windows, and jammed the key into the ignition. The engine growled beneath her hands, shaking the frame like it wanted to leap forward.

Joe yanked at the door handle. When it didn’t budge, his face twisted, fury sharp and raw. He leveled the gun at her through the glass.

Lucy’s breath hitched. Her foot hovered over the accelerator, ready to ram forward if she had to. Every second stretched impossibly long.

Then Tim was there—silent, precise, moving faster than her eyes could track. His elbow struck Joe’s head with a controlled force, the kind that came from instinct and training. Joe staggered, dazed, the gun slipping from his grip as Tim twisted it free and slammed him down onto the concrete.

---

Before Lucy could blink, plainclothes officers flooded the alley, weapons drawn, moving with sharp precision. They swarmed Joe, cuffing him, hauling him upright. A voice shouted that the rest of the crew was already in custody.

Lucy shoved her door open; legs unsteady as she stepped out.

Tim turned to her and pulled her against him in a swift, fierce hug, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other pressing firmly to her back. It was brief, almost hidden in the chaos, but she felt the hammering of his heart against her chest. 

When Joe had leveled that gun, something had snapped inside him—fear, raw and unspoken. Relief surged through him now as he breathed her in, chest rising and falling against hers, hands tight around her.

Lucy let herself melt into him, feeling the power and warmth of his arms, the rhythm of his pulse syncing with hers. The rest of the alley, the chaos, the danger—all of it faded for a heartbeat. Her pulse slowed, her breath evened. 

She told herself it was just adrenaline, the rush of survival.

But deep down, she knew it was more.

---

The city rolled past in muted blur, morning light streaking through the windshield as Tim steered the unmarked cruiser back toward the station. The hum of the engine was steady, grounding, but the silence between them wasn’t empty — it was charged.

Lucy sat angled slightly toward him, her hand resting lightly on the console. Almost without thinking, her fingers brushed against his. The contact was fleeting, tentative — but it jolted through Tim like a spark. He glanced sideways, catching the soft determination in her eyes.

“We need to talk, Tim,” she said quietly, her voice edged with nerves. “Would you… come over to my place this evening?”

She was trying to sound casual, but he could hear the tremor beneath her words, see the way her nails pressed lightly into her palm, holding something back.

Tim’s hand left the wheel just long enough to cover hers. His grip was firm, steady, everything hers wasn’t in that moment. “I’ll be there,” he said simply. No hesitation.

Her breath left her in a rush, relief softening her features. She gave him a small, grateful smile, but he didn’t miss the flicker of fear in her eyes — like she was bracing herself for something heavy.

He held her gaze for a heartbeat longer before turning back to the road, his thumb brushing once across her knuckles before letting go. Whatever it was she needed to tell him tonight, he’d be ready.

Lucy leaned back, staring out the window, her lips curved faintly but her pulse racing. She’d made her decision. Tonight, she would finally tell him about Ethan.

Neither of them had any inkling of the storm already gathering — one that would hit long before evening came.

---

Tim swung the shop car into the Mid-Wilshire parking lot, the weight of the undercover op still hanging in the air between them.

He shifted into park, leaned back against the seat, and finally let out the kind of breath he’d been holding all day. Beside him, Lucy unbuckled her seatbelt, movements precise, quiet.

Tim’s mouth curved, the barest hint of humor breaking through his usual steel. “So… all of that, what happened undercover, going in your report? Or just the parts that won’t get us written up?”

Her head turned toward him, catching the flicker of mischief in his eyes. For a beat, hers softened—then steadied, playful. “You can read the report when I turn it in,” she said lightly, giving him that sidelong glance that always carried more weight than words.

Something unspoken lingered between them, humming low and steady.

Tim held her gaze until the moment stretched too long, then cleared his throat and shoved his door open. Lucy followed, both of them stepping into the bright glare of the late afternoon, crossing the asphalt shoulder to shoulder.

As they stepped through the glass doors of the station, the chatter and shuffle of paperwork greeted them as usual.

Lucy reached for her phone as it buzzed in her pocket. She glanced at the screen—Mom.

A small smile tugged at her lips and she slowed instinctively.

Tim spotted Grey up ahead and with a quick glance at Lucy, he walked up to update the captain. She nodded at him distractedly, as she slid her thumb across to answer the phone.

And her world tilted off its axis, as her mother's words came in through the phone.

 "Lucy—oh my god, Lucy—he’s gone. I can’t find him. Ethan’s not here!”

---

Chapter Text

As Tim and Lucy stepped through the glass doors of the station, the chatter and shuffle of paperwork greeted them as usual.

Lucy reached for her phone when it buzzed in her pocket. She glanced at the screen—‘Mom’. 

A small smile tugged at her lips and she slowed instinctively. 

Tim spotted Grey up ahead and with a quick glance at Lucy, he walked up to update the captain. She nodded at him distractedly, as she slid her thumb across to answer the phone. 

And her world tilted off its axis. “Lucy—oh my god, Lucy—he’s gone. I can’t find him. Ethan’s not here!”

Her mother’s voice was pitched high with panic, words tumbling over each other. Lucy’s pulse spiked, but she forced her tone flat, steady.

“Mom, slow down. Start at the beginning. Where are you right now?”

“At the community club—the pool. I dropped him off like always. I couldn’t find a parking spot, so I pulled up in front and watched him go in through the doors. He waved at me. He went inside, Lucy. Then I left to get groceries, and when I came back—he wasn’t there. He wasn’t in the pool.” Her mother’s voice cracked. “I asked the desk and they said swim class was cancelled. Cancelled! There was a group text about it apparently, I didn’t see the message until after—”

Lucy’s throat went dry, her fingers tightening around the phone. Every instinct screamed at her, but she kept her voice calm, clipped. “Okay. Did you check the locker rooms? The game room? Outside?”

“Yes, yes—I checked everywhere. There are kids everywhere, running around, but none of them are him. I swear, Lucy, I don’t know where he—”

Lucy shut her eyes for half a second, inhaled through her nose. She couldn’t let her mom’s panic crawl under her skin. Not now. She needed clarity. She needed facts.

“Listen to me, Mom. Stay right there. Stay inside the club, near the main desk. Don’t go looking outside alone, understood? Keep your phone on loud. I’m on my way.”

There was a shaky breath on the other end. “Lucy—”

“We’ll find him,” Lucy said, firm enough it was almost a command. Then she hung up before her own voice could betray her.

She had kept the facade in place while she calmed her mother down, voice even, every syllable laced with training. Her mind was already moving through protocols, resources, steps. 

Still, beneath the training, one raw thought pulsed like a heartbeat. 

Ethan. Hold on. I’m coming.

Her gaze flicked up, searching, and landed on Tim. He was only a few strides away, updating Grey. Solid, unwavering, the one constant in a world that had just shifted under her feet. Almost before she realized it, her body was moving—steps carrying her toward him, as if gravity itself had chosen him as her anchor.

Tim looked up, catching her approach. Something in his gut dropped. She was too pale, her hand trembling around the phone, her eyes shining with unshed tears. His brows furrowed. “Lucy, what’s wro—”; the words caught as she stopped in front of him.

Her eyes glistened, raw panic shimmering just beneath the surface. For a moment, his hand twitched toward her, instinct to hold her, to support her. But they weren’t alone—Grey stood right there, the bullpen buzzing around them. He stopped himself, fingers curling back to his side.

She noticed. That flicker of hesitation, the unspoken offer he couldn’t quite make here, in front of everyone. It snapped her back, pulled her spine straighter. Guilt pressed down like a stone—he doesn’t know. Not yet. And now he has to find out like this.

She forced her eyes off Tim and locked them on Grey, because in this moment she couldn’t be the woman who owed Tim the truth. She had to be Ethan’s mother. She had to be a cop. Nothing else.

Her throat tightened, but her voice was firm when it came. “Sir,” she said, the word clipped, formal. Her jaw trembled once, then resolute. “My… seven-year-old son is missing.”

For a heartbeat, silence held. Grey’s expression didn’t shift, though his eyes tightened briefly. 

Beside her, Tim froze. The word son hit him like a blow, but it wasn’t the shock of betrayal that gripped him first—it was the sight of her trembling, the pain in her eyes. The questions could wait. The truth could wait.

A child—her child—was missing. His training kicked in, instincts flaring. He needed to be the cop. Right now, all that mattered was getting her boy home.

He stepped forward, his voice a low, steady command that instantly calmed her racing mind, making only his words matter. “Okay. Tell us everything. Start at the top—where was he, who saw him last, every detail. We’ll get him back.”

Lucy’s chest rose and fell in rapid, uneven breaths. She nodded once, clinging to the anchor of Tim’s calm. She began recounting every detail her mother had given her, every small clue, every observation.

Tim listened without interruption, mind already mapping routes, possibilities, contingencies. Shock at what he’d just learned—at what she hadn’t told him—pressed at the edges, but he shoved it down. Every second counted. The child’s life—and safety—was all that mattered.

---

By the time Lucy finished, Angela had joined them, listening closely, sharp focus behind her eyes.

Grey wasted no time. His expression hardened, his voice cutting through the bullpen like a blade. “Alert every patrol car in the vicinity of the Sunshine Park community center. I want eyes on the streets, parking lots, alleys—everywhere.”

Tim was already on the radio with Nolan and Aaron, bringing them up to speed. His tone was crisp, clipped, no room for hesitation. “You’re closest. Head to the community center. Pull CCTV, talk to anyone who saw him. Bring Lucy’s mom back here.”

Lucy stood rooted, watching him take control with sharp precision. She’d always known Tim was unfazed under pressure, but seeing him now—directing, organizing, calm where she was unraveling—an ache of gratitude pressed at her chest.

Angela turned, her gaze landing firmly on Lucy, gauging her emotional state. Her voice gentled at the edges. “Lucy… I don’t know your personal situation, but I need to ask—could the child’s father be involved? Are you in a custody dispute? I know it’s personal, but we need to know.”

Lucy’s throat tightened, aware of Tim’s presence at her shoulder, listening. She drew in a breath, shook her head. “No. He couldn’t have had anything to do with this.”

Angela studied her a moment longer, then tipped her chin. “You’re certain?”

Lucy straightened, her voice quiet but edged with steel. “Absolutely.”

The conviction in her voice seemed to convince Angela. She walked away to talk to Grey, as Lucy quickly texted her mother to let her know Nolan and Thorsen would be at the community center shortly. Her fingers shook as she typed, the words blurring as a wave of helplessness threatened to pull her under.

A light tap brushed her shoulder. She turned, meeting Tim’s gaze— solid yet searching, filled with everything he wasn’t saying aloud. It steadied her, if only for a second, before he shifted his attention back to the task.

“Do you have a photo of him?” His tone was calm, but insistent. Her eyes dropped to her phone, and he caught the hesitation. “Hard copy is better,” he added gently.

Her legs carried her to her desk like she was moving underwater. She opened the drawer she never let anyone touch, her trembling fingers closing around the photo frame she’d hidden away. Staring down at Ethan’s face—those bright blue eyes alive with mischief—her throat burned, tears stinging hot. She pressed her fist to her mouth, trying, failing, to hold it together.

Her knees weakened. And suddenly, Tim was there—his hand firm on her elbow, warm, anchoring. She leaned into her desk, clinging to the solidness of his presence.

Her voice cracked, breaking through the thin veneer of control. “Tim… what if the crew from today had something to do with this? What if they knew I was UC? What if they followed us, found out where we lived—” Her words splintered, panic rising like floodwater. “Tim, I am—”

His hand shifted to her shoulder, grip grounding, voice quiet but certain. “We were careful, Lucy. They didn’t follow us. And they’re all in custody now. I’m sure he’s safe. We’ll find him.” His tone softened, coaxing her back from the edge. “Where’s the photo?”

Her hand hovered, the frame half-raised, ready to pass it to him—

“Mom!!”

The shout tore through the bullpen, raw and desperate.

Lucy’s head snapped up. For one stunned, disbelieving second, her heart forgot how to beat.

Ethan.

Ethan stood there, chest heaving, eyes wide.

The photo slipped from her hand as she stumbled forward, every instinct, every barrier falling away.

---

Lucy didn’t think—she just moved.

“Ethan!” Her voice cracked as she dashed across the bullpen, knees nearly buckling with relief as her son came barreling into her arms. She dropped down to his level, hugging him so tightly she could feel his heartbeat against hers, tears burning her eyes as her the knot inside her finally loosened for the first time since the call.

Behind her, Tim froze. His gaze locked on the small boy clinging to Lucy—the boy from the park, from basketball class. Ethan.

The realization hit like a jolt: Lucy’s son. But then he saw her face transform, every line of fear washed away by sheer joy. Whatever else he didn’t know yet, it didn’t matter in that moment—because her world was whole again.

Ethan leaned back, eyes shining. “Mom! I did what you told me. Remember? You said—‘If you ever get lost, don’t panic. Find a grown-up, ask them to help you call a cab, and tell the driver to take you straight to the police station. You’ll always find me there.’”

Pride radiated from him as he straightened his shoulders. “So, I remembered! I asked a lady to help me. She let me use her phone when you didn’t answer. I couldn’t remember anyone else’s number, so she called the cab for me and told the driver where to bring me. At first, he didn’t want to take me, but she told him it was okay because I knew where I needed to go.”

Lucy’s throat tightened with guilt. With all the chaos this morning, she hadn’t checked her phone.

She stroked his cheek, drinking in his face as though she might never let him go again. “You did so good, baby,” she whispered, ruffling his hair.

“Yeah?” he beamed, chest puffing up.

“Yes.” She pulled him in for another fierce hug. “Were you a little scared?”

“No, Mom! I’m seven now, not a baby,” he insisted. But then his arms tightened around her neck, and Lucy smiled through her tears.

He leaned back sheepishly. “Um… I didn’t have money to pay the cab driver though. He’s still waiting outside.”

“I’ll take care of it,” came a calm voice from behind.

Lucy’s breath caught. She turned, startled, to find Tim standing just a few feet away. His expression was carefully guarded, his posture unshakeable, but his eyes betrayed something deeper—something she wasn’t ready to face yet.

She’d been so consumed by Ethan’s return that she’d forgotten Tim was even there. Now, the weight of everything she hadn’t told him came crashing back, nerves prickling through her veins.

The talk she’d been dreading had just arrived—whether she was ready or not.

—-

Tim stepped out to pay the cab driver, his movements quick and efficient, Lucy’s eyes followed him. Her brain was still caught in the relief of seeing Ethan safe, but she couldn’t help but watch Tim as he went through the glass doors, hands reaching for the money clip in his duty belt. And then he wasn’t in her line of sight.

Grey approached, resting an affectionate hand on Ethan’s shoulder. “I informed Nolan and Thorsen—they’re on their way back with your mom.” His gaze shifted to Lucy’s drained face. “Take the rest of the day, Chen. Too much has happened already.”

His grip on Ethan’s shoulder firmed slightly. “Seven years old, and he still got himself here. Lucky the right people crossed his path.”

Angela—hovering nearby, softer than usual—added, “Most kids would’ve panicked. He kept his head. That’s impressive.” She smiled at Ethan then glanced at Lucy, murmuring, “I’d take the day off if I were you.”

Lucy nodded faintly, too wrung out to argue. Grey and Angela exchanged a brief look, then moved off, giving her space.

When Tim returned, the cab paid and the driver waved off, he came to a stop just behind Ethan. His eyes found Lucy’s over the boy’s head— unreadable. For a breath, it was only the three of them—Lucy, Ethan, and Tim—standing in the bullpen, suspended in a silence thick enough to choke on.

Lucy’s gaze flicked between them, caught on the impossible symmetry: father and son, side by side, and only she knew the truth.

Ethan, oblivious, twisted back toward the man looming just behind him. “Hello, Officer!” he greeted brightly.

Lucy blinked, caught off guard by her son’s easy familiarity with Tim.

“Hey, Ethan,” Tim said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Looks like you gave your mom a scare.”

He glanced at Lucy, expression locked, betraying nothing yet saying everything.

“She doesn’t get scared. She’s a cop,” Ethan replied confidently, before turning back to her. “Remember I told you about the basketball coach from the park? Well—he’s the one.” He jabbed his thumb toward Tim.

Of course, Lucy thought. The universe had a twisted sense of humor.

“And you know,” Ethan added in a stage whisper, though Tim clearly heard, “he has that haircut, like all military guys. He was in the army, like Dad.”

Tim froze. ‘Dad.’ The word hit him like a punch, dark and unwelcome, clawing at something he didn’t want to feel. His jaw tightened. All the questions he had buried when he first learned Lucy had a son surged back, sharpened by the mention of another man in her life—the father of her child.

“Okay, I get it,” Lucy cut in, sharper than she meant. Guilt pricked, but nerves kept her moving. She shot Tim a fleeting glance before asking Ethan, “Are you hungry? Want a snack?”

Ethan brightened and nodded.

Just then, Lucy spotted her mother entering with John and Aaron close behind.

Mrs. Chen rushed forward, scooping Ethan into her arms with tearful relief before pulling Lucy into a hug.

Nolan gently guided her toward the break room, murmuring something about tea, while Aaron headed for Grey.

Still buzzing with energy, Ethan turned back to Tim. “I don’t know your name, Officer.”

Lucy caught the flicker in Tim’s eyes before he crouched to meet Ethan’s gaze. “I’m Sergeant Bradford,” he said gently. “But you can call me Tim.”

Up close, the boy’s eyes caught the light—bright, open, and - strangely familiar. But Tim didn’t have the time to dwell on it.

Because then Ethan grinned and said in a low voice, almost conspiratorial, “Oh! You know, my dad’s name is Tim too.” 

Lucy’s stomach dropped, skin gone cold.

Tim blinked, stunned; the impact of the words left his chest tight. Coincidence. It had to be.

His gaze slid to Lucy—searching, questioning, a flicker of raw emotion—only to catch the way all color had drained from her face, her gaze almost deliberately avoiding his, shoulders stiffening, hands curling into fists at her sides.

Not coincidence. Not even close.

The floor seemed to tilt beneath him, the world narrowing to Lucy and Ethan, every piece snapping into place with brutal clarity.

Ethan, oblivious to the current sparking between them, grinned again. “Ok Sir. My mom said she’ll talk to you about coaching me for basketball. You’ll do that, won’t you, Mom?”

Lucy forced a smile, struggling to find her voice. “Sure,” she murmured, fragile and rushed, her eyes darting to Tim.

She saw it land—the realization dawning in his eyes, sharp and undeniable. Panic spiked through her as she braced for the storm simmering behind his control.

Without missing a beat, she turned to Aaron. “Would you mind getting Ethan a snack and leaving him with my mother?”

“Of course,” Aaron said, guiding Ethan toward the break room.

“Bye, Tim!” Ethan called over his shoulder, hand waving. “See you later, Mom.”

Tim managed a faint smile, but the moment Ethan disappeared from view, it was gone—his expression hardening, eyes locked on Lucy, fury coiled tight beneath the surface.

----

“Tim—” Lucy started, but he cut her off, voice clipped.

“Not here,” he said, not even looking at her as he turned and strode toward the stairs. His head was buzzing, a low roar drowning out everything else.

My dad’s in the military. 

I’m seven years old, I’m not a baby. 

My dad’s name is Tim.

The words looped in his skull like a hammer. Eight years since he’d last touched Lucy. Seven years since Ethan had been born. And the boy had blue eyes.

Tim’s long strides ate up the distance, and Lucy hurried up after him, her pulse pounding. He didn’t slow down, didn’t so much as glance back at her.

Her mind spun as hard as his must have been. She thought back to when Ethan was five—the night he’d asked about his dad. She’d settled him on her lap, smoothed his hair, and told the story she thought he could understand: his father was in the army, serving the nation, away on deployment. Too far to visit, but proud of him, loving him from wherever he was. His young mind had clung to it, accepted it.

She hadn’t heard him mention it much afterward, and she hadn’t either, assuming he’d forgotten—he was just a child, after all. Yet evidently, he remembered every detail, and the thought pricked her chest with a sudden pang.

She hadn’t even given Ethan Tim’s last name. Sometimes she’d wondered if the day would come when he would press her with more questions. But he never had. Not until today. Not until he spilled it all in front of the one man who could tear her world apart with just a look.

Tim pushed into an empty office, not bothering to hold the door. It swung back hard, and Lucy caught it with her palm before it could smack her nose. Taking a shaky breath, she shoved it open and stepped inside after him.

---

Chapter Text

8 years ago - US Army Training Center, Fort Hood, Texas

The late afternoon light poured through the high windows of the pool at the training center, streaking the water with warm, golden lines. Tim surfaced after another lap, dragging in a breath that burned down his lungs.

He rested against the wall, listening to the echo of water slapping against tile. Tomorrow he would be gone. Iraq. The word pulsed in his head, sharp and relentless. He’d known it was coming—had trained for it, braced himself, prepared in every way he could.

But today, as the chlorine stung his eyes and the humidity clung to his skin, it felt suddenly, crushingly real.

He tipped his head back, water streaming down his face, and thought of her. Lucy. He hadn’t let himself linger on her much these past three months. Too dangerous. Too distracting.

But now—on the brink of deployment—her memory pressed in on him. The glint in her eyes when she challenged him to a race in the water. The way her laughter had spilled out like bells, untamed and contagious. The easy fit of her hand in his as they’d walked under the moonlight, like it had always belonged there.

He hauled himself out of the pool, water dripping onto the tiles. On the bench, his phone waited, screen dark. He picked it up without really meaning to, thumb sliding over the glass until her name appeared. Saved hastily that night, before they’d gone their separate ways. Never once used. No calls. No texts. Just a number.

He stared at it, pulse thundering harder than any workout. He could hear her already in his head—her voice warm and bright, turning a little breathless as she said his name. The longing squeezed tight around his chest until it hurt.

His thumb hovered over the call button. One word—one conversation—maybe that was all it would take. Tomorrow he was heading into the unknown, after all.

But then came the counterweight, heavy and inescapable. What would it give her, hearing from him now? Nothing but a burden she didn’t deserve. A goodbye that would only leave her with pain.

Tim shut his eyes. He drew in a lungful of air, but his chest felt hollow. Slowly, deliberately, he locked the phone and set it back down.

No call. No goodbye.

And yet, as he sat there with droplets cooling on his skin, his heart betrayed him—because it already knew the truth. It would have been everything, just to hear her voice.

---

8 years ago - Northwestern University Campus

The campus glowed with the soft warmth of early summer, but as Lucy looked around, every pathway seemed painted in shades of nostalgia.

She walked slowly, her suitcase already packed back at the dorm, though her heart wasn’t ready to leave. Tomorrow she would fly west, begin the next chapter in Los Angeles.

Still, she couldn’t go without this one last walk.

She paused outside the student club, the small stage visible through the glass doors. She remembered standing there, singing under the spotlight, nerves taut, only to find his gaze in the crowd. Tim. Everyone else had blurred away that night. It had felt like she was singing just for him.

Her steps carried her on, toward the restaurant in Evanston where they had sparred over Psych versus Criminal Justice. She smiled faintly at the memory, her stubbornness clashing with his quiet certainty, the argument playful but edged with something deeper.

At the lake’s edge, the silhouette of the Grosse Point lighthouse rose against the fading sky. The water shimmered, restless and endless. She stood still, breath catching as memories pulled her in. That evening, he had stood behind her, arms warm around her waist, and she had felt at peace. Whole.

Her throat constricted. She pressed a hand against her stomach, protective without meaning to. Ten weeks. The doctor had confirmed it, had reassured her that everything looked normal. But nothing about this felt simple. Some days she was nauseous and raw; others, she was so overwhelmed with tenderness that she cried over nothing. Tonight, the ache for him was the sharpest of all.

She wanted to hear his voice, low and reassuring, making her believe that everything would be all right.

But she had made her choice. To keep this to herself. To spare him the weight of a future he hadn’t asked for. He had his own battles waiting—she had seen that in him even then.

Lucy drew a shaky breath, eyes stinging. Was it only the pregnancy magnifying every emotion? Perhaps. But in her heart she knew it wasn’t just hormones. She missed him. With a depth that terrified her.

Turning away from the lighthouse, she made herself keep walking. Tomorrow she would leave this campus behind. Leave Evanston. And the ghost of his memories that lingered at every corner.

Her footsteps echoed against the paved pathways, each one carrying her further from the life she wanted and deeper into the one she had chosen. She repeated it like a vow: she could do this. She would do this.

But even as night settled, her heart whispered the truth she couldn’t ignore. All she wanted was to feel his arms around her again, safe and sure.

----

Chapter Text

Tim stood in the center of the room, his hands balled into fists. The question hung between them like a blade, sharp and unavoidable. “Is he really my son?”

Lucy's throat constricted. She held his stare and gave a small but deliberate nod. “Yes. He is.”

The simple words hit him like a physical blow. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

All his life, he'd carried one unshakeable promise to himself: when he became a father, he would be different. He would build his child up, not tear them down. He would never make them feel weak or inadequate—the way his own father had made him feel every damn day. Now, seven years had already slipped away. Before he even knew they existed.

“Seven years.” His words came out rough, barely controlled. “Seven goddamn years, and you never told me?”

Seven birthdays. Seven Christmas mornings. All the moments—ordinary and special—that every father looks forward to—lost before he even knew.

Lucy stepped forward, her hands trembling at her sides. “I thought about telling you the moment I found out. And so many times after that. But Tim—” She swallowed hard. “Back then, you’d just gotten your deployment orders. The Army was everything to you. I couldn’t… I couldn’t be the reason you gave that up.”

His head whipped toward her, fury blazing in his expression. “So instead you decided I didn’t deserve to know him? That my son should grow up thinking I was just some faceless soldier overseas?”

Tears spilled down her cheeks, hot and helpless. “If I’d told you about the baby, you might have stayed—out of duty. And eventually…” Her breath hitched. “I thought, eventually you’d feel trapped—and resent me for it.”

Tim shook his head violently, pain and rage warring across his features. “You don’t get to make that choice for me. You don’t get to steal seven years of my son’s life because you thought you knew what was best.” His throat worked, the words scraping raw. “I missed his first steps. His first words. I wasn’t there when he needed me.”

The room fell silent except for Lucy’s quiet sobs.

The loss clawed at him as he faced the consequences of her decision. If fate hadn’t brought them back together, he might never have known.

When Tim spoke again, his tone had shifted—harder, more focused. “And what about when we met again at the precinct? You had weeks, Lucy. Weeks to tell me the truth.”

Lucy's breath caught, panic flaring in her chest. “I was terrified. We were just starting to… reconnect. I didn’t want to destroy it by telling you. I tried—I almost did at our dinner last week…” Her voice faltered.

Tim’s mind flashed to that night—the way she’d looked like she was holding something back. Fragile. He’d promised to wait, to be patient. Little did he know.

“But I couldn’t find the courage,” she confessed, pressing a hand to her mouth. “All the reasons that made sense eight years ago felt insignificant when I saw you again—the man you’ve become, the father you’d be to him. I wanted to… I—I really wanted to…," she trailed off.

The betrayal cut deeper now. Not just the years of silence, but the active deception. The stolen glances at work. The kisses, under the guise of being undercover- yet had felt so genuine, so full of possibility. All of it built on a lie.

His chest ached so fiercely he could hardly draw breath.

“Do you have any idea what this feels like?” Tim’s control finally cracked, anguish bleeding through the anger. “To know I’ll never get those moments back? That he’s been in this world for seven years, and I never even had the chance to try?”

Lucy took a shaky step closer. “I know I was wrong. I know—”

“You decided I wasn’t good enough to be his father,” Tim cut her off, his tone flat and devastating. “You decided he was better off without me.”

“That’s not—” Lucy’s hand moved instinctively to her pocket, fingers finding the familiar weight of the bracelet. She pulled it out slowly, the silver charms catching the light. “I was going to tell you tonight.”

Tim let out a short, disbelieving scoff but his gaze fixed on the bracelet—the one he'd given her eight years ago. Seeing it on her wrist at dinner last week had filled him with hope, made him believe their shared past had meant something to her.

“I added this yesterday,” she whispered, touching a small silver cherub that hung among the other charms. “For Ethan. For the angel who brought so much love into my life.”

The sight of it—this tiny representation of the son he'd never known—broke something inside him. Had she planned to use this piece from their past to cushion the blow of the truth? Or to soften his stance towards her? His jaw clenched, emotions threatening to overwhelm him entirely.

But when he spoke, his tone was eerily calm. “So that was your plan. That’s how you were going to tell me I have a child.”

Lucy’s face crumpled, his cold voice cutting sharper than any outburst. “I’ve been carrying this secret for a long time, Tim. Every day since we met again, it’s gotten harder. After everything that happened this past week…when we…” She couldn’t finish, couldn’t say the word kissed when he was looking at her like she’d destroyed his world.

Tim turned away, one hand dragging through his hair. Lucy took a tentative step forward, desperation pressing in her throat. 

When he faced her again, the raw pain in his expression nearly undid her. 

Her fingers curled tight into the hem of her shirt. He’s breaking. And it’s my fault.

“I wanted to be there,” he said quietly. “To show up, to love my child, to be the father he deserves. And you took that from me. You took seven years of his life, and you took away my chance to be the man I should have been.”

“I didn’t want to Tim, I...it seemed right at the time. And I thought I was protecting you,” Lucy whispered.

“You were protecting yourself.” The words came out hollow, final. “And I don’t know if I can forgive you for that.”

The silence that followed felt like the end of everything.

---

Tim’s words hung in the air like a verdict. I don’t know if I can forgive you for that.

Lucy opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Her hands tightened around the bracelet until the charms dug painfully into her palm, as if the sting might hold her together.
“Tim…” she whispered, but he was already shaking his head, stepping back.

The echo of Tim’s footsteps followed him as he turned and walked out of the room, toward the stairwell leading to the bullpen below.

Lucy sank into the lone chair in the rather empty room, the bracelet slipping from her fingers to the floor with a soft clink. She buried her face in her hands, letting a single, shaky sob escape. I should have told him. I should have…

Tim stood frozen near the bullpen doorway, his gaze locked on the small figure across the room.

Ethan’s hands waved through the air as he recounted his latest swim meet to Nolan and Aaron, his voice bubbling with excitement and pride. The boy’s natural warmth, his effortless charm, the way he lit up the room—it was so unmistakably familiar, a flash of Lucy’s spark that drew everyone in without effort. Tim couldn’t look away.

He remembered Ethan racing across the bullpen earlier, launching himself into Lucy's arms without hesitation. The image shifted in his mind—what if those small feet ran toward him instead? What if he could lift his son, feel that solid weight against his chest, hear breathless laughter in his ear? The thought lodged in his throat like a stone.

Angela watched from her desk, brows lifting at the sight of Tim’s stricken face. Her instincts pricked instantly—something was off. She’d seen him steady through countless crises, but the way his gaze lingered on the boy—captivated, almost unguarded—was unlike him.

A flicker of concern passed over her face, but she stayed quiet, letting him process. She strongly suspected that he had just learned about Lucy’s son.

Tim’s gaze lingered on Ethan a moment longer, taking in the quick sparkle in his blue eyes. Mine, the thought flickered before he could stop it, raw and undeniable. Then, almost without thinking, he turned and strode out of the precinct, leaving the chatter and shuffle of papers behind.

Moments later, Grey checked his phone as he approached Angela’s desk, a faint crease cutting across his brow. “Bradford’s taking the day off… that’s unexpected.”

Angela’s eyes flicked to the stairwell just as Lucy emerged, her posture outwardly calm but the slightest tension in her shoulders betraying the effort it took to maintain that facade. She gave a small, distracted smile at Ethan, who was chattering away, oblivious to the undercurrents swirling around him.

“Let’s go home,” Lucy said softly, her voice steady despite the weight in her chest, as she fell into step with her mother.
Ethan waved brightly to everyone in the bullpen as they left, his carefree cheer a stark contrast to the storm his parents were still navigating.

---

Tim sank into the couch, staring blankly at the muted sports channel as the afternoon sun slanted through the blinds. His mind, however, was far from the game. He ran through every detail of that stolen weekend with Lucy, the laughter, the heat, the closeness—how had this happened? How had she kept this from him all this time?

He remembered asking her about protection, her confident reassurance, the countless times they’d given in to everything they felt. And now a possibility he had never imagined—the child they had unknowingly created together, who had grown up without him, yet carried pieces of them both.

Memories surged through him, uninvited and relentless: Lucy laughing as she darted ahead in the pool, droplets of water sparkling like sunlight around her, her eyes catching his in that mischievous, daring way. The quiet magic of the lakeside sunset, her hand finding his as they walked without a word, simply soaking in the world together. The soft hum of the night as she pressed close against him, the heat of her bare skin against his in the darkened room.

And then—piercingly—the helpless, gut-wrenching wave goodbye, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

The image of her tear-stricken face at the precinct earlier today rose unbidden—and he knew, in the core of himself, that it had pulled at him. Somewhere beneath the raw edge of his pain, there had been a flicker of wanting to comfort her.

He shook it away, but not before he heard his father’s biting voice in the back of his mind: ‘too weak… too sentimental.’

No. His fingers tightened around the TV remote. He wouldn’t be like that. He wouldn’t let rigid rules and cold expectations define him. He had carried the weight of all those years of discipline, of never quite measuring up to his exacting standards. But he would never let it touch his child. 

Ethan. 

Just saying his son’s name brought the ache of everything lost.

The doorbell rang, but Tim ignored it, lost in his own thoughts. Still, it kept ringing—stubbornly insistent. Finally, exasperated, he trudged to the door and found Angela standing there, balancing a keg of beer and cartons of food.

“Hey,” she said, pushing past him with practiced ease, her voice teasing but he could see the concern in her gaze. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “I’m not really looking for company, actually.”

“Too bad. I’m looking for some, and no one else was available,” she replied, unfazed as she dropped the food and beer on the coffee table and claimed a spot on the couch.

Tim exhaled and, with a resigned shake of his shoulders, sank down beside her.

“You wanna talk?” she asked, after they’d each downed a few pieces of chicken and a beer.

Tim let out another long breath, letting the tight knot in his chest loosen slightly, and began recounting - how he had met Lucy, eight years ago. How everything had started.

---

“Eight years ago,” Tim began, his voice low, a rough edge under the quiet. He leaned back, eyes fixed on the muted television as if the flickering screen could keep the memories at a distance. “I was a senior at Michigan, on the basketball team. We had a tournament at Northwestern. That’s where I met Lucy—she was a student there.”

Angela’s brows lifted, surprise flickering before she masked it. She hadn’t known his connection to Lucy reached that far back.

Memories of that weekend—of Lucy—were what he’d once turned to whenever he needed a brief reprieve from life’s chaos. Today, they felt like the source of it. 

He cut a glance at Angela and forced his tone into something casual, almost dismissive.

“We spent… a few days together. Talked a lot. Everything about it felt… easy. Effortless.” 

Angela tilted her head. “But?”

He hesitated, every word feeling like it might give too much away.

“But it was only a weekend. I had military orders. She still had two years of school left. We were…so young, I wasn’t about to ask someone I’d known three days to hang on for a long-distance that probably wouldn’t survive.”

He swallowed hard, a shadow crossing his face.

“So, we agreed… to go our separate ways. And just like that, she became a memory—distant, fixed in the past. Where I thought she’d stay… until she walked into Mid-Wilshire a few weeks ago. LAPD detective.." He paused, taking another swig of his beer. "Seeing her again felt like the years had collapsed—and yet everything was different.” 

Angela’s eyes softened, understanding more with each word. “I guess it showed. The way you two… sort of just clicked. Hard not to catch it.”

He let out a humorless breath, eyes back on the muted TV.

“I told myself it was just coincidence,” he said quietly. “But it felt like life was… nudging me. Dragging back something I thought I’d left behind. And the pull was—God, it was strong. I didn’t stand a chance. Or maybe… maybe I just wanted to be pulled in. I don’t even know anymore.”

Tim’s voice tightened, the weight of it roughening each word. “I know she felt it too… we even talked about it, about us. It was nascent, fragile… but it was real. But then today—when she… and Ethan…” He faltered, unable to utter the last words.

Angela nodded slowly, eyes soft but wary. “She hadn’t told you she had a son?”

Tim let out a long, controlled breath, letting the weight of it settle. “She hadn’t told me… that we had a son.” The emphasis on we hung heavily in the air.

Angela froze, fork paused midair, a piece of chicken hovering between shock and disbelief. In another life, it might have been comical. “Ethan… is your son?” she exclaimed, voice rising as the words sank in.

Tim’s hands clenched briefly around the edge of the couch. “Yes. She didn’t reach out back then when she found out she was pregnant. She gave me an excuse today… that she didn’t want to stand in the way of my dreams, of serving in the Army. She decided… what was best for our son… and for me… all by herself.”

Angela blinked, processing. “So when you met Ethan today, she told you the truth?”

Tim shook his head, letting his gaze drop to the floor. “No… she never told me outright. Ethan mentioned his dad was in the Army—and that his name was Tim. I connected the dots—his age, his blue eyes… just like mine. I confronted Lucy. She admitted she’d been hiding it all this time… even after we reconnected at the LAPD.”

Anger, frustration, and a sharp pang of betrayal surged through him. What if we hadn’t met again? I would have never known… He balled the paper towel in his hand, knuckles whitening as the flood of emotions pressed down.

He sank deeper into the couch, the leather creaking softly under his weight as it pressed into his tense shoulders. The TV flickered silently in the corner—useless background noise to the storm raging inside him. His fists rested on his knees, a slight tremor in them, as he struggled with the swirl of resentment, simmering anger, and a hollow ache gnawing at him. 

Angela's presence beside him was quiet, careful. She didn't rush him, didn't push—just offered the space he needed to breathe.

"So… Lucy was a sophomore when you met?" she asked softly, her voice threading through the silence with practiced care, probing without prying.

Tim leaned back and closed his eyes for a beat, as he nodded, his voice lodged somewhere deep in his chest.

Angela shifted slightly, angling herself toward him. "She must have been what—twenty? Twenty-one? A student with no income, barely more than a kid herself." Her voice carried a note of understanding that made Tim’s jaw clench. "It would have taken immense courage to decide to be a single mom. Hell, I struggle with it daily, even with Wesley by my side. And I had Jackson when I was older, with a steady job, more life experience." She paused, letting the words settle. "She did what she thought was best, Tim."

A bitter laugh escaped him, short and sharp, the anger flaring white-hot, but Angela raised her hand before he could unleash it.

"I'm not saying she was right," she said quickly, "or that she should have done things this way. But it's in the past now." She leaned forward slightly, her eyes searching his. "Think about it, Tim. What if she had married someone else and Ethan already had a father figure? What if Lucy had shown up with your son and you were already married to Isabel—or someone else? But here you are, both single, both unattached. And you have a son who connects you."

"It's just…" Tim's voice came out strained, barely above a whisper. "It's a hell of a coincidence."

"Or maybe it is fate," Angela pressed gently, her hand covering his knee for a moment. "You said it yourself—the chemistry between you and Lucy is undeniable. Not everyone finds that kind of connection, Tim. Ever. Don't let the anger blind you to what's right in front of you."

A slow, shuddering breath escaped him, easing just a little of the tightness coiled in his chest. The turmoil inside him made room for something smaller, delicate—a flicker of hope he couldn’t yet name.

"I…" He looked down at his hands, his voice gaining strength slowly. "I want him. Ethan. I want to be in his life. I want to be there for him."

Angela remained still, noticing how his words stopped at Ethan, leaving Lucy unspoken. She held back—this was his first step. He would reach the next one in his own time.

Tim knew he wasn’t being fully honest with himself—or with Angela. Lucy hovered at the edges of his mind—unavoidable—but he refused to give her voice, as if naming what she meant to him might shatter the fragile resolve he was building. He couldn’t allow himself to dwell there—not while the betrayal was still raw, the wound too tender to touch. So he forced her from his thoughts, holding fast to the one thing he could grasp: his son, and the father he wanted to be for him.

His gaze drifted to the floor again, and then to Angela, who waited patiently, the gentle encouragement in her eyes anchoring him.

"Then take this chance, Tim," she said quietly. "Don't let Ethan slip away. He needs you."

The vision of being part of his son's life—guiding him, supporting him, just being there for him—struck Tim like a physical blow in a way he hadn’t expected.  It awakened something primal and fierce, a force so powerful he couldn’t ignore it. For now, letting himself feel it was enough.

"I'll figure it out," he murmured, the words barely audible even to himself. "I'll make it right. For him.”

---

By the time the night had deepened, Lucy found herself pottering around her kitchen, the soft hum of the refrigerator and the clink of utensils calming her in the stillness of the evening.

Ethan was finally asleep, tucked in after dinner, his small breaths even and peaceful. Yet Lucy couldn’t bring herself to rest. Her mind replayed the day in a loop—Tim’s furious expression, the shock in his eyes, the controlled fury in his voice as he stormed out.

She had only herself to blame; seeing the pain she’d unleashed was worse than carrying the secret ever had been.

Settling on the couch with a warm cup of tea, Lucy let the warmth seep into her hands, though it barely reached her racing heart. She thought of their kisses - brief, masked by their undercover identities - but undeniably real in the moment. She remembered the heat of his body, the way his eyes darkened with desire, how he had pulled her close and held her after Joe’s arrest, the quiet safety she'd found in his arms.

She reflected on how solid he had been during the search for Ethan, taking control without questioning her, without judgment—just being there for her, until the truth finally surfaced.

She couldn’t blame him for lashing out. Anyone would have. The memory of the anger, the hurt, and the shock in his eyes gripped her like a vise she couldn’t shake. She could only hope he would understand why she had made the choices she did, all those years ago.

The weight of unspoken words pressed on her, and she lifted her phone, fingers hovering uncertainly over the keyboard. Doubt flickered—was it too soon? Could she reach out? Before fear stole her courage, she typed a quick, simple message: “I did want to talk tonight… if you want to… I’m at home.”

She hit send and watched it get delivered, knowing he hadn’t seen it yet.

---

Tim sat alone at home, the fifth beer sweating between his palms, though he barely noticed it.
His gaze was distant, caught between memory and possibility. Lucy’s text pinged on his phone, but he ignored it, letting his mind drift instead. Thoughts of Ethan surfaced—this boy, his son, someone he barely knew yet already felt drawn to.

He imagined coaching him in basketball, guiding him, sharing the thrill of the game. A small smile tugged at his mouth at the thought, a fleeting moment of warmth piercing the heaviness in his chest.

And then there was Lucy. The knowledge that she and Ethan were inseparable in his life simmered in his mind. She wasn’t merely a memory—she was here, breathing and warm, each small, unforgettable detail making his ache for her sharpen.

He remembered the fear that had surged when Joe had threatened her life, the certainty that he would put himself in harm’s way without hesitation to keep her safe. Yet the anger still festered, bitter and unforgiving. Every thought of her, every memory, was laced with a twisting ache, equal parts desire and frustration.

—-

In the early hours, Lucy woke on the couch, the room bathed in soft lamplight, her leg bent awkwardly beneath her. She squinted at her phone—1.46 am—and Tim still hadn’t seen her message. A pang of disappointment hit her, but she tamped it down, steadying herself. Quietly, she dragged her feet to her bedroom, pausing by Ethan’s door. The familiar rhythm of his small breaths invited her in, and she climbed into bed beside him, drawing comfort from his warmth.

Ethan’s little arm looped around her in sleep, offering solace without words. Lucy let herself relax, finally allowing the tension of the day to drain away. For the first time that night, she felt a small measure of peace. 

At least I did something right, she thought, heart softening as she drifted off into sleep, holding both her son and the tentative hope that one day, Tim might understand.

--

Chapter Text

The morning after their confrontation, Lucy entered the bullpen with the weight of the previous day still clinging to her. Every step felt like walking into an ambush.
Her eyes swept the room before she could stop herself. Empty. Of course.

Before she could ask, Nyla appeared at her side, dropping a file on her desk. “He’s in court today—testimony on that gang case,” she said casually, like she wasn’t delivering the one piece of news Lucy had been desperate for.
Lucy forced a nod of thanks, but inside something hollowed out. She wouldn’t get to see him. Not today.

Angela walked past, balancing her coffee and a folder, but her sharp eyes caught on Lucy immediately. The faint redness around Lucy’s eyes, the tired drag in her posture—it didn’t take a detective to see she had barely slept.
Angela slowed, her expression softening, and for a brief second, their gazes met. No words were exchanged, but the sympathy in Angela’s look was unmistakable. Lucy quickly ducked her head, pretending to busy herself with the file in her hands.

Angela didn’t push, just gave a small nod and moved on—but a little later, Lucy found herself drawn into the flow of work before she could get lost in her thoughts again. Angela tossed her a set of case files, and Nyla called her over to join an interview. It was subtle, deliberate—they were keeping her too busy to spiral. And Lucy was grateful, even if she didn’t say it out loud.

The hours blurred together—an interview with a weary shop owner, a routine follow-up at a halfway house, and a call to check on a suspicious vehicle that turned out to be nothing at all. Lucy went through the motions, professional and steady on the outside, but inside the weight never lifted. Every street she drove down, every report she filed, her mind circled back to Tim. What was he thinking right now? Was he angry still? Would he ever be able to forgive her—or worse, had she already lost him for good?

By late afternoon, Lucy found herself steering the car back toward the precinct, the sun dipping lower, painting the sky in bruised shades of orange and purple. Her hands gripped the wheel tighter than she realized, her eyes flicking to every car that passed, every figure on the sidewalk—as if she might somehow catch a glimpse of him before she even got there. A mix of dread and longing squeezed her chest, as she pulled into the precinct.

---

Lucy entered the bullpen, heart hammering, her gaze sweeping the room almost desperately. Empty. No sign of him. She swallowed her disappointment, forcing herself into autopilot as she headed for the locker room. The familiar clatter of doors and muffled chatter around her barely registered as she changed out of her uniform, her mind drifting instead to Ethan—what he might want for dinner tonight, maybe pasta, maybe the grilled cheese he always begged for. Normal thoughts, ordinary comfort, the kind of life she clung to while the storm inside her refused to calm.

Stepping out of the locker room, lost in that fragile bubble, she walked straight into a solid chest. Recognition flooded her before she even lifted her eyes.

Tim.

His hand shot out on reflex, then dropped almost as fast, as if contact might cost him something. His gaze met hers briefly—blank, controlled—before he eased back with careful precision. The quiet withdrawal landed sharper than any burst of anger could.

——-

The instant she bumped into him, his body betrayed him. Muscles eased, every instinct urging him to draw her closer—a fleeting sense of rightness in a world tilted off-balance. His mind fought back, crowded with resentment and the unsaid words still burning in his chest.

Even this stolen heartbeat was enough to soothe a part of him, no matter how much he didn’t want it.

Her eyes lifted, wide and searching, pleading silently for understanding. His, unrelenting, the armor holding tight. Before she could get a word in, he turned his back and disappeared into the men’s locker room.

Lucy stood frozen for a beat, the ache pressing against her ribs until it hurt to breathe. Then she exhaled a long, uneven sigh, shouldered her bag, and headed home. Her heart heavy, her thoughts already tangled with him—always with Tim.

---

Lucy let herself into the apartment with a weary twist of the key, the familiar warmth of home greeting her. Normally, Ethan would be bouncing on the couch, rattling off stories about his day before she even set her bag down. Tonight, though, he was curled beneath a blanket, eyes a little dull, his usual spark muted as the baby-sitter hovered near him.

The young girl, Rose looked relieved to see Lucy. “I was just about to call you,” she said.

She nodded and moved to smooth a hand over Ethan’s hair, kissing the crown of his head, as the baby-sitter left. She knew the signs—the quieter, slower Ethan that usually meant a bug was on its way.

She coaxed him into a light dinner: warm soup and some bread, easy and gentle. He didn’t eat much, but he gave her a sleepy smile that eased her chest a fraction. After tucking him into bed, she lingered there, watching his lashes flutter closed, his breath even out. Her whole world, right there under the covers.

She moved to her own room after, knowing sleep would not come easily. Not with her heart heavy and her mind filled with images of Tim—his guarded eyes, the wall between them that she had built and could not tear down. 

Still, exhaustion eventually pulled her under. Her dreams were a swirl of blue eyes and the echo of basketball games, memories of a boy she had once known and a man she could not stop thinking about.

---

Tim drove home in silence, mind restless despite the stillness around him. Images of Ethan—laughing on the playground, animated in the bullpen—blurred into flashes of Lucy, the look in her eyes when he’d hesitated to touch her.

Seeing her today had peeled every wound raw. The bitterness he’d held at bay all day surged back. Secrets and broken trust created a distance between them that felt impossible to bridge. This wasn't simple fury—fury burned hot and quick. This was something colder, more corrosive.

He clenched the steering wheel tighter; fighting to keep the turmoil from consuming him entirely.

By the time he reached home, his resolve had set. If he wanted a real chance at what mattered—family and togetherness—he had to tamp down the resentment.

That night, lying in the darkness, he knew what he had to do. Whatever it demanded of him, he would center everything on one truth that cut through the noise: his son. Ethan. Always Ethan.

—-

The next morning Lucy made the decision before her second cup of coffee was even done. Ethan’s temperature had spiked again, his cheeks flushed, his small body restless and clingy. She stroked his damp hair back from his forehead as he nestled against her, murmuring a sleepy, “Stay with me, Mommy.”

That was all it took. She picked up her phone, called in a personal day, and settled in beside him, giving herself over to the quiet work of comfort—cooling his skin with gentle hands, whispering soft reassurances, breathing in the small, familiar scent of him. 

It was a long, draining day—Ethan fussed, whined, clung, dozed in short bursts—but by evening he was calmer, his fever easing slightly.

Lucy tucked him in, promising that she would be right there if he woke, and finally allowed herself a weary sigh of relief.

She padded into the kitchen, bone-tired but needing a little comfort of her own. The kettle rattled to life on the stove, steam rising, when the buzz of the door startled her. Wiping her hands on a dish towel, she glanced at the screen—and froze. 

Tim. His face filled the grainy monitor - mouth set in a hard line, impatience flickering despite the effort to hide it. Even through a camera, her chest squeezed at the sight of him.

She let him in before she could second-guess herself. By the time she opened the door, he was there, tall frame filling the doorway. For a beat neither spoke. She stepped back to let him in, his boots carrying him over the threshold with a quiet authority that made her pulse jump. No greeting. No words. Just the unspoken weight of everything between them, heavy in the small entryway.

---

Tim hadn’t intended to end up here. Not really. But the day had been relentless—and so had he.

From the moment he’d walked into the bullpen, Lucy’s absence had gnawed at him. He didn’t ask—wouldn’t let himself—but the space she usually filled felt like a hole in the room. So he buried it, threw himself at the job.

He dragged Aaron onto patrol and didn’t give either of them a chance to breathe. Every risky call that came through, he grabbed it. The bigger, the better. 

A bar fight with a guy who had to outweigh him by a hundred pounds? Perfect. He went in hard, muscles burning with the strain, a flash of grim satisfaction when the cuffs finally locked. Breathless—but not satisfied.

Aaron had barely gotten out a careful, “Boss, maybe we should catch a brea—” before Tim cut him off, steering them toward a high-speed pursuit. He caught the protest in Aaron’s eyes, the flicker of confusion, and ignored it. Anything to keep moving. Anything to keep from sitting still long enough to feel the weight in his chest.

By the end of shift he still wasn’t settled, the buzz of action refusing to fade. On his way to the locker room he debated between a late-night run and a few rounds punching the precinct heavy bag, anything to burn off the excess energy—when he caught Nyla’s voice. She was telling Aaron, almost casually, that Lucy had taken a personal day—her kid was sick.

Something in him twisted hard at that, sharp enough to leave him unsteady. He changed on autopilot, barely remembering to lock his locker before heading for the parking lot. By the time he reached his truck, he wasn’t even pretending to fight the pull anymore.

He sat there for a long beat, engine idling, the night pressing close around him. Her address glowed on his phone—the one she’d given him last week when she’d asked him to dinner, before the truth had detonated everything. His fingers tapped it into the GPS before his mind could find a single reason not to.

He knew the tree-lined streets around her apartment well: a safe neighborhood, full of families with kids. He drove past the park where he coached on weekends—where he’d run into Ethan, unaware of the truth.

He parked near the building and paused. It was late; Ethan might be asleep. Still, the urge to see him was too strong, and before he knew it, he had pressed the buzzer.

Now he was inside. Her scent lingered in the air, the apartment quiet and welcoming. She looked pale, tired, the exhaustion of a long day etched into her face, but she stood there, meeting his gaze as if she, too, could barely catch her breath.

For a moment, the silence was everything.

----

Tim shifted his weight in the doorway, voice quieter than Lucy expected.
“How’s Ethan?”

Relief flickered through her. At least he was talking to her.
“He’s sleeping. Fever’s down a little. The worst is over, I think.”

She stepped back, gesturing for him to follow, and led him down the short hallway. As he trailed her, his eyes caught on everything—the small backpack slung over a chair, a pile of swim gear in the corner, children’s books stacked crookedly on a shelf. Her world. His son’s world. And he felt like a stranger to all of it.

When they entered Ethan’s room, Tim stopped short. The hush pressed in, a dense stillness that made every breath deliberate. Ethan lay curled on his side, airplane blanket tucked beneath his chin, cheeks flushed but peaceful, his small chest rising and falling in steady rhythm.

Tim stared, unmoving. Awe struck first—pure and staggering at how small, how perfect this boy was. Then came the sting: seven lost years before he could stand here and watch his son sleep. Every night he hadn’t been there tightened like a knot through his muscles.

He drew a slow breath, forcing the anger back. Rage wouldn’t return the time already gone. What mattered was the boy in the bed and the memories still waiting to be made.

The storm that had chased him all day eased as a steadier calm settled in. Ethan was here. From this moment on, Tim intended to be, too.

——

“It wasn’t too bad, not like before,” she murmured, as they stepped out of Ethan’s room and into the hallway. “When he was five, he caught a terrible flu—high fevers, stomach problems… it got scary.” She trailed off, eyes distant.

When she looked back at Tim, his expression had shifted—something dark in his eyes, almost accusing. It hit her like a blow. I don’t know. I wasn’t there. You took that from me. His silence spoke louder than words ever could.

She exhaled, heavy. No, he wasn’t going to make this easy for her. Trying to push past the tension, she asked softly, “Have you had dinner?”

He shook his head.
“I made some chicken noodle broth earlier. It’s still warm—I can heat it up for you.”

“Okay,” he said, thinking they needed to talk anyway. Might as well eat first.

—-

As Lucy busied herself in the kitchen, Tim wandered around the living room, noticing the little details of the apartment: framed paintings above the TV, small potted plants on the windowsill and bright cushions scattered about made the living room feel homey, lived-in.

And then his eyes fell on a wall of photos - and he froze.

The wall knew more about his son than he did. Baby pictures, chubby cheeks and gummy grins. A toddler splashing at the beach. A gap-toothed smile at the swings, first day of school with an oversized backpack, kindergarten graduation cap slipping sideways. Lucy appeared in many of them, sometimes with her mother, sometimes with a man Tim guessed was her father.

Photo after photo, proof of a childhood—safe, happy, filled with love—that he had missed, that he’d been denied all these years. Lucy had clearly done her best, raised him into this bright, secure boy on her own. That was the reality. Angela’s words came to mind—how hard it was to manage alone—but he didn’t dwell on it.

He rubbed the back of his neck, the tension of the day and the weight of what he’d just seen settling into his shoulders.

He turned back to the kitchen, just as Lucy called gently from the dining table. “Tim? It’s ready.”

He sat, the bowl steaming before him. She took the chair opposite. The broth was warm, soothing, with a hint of spice. He ate in silence, aware of her eyes on him—expecting him to say something.

When he set the spoon down and pushed the bowl aside, his voice was low but steady.
“When did you find out you were pregnant?”

---

Tim didn’t take his eyes off her. His arms were folded, not defensively, but like he was holding himself together, as if any wrong move might break her trust.

Lucy swallowed. Her palms were clammy, heart pounding, but the weight of his steady gaze gave her the push she needed.

“I found out a few weeks after you left,” she began softly. “I’d missed my period. Rachel… she brought me a test. I sat on the floor of the bathroom and just… stared at it.”

“I cried. Not because I didn’t want him," her voice wavered, "but because I didn’t know how to do it.”

She let out a shaky breath, staring at her hands. “I debated endlessly whether to tell you, and once I decided I wouldn’t,” her eyes closed for a brief second, willing the tears to not fall.

Tim stayed quiet, fists clenched in his lap.

“I had to start planning, figuring out the next steps,” she continued.

“I told my parents. They weren’t thrilled, obviously, especially my Dad.” Her gaze remained on her hands. “Mom managed to convince him. They stood by me. Through it all. I moved back to LA, transferred to UCLA. I had Ethan in my junior year. He was… perfect. And when I looked into his eyes—” her lips trembled slightly “—they were so blue. Just like yours.”

Tim’s throat worked. He blinked rapidly, a flash of pain crossing his face before he pressed it back into neutral.

“My dad warmed up after Ethan was born—they’ve shared a special bond ever since,” she added softly, a small smile on her face.

“I took a semester off, but I finished my degree,” she continued. “Then I realized I wanted more. To serve. To protect. To build something better for him. So I applied to the Academy. Mom helped with Ethan. I graduated. Somehow, despite all odds, we made it work.”

Her voice quieted, almost fragile. “It wasn’t easy, Tim. Some nights I thought I couldn’t do it. I cried into his baby blanket because I missed you so much. But every time he looked at me with those eyes… I knew I had to keep going.”

Tim’s arms came to rest on the table, in front of him, but his jaw remained set - offering no comfort. Only silence.

She finally met his gaze. “I wanted to tell you a hundred times. I had your number. I’d hold my phone, think about calling. But I was so sure it would ruin everything you’d built for yourself. And Ethan deserved a mom who didn’t beg someone to stay. He deserved me choosing him—fully.”

Pain flickered in Tim’s eyes, a brief crack in his guard. She’d chosen Ethan completely—but Tim had never been given a choice.

She’d done it all without him. And he had to admit—Ethan had a stable life. Still, he wasn’t sure he wanted to give her credit, not when he’d been denied the chance to be part of it.

When he spoke, his voice was quiet and deliberate. “Did he ever… ask about me?”

She nodded, chest tightening. “Once. When he was five. I sat him down and told him gently about his dad — you, in the army, deployed far away, serving the nation and unable to come home. His little mind believed it. He didn’t ask many questions after that, and I thought maybe he would forget.” She paused, tears threatening again. “But he didn’t. He remembered. And that day, he spilled everything… in front of you.”

Tim exhaled slowly, jaw flexing. Regret and frustration mingled in the lines of his face.

“What if we hadn’t met again in the LAPD? Would you have ever told me?” He voiced the question that had been pricking at him for the past couple of days.

“I don’t know, Tim,” she admitted, her voice breaking slightly. “The story about his dad being in the army… it wasn’t going to be believable for long. If Ethan really wanted to know, I might’ve reached out. But the longer I waited to tell you, the more complicated it became. I couldn’t just spring this on you out of nowhere. You could have been married, with kids—”

“But I’m not.” His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. He leaned in slightly, his words landing like a promise. “I’m right here. I’m going to be part of his life.”

His life. Not theirs. Lucy’s throat tightened, and she forced a small nod, burying the sting of being excluded from the sentiment.

For a long moment, they just sat there, words spent, air thick with everything left unsaid. Exhaustion pressed in, and Lucy’s jaw stretched in a yawn she couldn’t stop. 

Tim caught it immediately. His mouth pressed into a line, his spine straightening.

“You should rest,” he said in quiet, clipped tones. He pushed back from the chair, gave her a brief nod, and without another word, headed for the door.

"Good night," she whispered, voice barely carrying. Tim didn’t answer—he paused at the threshold, then was gone, leaving her with silence and a hollow ache she couldn’t name."

---

Chapter Text

Lucy woke the next morning with a rare warmth curling through her chest. For a fleeting moment, she clung to the remnants of the dream—her, Ethan, and Tim at the zoo. Ethan’s laughter rang out as he tugged on Tim’s hand, pointing out animals with wide-eyed wonder. Tim carried him on his shoulders, steady and strong, the three of them moving like they belonged together.

But as her eyes opened to the soft gray of her bedroom, the wishful dream dissolved, leaving the stark quiet of reality in its place.

I’m going to be a part of his life. His. Not theirs. She drew a slow breath, the uncertainty of where that left her settling with a dull, persistent ache.

 Shaking it off, she padded down the hall to Ethan’s room. He was curled up on his side, but when she touched his forehead, relief washed over her—no fever. As if on cue, his lashes fluttered, and he blinked up at her.

“Morning, Mommy,” he mumbled, voice scratchy with sleep.

“Morning, baby.” She smoothed his hair back. “How are you feeling?”

His answer came with a surprising burst of energy. “Hungry.”

Lucy smiled, her shoulders loosening. “Hungry’s a good sign.”

By the time she buttered his toast, Ethan was already chattering about rockets and dinosaurs., hands slicing the air with excitement. Grateful for the sparkle of him returning to normal, she reached over and ruffled his dark hair.

“I’m so glad you’re feeling better,” she said, her voice warm with relief.

Ethan ducked slightly but grinned, eyes bright. “I feel fine, Mom. In fact, I think I could go play basketball tomorrow. Did you already talk to Officer Tim? No—wait—Sergeant Tim?”

The name landed heavier than he could guess. Lucy forced a light smile. “Not yet, champ. Let’s focus on getting you all the way better first, okay?”

He accepted the answer with a confident nod, already reaching for another piece of toast.
He still wasn’t ready to go back to school—his color was better, but rest would have to come first.

Luckily, her mom had already agreed to come by and stay with him. Lucy knew she couldn’t stay home another day; the precinct had cases piling up, and her team would need her.

She watched as Ethan polished off the slices of bread. He was on the mend. That was what mattered. The rest—Tim, the conversations still looming on the horizon—would have to wait, though a part of her wondered how long they really could.

---

Lucy pushed open the glass doors of the station, the hum of activity already in motion around her. She slipped into the flow easily, badge clipped to her belt, files tucked under her arm. The rhythm of the precinct was grounding—calls to dispatch, phones ringing, detectives leaning over case boards. Normal. Professional. Exactly the order she needed to feel almost like herself again.

Her eyes skimmed over the bullpen, catching Tim at his desk for the briefest moment. He didn’t look up, didn’t acknowledge her, and she returned the courtesy. 

They had agreed, silently, that work would remain work. She set her things down, dove into her caseload, answered a call from Records. For the next hour, it was almost possible to forget that her entire life had shifted. Almost.

It wasn’t until later, when she stepped out of the bullpen with a coffee cup in hand, that she realized Tim had followed. The corridor by the stairwell was quiet, tucked away from the constant chatter.

“Lucy?” his voice came almost gruff.

She turned, eyebrows lifted slightly, but her voice was calm. “Hey.”

“How’s Ethan?” The underlying concern softened his tone. She swallowed and nodded. “Better. His fever broke this morning. He’s still home—my mom’s with him. He woke up hungry, which is always a good sign. Kept me busy buttering toast, but it felt… normal again.”

Tim let out a breath, a flicker of relief crossing his features. 

He nodded but didn’t move to leave. His jaw flexed, like there was more he needed to say. “I…” he began carefully, “Grey needs to be told.”

Her brows drew together. “Told what?”

“That we have a child together.” His voice carried the same matter-of-fact edge he used when delivering orders, but his eyes stayed locked on hers. “It’s… a relationship, whether we call it that or not. And it exists in a professional environment. Grey has to know. It requires disclosure.”

Lucy studied him, the clinical way he framed it—like a box to be checked—grating more than she wanted to admit. But she kept her expression neutral, unwilling to risk the fragile truce between them. “You’re right,” she said evenly. “He should hear it from us.”

His shoulders eased a fraction. “Angela knows as well,” he added.

Lucy nodded. Of course he’d told Angela; she knew they were close. She was glad he had someone to lean on. Still, a thin spark of envy caught at her chest—wanting him to choose her for that kind of confidence, even as she knew he wouldn’t. Not yet.

Tim turned back toward the bullpen, when her voice stopped him. “Tim…”

He turned back, patient, waiting.

“We have to tell Ethan as well.”

For a beat, he said nothing, the weight of her words pressing between them. Then he gave a slow nod. “Yeah. We do.” His voice was quieter now, rougher. “I… how do we do that?”

Lucy’s lips parted, but no answer came. The question hung there, raw and unsteady, echoing in the narrow corridor. She could only look at him, knowing they were standing on the edge of another moment that would change everything.

Lucy hesitated before speaking. “Maybe we start small. Gradually. Ease him into it instead of dropping everything on him at once.”

Tim frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

She drew a breath. “He’s been asking if you would coach him for basketball. Again asked this morning actually.”

For a heartbeat, Tim’s eyes brightened, a flicker of excitement crossing his features at the thought of Ethan playing. Then just as quickly, it vanished, replaced by the familiar guarded set of his jaw.

“There’s a park near our apartment with a half-court.” Lucy continued. “Maybe you could—”

“No.” The word came faster, firmer than he meant. He caught her startled glance and cleared his throat. “I mean… not the park. Too many people. Too public.”

She tilted her head. “Then where?”

Something shifted in his eyes, and for the first time since this whole conversation started, there was a spark of something other than tension in his stance. “I’ve got a setup at home. Half-court in the backyard. I could rig a lower hoop for him.”

Lucy blinked.“You’d really do that?” she asked softly.

“Yeah.” He nodded once, certain. “It’d be better for him. Safer. And… it’d give us space. Just us.”

“Okay. Then that’s the plan. We’ll start with basketball.” But she wasn’t sure he heard her. He was already somewhere else in his head, planning ahead, picturing it.

Lucy kept her longing tucked deep in her chest, aware he was thinking only of Ethan, yet allowing herself a quiet wish that one day she might figure into his plans too.

——-

Later that afternoon, Tim stepped into Grey’s office, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. The captain looked up from the pile of paperwork, eyebrows raised.

“Morning, Tim. Something on your mind?” Grey asked, leaning back in his chair.

Tim nodded, keeping his tone clipped, professional. “Yes, sir. It’s about a personal matter that affects professional transparency. I need to disclose it.”

Grey’s brow lifted higher, the hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “Alright… go on.”

Tim exhaled slowly. “Lucy and I… we have a child together. Ethan.” He watched Grey’s reaction carefully, keeping his expression neutral.

Grey blinked, then leaned forward, steepling his fingers. “Wait. You and Lucy…?”

Tim held up a hand. “We are not romantically involved. This is about co-parenting. Nothing more. Professionally, it doesn’t affect our work beyond disclosure requirements.”

Grey’s gaze narrowed slightly, processing. “And… when did you find out about him?”

Tim’s jaw flexed. “I found out recently. I wasn’t aware she had a child until just a short time ago. We’ve known each other since college, but this came as a surprise.”

Grey let out a quiet whistle. “I see.” He let the words hang between them, simple but heavy with understanding. “So, you’re… handling this strictly for the kid. And you’re saying this will be strictly professional.”

Tim nodded, posture straight. “Correct, sir. I want to make sure everything is above board. Ethan’s well-being comes first. Beyond that, nothing.”

Grey studied him for a long moment, then nodded. “Understood. I would have to have a word with Detective Sergeant Caradine as well, since Lucy reports to him. Shouldn't be a problem. Thanks for letting me know. Keep it professional, like you said. And… Tim?”

Tim glanced up.

Grey’s tone softened slightly. “Good job stepping up. Kid’s lucky to have a father who actually wants to be involved.”

Tim’s lips pressed into a tight line, but the faintest hint of relief flickered in his eyes. “Thank you, sir.”

——

Two days later, Lucy was weaving through the precinct, balancing coffee in one hand and files in the other when she caught Tim’s laugh—low, warm, unguarded. She stopped mid-step.

A blond woman stood with him in the corridor; files tucked against her side as she spoke with quick animation. “And then the kid told me he wanted to be an astronaut, but first he needed a bed that wasn’t a couch. You should’ve seen his face when we got him into the program—that’s the stuff that keeps me going.”

Tim listened, nodding, the corners of his mouth curved in a way Lucy rarely saw at work—quiet, genuine.

Lucy’s stomach tensed. Blond. Pretty. Close enough to brush his sleeve as she laughed. Another Isabel? Another ex? The thought pricked sharper than she wanted to admit.

“Hey,” Tim called suddenly, catching sight of her. “Lucy-come here a sec.”

Of course. Introductions. She forced her feet forward, setting her coffee on a nearby desk, willing her face to stay neutral. 

Tim’s eyes cut to her, catching the flicker of emotion before she could mask it.

He nearly rolled his eyes—yeah, right—as if he had room for anyone else, with Lucy already lodged permanently in his head. 

Outwardly, he only gave her a pointed look, a slight lift of his brows that said he knew exactly where her thoughts had gone.

“Lucy,” he said, deliberate, “this is Jenny—my sister. She’s a social worker, here on a case.” He let the word sister land with just enough weight.

Heat climbed her neck. Great, he’d clocked her. She managed a brisk nod as Jenny extended her hand.

“So you’re Lucy,” Jenny said warmly. “Tim’s told me about you. And Ethan.”

Lucy blinked, surprised. “He has?”

Jenny smiled knowingly. “I know my brother doesn’t exactly talk much, but when he does, it’s about things that matter. I can’t wait to meet him. My nephew - sounds like an amazing kid.”

Lucy smiled back, the last trace of her misplaced irritation vanishing in the face of Jenny’s easy warmth. “He’ll be happy to meet you too,” she replied.

“Actually…” Tim said, glancing between them. “Lucy and Ethan are coming by this weekend. Basketball in the yard. You should join us.”

Jenny grinned. “Wouldn’t miss it.” With a quick squeeze of Tim’s arm, she headed off down the hall, ponytail swishing.

Lucy watched her go, her mind recalling what Tim had told her about his sister. How he’d left the army to be there for her after their father died. And seeing them together now, seeing how far Jenny had come only reinforced what Lucy already knew.

Tim wasn’t just dependable. He was the kind of man who showed up always—for family, for the people he loved.

“So,” he asked, breaking into her thoughts, “we’re on for the weekend, right?”

Lucy’s mouth softened into a small, steady smile. “Of course. Ethan’s looking forward to it.”

Chapter Text

On Saturday afternoon, Lucy steered her car through the quiet neighborhood toward Tim’s house. From the back seat came a steady stream of questions.

“Are we close now?”
“How much longer?”
“Is this the street?”

“Ethan,” Lucy said, a small laugh escaping despite her nerves, “we’ve only been driving ten minutes.”

“But it feels like forever,” he countered, pressing his forehead to the glass. “Does he really have an actual basketball court in his backyard?”

“That’s what he said,” she answered, forcing a calm she didn’t feel. Her fingers tightened around the wheel. It wasn’t the drive making her tense—it was the thought of hours in close quarters with Tim.

Meanwhile, Tim stood in the front porch of his house, mentally ticking through his checklist: junior hoop set low, cones in place for drills, patio table stocked with water and snacks—carrot sticks, fruit, whole-wheat crackers.

His eyes scanned the street. They should be here any time now, he thought, stuffing his hands into the pocket of his grey hoodie. And right on cue, Lucy’s car turned into his driveway.

Ethan burst from the car before Lucy had unbuckled. “We’re here!” he announced to Tim breathlessly.

Tim’s mouth tipped into a small smile and he crouched slightly, bringing himself down to Ethan’s eye level, “Yeah? Ready to play, champ?” he asked, his voice carrying that mix of authority and encouragement that made Ethan beam as he nodded.

Tim nodded to Lucy and she managed a quiet “Hey”, as he gestured them inside.

Ethan couldn’t contain his excitement as they entered the foyer. He bounced slightly on his heels, peering around at the sleek, well-kept living room.

“It’s like a mansion!” Ethan breathed, spinning slowly to take it all in. 

His awe made her smile, though she couldn’t deny he had a point. The place was impressive—not flashy, but spacious in a way that spoke of quiet stability. High ceilings, clean lines, sunlight spilling across polished wood floors. Not what she’d expected from him. Then again, she wasn’t sure what she had expected.

“Is this really your house, Coach? Do you have snacks?” Ethan asked, eyes already fixed on the gleaming refrigerator in the open kitchen.

Tim’s eyes flicked to Lucy as Ethan called him ‘coach.’ It stung more than he could have imagined. Lucy’s gaze met his, warm and understanding, as if to say, ‘we’ll get there,’ and he forced a tight nod.

She glanced around, as they walked through the house, noticing little touches that hinted at Tim’s personality—framed photos of his old basketball teams, neatly stacked workout gear by the staircase, and a few scattered trophies catching the sunlight. It was a subtle blend of order and casual comfort—very Tim.

Ethan jabbered happily about where the hoop might be. “Is it big? Can I dunk yet? Can I?” His chatter filled the space, making Lucy laugh quietly as Tim guided them toward the backyard.

By the time they reached the sliding doors, the perfectly set up backyard came into view and the sight made both of their eyes widen in delight.

The hoop was perfectly adjusted for Ethan’s height, with bright tape marking the “shooting zones” for practice, while colorful cones and markers were scattered around. Lucy smiled, she knew Ethan would love it.

Tim crouched by a small equipment bag and pulled out a junior-sized ball. “This one’s yours,” he told Ethan, giving it a light bounce before passing it over.

“Thank you!” Ethan exclaimed, as he grabbed the ball, cradling it with reverence before immediately dribbling it against the ground. The sound echoed sharp and sure, as if marking the start of something bigger than just a game.

Ethan sprinted toward the lower hoop, ball spinning in his hands.

Tim watched the boy’s pivot and stance, noting the precision in his movements. The shot didn’t go in, and Ethan’s eyes flicked toward them, a touch of disappointment there—but already he was readying himself for another try. Tim allowed himself a brief nod of approval, before he walked over to join him.

“Alright, first drill,” he said, his voice dropping into that firm, commanding tone he only used when coaching. He pointed to the cones already arranged “Dribble around these, fast but controlled,” he instructed. Ethan weaved through, ball bouncing sharply at each turn. After a few runs, Tim called out, “Pivot at the last cone and shoot,” guiding him into proper form before letting him try on his own.

Tim observed as Ethan dribble around the cones, noting the focused tilt of his head, the brief pause before each movement. That same intensity, that quiet calculation—he recognized it, a small mirror of himself in the boy’s movements.

As he rounded the last cone, Ethan tried to shoot, this time it was a near miss.

“Plant your feet before you shoot, and follow through with your wrist,” Tim instructed, demonstrating the motion once. Ethan mirrored him carefully. Tim corrected his wrist a little, then stepped back.

Ethan squared up, pivoted, and the ball dropped cleanly through the net. Thrilled, he held out a high-five toward Tim. “Did you see that, Mom?” he yelled.

“I did, baby! That was awesome!” Lucy cheered.

Tim returned the high-five, a quiet warmth threading through him at sharing the small victory. “Nice shot,” he said, his tone edged with pride.

Lucy’s heart swelled at the sight—Tim with that patient, steady presence, Ethan with his unfiltered joy—she’d wanted this connection. But watching it spark so naturally—left a trace of guilt.

—-

When Ethan darted off to chase the ball again, Tim walked toward Lucy, picking up a bottle of water. He watched as her gaze drifted around the patio and the yard. She hadn’t meant to blurt it out, but the words slipped anyway.

“So… just how much more than a detective does a sergeant make?”

Tim paused mid-sip, one brow raising as his eyes landed on her face.

She added quickly, tone careful as she tucked her hair behind one ear. “I just mean… your house is really nice. The yard’s huge. And this is an upscale neighborhood.”

His expression stayed measured, eyes flicking briefly toward the court before returning. “Jenny and I… we came into some money when our dad passed. His investments paid off. We also sold the family house, split everything. I let myself splurge a little.” His voice dropped, “Basketball was my first love. Felt right to have something like this in my life again.”

Their eyes held for a fraction too long, a memory flickering—arena lights, Tim dominating the court, her cheers swallowed by the roar of the crowd.

“You really were something on that court,” she murmured, admiration slipping into her voice.

“I still am,” he said drily but edged with quiet confidence, before jogging back to Ethan.

Lucy blinked after him, caught off guard by the fleeting warmth.

——

The game was still in full swing when the yard door slid open and Jenny stepped in, later that afternoon. A bright smile spread across her face at the sight of the three of them mid-drill.

Tim gave a brief wave without breaking stride. Lucy offered a quick smile back, cheeks flushed from the effort, while Ethan barely paused before racing for another shot.

Jenny took in the scene—the kid’s boundless energy, Tim’s steady guidance, Lucy moving to keep pace—and let out a small, delighted laugh. “This is fantastic,” she said, stepping closer.

“Alright, hydration break!” Tim called, his voice carrying easily across the yard. Ethan dashed over, bouncing on his heels, while Lucy followed at a slower pace, still catching her breath.

Jenny lingered by the sliding doors, smiling as she watched. Tim handed Ethan a water bottle, giving his hair a quick ruffle. “Drink up!”

Once Ethan took a sip, Tim gestured toward Jenny. “Hey, bud, there’s someone I want you to meet. This is my sister, Jenny.” He crouched down a little, catching Ethan’s eye.

Jenny stepped forward, lowering herself to his level. “Hi, Ethan,” she said warmly. “You can call me Aunt Jenny if you want.”

Ethan looked to Lucy, who gave a small nod of encouragement. Turning back, he gave a shy grin. “Okay,” he said, before getting distracted by the table loaded with snacks.

Jenny set a small box of cupcakes on the table and leaned toward Lucy with a grin. “I guessed this guy would only stock healthy food,” she murmured, tilting her head toward Tim. “Fun Aunt Jenny to the rescue!”

Ethan’s eyes lit up, and he eagerly grabbed a cupcake, crumbs already forming at the corners of his mouth. Tim rolled his eyes good-naturedly but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at his lips. He leaned down, still trying to steer Ethan toward the carrot sticks, using his gentle, authoritative tone.

Lucy stayed a step back as Ethan devoured his treat, her own smile soft but careful. Jenny moved beside her, offering a knowing look as they sipped water. “I haven’t seen Tim this happy in a long time,” she said quietly, eyes on Tim and Ethan. “You and Ethan… you’re good for him. He needed this.”

Lucy’s breath caught for a second, warmth flickering before she reined it in. “I just wanted them to have a chance to know each other,” she said, voice low.

Jenny nodded. “Well… it’s working,” she said with a gentle smile, her eyes lingering on the easy rhythm between Tim and Ethan.

Lucy excused herself a moment later, coaxing Ethan inside for a quick bathroom break. The sliding door closed behind them, leaving the yard suddenly quieter.

Jenny stepped closer to Tim, studying him for a beat. “You know,” she said softly, “Ethan’s eyes… they’re blue. Just like yours. Just like Mom’s.”

Tim’s jaw tightened, emotion flickering across his face before he managed a small nod. “Yeah,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended, gaze drifting toward the distant tree line.

Jenny slipped an arm around his waist in a side hug. “I know things didn’t start off the best for you,” she murmured. “But when I look at the three of you together, it feels… wholesome. I really hope this works out. Ethan deserves a complete family. And so do you.”

Tim didn’t answer, his throat too tight for words, but his arm tightened around her shoulders as he let himself—just for a breath—imagine a world where it could be real. His eyes stayed fixed on the horizon, holding the thought as if it were fragile.

The moment broke as the sliding doors opened. Lucy stepped out with Ethan in tow, the boy bounding forward, fists pumping. “Okay!” he shouted. “Back to playtime!”

Despite the heaviness in his chest, Tim found himself smiling as Ethan’s laughter filled the air and lightened the moment.

---

Before Lucy knew it, the sun was beginning to dip low, painting the backyard in warm shades of gold. 

Jenny had left hours ago, but Ethan and Tim were still at it, fully immersed in their game. What had started as drills and dribbles had devolved into an energetic free-for-all, Tim improvising an obstacle course with the cones and a couple of plastic chairs. 

Ethan squealed happily as he leapt over the cones and crawled under the makeshift tunnel, bursting through with a victorious whoop. He high-fived Tim, then spun around to Lucy, who blew him a congratulatory kiss.

The sight of the two of them—father and son, laughing and breathless—sent a quiet warmth through her.

After a few more variations of obstacles, Tim sank onto the lawn for a moment, watching Ethan collapse dramatically after the last impromptu obstacle course run, chest heaving and face flushed with joy. His own heart felt like it was being squeezed tight, a mixture of awe and something deeper twisting in his chest. 

He hadn’t realized he could feel so completely alive, so connected. The laughter, the high-fives, the sheer energy—it was addictive. A part of him twinged, thinking how different things might have been if he’d known, if he’d been present years ago. But Angela was right: dwelling on the past got you nowhere.

He glanced over at Lucy as she helped Ethan stretch out, her hands smoothing down the boy’s hair, her face alight with pride and tenderness. She looked up, catching his eye, and he gave the barest nod—a quiet acknowledgment of the moment. Jenny was right, this was the life Ethan deserved, and for the first time in a long while, Tim let himself imagine he might deserve it too.

As evening settled in, Lucy checked her watch, tension flickering quietly in the air. Tim felt it too but kept his voice easy. “Hey,” he said, rising to his feet. “How about dinner here? We can’t let this end just yet.”

Ethan’s blue eyes lit up instantly. “Yes! I’m hungry!”

Lucy gave him the classic ‘mom’ look, arms crossed, trying to curb the excitement. But she couldn’t resist—Ethan’s bright blue eyes all but begged, while Tim’s steady blue gaze was expectant, a quiet challenge in them. With a resigned sigh, she gave in.

They stepped into the house, heading straight to the large, gleaming kitchen. They set to work quickly - Tim pulled out some frozen tortillas while Lucy chopped veggies. 

At first, the sleek counters and polished gadgets felt too polished, too unfamiliar—but with Ethan’s chatter filling the air and Tim moving calmly beside her, it began to feel less intimidating.

Ethan, eager to contribute, whisked together a homemade sauce, spilling a little onto the counter in his enthusiasm. Tim crouched beside Ethan, guiding his movements with a careful hand, and Lucy stole a glance.

It felt like a dream come to life, the laughter, the camaraderie, the shared effort between Tim and Ethan.

As Tim steadied Ethan’s small hands, Lucy felt the wish rise unbidden—that this warmth could stretch past tonight, into something neither of them had yet acknowledged.

---

Chapter Text

Dinner was simple but comforting—salad wraps (with extra cheese for Ethan), his laughter filling the small kitchen. 

After polishing off his wraps, Ethan hopped down from the chair.

“I have to finish my comic,” he said, heading to the living room where he had left his backpack, leaving the two adults alone to clean up.

Lucy and Tim moved around each other with their usual easy sync—the rhythm that made them great partners at work, now carrying into something as simple as passing dishes and wiping counters.

Each small brush of movement registered sharply for Lucy—the shift of his shoulder beside hers, the familiar spark when their hands met over a plate—but she deliberately ignored it.

Tim felt it too, though he gave it no room to grow. He kept his focus on the task, stacking dishes with deliberate care, refusing to name the flicker that came each time their paths crossed.

The house was quiet as they set the last dish to dry and they stepped into the living room. Only to find Ethan curled on the couch, fast asleep, a comic still clutched loosely in his hand.

“I’ll take him upstairs to the guest room,” Tim said softly. 

Lucy hesitated, hand half-raised as if to protest. “We should just head ho—” she started, then trailed off as Tim’s gaze met hers.

“I thought we could talk, if that’s ok?” he said, his voice still low.

She exhaled slowly, nodding. 

Tim crouched and slid his arms beneath Ethan, lifting him with care. The boy stirred but didn’t wake, his small weight folding trustingly against Tim’s chest. And in that instant, the walls Tim kept so tightly in place gave way to a feeling he’d never known before.

The warmth of Ethan’s slight body, the soft puff of breath against his shoulder—it hit with unexpected force. An overwhelming swell of joy and fierce protectiveness surged through him, so deep and startling it eclipsed everything else.

He tightened his hold slightly, steadying himself against the rush of emotion, and carried Ethan up the stairs in long, effortless strides.

Lucy followed a few steps behind, her eyes drawn to the easy confidence in his movements—and to something softer in the set of his shoulders, a tenderness she rarely saw in full.

In the guest room, Tim laid Ethan down and pulled the covers over him with the same careful precision he brought to every part of his life. He paused for a heartbeat, brushing a lock of hair from his son’s forehead, before straightening.

“I’ll be a minute,” he murmured to Lucy, as he left the room. 

Lucy lingered a moment, watching Ethan, and then stepped into the hall. Her hand skimmed the banister as she descended, each creak of the stairs pulling her deeper into her thoughts.

She wondered—fleetingly—if things might have been different had she found the courage to confess to Tim that night weeks ago, over dinner. Would the truth have softened his resentment? Or only sharpened it? Perhaps. Perhaps not. She’d never know.

What she did know was that his careful unaffectedness always seemed to wound more than open hostility ever could. Earlier today, when Ethan had asked her to join the basketball game, Tim hadn’t stopped him, hadn’t encouraged him either. He had remained perfectly neutral, his indifference wrapping tighter around her than any words might have. She had still joined in though, for Ethan's sake.

By the time she reached the bottom step, her footing felt as unsteady as her thoughts. She drew in a deep breath, trying to steady her restless mind, to tamp down the apprehension of what he might say next.

———

A few minutes later, Tim descended the stairs. Each step felt deliberate, his chest lighter than it had been in days. He paused at the landing, letting the afternoon replay—the echo of Ethan’s laughter, Lucy’s encouraging voice cheering him on, the easy rhythm the three of them had fallen into. 

Beneath that ease, a thin ache lingered, like a bruise he couldn’t help pressing. Along with it rose a yearning he’d long kept buried, stubborn, compelling. A picture formed before he could stop it: a home filled with laughter and quiet contentment. And somehow, only Lucy fit the empty space beside him and Ethan.

His eyes caught her in the living room below. She tipped forward, hair cascading in a glossy fall that hid her face for a heartbeat. Her fingers combed through the dark strands, gathering and twisting it into a loose ponytail, as she straightened. Every small, fluid motion drew his gaze; he felt almost helplessly captivated by her effortless grace, the want in his chest tightening sharply.

He made his way down to her, eyes lingering as she walked toward the photo wall, pausing to study a framed picture of him in his army uniform.

Lucy had never seen him in his uniform in person, only imagined it a thousand times in her head. Reality surpassed her imagination—the intense gaze, the sharp posture. 

Even now, years later, he stole her breath easily: the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw, the quiet strength in his stance, the kind of presence that made the air feel charged.

Her train of thought broke when Tim stepped closer, his voice low. 

“That was in Iraq,” he said, head tilting toward the frame. Lucy’s lips curved in faint, respectful acknowledgment, her gaze lingering on the picture before sliding up to him.

She noticed the phone in his hand and raised an eyebrow, curiosity in her gaze. “Call from work?”

“No,” Tim said as he angled the phone to show her. “I set up a spare phone in Ethan’s room as a BabyCam, so we can check on him if he wakes—the room might feel unfamiliar.” The app on his screen displayed a live feed of Ethan, peacefully asleep under the soft covers.

Lucy’s chest warmed at the thoughtfulness. “I haven’t used a BabyCam on him for years… but you’re right. Makes sense,” she said, her tone softened with gratitude.

Tim shrugged, casual. Lucy smiled inwardly, as she drifted toward the next frame on the wall, her back to him now. It was a photo of Tim with a group of kids—probably the ones he coached at the park. She smiled faintly, noting how unguarded he looked, how genuinely happy.

Tim’s eyes remained on her. The high ponytail bared the smooth slope of her neck, a glimpse that sent a brief jolt of desire through him before he forced it back. It was just a reaction to all the time they spent together today in close proximity, nothing more, he told himself.

Lucy felt it—the weight of his eyes like a brush of heat along her skin. She closed her eyes briefly, it was just all the emotions running high today, nothing more, she told herself. She smoothed her expression, before she turned back, unwilling to let him see the want in her eyes.

He cleared his throat, as if shaking off thoughts he had no business entertaining. “Shall we sit?” he asked with a small nod toward the couch.

Lucy gave a quick nod and followed, both of them carefully concealing their emotions beneath a mask of quiet composure.

As they settled onto the couch, intentionally keeping some distance, Tim’s voice came, low and measured. “Today was… really something. Ethan—he’s amazing. He put his whole heart into the practice. He’s still young, but his aim is solid… and he’s only going to get better. I’m just… I’m glad we could spend time doing something that means so much to me.”

He paused. “I guess I’m trying to say—thank you. For today. For Ethan. For the remarkable little person he is.”

Lucy pressed her lips together, swallowing hard before forcing a small, careful smile. "You can take some credit too. He's wonderful because his father is… well, quite the guy."

Her words hung in the air between them, and Tim felt something shift in his chest. His gaze remained on her, quiet but attentive. He didn't want to admit it, but something about their shared time today—this moment included—had begun to work its way past his defenses, dissolving some of the tension he'd been carrying since the truth came out.

He shifted slightly on the couch, still maintaining the careful distance. “So… tell me about him,” he said, fingers lightly tracing the edge of the cushion. “What does Ethan like? What makes him light up?” 

Lucy glanced at him, lips curving into a small smile. “Swimming. He loves the water—especially when he can race." 

Tim nodded, he knew that. It wasn’t surprising—Lucy has been in swim club after all. 

"Legos," Lucy continued. “Science club at school. And… lately,” she shrugged, "basketball." 

Tim nodded slowly, absorbing each detail. “Great that he likes sports—he’s got energy to burn.” 

She chuckled softly. “Energy is one word for it.” 

He leaned back slightly, his gaze dropping to her hands as she clenched and unclenched them. “When’s his birthday?” came the next question. 

Lucy’s fingers twisted the hem of her t-shirt, the smallest flicker of memory passing across her face. “14th of November.” 

Tim’s gaze sharpened, just for a moment, catching on the faint set of her jaw “November…” he murmured, almost to himself, before shaking it off. 

“And… what scares him?” he asked carefully, his tone gentle, almost hesitant, as if he didn’t want to stir anything he couldn’t help. 

Lucy’s eyes softened. “Oh… small things, mostly. The dark sometimes. Thunderstorms—he hates being caught in them. And… he worries about people he loves. He carries that a lot.” 

She met his gaze. She knew that last one came from Tim. 

Tim’s chest tightened just slightly, a reflex he didn’t bother hiding. He nodded, letting her words sink in. “Anything else I should know? Habits, allergies… quirks?” 

Lucy thought for a moment, then smiled faintly. “He hums when he’s focused. No allergies per se. Oh, and he is very fond of his stuffed wolf, he's named him Shadow.” 

Tim’s lips pressed into a thin line, trying to keep the swell of emotion in check. “Got it. Wolf, hums, Legos… all noted.” 

She raised an eyebrow at him, amusement flickering across her features. “Don’t make it sound like a report. He’s not a case study.” 

“I know,” Tim said softly, almost reverently.  “I just… I want to know him. Really know him.” 

Lucy’s heart warmed at the quiet sincerity behind his words. She allowed herself a small nod, leaning back slightly, the conversation easing the walls between them.

Her phone then buzzed against the cushion, the sudden vibration slicing through the comfortable quiet.
She reached for it, frowning at the caller ID before swiping to answer.
“Hello? Hmm… okay… fine, I’ll be there,” she said after a brief pause, her voice low and even.
When she hung up, her phone was still clutched in her hands, a faint crease between her brows.

Tim noticed instantly. “Everything okay?”

She exhaled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “That was the precinct. They just arrested a suspect on one of my cases and need me in for an interview tomorrow morning.” Her fingers toyed with her phone, distracted. “My parents are out of town, though, and I need to check if my sitter can take Ethan.” She gave a small shake of her head. “I should probably head home and figure it out.”

She started to rise, but Tim’s gaze dropped to his phone resting on the low table, where the BabyCam app still glowed—a peaceful image of Ethan sleeping in the upstairs bed.

“He’s fast asleep,” Tim said quietly. “Do you really want to move him now?”
Lucy hesitated, half-standing.

“It’s a big bed,” Tim continued, his voice steady but gentle. “Why don’t you just stay here tonight? Sleep next to him. You can head straight to the precinct in the morning, and I can watch Ethan until you’re done. I’ve got the morning off anyway.”

Lucy blinked, caught off guard by the offer. “Tim, I don’t—”

“It’s no trouble,” he said, meeting her gaze with calm certainty. “Really. You can pick him up after your interview. What do you think?”

Her eyes flicked to him for a beat, weighing the offer. Ethan wasn’t the fussy type—he’d happily stay with Tim without a second thought—and maybe a quiet morning together would do them both good. She nodded, decision made, as she rose to head up the stairs.

Tim lingered behind for a few minutes, methodical as always—filling a bottle of water for her, locking the doors, flicking off the lights one by one.

It had been a long day, he thought as he climbed the stairs, yet the house held a calm.

He knocked on the guest room door, waiting for Lucy’s soft “come in” before entering. She sat on the edge of the bed adjusting the blanket around Ethan.

Tim held out a pair of clothes and a bottle of water. “Jenny left these here last time she visited. Might be more comfortable to sleep,” he said, keeping his voice low.

She accepted it with a quiet thank-you, eyes still on Ethan.

Tim picked up the spare phone he had set up as a BabyCam from the small nightstand, turning it off. For a beat he watched the steady rise and fall of the boy’s chest, then stepped back and left the room, the door clicking into place quietly.

In the ensuite, Lucy slipped into the borrowed sweatshirt and leggings that smelled faintly of clean laundry. Smoothing her hands over the front of the sweatshirt, she thought of the man down the hall, of the walls he’d built and the small, reluctant cracks showing through tonight.

With a small shake of her head, she stepped back into the room, folding her jeans and t-shirt over a chair to air dry.

Sliding under the covers, she stared up at the ceiling. If anyone had told her a few months ago that she would be spending the night in Tim Bradford’s house, she would have laughed outright—at the sheer impossibility. Yet here she was. A sigh slipped from her as her eyes fluttered shut.

Tim stretched out on his bed, his thoughts on Lucy - who was down the hall, their son asleep beside her. The house settled into silence around him.

Something was different with them here—he couldn’t name it, and he wasn’t about to try.

——-

Chapter Text

Tim was greeted by the smell of coffee and toast when he came down the next morning.

Lucy and Ethan were already at the breakfast counter in the kitchen, sunlight streaming through the windows. A glass of milk sat waiting beside Ethan’s plate of toast.

“Good morning, Coach!” Ethan grinned. “Mom said she was too tired to drive, so we slept in the guest room.”

“Good morning, Ethan. Did you sleep well?” Tim inquired, smiling as he took in the sight of the boy’s messy hair and mouth stuffed with toast.

Ethan nodded vigorously, as he gulped down some milk.

Tim’s gaze shifted to Lucy. She was already dressed, hair neat. The corners of her mouth lifted slightly as she greeted him. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” he echoed back, looking at her plate of fruit and omelette.

“We raided your kitchen,” she said. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” he replied, his eyes warm as they flicked to Ethan, who munched noisily.

“Want me to fix you a plate?” she asked.

“I’ll do it,” he said, moving around the kitchen easily. He cracked a couple of eggs, whisked them with a practiced hand. “You’re both early risers.”

Lucy nodded. “Mm hmm. Some of us do struggle to wake up for school on the weekdays, but somehow we’re up and about early on weekends,” she said, eyebrows wiggling at Ethan, who stuck his tongue out at her.

Tim couldn’t help but chuckle, enjoying their easy banter as he slid his omelette onto a plate. 

Lucy offered him a plate of sliced apples, which he accepted with a nod of thanks, his gaze lifting to meet hers.

She averted her eyes, though he’d already caught the fleeting look.

It was just fruit, yet it felt domestic, Lucy mused — the swirl of emotions leaving her momentarily unsteady as she busied herself with her coffee.

“Mom told me she’s going to the station, so I am going to hang out with you for a bit, Coach” Ethan said, interrupting their little moment. “But I think she’s worried about losing to me at basketball again, so she’s trying to escape”.

Lucy shook her head, exasperated affection in her expression. Tim couldn’t help but laugh.

“What? I defeated you that time when we played at the arcade, Mom!” Ethan tried to defend himself, but he was laughing too.

“You and I can play some more kiddo…while your mom gets done with her work,” he said. “But only if you finish eating.”

As Ethan attacked his apple slices with gusto, Lucy gave Tim a grateful look, her fingers wrapping around the warm mug of coffee.

Tim caught her glance and offered a small, easy shrug, as if to say no big deal. Then he leaned toward Ethan with a half-smile, listening as the boy plotted his next basketball ‘victory’, marveling at the seemingly endless energy packed into such a small frame.

Lucy rinsed her empty cup and set it in the sink, the simple clink sounding louder than it should.

For a moment, it felt as if the kitchen was the center of her world, the two of them at its heart. Nothing else mattered.

Shaking herself gently, she reached for her bag. “I’ll call when I’m done,” she said, keeping her voice steady.

Tim nodded and Ethan waved, as he hopped down from the chair, done with breakfast.

With one last glance at the pair, Lucy stepped out into the morning, carrying the warmth of that kitchen into the day ahead.

——

The small rubber ball smacked into Tim’s palm with a satisfying slap. He tightened his grip on it for a beat before tossing it back, watching Ethan catch it and whoop in triumph. The boy’s grin was wide, easy, unguarded—so much like Lucy’s it caught Tim off guard.

He rolled his shoulders, easing the tightness there as he caught the next throw. Funny how something as simple as this—playing catch in the front yard—could untangle knots he hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying.

This. 

This was the life he wanted. 

The cool morning breeze ruffled Ethan’s dark hair as he jogged back, tossing the ball lazily up and down in his hand. “Did you play catch when you were my age?”

“Yeah,” Tim said, catching the next throw smoothly. “All the time.”

“Bet you were really good.”

Tim smirked faintly. “Not bad. But you’re faster than I was.”

That made Ethan beam, and he hurled the ball again with exaggerated force. “Told you I’ve been practicing!”

Tim caught it with one hand, shaking his head. “Show-off,” he said, but his small smile took away the bite.

His mind drifted, unbidden, to his past conversations with Lucy. Her voice steady, her eyes holding his even as her words had hit him like a blow: ‘You might have stayed—out of duty. You’d feel trapped—and resent me for it.’

No matter how he turned it over, he couldn’t reconcile her logic with his own. He would never fully understand what it was like—pregnant, alone… scared. That was a weight he’d never had to carry, a decision he’d never been forced to make. 

A flicker of tension ran through him. His shoulders stiffened with a leftover echo of anger that eased as he gripped the ball and watched Ethan laugh.

“Think you can throw it higher?” Ethan called, bouncing on his heels.

Tim arched a brow, then tossed it up with a high arc. Ethan dashed under it, caught it with both hands, and let out a triumphant cheer.

As the boy came barreling back, hair mussed and cheeks flushed, the sharp edges of frustration dulled. The ache of what he’d missed was still there, buried deep, but with every laugh, every catch, it felt…less.

Less than a day, and Ethan had already worked his way in. Open and easy, with no barriers, just a kid who tossed him the ball like he’d always been there to catch it.

Tim swallowed hard, tossing the ball higher this time, watching Ethan leap for it. His throat burned with something he couldn’t name, and his hands felt steadier than they had in a long time.

Tim shifted the ball in his palm, holding it for a moment before throwing again. 

He knew one thing with absolute clarity.

He couldn’t be a part-time dad. 

He wanted everything: the years ahead, the chance to build something real. He wanted to be the dad he’d never had himself.

But the rest was a maze—his complicated feelings for Lucy, the anger that simmered and sparked, the relentless pull between them, the shared past and the boy who tied it all together.

How any of it could work, he couldn’t yet see.

——

Lucy pulled into Tim’s driveway, her pulse steadying the moment she spotted them in the front yard—Ethan and Tim tossing a ball back and forth, easy and unhurried. From where she sat, she could see Ethan’s grin, hear his laugh carry, watch how naturally Tim adjusted his throws to meet him where he was.

The interview with the suspect at the precinct had been a waste of time—ten minutes in and he’d lawyered up, leaving her with nothing but frustration. As usual, the sight of Ethan waiting for her eased the tension in her shoulders, but watching him with Tim did even more. It was calm and grounding in a way she hadn’t realized she needed.

“Mom!” Ethan bolted over as soon as she stepped out, breathless, cheeks flushed pink. “When can I come back for coaching?”

“Whenever you want,” Tim answered him with a half-shrug—before he met the look Lucy leveled at him.

Her eyes said, don’t spoil him.

His said, how could I not?

She shook her head before saying, “Ethan has a swim meet next week,” her glance sliding to Tim in quiet suggestion.

Before she could add more, Ethan blurted, “You have to come watch me! I’m really good.”

“Not exactly modest,” Lucy muttered, though her mouth curved with affection.

A flicker of joy rushed through Tim at the invitation. “I’d love to come,” he said, low but firm.

Ethan grinned wide and slapped Tim’s palm in a triumphant hi-five.

“Go grab your stuff, sweetie,” Lucy said, giving his shoulder a gentle nudge. Ethan bounded past her into the house, leaving the two of them alone for the first time that morning.

Lucy glanced toward the porch, then back at Tim, taking in his thoughtful expression. “Did you two play catch all morning?”

Tim nodded, the corners of his mouth turning up. “Pretty much. He wouldn’t stop for anything.”
“It was kind of nice, seeing him so into it,” he added after a beat.

As Lucy adjusted her bag strap, a loose thread on her sleeve caught his attention. Without thinking, Tim reached out and brushed it away, fingertips lightly grazing her arm. It was brief, almost unconscious—but enough to make her pause. He felt the quiet pull too—something unspoken passing between them.

Before either could say more, Ethan burst back out of the house, backpack bouncing against his shoulders.

Lucy looked away and walked to her car, as Ethan settled himself into his booster, clicking his seatbelt into place.

“Bye, Coach! Thanks for today!” he called, giving Tim a quick, enthusiastic wave from the car window. Tim waved back, a faint smile on his face, even as he felt a quiet ache in his chest.

He lingered in the driveway after they pulled away. He could still hear Ethan’s laughter echoing faintly in his head.

When he finally turned back toward the house, something had shifted. The familiar walls and rooms didn't feel empty anymore; they felt like home, warmed by Ethan’s laughter and energy. A quiet contentment he hadn’t realized he had been missing followed him as he stepped back inside.

——

Two days later, Tim walked into the station earlier than usual. He was feeling lighter, sharper after his morning workout. Or maybe there was more to it, he reflected, as he balanced two cups of coffee.

He spotted Lucy at her desk, hair tucked behind her ear as she flipped through paperwork. For a moment he just stood there, watching her.

Sliding into the space beside her, he set one of the paper cups down on the desk.

“Morning,” he said, voice low, casual to anyone listening. But his eyes held hers a beat too long.

Lucy blinked, trying to hide the way her pulse skipped. “Morning.”

She glanced up at him again, before picking up the cup. One sip was enough to make her heart give a ridiculous little lurch. Black. Just enough sugar to take the edge off the bitterness. Exactly the way she liked it these days. He’d noticed. He’d remembered.

“Thanks,” she said, her voice quiet, like she didn’t want to read too much into it. She wrapped her hands around the cup, grateful for the warmth.

Tim only shrugged, like it was nothing. He paused, as if thinking carefully about what he was going to say. “I really missed Ethan.”

If Lucy was surprised by his admission, she didn’t show it. “He’d probably say the same about you,” she said with a soft smile. She paused, then added, “I think he’s going to be thrilled when he sees you next.”

Tim nodded, as Lucy walked away towards the briefing board with her coffee.

From across the bullpen, Nolan caught the exchange. He waited till Lucy was out of earshot then sidled up to Tim. “So you’re playing barista now, huh?” he teased in a low voice. “Careful, Tim, your reputation as the tough Sergeant might slip.”

Tim gave him the look that usually shut people down.

Nolan smirked, eyes darting between Tim and Lucy.

A muscle worked in Tim’s jaw, the only tell he allowed. He knew showing up with that coffee was out of character, and he wasn’t about to unpack why—not here, not with Nolan watching. 

Whatever it meant, it was his to figure out, he rued, as he walked away with his coffee.

—-

Later that morning, the bullpen buzzed as everyone filed in for roll call, chatter dying when Grey stepped to the front.

Tim leaned against the wall, near the one female detective at Mid-wilshire that he should be actively avoiding. He pretended to read the file in his hand, but the words on the page blurred. His mind kept circling back to the stupid coffee run—why he’d done it, what the hell that meant. He hadn’t even realized his eyes had drifted to Lucy until—

“Bradford,” Grey’s voice cut in, firm. “Your read on the surveillance coverage?”

Tim blinked, half a beat late. His mouth opened—

“North corner’s got a blind spot by the stairwell,” Lucy said smoothly, “but patrol’s been rerouted to compensate. Full coverage.”

Heads nodded, pens scribbled.

Then, without missing a step, she glanced his way - her next words just enough to rope him in.

“That’s what you told me earlier, right, Sergeant?”

Seamless. To the room, she was backing him up. To him, it was unmistakable: she’d just covered his lapse without breaking stride. 

Tim recovered with a clipped nod, voice flat. “Exactly.”

Grey moved on. The moment passed.

But inside, something tightened instead of easing. He wasn’t used to anyone catching his slip—much less covering it. Didn’t know what to make of that kind of backup.

When briefing wrapped, he lingered a fraction longer than necessary, just enough for a quick glance her way—a brief acknowledgment, nothing more.

“Nice save,” he said, low and rough, the grit in his voice carrying a quiet didn’t need it, even as the gesture sat heavier than he wanted to admit.

Lucy only shrugged, a small, easy motion that said sure, though she knew exactly how hard it was for him to take the assist.

——

The campus lot was quiet except for the occasional slam of a car door and the distant sound of traffic from the freeway. Lucy eased her unmarked sedan into a space near the far row, replaying the student liaison’s call.

A nervous freshman—Andy Dukes—said a dealer liked to hang around the dorms. Wanted to talk, but only if it was private.

She spotted the boy immediately—skinny, hunched shoulders, backpack riding low. 

But he wasn’t alone. Someone stood with him, half-hidden by a wide SUV. Only a sliver of a dark hoodie and a pair of sneakers showed.

Lucy’s senses sharpened.

She stepped out, voice steady. “Andy?”

The boy jerked, eyes darting toward her. “Uh—yeah—”

The other figure turned at the sound. A man—late twenties, hard angles under the hoodie. Startled, then calculating. His gaze flicked from Andy to Lucy.

“Who’s this?” he asked, tone flat but edged.

Lucy didn’t answer. Her eyes tracked the subtle motion of his right hand dipping behind his back.

Gun? Knife?

Instinct spiked. Lucy drew her weapon, badge flashing in her off hand.

“LAPD. Don’t reach for it.”

He froze for half a heartbeat, then sneered at Andy. “You bring a cop and think that clears your tab? Up to your ears in debt, and now you wanna weasel out by squealing? You stupid or just desperate?”

Andy stammered, backpack slipping.

Lucy kept her weapon steady, voice even. “Andy, step behind the car. Now.”

She keyed her mic without looking away.
“7-Adam-19, requesting immediate backup, north campus lot. Armed suspect, situation escalating.”

Static, then a crackle of acknowledgment. Units on the way.

For the moment, though, it was just her—and the tension coiling tight in the air.

—-

A few blocks away, Tim sat in the driver’s seat of the patrol car, eyes flicking over the surveillance feed of the unused warehouse—suspected to be a stash point for diverted prescription drugs. Beside him, Aaron crunched on a packet of chips.

Tim glared at him over the rustle of the chips bag. Aaron shrugged, tossing the empty pack in the back. “It’s past noon. No lunch break in sight anyway.”

Tim gave a noncommittal grunt, grip tightening on the wheel. Still annoyed at himself—for the coffee, the distraction at roll call, for the way Lucy had quietly covered for him.

He was behaving uncharacteristically, and he knew it. Like being on this surveillance run with Aaron. But he’d requested it—needed something active, something to keep his mind off Lucy. 

Not much luck there.

“You went to school here, Sergeant?” Aaron asked, nodding at the huge UCLA campus sign visible through the windshield.

“No. Michigan,” Tim replied, exhaling through his nose.

“Really? That’s far from home.”

“They gave me a basketball scholarship,” Tim said flatly.

“Oh,” Aaron murmured, impressed. “Pretty cool.”

“I went here,” Aaron continued.  “Used to cruise these roads all the time." He glanced around, as if the streets brought back fond memories.

Tim said nothing, hoping the conversation would die. But Aaron wasn’t deterred by his silence.

"Detective Chen was going to visit the campus today," Aaron said, then paused. A quick glance told him he had Tim's attention now. Aaron peered at the surveillance monitor, though nothing had changed on the feed. He looked back at Tim to find him looking at him expectantly. 

Well, well, well, he thought to himself, before speaking again, voice casual. "I heard her talking to student liaison officer earlier today. She was going to check some lead on a drug dealer who is targeting students on campus.”

Tim's demeanor shifted, something sharper flicking through his eyes briefly, his jaw tensing, before he turned to look out his window.

“Did you know Detective Chen has a son?” Aaron said casually, scrolling on the MDT. “I didn’t know till that day when he arrived at the precinct. Kid’s a riot—asked me if I can radio in a pizza for him.”

Tim shifted, as he shot a sidelong look—shutting him down without a word.

Aaron shrugged. “Just making conversation.” He glanced at the screen. “No one’s here yet. Can we take a break?”

Before Tim could answer, the radio snapped to life.
“7-Adam-19 requesting backup… armed suspect.”

Tim stiffened before the call even finished. Lucy.

Aaron straightened. “Chen’s call sign.”

Tim didn’t hesitate. Foot slammed the accelerator, engine roaring as the cruiser surged forward.

“Whoa!” Aaron exclaimed, eyebrows shooting up as he grabbed the dash. “Some calls just light a fire, I guess.”

Tim’s eyes were fixed ahead. Lucy was out there. He wouldn’t be late.

——

The patrol car glided silently, lights off. Tim killed the engine a car length away, scanning the scene.

Lucy stood poised between a young male student and an armed suspect, her weapon drawn but not aggressive. The dealer had a handgun trained on the trembling student, his stance screaming amateur—too rigid.

Tim motioned Aaron to circle wide toward the student, then slipped behind a parked truck.

Lucy hadn't spotted them yet—all her focus locked on the threat.

"You don't want a murder charge," Lucy said, edging forward slightly. Her voice carried just the right mix of authority and calm. "Put the weapon down. Nobody needs to get hurt here."

"Lady, one more step and the kid's done," the dealer snapped. "Little snitch thinks he can dodge his debt by calling cops? That's not how this works."

Something twisted in Tim’s chest at the dealer’s predatory tone, the way he spoke down to the kid. His grip tightened on his weapon.

From his position, Tim could see Lucy's micro-adjustments—the way she angled her body to present a smaller target while keeping the student shielded, how she kept her gun trained but not overly threatening. She knew what she was doing. And she was good.

"Andy made a mistake," Lucy said, voice softening just enough. "Kid's scared. But you're not stuck here. Walk away. No one's stopping you."

She gestured subtly toward the campus exits, giving him an out while repositioning to cut off his escape route to Andy. Every movement calculated. Tim felt a reluctant spark of admiration—at the way she was defusing the suspect, inch by inch.

"Prison's real," she added, meeting his eyes steadily. "You're smart enough to know this doesn't end well if you pull that trigger."

The dealer's grip wavered. His eyes darted between Andy and Lucy, the uncertainty clear.

Tim caught Lucy's peripheral vision for just a second. The barest nod—backup in position.

Lucy's shoulders stayed relaxed, her stance unchanged. "What kind of future you want? One that ends here on asphalt, or one where you have a chance to fix your mistakes?"

The moment of hesitation was enough. Tim stepped into view, weapon drawn. "LAPD! Drop it!"

The suspect spun toward the new threat. Lucy moved like lightning—one precise kick sent the gun skittering across the pavement.

Tim cuffed him within seconds, his expression grim as he tightened the chain harder than necessary. The dealer winced.

"Transport," Tim said curtly to Aaron, who nodded and took custody.

Lucy holstered her weapon, the adrenaline still humming through her system. She walked over to Andy, crouching beside him.

"You're okay," she said gently. "He's in custody. Anyone else bothers you, call me." She pressed her card into his shaking hand.

When she stood, Tim was watching her with an expression she couldn’t quite read. Something darker lingered in his eyes, she filed it away for later.

“Thanks for the backup," she said, as she stepped closer.

"Didn’t look like you needed it," Tim replied. "You had it handled.” His tone was even, but his jaw stayed tight, still distracted. 

Lucy felt heat rise in her cheeks and immediately scolded herself. She was a detective, not a rookie looking for approval from her TO.

Aaron cleared his throat beside the patrol car. "I can take our guest back to the station, Sarge. You two should finish the surveillance run—hate to lose the spot."

Lucy nodded. Tim’s eyebrow lifted, but he didn’t argue. His gaze lingered on the patrol car as Aaron drove away with the drug dealer in the backseat.

As they walked to her sedan, Lucy noticed the tension still coiled in his shoulders. Something about the takedown had clearly bothered him. She got into the driver’s seat, and Tim settled into the seat beside her, both of them lost in their own thoughts as the engine hummed to life.

——-

Lucy eased her car into the surveillance spot overlooking the old warehouse. The camera feed glowed on the laptop screen between them—empty loading docks, rusted doors, nothing moving but the occasional gust that rattled a loose sheet of metal. Tim sat angled toward the screen, elbows on his knees, jaw set like he was still back in that parking lot.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the faint hum of the equipment and the occasional hiss of static from the radio.

Lucy’s fingers drummed lightly against the steering wheel, as she debated whether to break the silence. Ever since he’d found out about Ethan, their conversations had been careful, a delicate balance she didn’t want to upset. Whatever was eating at him from the campus takedown, she wasn’t sure he’d share it anyway.

So she went sideways.
“Ethan had a science project this week,” she said lightly. “To build a rocket. He insisted on a flying one. We ended up with baking soda, vinegar, and soap all over the dining table. I’m still scrubbing bubbles out of the grout.”

A tiny pull at the corner of Tim’s mouth betrayed him.
“Did he get it to launch?” he asked, voice low.

“Oh, it launched,” Lucy said wryly. “Straight into the ceiling. Next time, experiments stay in the bathroom where the mess can be contained.”

Tim huffed out something between a breath and a laugh. The tightness in his shoulders eased just enough for her to notice.

Lucy let the quiet return, softer now. 

Tim stayed focused on the grainy feed. He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to explain. And for once, he was grateful for the way she could sit with him like this—no questions, no pressure—just quiet company that made the afternoon feel less heavy.

----

Chapter Text

That evening, Tim stepped out into the precinct parking lot, the weight of the day settling heavier with every step. The drug dealer takedown lingered like a shadow, dragging up memories he’d spent years trying to bury. 

And he didn’t even want to think about a certain detective—or how he’d spent the afternoon racing through the streets of LA to back her up.

Then he saw her. As if his thoughts had summoned her.

Lucy stood near an empty parking space, phone pressed to her ear, shoulders tight. As he walked closer, her voice carried through the cooling night air.
“…you can drop it off at my apartment once it’s fixed. Yes, fine,” she said shortly, before hanging up.

Tim slowed, taking in the empty spot where her car should’ve been.
“Car trouble?” he asked, voice low.

She turned, startled to see him. “Yeah. Engine wouldn’t start. It’s been towed to the shop—they’ll deliver it to my place once it’s ready.”

He gave a small nod. “Come on. I’ll give you a ride.”

Lucy paused, the reflex to brush him off sparking first. The night air carried a sharp chill, and there was a flicker of vulnerability in his normally steady gaze that made her rethink any urge to argue. “Okay,” she murmured after a beat, sliding her phone into her jacket pocket.


——

The drive started in near silence. Lucy sat angled toward the window, phone in hand, thumbs flying as she ordered dinner on one of the delivery apps. Every few seconds she stole a glance at Tim—at the tight set of his jaw, the way he seemed to be driving on muscle memory alone. Whatever was chewing at him after the takedown was still there, thick and heavy in the cab.

Her mind turned over a quiet debate. Should she invite him up? He looked like he needed space—but he also looked like he needed something else. Maybe a dose of Ethan’s cheerful chatter could improve his mood. She added another portion of appetizers and mains, before checking out her order. 

As soon as she put her phone away, the silence in the truck began to feel sharper. She fiddled with the stereo, landing on a random radio station just to break the quiet. A soft ballad filled the truck, more awkward than soothing, but at least it was something.

When Tim eased to a stop in front of her building, she unbuckled, heart kicking a little faster.
“Hey,” she said, leaning toward him. “Come upstairs. Have dinner with us. I got so delayed with the whole car drama I just ordered food on Postmates. Nothing fancy—just Chinese.”

Something in her smile—tired but warm—cut through the haze around him. Tim hesitated for only a beat.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “Okay.” The promise of seeing Ethan already made him feel lighter.

——

The apartment door opened to the scent of soy sauce and something else Tim had started to associate with Lucy.


Inside, Rose, the babysitter, was setting the food delivery bag on the table. She straightened when she saw Tim, her eyes widening just slightly before she offered a polite smile, which Tim returned. 
Lucy caught the brief flicker of admiration and bit back a smile. Tim did have that effect on women—poor Rose was no exception.

“Coach!” Ethan barreled in from the hallway, fist already raised. “I didn’t know you were coming!”


Tim bumped his knuckles with a small grin. “Well, I had to hear all about this rocket you launched.”

“You told him, Mom?” Ethan looked a little embarrassed, eyes flicking up at the ceiling above the dining table. Tim followed his gaze, noting the remnants of liquid spatter still staining the white paint.



“Well, that’s a fiery start! Next launch, I’m sure you’ll break records,” Tim said with a smile.

Ethan grinned. “Yeah!” he said, settling into a chair, while Lucy looked up at the ceiling, silently praying she wouldn’t have to spend hours scrubbing it clean during the next ‘launch’.


Rose grabbed her bag, offering Lucy a quick goodbye and another sidelong glance at Tim before slipping out the door.

“We’re having noodles!” Ethan informed him, already reaching for his chopsticks.
“Lo mein,” Lucy corrected, opening the boxes. “And fried rice. And dumplings.” She passed Tim a set of chopsticks.

Tim settled across from them, the warm light and Ethan’s chatter pulling him in despite himself. The earlier tension began to thin as the boy launched into a detailed story about what his friends had demonstrated at school for science club—and, honestly, Ethan’s rocket hadn’t been the worst mishap in the lineup.

For the first time all day, the constant buzzing in Tim’s head seemed to quiet.
He didn’t say much, but he didn’t need to. Between Ethan’s excited voice and Lucy’s quiet smile across the table, he leaned back, letting himself relax and simply enjoy the comfort of their company.

⸻



Once they were done with dinner, Lucy scooped up their sticky dishes, leaving them in the sink to deal with later. 

After exchanging good nights with Tim, Ethan walked toward his bedroom with his mother, his running commentary about science projects trailing down the hall. Then he abruptly turned back to Tim.
“Oh! Don’t forget—my swim meet’s next Monday. You’re coming, right?” he asked, voice hopeful.

Tim smiled, one brow lifting. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Ethan grinned, satisfied, and disappeared into his room, still talking about rockets.

When Lucy returned ten minutes later, she stopped short. The table was clear, the cartons gone, and the faint hum of the dishwasher filled the kitchen. Tim leaned casually against the counter, sleeves pushed up, drying the last plate. “I was going to clean up after Ethan went to bed,” she said, surprised.

Tim gave a small shrug. “There wasn’t much. And I had the time.”

Lucy nodded, moving closer and leaning against the counter across from him. “Is everything ok, Tim?” she asked softly. “It seems like something’s been bothering you…since the takedown today.”

He didn't speak for a long moment. His usually clear blue gaze was clouded with emotion and fixed on a point over her shoulder. She was starting to think she shouldn't have even asked, clearly he didn't want to talk about it. She almost opened her mouth to apologize for intruding, when he finally spoke.

"Five years ago,” he began, his voice low, “when I came back from the Army… Jenny, she was twenty. Got hooked on pills. Dealers—like the one we arrested today—went after kids like her—college students, anyone they thought was easy. And she was especially vulnerable after our dad died.” 
He paused, swallowing hard, the memories hitting him sharp. Lucy’s chest ached at the rawness in his voice.

“That’s… one of the reasons I joined the LAPD after I left the army,” he continued. “I hated them. The way they prey on people who don’t even see it coming. Seeing that guy today just… brought back unpleasant memories. On how helpless I felt when I saw her struggle during her rehab.”

Lucy wanted to reach for him, to bridge the small distance across the counter, but stayed where she was—close enough for him to feel she was there, not pushing for more than he wanted to give.

“I’m sorry, Tim,” she said softly. “It must have been incredibly hard to go through that.”

After a pause, she added, “After meeting Jenny last weekend, it’s amazing to see how she is leading a normal life now. You helped her get there, Tim.”

He gave a small nod, eyes fixed on some middle distance. “Yeah. But I wish I could do more—as a law enforcement officer as well.”

The dishwasher hummed on, the only sound in the kitchen, as they stood there—him grateful for her quietly comforting presence, and her grateful for this step forward, this moment where he could trust her enough to share his burden.

Tim stepped away from the counter and moved toward the photo wall in Lucy’s living room. His finger brushed the frame of a recent photo of Ethan at swim practice—head breaking the surface, goggles pushed up, blue eyes sparkling with triumph, a grin lighting up his face. A sharp tug of pride pulled at Tim.

He turned back to Lucy. “Would you mind if I took this along? I’d like to have one at home.”

Lucy smiled softly. “Of course, you can take it.” She made a mental note to snap a few pictures of Ethan and Tim together the next time they met.

Tim smiled faintly, plucking the frame from the wall. “It was really nice to spend the evening with Ethan,” he said.

“Thanks,” he added as he walked back toward her, “for dinner.” And for so much else that he couldn’t put into words.



“Do you want me to pick you up tomorrow? Since you don’t have a car,” he offered, with a casual tilt of his head — as if this were their routine. As if they always rode in together.



“It’s my day off,” Lucy replied, a little surprised he’d asked. 



Tim felt a little twinge of disappointment that he won’t see her tomorrow. Still, he nodded, turning toward the door.



Lucy’s eyes lingered on him as he shrugged into his jacket and stepped outside, the photo clutched carefully in his hand.

——


It was later that week when Lucy was sitting at her desk, and Det. Sgt. Caradine motioned for her to step into one of the small office rooms near the bullpen. She followed, closing the door behind her.

“Detective,” Caradine began, arms crossed, a neutral mask over his expression. “Can I ask why you didn’t come to me to disclose this?”

Lucy blinked. “Disclose what?”

“The arrangement with Bradford. Co-parenting Ethan,” he said calmly. “I was informed by Captain Grey, but I’m your direct supervisor. Shouldn’t you have come to me first?”

Lucy hesitated. “I… I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t think it was required. Tim spoke to Captain Grey directly, and… well, I thought that covered it.”

Caradine gave a slow nod, his expression unreadable. Lucy couldn’t shake the feeling that he was quietly judging her for not coming to him first—maybe because Tim was a senior officer, someone reporting directly to Grey. She bit back a retort, realizing she couldn’t put words to the thought, and stayed silent.

“Even though he’s not in your chain of command,” Caradine continued, “and technically a relationship would be allowed, workplace entanglements always come with pitfalls. We wouldn’t be doing anyone any favors pretending otherwise.”

Lucy’s chest tightened slightly. “Sir, we’re not in a romantic relationship. We’re just co-parenting. That’s what was disclosed.”

She hoped she sounded convincing, though she wasn’t entirely sure she was being truthful.

He nodded slowly. “Okay. Do you think Sergeant Bradford is completely unbiased when it comes to you?”

Before Lucy could answer, Captain Grey stepped into the office. He had noticed them through the glass walls; something had seemed off.

“I was asking if Bradford is unbiased regarding Detective Chen,” Caradine said quickly, as Grey entered.

Grey raised an eyebrow. “Do you have reason to believe otherwise?”

Caradine’s tone was measured. “I read the report about the bank heist gang. Bradford attacked the gang leader, Joe, when he had pointed a gun at Chen—and in the process, he blew their cover.”

Lucy blinked, a little surprised. She hadn’t given it much thought at the time.

Grey’s voice was firm. “At that point, Detective Chen was under direct threat. Her life was more important than maintaining cover.”

Caradine’s tone sharpened. “But did Bradford even consider other options to neutralize the threat, or did he simply run to be the shining knight to Detective Chen?”

Lucy felt a flush of affront at the jab.

Grey held up a hand. “I read the report. Tim acted in the best interests of the LAPD. The gang was already surrounded by plainclothes officers, and the arrest was imminent. Maintaining cover was lower priority. He did what was necessary to protect a fellow officer. I am sure he would have done the same, even if it was another officer instead of Detective Chen.” He paused, before completing, “I don’t want to hear this discussed again.”

Grey turned and left the office. Lucy let out a slow breath and looked at Caradine, waiting for him to dismiss her.

He gave a slight nod, and she stepped out, shoulders heavy. As she walked across the bullpen, she couldn’t help but replay Caradine’s warning about workplace relationships. 

She thought about the brief hug she and Tim had shared after he had knocked Joe down—the relief, the unspoken emotion.

And then she thought about their dinner a few nights ago, how he had opened up about his sister’s struggles with drugs.

She almost didn’t see Tim—a surprise, since she usually noticed him as soon as he entered a room—until she found herself standing right in front of him. Her eyes registered his nameplate on his uniform-clad chest before rising to meet his inquiring gaze.

Before he could ask her why she looked lost, Nyla walked up to them. “Good, I caught you both together”.

Lucy almost blushed, though she knew Nyla hadn’t meant it that way.

“I need to speak to you both,” Nyla continued, her eyes narrowing slightly on Lucy. “The trial for the bank heist crew is coming up. You both need to testify, next Monday at 9 am.”

Lucy nodded, remembering that Ethan had his swim meet on Monday afternoon. Hopefully they’d be done by then. She knew he was counting on Tim being there too.

“We’ll be there,” Tim replied to Nyla. Lucy caught the brief flicker of concern in his eyes before he had to go for roll call, a silent reminder that he was always aware of her—even when he had to be professional.

Lucy watched him walk away, Caradine’s cautions still ringing in her ears. Even if Tim and her managed to work past their personal issues, they would still have to navigate the tricky terrain of a workplace relationship.

She rolled her shoulders, trying to let the thoughts go, and picked up the next file. Time to get back to work.

——

The next few days seemed to fly by as Lucy and Tim were swept up in a flurry of cases and investigations. Tim’s mound of paperwork grew at an alarming pace and he seemed to be pulling a late shift every other night to catch up on it. It left him wondering if he should take on that aide Gray kept suggesting.

Lucy barely saw Tim as she chased down leads, interviewed suspects, and logged evidence. Petty crime seemed to be running high in the streets of LA.

Late on Saturday evening, the bullpen had quieted, half the desks empty as the day wound down. Lucy had finished her reports and gathered her things, ready to call it a night. Her feet carried her to Tim’s desk—wanting, maybe, just a glimpse of him before she left.

And to remind him about Ethan’s swim meet on Monday. It’s a good excuse, she told herself.

He glanced up when she approached, eyes tired, the weight of his endless stack of paperwork etched in the slump of his shoulders. Before she could speak, Gray’s voice carried across the room.

“Bradford.”

Tim exhaled, pushing back his chair. “Be right there,” he told Gray, then gave Lucy a quick look that said wait a second before he headed toward the Captain’s office.

Left by his desk, Lucy’s gaze drifted to the mountain of files in front of him. The pile looked impossible. On instinct, she reached for the top folder, scanning it quickly. She grabbed a stack of Post-its, her pen moving in brisk, efficient strokes across the yellow paper. She jotted summaries, flagged key details, and began building a fresh, organized stack beside the old one. Her handwriting was neat, clipped, her motions deliberate but quiet.

By the time Tim returned, the chaos had been reshaped into something he could move through faster.

He froze mid-sit, eyes flicking from the smaller mountain to the new, streamlined pile. For a moment, he just stood there, taking it in. It wasn’t just the help—it was that she’d noticed, that she’d cared enough to step in while he was gone.

No one did that for him. Not ever.

“I have to go,” Lucy said, breaking the moment as she lifted her bag. “It’s almost time for Ethan’s dinner, but… this stack is still so big. I wish I could help more.”

“I’ll manage. You’ve done so much to make it easier for me," he said with a small smile, his shoulders loosening a little. "Thanks, Lucy.”

She nodded, lingering a beat, before saying, “Ethan’s been practicing dribbles in the corridor outside our apartment, you know. I swear, if the building maintenance catch on, we’ll get a fine.”

Tim chuckled, the warmth in his eyes softening the corners of his face.

He shifted in his seat, the old chair creaking, its rigid back offering little comfort. Lucy noticed the way his shoulders tensed against it.

Without a word, she crossed back to her own desk, grabbed her cushion, and walked to stand behind him. Tim straightened slightly, raising an eyebrow as he looked up at her. Her fingers grazed the nape of his neck as she set the cushion in place. His hand rose briefly to meet hers, brushing gently before dropping.

The light touch sent a quick flutter through her chest — unexpected, disarming — before she stepped around to face him.

“Gray told me what happened with Caradine,” he said, his voice tinged with annoyance as his eyes moved over her face. “I hope he didn’t give you too much grief the other day.”

“I…It was fine,” she said. "He is my supervisor, he wanted me to be upfront about our…situation. Now I know his expectations, I’ll be careful going forward.”

Tim nodded, as he leaned back against the cushion comfortably, giving her a grateful look. Her face softened into a small, satisfied smile.

“I’ll see you on Monday at the courthouse?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “It’s also Ethan’s swim meet, right?”

“Yes—in the afternoon,” she replied, pleased he remembered. “I’ll confirm the time,” she added, giving him one last look before heading toward the door with a soft, “Bye.”

Tim watched her go, the bullpen settling into silence again. He let out a slow breath, glancing at the neat stack she’d left behind and the cushion easing the pull in his back. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked out for him like this. It felt unfamiliar. But not unwelcome.

He turned back to the files, picked up his pen, and got to work — the thought of Monday afternoon the only thing making this hellish task bearable.

---

Chapter Text

On Monday morning, Tim arrived at the courthouse with two coffees in hand. 

The early chill bit at his face as he walked toward her car in a tailored suit—sharp, fitted, the kind that made Lucy do a subtle double-take. 

If she thought Tim in his Army uniform was sexy, then Tim in a suit was… wow.

She swallowed, forcing herself to look casual as he walked up to her.

Tim’s gaze took in Lucy as she leaned against her car, files stacked neatly in her arms. Without a word, he approached and set one cup on the roof beside her, holding the second for himself.

Lucy’s eyes flicked to the coffee. She straightened, letting her hands hover over the files, a faint, controlled lift at the corners of her mouth—an effort to keep from smiling.

“What time is the swim meet today?” Tim asked quietly, his voice measured, though a faint twinkle in his eye betrayed his excitement at seeing Ethan again.

“Three o’clock,” Lucy replied softly. “I’ll text you the location.”

He inclined his head slightly, acknowledging her words. She picked up the cup, warmth creeping through her—not just from the coffee, but from the thought behind the gesture.

They fell into step together, their footsteps echoing off the marble floor of the courthouse lobby. The silence wasn't empty—it hummed with everything they weren’t saying.

—-

Inside, they were met by a young man in a tailored navy suit, sleeves rolled just above his wrists as though he’d been working since dawn.
“Chris Sanford,” he said, extending a hand toward Tim. “Assistant District Attorney.”

Tim’s handshake was firm, businesslike. “Sergeant Bradford. I thought Del Monte was handling this one.”

Chris smiled, an easy, self-assured expression. “Well, the DA leaves the small fish to us ADAs. Keeps him free for the headline cases.”

He turned to Lucy next, his tone softening. “Detective Chen, right? I’ve read your reports. Impressive work.”

Lucy gave a polite nod. “Thank you.”

Chris’s gaze lingered a fraction too long before he gestured toward the hallway. “You’ll testify in chambers rather than in open court. Even with some exposure of your cover, this is safer for you—and for the investigation.”

“Understood,” Tim said.

Lucy merely nodded, already sensing the undercurrent of interest in the look Chris sent her way. It wasn’t overt—he was too polished for that—but she’d been on the receiving end of that kind of attention before. She let it roll off her, posture steady, eyes professional. 

Anyway, her mind—and her heart—had room for only one man right now.

The man in question noticed Chris’s looks of interest as well. Of course. Tim’s jaw ticked once, almost imperceptibly, as he shifted slightly closer to her. Lucy caught the movement from the corner of her eye and suppressed a small, amused smile.

Chris motioned toward the judge’s door. “Detective Chen, you’re up first.”

The judge's chambers felt smaller than Lucy had expected, all dark wood and leather-bound books that probably hadn't been opened in decades. She kept her hands folded, her voice level as she walked through the timeline—dates, locations, and the final morning, leading to the arrest.

She didn't mention the way Tim had pulled her close when a crew member leered at her, or how her pulse had spiked every time their cover required them to touch. Those details weren't for the court record.

When she emerged, Tim was pacing outside, his shoulders rigid. Chris leaned against the wall nearby, scrolling through his phone.

The moment Tim spotted her, he stopped mid-stride, opening his mouth to ask, “How—”

—but Chris beat him to it.

“How’d it go?” asked the younger man—too quickly, like he’d been waiting for his cue.

Tim’s mouth closed again, his jaw tightening just a fraction before he masked the flicker of irritation.

“Fine,” she said, returning a small, polite smile before turning to Tim, pretending not to notice his annoyed expression. “Your turn,” she said lightly.

Tim brushed past Chris, heading inside.

Chris watched him go, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth before he looked back at Lucy. “He’s all business, huh?”

Lucy’s tone was cool, almost amused. “You have no idea.”

Chris pushed off the wall. “I’ll check in with the clerk,” he informed Lucy, heading down the hall.

Tim's testimony was surgical—precise cuts of fact with no wasted words. He recounted the details, the mobile phone they had managed to hack into, the number of crew members, the roles they played.

What he didn't say was how Lucy had looked in that warehouse, playing her part so convincingly. How he had kissed her, not knowing till today - how much of it was pretend and how much was real.

When he finished and came back out, Lucy was seated on the bench, checking her phone.

Chris returned just then. He handed them both copies of the charge summary. “Judge will deliberate, but based on what I’ve seen, it’s solid. I’ll circle back once the verdict’s in.”

Lucy nodded. “Thank you.”

He gave her a small, appreciative smile, before walking away. “You made my job easier, Detective.” She didn’t miss the added warmth in his tone.

Tim leaned back against the wall, facing Lucy, expression unreadable—but his silence was telling. Lucy shifted on the hard wooden seat, trying to find a more comfortable position while Tim stared at the something over her shoulder.

The silence thrummed with tension. Lucy could feel the words she wasn’t saying pressing at the back of her throat.

"Do you think—" Lucy started.

"Yeah," Tim said. "I think we got them."

But that wasn't what she'd been about to ask. She'd been about to ask if he ever thought about those kisses undercover. Whether the man she’d been with that afternoon had been Tim—or Jake.

The question sat in her throat, heavy and unspoken.

Tim watched the expressions flitting across her face in rapid succession. He thought of all that had happened since that day they had arrested this crew, how his life had shifted.

And how sometimes he wished he could simply reach out and hold her, despite the tension, his resentment, all of it.

Sanford’s footsteps on the marble announced his return before Lucy saw him. His smile was broader now.
“Guilty on all counts for Joe and his lieutenants. Armed robbery, assault with a deadly weapon—they’re looking at serious time. The other three copped pleas for lesser charges.”

He shook Tim’s hand, then Lucy’s—just a second longer than necessary.

“Maybe I’ll see you next time I’m at Mid-Wilshire, Detective Chen,” Chris added, his eyes regarding her warmly.

“Maybe,” Lucy said, her tone perfectly neutral.

Beside her, Tim almost clucked his tongue—a tiny, involuntary sound of disapproval—before catching himself and shifting his weight, pretending to check his watch.

Chris smiled, oblivious to Tim’s quiet displeasure. “Have a good one, Detective. Sergeant.” He nodded again before walking down the hall.

Beside Lucy, Tim exhaled slowly, shoulders relaxing.

She glanced up at him, a small, teasing smile curving her lips. “You okay?”

He shot her a look. “I’m fine.”

“Mm-hmm.” She let it go, as they walked towards the exit, secretly enjoying how transparent he could be when he didn’t realize it.

—-

The courthouse steps gleamed in the morning sun, as Tim and Lucy stepped out together. The bright day promised them ordinary joys—like Ethan’s swim meet later.

However, there was a growing commotion on the lower steps of the courthouse. A noisy crowd had begun to gather, protest signs swaying in the breeze: “Justice for All”, “End Corruption Now”.

Tim registered a sudden movement at the edge of his vision. From the holding area, two figures emerged: Joe and Vince, flanked by county sheriff deputies. Vince spotted Lucy immediately, a slimy look crawling across his face that made Tim want to snap his neck, protocol notwithstanding. Joe’s grin was cold, predatory.

Tim fumed. Someone had clearly screwed up the transport schedule, and now they were stuck—facing these morons. Sanford came to mind immediately. Sharp suit, confident grin, enough arrogance to assume someone else would double-check his work. Incompetent fool.

As the group drew closer, one of the deputies—a rookie—fumbled with his radio, static crackling loudly. His partner, slightly older, ambled over, muttering about last-minute schedule changes.

The momentary distraction was enough for Vince to slow his pace and nudge Joe.

“Well, well…look Boss…it’s our friends Jake and Sava,” he said with a smirk.

Lucy stiffened as Joe stepped forward, slow and deliberate.

“Or whatever names they go by now, Vince” he said, peering at Tim’s suit. “Gotta hand it to you both…that little act you put on. All that passion, all that intensity…you played us like a damn fiddle.”

“I know what you mean, Boss,” Vince drawled. “Especially the way she was all over him. And you?” Vince continued, leaning toward Tim casually. “You were awfully protective. Tell me…is she that good when the cameras aren’t rolling?”

Tim’s mind raced as he looked at Lucy. Her mask held firm, but he caught the subtle crack—the shift of her breath, the slight draw of her shoulders inward. He knew he shouldn’t be riled by a low-level criminal—but instinctively, he stepped forward, placing himself between Vince and Lucy.

She didn’t need him to fight for her; she was capable—but this was different. Vince’s filth had no right near her.

Tim scanned the way to the car, calculating a quick exit. But the courthouse was unusually busy. Protesters pressed in from all sides, shouts and signs forming a dense barrier. Moving past quickly was nearly impossible, leaving Tim and Lucy trapped with Joe and Vince.

The leaders of the public protest had now turned on megaphones, their chants ringing loudly, adding to the chaos.

Tim’s frustrated eyes shifted to the sheriff’s deputies, watching with barely concealed irritation as the rookie still wrestled with his radio while his partner frowned at a clipboard. "Where's the transfer form for Vince?" he muttered, flipping through pages. 

The brief delay gave Joe his opening. And he went for the jugular. “You know…the day they arrested us? Heard the officers talking at the precinct…” He paused just long enough to let the tension build. “…looks like she’s raising some bastard kid too. Real shame when a woman can’t keep her legs—”

The words hung in the air. Jarringly out of place against the clear blue sky, the sunny day.

A sudden silence descended over Lucy, drowning out the protests, the crowd—everything. Her hands clenched, knuckles whitening.

How could something so vile be spat on a day that promised joy and cheer?

Tim’s temper flared, his throat tightening with the effort it took not to drive Joe into the concrete steps.

He could take an insult, but not one aimed at their son—and never at her. The sheer audacity of it made his blood boil.

For a fraction of a second, he told himself to let it go. This isn’t worth it. But he couldn’t.

Slowly, deliberately, Tim turned toward Joe. His expression went arctic, controlled, deadly. Every exhale measured. 

“No one,” he said, low and steady, each word deliberate, like a hammer striking stone, “talks to a police officer like that. Not unless they’re eager to discover what happens in  the dark shadows of a prison. I have plenty of friends at the Twin Towers who’d be happy to…teach you respect.”

Joe smirked, undeterred. Vince gave a short laugh, but the confidence in their posture faltered.

The senior deputy finally stepped forward, clipboard in hand. “Move it,” he ordered, forcing the two convicts down the steps.

Tim remained rooted on the courthouse steps, shoulders stiff, still seething beneath the surface.

When he turned back, Lucy was gone.

His eyes scanned the top of the steps, catching her familiar figure slipping inside the building. 

Urgency spiked; he took the stairs two at a time, long strides eating up the distance, scanning hallways as he went. At the far end of a long corridor, he glimpsed her disappearing around a corner and quickened his pace, following her.

—-

Lucy's heels clicked softly on the courthouse tiles, while a buzz filled her mind, drowning out everything else. She barely registered the clicking of keyboards, murmurs of clerks and officers, the shuffle of files and papers, as she walked past rows of offices and desks, not really sure where her feet were taking her.

Sunlight streamed through tall windows, but offered no warmth aseverything turned to ice inside her.

Bastard.

This wasn't the first time someone had tried to cut her down, to make her doubt herself. She had heard the whispers as a single, pregnant college student. Then came the precinct. Rookie years, superiors and peers who wondered if a single mother could handle the danger.

She had proven them wrong, earned her badge, risen to detective, carved her place in the LAPD.

And yet the vultures were ever-present. Circling her, looking for a crack. Any reason to pick her apart. Criticize her choices, label her innocent son. It was unforgiving, the constant pressure of having to prove her worth, prove she deserved to be here. But she’d dealt with it every single day.

Only to discover that she—and her son—were nothing but fodder for their gossip.

Seven years of building walls around Ethan, sleepless nights, double shifts, missing milestones to close cases that would earn respect—all crumbling in the span of a morning, at the cruel words of a small-time bank robbery crew.

She rounded another corner and opened a door, finding herself in a narrow, empty corridor. The muted gray cinderblock walls pressed in, keeping the air cool. It matched the temperature of her insides.

She walked slowly down the corridor, staring into the distance with eyes that had lost their fight. The very air around her seemed to carry the whispers. Her fellow officers, and even low-life criminals—were talking about her. 

About Ethan. 

About things that should have remained private, sacred.

The exhaustion hit her then, bone-deep and crushing. The weariness that came from fighting the same battle too many times. Her jaw slackened, eyes unfocused—the detective's mask finally slipping away to reveal something hollow underneath. She didn't have the energy left for rage - all she felt was a quiet devastation, that no matter how hard she fought, how high she climbed, how perfectly she performed, it would never be enough.

There would always be another Joe, another Vince, another moment where her worth would be reduced to crude speculation about her body, her choices, her son.

Tears gathered, blurring her vision but refusing to fall, as she stood all alone in the silent aftermath of her humiliation.

A door slammed shut somewhere behind her, alerting her to another presence. She recognized the familiar stride, the steady thud of boots. It made her instinctively want to pull herself together, to don the mask of impeccable control, but she couldn’t find the strength for it.

She braced against the wall as if she needed it to stay upright, shoulders trembling with the weight of all that she had to carry over the years, and would continue to.

—-

Tim found her at the far end of the corridor, and the sight stopped him cold. Lucy stood with one arm holding the wall, her body angled toward the gray cinder blocks as if she needed them to stay upright. 

Her face was blank, completely stripped of the fierce determination he was used to seeing there. Her eyes stared into empty space, lost somewhere he couldn't reach, barely blinking.

"Lucy," he said softly.

She didn't respond. Didn't even seem to hear him. Her breathing came in uneven pulls—too shallow, too quick—the only sign of life in her body.

Tim had watched her keep her cool walking into a room full of gangsters, their lewd gazes trained on her. He’d seen her barely flinch when a gun was pointed directly at her chest. But Joe’s words had cut straight through every layer of armor, leaving her at her most vulnerable.

He took a step forward, the scrape of his boots echoing in the narrow space. The movement seemed to register somewhere in her consciousness—her eyes lowered, and she swallowed hard.  Then she turned away completely, pressing her forehead against the cool wall as if trying to take a moment to gather the pieces of herself back together.

Tim studied her back as she straightened, shoulders still hunched, a slight tremor shaking her frame. How many times has she had to carry this alone?

He stepped closer until his chest was barely a breath from her back. Slowly, carefully, he wrapped one arm around her shoulders from behind, his fingers coming to rest gently on her upper arm. 

She didn't relax into him—she couldn't. She felt too raw, too exposed. But she didn't pull away either.

Something about his presence—the fact that he had followed her into this dark place, that he wanted to to be there for her even when everything between them was complicated—brought a flicker of something that felt like relief. The thought arose that maybe, just maybe, she wasn't completely alone in this.

Her arms wrapped around her own waist — a quiet sign that she felt his presence even if she didn’t lean into the comfort he offered.

A single tear finally escaped, trailing down her cheek. Tim held her carefully, asking nothing, demanding nothing. 

And in that quiet space, something fundamental shifted inside him. The anger he'd carried about being kept from Ethan, the hurt over missed years, the resentment about choices made without him—all of it seemed insignificant in the face of this moment.

Because he could see it now. The impossible weight she'd carried. The strength it had taken to raise a child alone while proving herself in a world that was waiting for her to fail.

His thumb moved in a slow, unconscious circle against her upper arm—no words, just the quiet promise that whatever came next, she wouldn't have to face it alone.

---

Chapter Text

Interlude 2

7 years ago

Los Angeles, California

Sunlight streamed into the living room of Lucy’s childhood home, warm and golden, catching the dark mop of Ethan’s hair as he wriggled in the blanket on her lap. Three months old today, her little boy was more than just a bundle of new life—he was a constant reminder of everything that had changed, everything she had to protect.

She adjusted him, brushing a stray lock from his forehead, and watched as he discovered his hands for the first time with fascination and delight. His tiny fingers unfurling, curling, grasping at air—it made her laugh softly, a sound rare and precious in the quiet of her parents’ home.

Lucy hummed softly to him, a tune she didn’t remember the words for, but the melody was oddly comforting, weaving warmth through the room. Ethan’s tiny body settled against her chest, his startlingly blue eyes blinked sleepily, and she let the rhythm of the hum match the gentle rise and fall of his breath.

Her thoughts wandered, impossible to stop. Tim. It had been almost a year since their stolen weekend together. The way he had looked that weekend before she left—gone from her life as quietly as he had entered—haunted her. She imagined him here, sitting across from her on the couch, holding Ethan’s tiny feet in his hands, laughing softly as the baby wriggled and gurgled. She pictured his hair catching the sunlight, his eyes watching Ethan’s movements, his quiet awe at something they had created together.

Would he be good with him, she wondered, a pang twisting her stomach? Would he know exactly how to soothe him when his little cries escalated, or how to make him laugh when she felt too tired to try? The thought settled on her heart, heavy with longing.

Ethan yawned, a wide, sloppy little gape, and Lucy pressed him close, the softness of his cheek against hers. She kissed the top of his head, inhaling the faint scent of baby shampoo, and let herself imagine, briefly, that Tim was here, sharing this moment with her. That he would see the small victories, the milestones, the everyday miracle of Ethan’s tiny life.

She sighed, a mixture of happiness and melancholy, rocking him gently. Despite their brief time together and the silence since, she felt a pull toward him, a quiet echo of the weekend that had once been theirs. Somewhere, somehow, she hoped he was thinking of her too.

——

7 years ago

Somewhere in Iraq

Seven thousand miles away from California, the sound of the med-evac still rang in Tim’s ears long after the helicopter blades had faded into the desert sky. Dust hung in the air, thick and dry, carrying the acrid scent of burning metal. He could still see Corporal Hayes’s face—barely twenty years old—his jaw clenched against a scream as blood soaked through the bandages where his leg had been. One decision, one step in the wrong place, and his life was forever changed.

Back in camp, Tim sat on his bunk, elbows braced on his knees, hands rubbing over his face. He’d told himself not to get rattled. Soldiers got hurt, soldiers died—it was the reality. But the image wouldn’t leave him. Hayes’s wide, disbelieving eyes, the uncertainty about the future etched into his face.

His duffel was half-shoved under the bunk. From its side pocket, he pulled the small weight of his pocket watch. The metal was scratched, the lighthouse silhouette dulled from travel, but when he clicked it open, the tick was still steady. Familiar. Solid. He leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes as the memories rose unbidden.

A weekend. Just one. Borrowed hours stitched together as if it were the only time in the world.
Lucy’s laugh echoing through her dorm room, her damp hair curling at the shoulders after a shower. The way she’d hummed softly, absentmindedly, as she dried her hair, completely unaware he was watching. He hadn’t known the song, but it had stayed with him.

Here, in the heart of a war zone, he shouldn’t have space in his mind for that. But he did. He always did. Those few impossible, perfect days were the one place he could still go when everything else collapsed.

Tim closed his eyes, thumb brushing the worn surface of the watch. It had been a year since he had last seen her. What was she doing now? Swimming? Laughing? Singing to herself, lost in her own little world? Maybe she’d forgotten him. Maybe that weekend was just a fleeting memory for her.

He closed the watch carefully, holding it in his palm instead of tucking it away.

It wasn’t much—a souvenir perhaps. Yet it soothed something inside him, it was a reminder that once—life had been about more than discipline and duty.

Once, there had been her.

The desert pressed back in, the sight of his rifle against the wall a stark reminder. 

Those fleeting moments became his private solace, a quiet memory he carried wherever life took him.

——

Chapter Text

Present Day, Los Angeles District Courthouse

They stood like that for a long moment—Tim's arm around her shoulders, his chest barely brushing her back, both of them breathing through the aftermath of what had just happened.

Finally, Lucy drew in a shaky breath. "I need to..." Her voice was hoarse. "I need a minute."

Tim stepped away quietly as she turned away from the wall. Her eyes were red-rimmed but dry and she straightened her shoulders with visible effort, as she reached for the composure that had momentarily left her.

Tim watched her carefully, noting the way her hands trembled slightly as she smoothed down her jacket. "There's a restroom at the entrance to this corridor" he offered.

"Yeah." She managed a weak smile. "Probably should... fix my face before we walk out of here."

As they walked back together, he wanted to tell her she didn't need to fix anything, that she had every right to look exactly as shaken as she felt. But he understood the need for armor, especially in a courthouse crawling with cops and attorneys and criminals who would see any crack as weakness.

"I'll wait here," he said simply, as the restrooms came into sight.

Lucy disappeared into the ladies room, and Tim leaned against the wall, jaw tight. His phone buzzed—a text from Wade asking about the testimony—but Tim ignored it, his mind still replaying Joe's words, the way Lucy had nearly crumbled.

Five minutes later, she emerged. Her face had been splashed with water, her hair smoothed back, and she'd somehow managed to reconstruct the professional mask—shoulders squared, chin lifted, breath steady. But Tim could see the exhaustion beneath it, the fragility she was working so hard to hide.

“Anything I can get you?" he asked gently.

She shook her head. "Let's get out of here,” she said, her voice stronger now.

They walked back through the courthouse corridors side by side, close enough that their arms brushed now and then—the occasional contact felt necessary somehow.

When they pushed through the front doors into the afternoon sunlight, the noise that had filled the square earlier was gone. The protesters had dispersed, leaving only a few stray signs propped against the railings and the faint echo of traffic down the street. The air felt calmer now.

Lucy stopped on the top step and closed her eyes, tilting her face toward the sky. Tim watched her breathe—in through her nose, out through her mouth—centering herself the way she probably had a thousand times before.

"I'm taking the afternoon," she said suddenly, eyes still closed. "I'm going to call Caradine and tell him I need a few hours."

Tim nodded. "Good. You should."

She opened her eyes, looking at him. "The swim meet's at three. I'll meet you there?"

“Actually I thought, I'll—" His phone rang, cutting him off. He glanced at the screen and grimaced. "Dispatch."

Lucy's expression shifted to understanding as he answered.

"Bradford." He listened, his jaw tightening. "Yeah, I can be there in fifteen." A pause. "Copy that."

He hung up, frustration clear on his face. "Shots fired incident in Rampart. They need a supervisor on scene."

"Go," Lucy said immediately, though something flickered in her eyes—disappointment, maybe, or the reluctance to be alone with her thoughts.

"Lucy—"

"Tim, go." Her voice was firmer now, more like herself. "I'm okay. Really."

He studied her face, searching for cracks in the facade. "You sure?"

"I'm sure." She managed a reassuring smile this time. "I'm going home, taking a hot shower, maybe lying down for an hour. I'll be fine by the time I get to the pool.” I have to be, she thought. For Ethan.

Still, he hesitated. After what had just happened, leaving her felt…wrong.

Lucy reached out and squeezed his arm briefly. "Go do your job, Sergeant. I'll see you at three."

The touch, light as it was, told him she could handle it—and he believed her, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction.

"Okay," he relented. "But text me when you get home?"

A flicker of warmth crossed her face. "I will."

"And Lucy?" He waited until her eyes met his. "What that asshole said—"

"I know." She cut him off gently, not wanting to revisit it. "I know, Tim."

He held her gaze for another moment, making sure she truly understood that none of it mattered to him, that Joe's poison hadn't changed anything. Then he nodded once and headed down the steps toward his truck.

Lucy watched him go, his broad shoulders and purposeful stride, and felt a small measure of the morning's darkness lift.

She wasn't alone anymore. Not really.

She pulled out her phone and dialed Caradine as she walked to her car.

"Sir, it's Chen. I need to take the rest of the day... personal hours." She listened to his response, grateful he didn't ask too many questions. "Thank you. I'll be back tomorrow."

She slid into her car and sat for a moment, hands on the steering wheel, letting herself just breathe. The morning had been brutal, but it was over. Sunlight glinted off the dashboard, and the hum of the engine felt soothing.

The swim meet waited ahead—a reminder of what really mattered.

Her phone buzzed. Tim's text read: ‘Drive safe. See you at 3.’ She smiled despite everything and typed back: ‘You too.’

Then she started the car and headed home, knowing she had a couple hours to put herself back together before facing the world again. Before facing Tim again.

Before watching their son swim.

——

Lucy arrived at the swim meet just as the afternoon sun began to dip, casting long shadows over the pool deck. Her mom had dropped Ethan off earlier. But her father had a doctor’s appointment, so her parents would unfortunately miss this one.

She was a little relieved, actually. She hadn’t yet mentioned Tim to them, and it would’ve been awkward to explain why he was here. She’d have to come clean soon.

A glance toward the parking lot showed Tim's truck already there, unmistakable, parked close to the entrance. It was ridiculous how much lighter she felt just at the sight of it.

The drive over had been quiet—too quiet. Her mind had replayed Joe's words on an endless loop. But she also remembered the solid weight of Tim's arm around her shoulders in that courthouse corridor—the quiet strength he’d offered when she’d needed it most.

She spotted him easily near the stands, leaning against the railing, eyes scanning the pool. He’d changed into a pair of jeans and his usual henley. but his posture didn’t match the casualness of his attire—his shoulders still held tension from this morning, jaw tight even as he watched the swimmers warming up.

Lucy manoeuvered through the crowd until she could stand beside him.

"Hey," she said softly.

He turned, and for a moment, his expression was unguarded—concern flickering across his features as he searched her face. "Hey. You okay?"

The question was weighted with everything from this morning.

"Getting there," she said honestly, managing a small smile.

His hand rose as if to reach for her, then froze, hovering in the space between them before falling back to his side. The crowd, the other parents—they weren't ready for that yet. But the gesture said enough.

They stood close, shoulders nearly touching, a united front even in silence.

——

When Ethan's race was called, they both straightened. Lucy's hands gripped the railing, knuckles still pale from how tightly she'd clenched them this morning. Tim noticed, his hand brushing hers briefly before he could stop himself.

“Come on, Ethan," Lucy called, her voice stronger than she felt.

Ethan kicked off the starting block, arms slicing through the water with fierce determination.

Lucy found herself leaning forward, and Tim moved with her, their bodies instinctively aligned, sharing in the rhythm of their son’s triumph.

Every stroke felt significant—proof that despite Joe's venom and all the gossip, her son was here, thriving, loved.

Her throat tightened with emotion that had nothing to do with the race.

She heard Tim’s loud cheer as Ethan executed a perfect flip, water splashing around him like confetti, and felt her own chest swell with pride.

When Ethan touched the wall—fourth place, but his best time yet—Lucy's eyes burned, tears threatening, but she refused to let them fall. Tim's hand found the small of her back, in silent support. As if he sensed exactly how overwhelmed she felt in that moment.

Ethan scrambled out of the pool, water dripping everywhere, a huge grin on his face. His eyes found them instantly. “Did you see me?” he shouted, racing over with wet footprints marking his path.

He hugged Lucy, and she held him a beat longer than usual, breathing in chlorine and sunshine and the simple, perfect reality of her son.

"You were amazing," she whispered into his wet hair.

Ethan pulled back, grinning, then turned to high-five Tim, who crouched to meet him at eye level.

“That turn at the halfway mark? Amazing," Tim said, ruffling Ethan's hair. The warmth in his voice was genuine, yet Lucy caught the faint roughness at the edges—the emotions he kept carefully in check.

Their eyes met over Ethan's head. Tim's gaze held a question, a gentle check-in, and Lucy gave him the smallest nod. I'm okay. 

As Ethan ran off to rejoin his teammates, Tim straightened. "I'm starving. Want to grab some dinner?"

The invitation felt like more than just food—a chance to stretch this fragile calm, to hold onto something simple and good.

“Let’s do that," Lucy said, and this time her smile reached her eyes.

——

They went to a nearby diner, sliding into a corner booth. Ethan immediately launched into a play-by-play of his race, his voice rising and falling with excitement, filling the space between them.

Before the meet, Lucy had grabbed a quick sandwich she could barely taste. Her appetite still hadn’t returned, she thought, as she picked at her fries. But something about Ethan’s animated gestures—and the way Tim listened so patiently—made her relax for the first time all day.

The diner buzzed with low chatter and clinking cutlery, but at their corner booth, it felt like a small world of their own.

Tim had ordered his usual salad. Lucy barely managed a few bites of her  wrap. Tim noticed and, without a word, slid her plate closer to Ethan, who eagerly picked it up.

“Know what, Mom? Coach Nelson picked me to lead the warm-up next time!” Ethan’s grin was wide and toothy as he spoke around a mouthful of wrap.

“I’m not surprised,” she said softly, her voice gentler than usual. “You were incredible out there.”

Then, leaning toward Tim, she added under her breath, “His swim instructor—Mr. Nelson—is hard to please.”

Tim looked suitably impressed, his mouth curving into a quiet smile. “Ethan did do great out there today,” he said, his voice low but warm.

For a brief second, their eyes met across the table—a glance that felt like more than shared pride.

Tim’s knee gently brushed hers under the table—casual yet intentional. The easy rhythm they'd found in the past few days was there, but underneath ran a new current—something deeper, forged in that gray corridor.

Tim grabbed the check before Lucy could reach for her wallet. ‘Let me,’ he said quietly.

It wasn’t about the money—it was about carrying a little of the day for her, about showing up now, for all the meals he hadn’t been there to share.

She nodded, swallowing against the renewed tightness in her throat.

——

Neither of them thought twice when Tim drove home behind them afterward. Lucy watched his headlights in her rearview mirror and felt some of the restlessness in her chest fade.

When they pulled into the apartment’s parking garage, Tim parked next to her and followed them upstairs. It felt natural now, as if it had always been meant to be—even if the path to get here had been anything but simple.

Once home, Lucy set down her bag with a sigh, the weight of the day finally catching up to her. "I really want a cup of tea," she said, stretching her arms. Then, a glance at Tim, her voice softer, almost tentative: "Do you want to tuck Ethan in?"

Tim blinked, caught slightly off guard. “Sure,” he said. A flicker of uncertainty crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced by a smile.

Ethan, delighted, clapped his hands. “Cool! I want to show you my new Lego Iron Man first!”

He turned to his mother for a good-night hug and she held him perhaps tighter than usual, breathing him in— her reason for everything. Ethan squeezed her arms lightly just above the elbow in a small, endearing gesture of comfort, before tugging Tim along the hallway.

Tim noticed the exchange—an unspoken ritual between mother and son—and something warm unfurled in his chest. He didn’t feel left out. Instead, he found himself quietly looking forward to the day he’d have his own rituals with Ethan.

——

As they stepped into Ethan's room, the soft blue walls seemed to glow in the lamplight. Ethan darted into the bathroom to brush his teeth, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll be right back!”.

Left alone, Tim let his eyes wander around the room. He’d been here before—once, when Ethan was sick—but he hadn’t really seen it then. Glow-in-the-dark stars dotted the ceiling. The dresser was cluttered with toys, books stacked sideways, and a framed photo of Lucy and Ethan at the beach—both making ridiculous faces.

He smiled when he noticed the stuffed wolf Lucy had mentioned once, sitting neatly on Ethan’s pillow. ‘Shadow’.

Ethan reappeared soon after in dinosaur pajamas, clutching a Lego superhero and launching into an enthusiastic explanation of its every detail. He then proudly displayed his rock collection and finally his painting of a rocket streaking across the stars. Tim listened, asked questions, laughed at the right spots, and quietly admired the boy's enthusiasm.

Every toy, every proud explanation felt like a privilege—a window into the life Lucy had built, the child she'd raised, the seven years he'd missed.

And somewhere between the stories and laughter, Sergeant Tim Bradford—the man who could make criminals and rookies alike quake with fear—found himself at a loss for how to tell a seven-year-old that playtime was over.

Fortunately, Ethan yawned mid-sentence, rubbing his eyes, and Tim, silently relieved, crouched beside him. “Let’s get you to bed, buddy,” he said gently.

Ethan nodded, climbing under the covers, still bright-eyed but fading fast. “’Night,” he mumbled, already halfway asleep.

Tim sat in the chair by the bed, watching him drift off as a quiet peace settled over him. The chatter, the little displays of pride, the sweetness—all of it filled him with a steady joy that pushed back against the ugliness of this morning.

This was what mattered. Not Joe's venom or the gossip or the judgment. This.

Within minutes, Ethan's breathing evened out, the little boy lost to sleep. Tim leaned back in the chair, letting out a deep exhale. For the first time in a long while, he felt a quiet satisfaction — the peace of having a family to protect, to cherish, and to belong to.

---

Chapter Text

Tim shut the bedroom door behind him and returned to the living area. Lucy was sitting on the couch, steam rising from her mug of tea, but her eyes were distant, lost somewhere he couldn't quite reach.

The day pressed down on both of them—the courthouse, Joe's words, that gray corridor, the swim meet, this moment of fragile domesticity. It all swirled together.

Tim’s gaze locked on her as he sat down next to her, but her eyes remained on her tea.

He wanted her. He wanted Ethan. He wanted the family they could be together. After seeing her break today, after comforting her in that corridor, after tucking their son into bed—the wanting had become almost unbearable. So why did it feel so impossible to just say it? Why was it so hard to close the space between them?

“You didn’t have to follow us home,” Lucy said softly, setting her mug on the coffee table and turning toward him.
“I know.” His gaze swept over her face, searching.

“I am glad you did,” she added, offering a small smile.

His expression was raw as his eyes met hers. "After this morning… I needed to make sure you were really okay."

He knew there had probably been moments like today before—times when she’d been underestimated or talked down to. The LAPD still wasn’t kind to women who stood their ground.

But he didn’t want to ask. Reliving it wouldn’t help.

After a beat of silence, Lucy spoke. "What Joe said—“

"Was garbage." Tim's voice hardened. "Every word of it. You know that, right?"

“Logically? Yes.” Her hands clenched and unclenched, a tell he’d learned to recognize. “But it still—”

“Got under your skin. I know.” 

He turned to face her fully, reaching for her hand. “Lucy, you’re the strongest person I know. What you’ve built for Ethan, for yourself—” His voice wavered, before he continued. “You turned something that could’ve broken you into the best part of your life. I don’t think I’ve ever admired anyone more.”

She felt the tremor in his hand, the fleeting vulnerability in his eyes, and it cracked open something in her own chest. There were words they’d never spoken, moments they’d never shared, and yet here they were, both exposed in the quiet that stretched between them. Fingers lightly brushing, hearts beating too loud to ignore.

“That last night," his voice rougher than he intended, scraping out of him like gravel, "when we were together… eight years ago. I received an email about my deployment."

Lucy’s lips parted in surprise at the sudden turn in the conversation. "I know," she replied softly, huffing out a breath. "I saw it on your phone."

He let out a long breath, the kind that seemed to drag years of weight with it. "I almost had second thoughts…about joining the army." The words felt foreign in his mouth, like they didn't belong to him until now.

Her eyes widened. “What?”

"I just…" His throat worked as he tried to find words, as though the confession had been locked away too long. "Knowing that I was breaking your heart almost broke something in me. And I was grasping for anything I could do, anything, to see the light back in your eyes again."

Lucy shook her head gently, cutting him off. "Tim, we were students. I still had two more years left to study. I never blamed you for leaving. We both…” she sighed before continuing. “We didn't think long-term back then. No matter how right it felt."

His chest tightened. Until you had to face it alone, he thought. He shifted a little closer, voice low, almost tentative. “Until everything changed for you—when you found out you were pregnant.” His eyes flicked to hers, searching, vulnerable. "How did that happen, Luce? I'm sure you said you were protected, before we even…"

At the nickname, her heart gave an involuntary flutter.

"It's been gnawing at me," he admitted, shaking his head. "Yes, you kept it from me… but I was just as responsible. And you were the one who bore the brunt of it.” His jaw tightened. "You carried everything alone. The pregnancy, the judgment, all of it."

Lucy's lips trembled, her eyes dropping to her lap. "I was on the pill, Tim. But that same night, the last night we were together… I—" she swallowed hard, memories clawing at her chest, "—with all that tequila, I don't know if I took it. I was so emotional, so wrapped up in… us."

"I know," he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly over her fingers—a tender reassurance that she didn't have to carry the guilt alone.

He couldn't blame her. He wouldn't.

Her voice softened, quiet as a prayer. "I could never regret that night… because it gave me Ethan."

The silence that followed wasn't heavy. It was alive, pulsing between them—grief and longing all tangled into one.

Tim’s chest clenched, hard. Ethan. The boy he’d just started knowing but already felt irrevocably connected to. The boy who had his stubborn chin, Lucy's warm smile, and all the laughter and life.

He swallowed, his voice low, unsteady. "Neither could I." His thumb continued brushing hers. "I—" he faltered, breath catching, "I can't even imagine my life without him now. And I didn't even know he existed until a few weeks ago."

Lucy blinked, startled by his raw honesty.

"I look at him," Tim continued, gaze fixed somewhere past her shoulder as though admitting it directly might undo him. "He's…" He exhaled, shaking his head. "I didn't even know it was possible to feel this much love."

Her throat tightened, tears pricking her eyes at the sight of this man whose gaze was now stripped bare, all defenses gone.

"You carried him, raised him, loved him… without me. I'll always wish that I had been there for him, for you through these years." His voice cracked. "But Lucy—I need you to know… I don't regret him either. Not one second. Because he's ours."

The weight of the day—Joe's cruelty, the courthouse humiliation, the exhaustion of seven years fighting alone—all of it seemed to recede under the conviction of those tender words.

Lucy's breath hitched, and for a moment, neither of them moved.

Tim slowly released her hand, raising it to cup her cheek, his fingers moving to brush the single tear at the corner of her eye. His thumb stroked the soft skin there as she leaned into his touch briefly, eyes closing at the gentle warmth of his palm.

Lucy's exhaled shakily as she opened her eyes, meeting his, her voice quiet but steady.

"I used to wonder… if you would've loved him the way I do. If he was going to have your strength, your patience, your…determination.” A faint, teary smile curved her lips. "And now I know. You do. He does. He's had those pieces of you in him all along."

Her fingers lifted, curling lightly around his wrist where his palm cradled her cheek. "You didn't miss everything, Tim. He has you now. That's what matters."

Tim grew still—except to draw in a sharp breath.

She’d robbed him of years he couldn’t get back.

He’d left her to face them alone.

And somehow, they were both still here—trying to make it right. For themselves, and for Ethan.

For a long moment, they simply existed in that space—raw and uncertain, but no longer quite so alone in it. Tim’s eyes held hers, and she wondered if he felt it too, the way something between them had quietly shifted.

The buzz of his phone against the table made them both startle. Tim blinked, as if surfacing from somewhere deep, and withdrew his hand. He rubbed the back of his neck, not quite meeting her eyes anymore.

Lucy immediately missed the warmth of his fingers. She lifted her mug of tea, only to find it too cold to drink, and set it back on the table.

“I’ll make a move,” he said, standing. “Early shift tomorrow.”

Lucy nodded and rose as well, following him to the door, waiting as he shrugged on his jacket.

He reached for the handle to open the front door—and in that instant, all she wanted was for him to stay. To hold her.

She hastened to close the distance between them, pushing away all the voices that told her to hold on to caution, to not want more than she should.

She pressed her face into his jacket-clad back. The comfort that engulfed her was immediate, overwhelming.

Tim’s hand froze mid-reach when he felt her—the pressure of her forehead against his back, the softness of her body against his. Every muscle in his body went rigid with the effort of not moving, not turning, not doing anything that might make her pull away.

Inhaling deeply, breathing in the scent of him—coffee and leather and something uniquely Tim—she folded her arms around her front and leaned in further, turning her face to rest her cheek against his back.

"Thanks," she whispered, voice muffled by the jacket. "For being there today."

Tim felt the subtle heave of her chest against his spine, the slight tremor in her body that she was trying so hard to hide.

Her whispered 'thanks' undid something in him.

She felt the deep breath he took, his shoulders rising and falling beneath her cheek. And before she knew it, he was turning, his arms coming around her as her own rose to his chest.

Tim gathered her close, one hand splaying across her back, the other cradling her head, fingers threading gently through her hair. He held her the way he'd wanted to in that corridor but couldn't—completely, protectively, as if he could shield her from every cruel word, every judgment, every moment of loneliness she'd endured.

Lucy melted into him, one arm wrapping around his waist, the other pressed flat against his chest. The steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her ear was grounding, real, safe.

"You don't have to thank me," Tim murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "I'm here for you, Luce."

She nodded against his chest, not trusting her voice. His warmth surrounded her, chasing away the cold that Joe's words had left behind.

Tim rested his cheek against the top of her head, breathing in the citrus scent of her shampoo, the faint vanilla of whatever lotion she used. His thumb traced slow, absent circles against her back, a silent promise that he wasn't going anywhere.

Lucy had felt like she was falling apart today.

But she couldn't. Not in front of them, not in front of Ethan. 

But now, with Tim, she finally could.

Her hand fisted in his shirt, the button pressing against her fingers.

Tim's arms tightened fractionally, drawing her impossibly closer. No words were necessary. 

For a moment, they just stood there in the quiet entryway, wrapped in each other. The day's pain hadn't vanished—Joe's words still stung, the whispers would continue, the battles would keep coming—but here, in this moment, none of it could touch them.

Tim drew back, barely, his hands coming up to cup her face. His thumbs brushed across her cheekbone and his eyes held a warmth that made her chest ache in the best way. "I am going to be there for you, Lucy. Always. Whatever comes next—we face it together."

Lucy nodded, leaning into his palm. "Together," she echoed softly.

He pulled her back into him then, and she came willingly, tucking herself against his chest.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head, lingering there for a heartbeat, then two.

"I should let you get some rest," he said, though his arms made no move to release her.

"Mm hmm," she murmured against him, but she didn't step away, wasn't ready to let the moment dissolve just yet. 

They stood there in the dim light of the entryway, swaying slightly, holding each other through the aftermath of a day that had tested them—both of them. 

The path ahead was still uncertain, but here—with her face against his chest, his chin resting on her head—there was no doubt. It felt like the start of something. Even if it was fragile, it was real.

——-

Lucy woke to sunlight streaming through her bedroom window—and the courthouse came rushing back. Joe's sneer. The imagined whispers. That cold gray corridor. 

She braced for the knot of anxiety that always twisted her stomach on such mornings. 

But it was... duller than expected. What filled the space instead was something she didn’t quite recognize—soft, tentative, but warm. 

She'd actually slept through the night. No nightmares. No lying awake replaying every cruel word Joe had thrown at her. 

Tim’s face flickered through her mind—his quiet strength in that corridor, his cheers at Ethan’s swim meet, the way he’d held her at the door like he wanted to protect her from everything. The memory of his arms—solid and comforting—seemed to have chased away the worst of the shadows.

She pushed back the covers, drawing a steady breath as she swung her legs off the bed. Ethan needed breakfast, and there was a case waiting at the precinct. 

Life didn't pause for stolen moments in doorways, she reminded herself. 

Even if those moments were all she would think about for the rest of the day.

——-

Tim was at her desk within minutes of her arrival at the precinct later that morning, quickly dropping off a cup of coffee. Lucy didn't even blink as she took the cup—it seemed like it was part of their routine now. She did smile briefly in acknowledgment though, as his eyes searched hers.

"I'm okay," she mouthed silently, in reply to his unspoken question. He nodded, lingering for just a beat longer before heading off to roll call. Her eyes remained on his broad shoulders as he walked away.

The rest of the week passed in a blur as Lucy kept up with her casework and Ethan’s school schedule—and with a certain sergeant who continued to surprise her with tiny gestures that warmed her heart.

On Wednesday, when Tim came over with coffee, she was frowning at a case file. He moved to stand behind her, reading over her shoulder.

"Break-in, east-facing window, residential neighborhood off Wilshire," he murmured, scanning the details. "Victim was out of town, alarm disabled from the inside panel." He paused. "I remember something like this—same MO, same neighborhood, maybe two years back."

Before she could respond, he leaned over her to access her computer, one hand braced on her desk, as he typed in the search parameters. His arm brushed against her shoulder, and Lucy immediately became conscious of his proximity, the faint scent of his soap.

"That's the one," he said, as the old case file appeared on screen. "It was unsolved back then, but maybe you'll find a connection."

"Thanks," Lucy managed, her voice a little unsteady. "That helps."

As he straightened, he seemed to realize how close he'd been standing. Clearing his throat, he stepped back. “Okay, um… I’ll get going,” he said, almost awkwardly, before walking to the briefing room.

Lucy took a breath, trying to refocus on the case file, but the flutter in her chest refused to settle.

The next morning, she arrived at the precinct to find her coffee waiting in a vacuum flask on her desk. Her phone pinged right on cue—a message from Tim.

Have to go to HQ for a meeting today. Probably be back late. Enjoy your coffee. And your day.

She smiled and typed out a quick thanks, then debated with herself on whether to add a hug emoji. Finally giving in, she added it and hit send before she could second-guess herself. Taking a sip from the flask, she felt the warmth spread through her chest. He hadn't wanted to miss their coffee routine, even if he wasn't going to be at the precinct.

She didn’t know when it had happened—when small gestures had become the rhythm of her day—but it had. And it scared her how much she missed him when he wasn’t around.

——-

Lucy couldn’t wait for Friday morning to arrive. A single day without seeing Tim had left her oddly restless. Her eyes scanned the bullpen—his desk, Grey's office, the briefing room. Disappointment started to creep in as she turned toward her desk, only to find him waiting there.

His eyes were knowing, holding hers for a beat longer than necessary. He'd noticed the way she'd been looking for him.

She walked over, forcing herself to sound casual. "Good morning," she said, picking up the coffee he’d brought along.

"Morning," he replied, then paused, as if debating something.

Lucy looked at him questioningly.

"I have to travel this weekend," he said finally. "Sheriff's department training conference in San Diego—they need a supervisor from our division to attend. I'll be back Sunday evening."

"Oh." She tried not to look crestfallen, but knew she'd failed when his expression softened.

"We'll make plans next weekend," he said. "I want to see Ethan."

She nodded. "Of course."

He lingered, gaze dropping to his coffee before lifting to meet hers again. “So about that text yesterday…”

The teasing glint in his eyes gave him away before he spoke again.

“Are emoji hugs the only kind you’re giving out?” His voice had gone low, warm.

Lucy arched a brow, a smile playing at her lips, despite her disappointment over his weekend plans.. “You actually knew what that meant?”

He gave a mock-offended shrug. “Of course I did.” Then, after a beat, his mouth twitched. “Okay… maybe I looked it up.”

He’d had to, though he’d never admit it—at first, he’d honestly wondered why she was sending him jazz hands.

A soft laugh escaped her before she could stop it. “You googled my emoji?”

Keeping his expression neutral, he leaned in just slightly, lowering his voice. “Wanted to make sure I was reading you right."

He paused before adding, "Virtual hugs are nice… not as nice as…” He let the sentence hang, unfinished, the warmth in his tone doing the rest.

Lucy felt her cheeks warm. "Are you asking for the real thing, Sergeant Bradford?"

"Maybe." The corner of his mouth quirked up. "Depends on the answer."

She glanced around the bullpen—Grey was in his office, Angela and Nyla were by the coffee station, no one paying attention.

Still, this was work.

"I think that would require less of an audience," she said softly.

His smile widened, private and warm. "Rain check, then."

"Rain check," she echoed.

He held her gaze for another moment—long enough that her heart did a small flip—before walking away.

——-

On Sunday morning, Lucy and Ethan went cycling along the Marvin Braude Bike Trail in Santa Monica, renting bikes near the pier and riding along the ocean.

The sun was bright, the breeze cool and salty, and Ethan's laughter as he raced ahead made her heart feel lighter than it had in days.

She snapped a selfie of them both—windswept hair, huge grins, the Pacific stretching blue behind them—and sent it to Tim.

Missing out on some serious competition here. Ethan's beating me.

His reply came within minutes: Looks like I need to up my game. Tell him I expect a rematch next weekend.

She smiled, typing back: He'll hold you to that.

Good, Tim responded. Then, after a few seconds: You look happy.

Lucy's fingers hovered over the keyboard. 

She had kept her mind off the courthouse ordeal this past week, focusing on the things that mattered—Ethan, Tim, and the quiet certainty growing between them.

I am, she typed finally. Hope your conference isn't too boring.

It's exactly as boring as you'd expect, came his reply. I'd rather be there with you two.

Her chest warmed. She sent back a simple heart emoji—bold for her, but it felt right.

His response was immediate: Soon.

Ethan circled back on his bike, calling, "Mom! Come on!"

She tucked her phone away, smiling, and pedaled after him.

---

Chapter Text

Lucy looked at the blur of Monday morning traffic, fingers drumming absently on the steering wheel as the car idled at a red light. The weekend had felt longer than it should have, even though she’d tried to fill it—taking Ethan cycling, keeping busy. She hadn’t realized how much she’d gotten used to Tim being around until he wasn’t.

Ethan sat in the backseat, chin propped on his backpack. Out of nowhere, he piped up, “Do you think Coach Tim might’ve liked to come cycling with us yesterday?”

Lucy glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “Yeah, I’m sure he would have. But he wasn’t in L.A.—he was traveling over the weekend.”

“He’s been coming around a lot lately, right?” Ethan said thoughtfully.

“Mm-hmm, he has,” Lucy replied carefully, not sure where he was going with this.

Ethan shifted, fiddling with the strap of his bag. “Remember when he came to my swim meet last week? When I did the flip, he cheered so loud the lifeguard turned around. Everyone probably heard it.”

Lucy caught his wide grin in the mirror. “Yeah, that was hard to miss.”

“Then he said my turn was incredible—like I was some pro swimmer.”

Lucy smiled. “He wasn’t wrong. You were the fastest one in your lane.”

That got a small, proud grin out of Ethan. He kicked his heels against the seat. “I showed him my rocks too. When he came to my room that night, you know?”

Lucy nodded, letting him know she was listening.

“He knew the difference between granite and basalt without even looking it up,” Ethan said, equal parts impressed and baffled.

Lucy raised her brows. “That impressed you, huh?”

“Yeah. Most grown-ups just smile and nod. But he asked where I found them.”

“That’s because he actually cares about the answer,” Lucy said, her voice soft with affection.

Ethan went quiet for a moment, watching the cars slip past. Then, with a small, thoughtful shrug, he said, “I like him. He’s nice.”

Lucy’s chest warmed at the honesty in his tone. “Yeah,” she agreed quietly, eyes flicking back to the road as the light turned green. “He is.”

Ethan nodded as if that settled it, his gaze drifting back out the window. A beat later, he added almost absently, “Wonder if he knows about obsidian too.”

Lucy didn’t say anything—just let the moment sit, her heart full in a way she hadn’t expected.

——

When Lucy walked into the precinct—her steps were light, as she recalled the conversation with Ethan about Tim and how easily the boy was warming up to him.

The day seemed to get even better when she spotted the now-familiar cup of coffee waiting at her desk, still steaming. Tim must have just dropped it off, she thought, unable to stop the tiny thrill that ran through her.

Her eyes scanned the bullpen, trying to catch sight of him without being obvious, until finally she spotted him at Nolan’s desk, deep in conversation. As her gaze lingered, he turned, meeting her eyes as if sensing her attention. She sent a bright smile his way.

Tim excused himself from Nolan and walked over, lips curving upward. “Good morning,” he said.

“It is, isn’t it?” Lucy replied, feeling the familiar flip in her stomach as he drew closer.

He raised his eyebrows, eyes twinkling. He didn’t question her mood; he was simply glad to see her like this. He’d missed their shared coffee, the easy banter—the way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she worked.

For a few minutes, they stood quietly, watching each other—until the sharp slam of a drawer somewhere in the bullpen pulled them back to reality.

Tim gestured toward her untouched coffee. “This is dangerous… you look way too happy before caffeine.”

Lucy tilted her head, smiling a little. “Well, if you were trying to play it safe, you wouldn’t be at my desk every morning.”

Tim leaned just a little closer. “Someone has to make sure you start your day right,” he said softly, then added with a nearly cheeky tone, “All in the line of duty.”

Lucy shook her head in amusement, lifting the coffee to her lips.

“Speaking of… duty…” Tim continued, sliding his phone out of his pocket and holding it out to her.

On the screen were three different car seats, each with a neat bullet list of specs beneath them.

She blinked, surprised. “What’s this?”

“Booster seats,” Tim said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Figured it’s time I got one for my truck. That way Ethan can ride with me sometimes.”

Her heart skipped a beat. He said it so casually, but the meaning behind it was anything but.

She swallowed, suddenly aware of how close he’d leaned in to show her the phone, the faint scent of soap and leather clinging to him. Her voice came out softer than intended. “That one’s fine,” she said, pointing quickly to the middle option.

“Yeah?” He didn’t move back right away. His gaze held hers, as if listening for more in her tone than just the words.

Lucy nodded, breath catching. “Yeah.”

The silence stretched between them, until Lopez's voice broke through it.

"You two shopping together now?" Angela asked, amusement clear in her tone as she strolled over with Nyla. Her gaze flicked pointedly to the checkout page on Tim's phone screen.

Lucy nearly choked on her own breath, ducking her head to hide her flush.

Nyla arched a brow, voice dry. “Tell me I’m not the only one who’s noticed Sergeant Bradford’s been spending a suspicious amount of time by the detectives’ desks lately.”

Tim didn't flinch. Calm, deliberate, he slid his phone back into his pocket. "We need to buy something for our son," he said simply.

Lucy froze. Her heart thudded so hard she was sure they could all hear it.

Our son.

He'd said it before, Lucy thought—soft and raw in the quiet between just the two of them.

But this? This was different. This was public. In front of colleagues—heck, the whole station was within earshot.

He wasn't hiding it. Wasn't hesitating. 

‘Our son’ Lucy whispered to herself - the words spreading through her like warmth through her veins. She tried to suppress the smile tugging at her lips, but it broke through anyway.

Angela's mouth curved upwards as she gave them a knowing look. "Look at you two—co-parenting already."

Nyla's eyes widened slightly as Angela's words landed.

Oh.

Her gaze flicked between Angela and Lucy, then to Tim. The steadiness with which he returned her gaze was all the confirmation she needed.

So that's why, Nyla thought. There was history between Tim and Lucy—the way they moved around each other, finished each other's sentences, the tension that wasn't just professional—it all made sense now.
Good for them, she thought. She liked them both, and they deserved to be happy.

Nyla smiled at Lucy before walking away with Angela.

Tim straightened, his expression neutral for anyone watching. But inside, a quiet certainty settled deep within him. He'd crossed a line—not just thinking it, not just saying it in private, but declaring it, for everyone to hear.

Lucy bent over her report, but the smile refused to fade.

He'd meant it.

After a beat, she looked up at him. "So now Grey knows, Caradine knows, Lopez and Harper know."

Tim shrugged, the gesture casual but deliberate. So what?

Lucy’s mind briefly went back to their hug last week—the way she’d clung to him and he’d held her close without hesitation. She thought of Caradine’s warning about workplace romances, the complications that could follow.

They’d cross that bridge when they came to it, she decided, not wanting anything to ruin her mood today.

Tim leaned against the edge of her desk, but something shifted in his expression as he studied her face. He caught the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, the brief tension in her shoulders.

“Lucy?” he asked quietly, his voice low enough that only she could hear. “All okay?”

They hadn’t spoken about the courthouse incident since that day, and Tim didn’t know if it still lingered in her mind.

She met his gaze steadily, reading the concern there. Her smile was small but sure, a silent reassurance. “I’m fine,” she said softly. It was the truth.

Tim’s eyes searched hers for another beat, making sure, then he nodded. The worry in his expression eased, replaced by something warmer.

“So, what’s Ethan been up to?” he asked, shifting gears but keeping his voice gentle.

Lucy looked up, grateful for the change in subject. “Busy with swim practice and school,” she said matter-of-factly. “And his social life is busier than mine, trust me—so many friends, playdates, birthday parties.”

Tim’s smile deepened.

A beat passed, and then she added, “By the way, you earned some serious brownie points with Ethan—Mr. Knows-the-Difference-Between-Basalt-and-Granite.”

Tim looked genuinely pleased and only a little smug. “Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm,” Lucy confirmed, though her smile turned wry. “Heads-up though—better brush up on obsidian before you meet him again.”

Tim’s smile broadened, full-blown this time. “Noted.” He tapped a finger against the file on her desk, then glanced at her sidelong. “So… when are we meeting again?”

The question landed heavier than the teasing tone suggested. Lucy blinked, caught off guard. Her chest tightened. She wanted him in every part of her life, but they still had to be careful. They still had to tell Ethan.

She forced a light shrug. “I… don’t know. Let’s plan to… soon.”

But her eyes betrayed her, lingering on him, soft with a longing she couldn’t quite disguise. I wish it could be all the time, she thought. Soon, hopefully.

Tim read it anyway—read her as easily as he always did. His expression didn’t waver, didn’t press, but there was something reassuring in his gaze.

Soon, he thought. Not hope. A promise.

——

Tim stood at the coffee machine, watching the dark liquid stream into his cup, just as Angela rounded the corner with her own empty mug and came up beside him with casual ease.

”Hey, Sarge," she said, waiting for the machine to free up.

He glanced at her, then back to his coffee. “Angela."

She leaned against the counter, studying him for a moment with that knowing look she always got. "So. You and Lucy.”

Tim's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "There's no 'me and Lucy,'" he said evenly, keeping his voice low. 

Yet, he added silently to himself.

Angela rolled her eyes, hard. "I'm not Grey or Caradine. I'm not going to read you the LAPD policy." 

She stepped forward as the machine beeped, positioning her mug under the dispenser. "I'm just saying it's nice to see you both like this. You look…happier.”

Tim didn't respond immediately. He stirred his coffee with more attention than necessary, the metal spoon clinking softly against ceramic.

"It's complicated," he said finally, his voice rough.

"Yeah, well, complicated is better than whatever you were before." She pulled her mug back, letting the coffee settle. "Lucy's good people. She deserves good people. And you..." She took a sip of her coffee, assessing him. "You're trying. That matters.”

Tim looked at her then, something raw flickering across his face before he covered it. "We're taking it slow. There's Ethan. There's a lot to figure out."

Angela took a sip of her coffee, then asked quietly, "Does Ethan know?"

Tim's jaw clenched. "Not yet."

"But soon?"

He nodded slowly. "Yeah. Soon. We're... working through some things first, but yeah." He exhaled, something vulnerable crossing his face before he covered it. "I'm nervous about how he'll take it. But I'm looking forward to it too."

Angela studied him for a moment. “He’s lucky to have you,” she said, her smile genuine and knowing.

She moved to leave, then paused. "And for what it's worth? What happens between you two is your business. Not the bullpen's. Not the brass's." She shot him a meaningful look. "You deserve that. Don't overthink it."

Tim nodded, the smallest gesture of acknowledgment, and watched her walk back toward her desk.

Angela was right. Whatever this was with Lucy, however complicated, however uncertain—it was good.

——

Over the next couple of days, Tim and Lucy barely saw each other.

Lucy had a new hit-and-run case that had consumed her—she'd barely been to the precinct, out chasing leads that went nowhere. Meanwhile, Tim had been swallowed by back-to-back patrol shifts and the paperwork that came with them. They'd crossed paths once in the hallway, just long enough for a look, not long enough for anything more. 

They’d exchanged a few texts - but it wasn’t much. 

Late one evening, Lucy glanced at the clock on the wall, then at the half-empty bullpen.

Tim wasn't back yet. 

She wasn’t going to pretend—even to herself—that she wasn’t waiting for him.

Her eyes kept drifting to his desk. She finally gathered her bag with a sigh and made her way out.

The night air was cooler than expected as she stepped out into the parking lot, the streetlights casting long, golden shadows. She had almost reached her car when headlights swept across the asphalt.

Tim's truck.

He pulled in and parked, moving slower than usual, exhaustion etched in the lines around his mouth. But when he saw her standing there, his whole expression softened.

"Hey," he said, voice low, roughened by fatigue.

"Hey yourself." Her smile came easily, though her heart gave a small, traitorous flutter. "Long day?"

He huffed a small laugh. "You could say that."

"I was just heading out," she said. "Didn't think you'd still be working."

"Paperwork," he said. "You know how it is."

They fell into step together as he walked her toward her car, staying close enough that she could feel the quiet warmth radiating from him. Neither rushed the moment.

"But I'm glad I caught you," he added after a beat.

She tilted her head, curious. "Yeah?"

He gave a small shrug, his gaze holding hers. "Makes my day feel less long."

She blinked at that—an unguarded, honest admission—and felt something warm unfold in her chest.

Tim looked a little taken aback himself, like he hadn't meant to say it out loud. Lucy had a way of drawing things out of him—stuff he wouldn't even admit to himself until the words were already spoken. He shifted his weight as they reached her car, clearing his throat.

"So… are we meeting this weekend?" he asked.

"Well…" she began, and there was a weariness in the gesture as she counted on her fingers. "Ethan has two birthday parties, swim practice, another science project with his friend Danny—and book club. That's a new one!" she said.

"And I'm probably forgetting something," she finished with a wry shrug, pulling out her phone to check her calendar.

Tim’s brow lifted slightly, a brief smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He shook his head with mock disbelief, warmth in his eyes as he wondered how she managed to keep track of it all.

"What about Saturday morning?" she offered, her voice carrying a note of hope that made his chest tighten.

"I already set up a coaching session for the older kids at the park," he said, his voice tinged with regret. "It's too late to cancel, and they've got a game coming up—they need the practice."

She looked up at him briefly. "This weekend looks a little tricky, Tim," she said, regret threading through her voice.

He shrugged, trying to mask the disappointment, but she saw it anyway.

"You know," she said, her tone gentle, "you could just drop by for dinner any evening. After your shift."

He smiled—a slow, private smile meant only for her. "Sure. I'll give you a call if I get done early."

But they both knew the chances were slim.

He saw her start chewing her bottom lip, the tiny hesitation, the mental dance she was doing to figure out a way to make it work. His chest tightened, knowing exactly what she was thinking.

"Don't worry so much," he said, his voice light and reassuring. "I can always take a day off and be with him."
And with you, he added silently.

She nodded as she leaned back against her car, her cheeks warm, realizing just how easily he could read her.

Her eyes remained on him, and for a moment, neither spoke. Both reluctant to break the silence, they simply stood there, suspended in the quiet hum between them. Without the bustle of the bullpen, the teasing colleagues, the noise of their usual environment, the closeness felt sharper. More intimate.

Without thinking, their hands rose at the same time. Fingers brushed, then interlaced, gentle yet electric.

"This is harder than I thought," she admitted softly, the words slipping out before she could stop them. "Trying to find time. Trying to make this work around everything else."

He stepped closer. "I know," he murmured, his voice rough with understanding. "But Lucy—we're going to figure it out."

She couldn't look away as his eyes held hers with such intensity, such certainty, that it made her breath catch.

He lifted their entwined hands, bringing it to his chest, pressing her fist against his heart. The steady thrum beneath her hand was real—a silent promise.

Her fingers tightened around his, unwilling to let go.

"I should let you get home," he whispered finally, though he made no move to step away. "To Ethan."

She nodded slowly, but held on to his hand.

When he finally stepped back, his hand lingered against hers for just a heartbeat longer before releasing it—an unspoken acknowledgment of how difficult it was to break contact.

She opened her car door, then turned back. He stood there, still watching her with that same intensity.

"I'll call you," he said.

"Yeah," she replied softly. "You will."

As she drove home, his touch remained with her—the warmth of his hand, his heartbeat against her fingers, the intensity of his gaze. 

She found herself smiling at red lights, replaying the moment in the parking lot, the way their hands had found each other without thought, the way he'd understood her before she could even speak.

There was a spring in her step as she took the stairs instead of the elevator, up to her apartment. By the time she reached the door, the warmth had settled into her bones. The constant exhaustion, the weight of juggling everything alone—it all felt lighter somehow, infused with a joy she hadn't let herself feel in a long time.

Ethan looked up from his comic as she came through the door, and without a word, she scooped him into her arms. She held him tight, burying her face in his hair, breathing him in as if she could pour some of that bubbling happiness into him.

"Mom, you're squishing me," he laughed, but he held on just as tight.

She pressed a kiss to the top of his head, unable to stop smiling. For the first time in years, she felt entirely, completely happy. 

And it was because of a few stolen moments in a parking lot, a touch, a look, words unspoken but understood. 

It was because of Tim.

---

Chapter Text

On Saturday morning, Tim was coaching his basketball team of older kids at the park near Lucy’s house when his phone buzzed.

“Hey,” Lucy said when he answered. “I know you said you’re busy, but can we talk for a minute?”

“Sure,” Tim replied, signaling to his team to run the drill again. He stepped aside, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

“So, Ethan’s book club got cancelled,” Lucy said. “And I have an errand to run. I was thinking... if you wanted to meet. I mean, if that’s okay. I know you really wanted to see him and—”

Tim cut her off gently. “Of course I want to. And it’s completely okay. You can drop him off at the park near your house, I’m here with my junior team. He can watch for a bit or play on the swings. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“Okay,” Lucy said, smiling. “Maybe in twenty minutes.”

She hung up and set her phone on the kitchen counter, glad they’d get to spend some time together. She quickly packed a snack box for Ethan—a sandwich, orange segments, and some almonds. Before she could stop herself, she made another for Tim too, smiling softly as she added water bottles and napkins to a small bag.

“I have to go see Grandma and Grandpa,” she told Ethan. “You can spend some time at the park.”

Ethan perked up immediately. “Sure, Mom.” Peeking into the bag, he frowned. “I can’t eat all that!”

Lucy blushed. “It’s for Tim,” she admitted. “He’s coaching his team at the park.”

“Oh. Coach will be there?” Ethan’s grin widened. “That’s cool! I like watching the older kids play.”

Lucy smiled, dabbing sunscreen on his face as he grimaced at the smell. Once he’d pulled on his cap, they headed out.

As she parked near the playground, Lucy heard the echo of basketballs hitting pavement and the shouts of kids running drills. Then she spotted Tim—sweaty, focused, commanding on the court. 

Hot and sweaty… and very… hot, she caught herself thinking. Okay, stop, Lucy.

Ethan ran ahead to greet him, and Tim’s expression softened. He gestured for Ethan to sit on the grass, then looked up, spotting Lucy.

He walked toward her, admiring how the yellow top and flowing skirt caught the morning light—like sunshine itself.

“There’s some extra in there,” Lucy said a little nervously, handing over the snack bag. “In case you wanted to eat.”

“Thanks,” Tim said, his voice warm, eyes twinkling. He set the bag on a nearby bench. “I’m glad you brought him by.”

His gaze shifted toward Ethan, who was watching the older boys with bright-eyed curiosity.

“Sure,” Lucy said. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

“Okay.”

She nodded, waved to Ethan, and walked back toward her car. She had something important to do today.

——-

As the last of Tim’s players jogged off with their parents, Ethan hopped up from the grass, a basketball already in hand.

“Those were some cool moves!” he said eagerly, his blue eyes shining with excitement. “Can I try them?”

Tim grabbed a towel, wiped his forehead, and smiled. “Of course. But we need to get the basics down pat first. Remember the footwork drill?”

They moved to the hoop, where a few cones were still set up from practice.

“Start here,” Tim said, pointing to the first cone. “Dribble through, nice and controlled. Keep the ball at your side—don’t let it wander.”

Ethan nodded, face set with concentration—the same focus Tim had seen in their backyard sessions. He dribbled through the course, and Tim watched closely.

“Better,” Tim said. “Your right hand’s getting stronger. Now pivot at the end cone and take the shot.”

Ethan squared his feet, planted firmly, and shot. The ball bounced off the rim. He groaned.

“You’re rushing it,” Tim said gently. He demonstrated the motion slowly, emphasizing the pause before release. “See? Plant, breathe, then shoot. You’ve got good form—just trust it.”

Ethan tried again. This time, the ball swished through cleanly, and his whole face lit up.

“There it is.” Tim grinned, raising a hand for a high-five. “That’s what happens when you slow down and do it right.”

They ran through several more rounds, Ethan improving with each one. Every successful shot brought a spark of pride, and Tim found himself quietly invested in those small victories.

When Ethan’s breathing grew heavy, Tim nodded toward the bench where Lucy’s snack boxes waited. “Let’s take a break.”

They sat down, and Tim watched as Ethan opened the container. Everything inside was neatly arranged—a sandwich, some fruit and nuts. He smiled to himself before glancing at Ethan, who was already reaching for an orange slice.

“Here,” Ethan offered him the other box, as he swung his legs, not quite reaching the ground. “She packed extra for you.”

Tim smiled. “She’s thoughtful.”

For a few moments, they ate in comfortable silence, watching the park. A few kids played tag under the trees, their laughter drifting through the air.

“Coach?” Ethan said suddenly. “Do you think you’ll keep teaching me?”

Tim set down his water bottle, meeting the boy’s eyes. There was something deeper in the question—something that wasn’t just about basketball. He thought of Lucy, of her trust in him. And of the promise he’d made to himself long ago—that no child under his care would ever doubt they mattered.

“Yeah, buddy. I’d like that,” he said softly. “You’re a good student, and you’re getting better every time.”

Ethan’s face lit up. “Really?”

“Really. But you’ve got to keep practicing—even when I’m not here. Work on your footwork, your breathing. Small things add up.”

Ethan nodded seriously, taking it to heart.

After a beat, Tim said, “So your mom said you’re going to a birthday party this weekend?”

“Yeah!” Ethan’s voice brightened instantly. “It’s my friend Danny’s birthday today. The party’s in the evening!”

Tim nodded, listening.

“And tomorrow it’s my classmate Mila’s birthday too,” Ethan went on. “I like Danny because we talk about science and rock collections—he’s got this amazing fossil set. But I like Mila too, even though she’s nothing like Danny. She’s funny, plays the keyboard, and knows all the country flags. I think she’s cool.”

Tim smiled faintly at the flood of details—Danny’s fossils, Mila’s flags, the upcoming parties.

“Sounds like you’ve got quite the weekend ahead,” Tim said, keeping his tone even but warm. “And good friends too.”

Ethan grinned, pleased that Tim was paying attention. The two of them sat in easy silence, watching the park around them—sunlight filtering through the trees, the faint echo of laughter carrying on the breeze.

———

The clink of porcelain echoed faintly as her mother set a third teacup of chamomile tea on the table. Steam rose from the bamboo baskets in the center, the faint aroma of ginger and garlic filling the room, smelling like comfort wrapped in familiarity, but Lucy’s stomach was a tight knot.

Her father folded his paper with deliberate neatness and looked at her over the rim of his glasses. “You’ve got that look, Lucy. The one that says you’re about to drop something heavy.”

She drew a breath, steadying herself. “There’s something I should’ve told you years ago. About Ethan. About his father.”

Her mother’s brows pinched together, wary. “You said there was nothing to tell. That he wasn’t in the picture.”

Lucy nodded, throat tight. “That’s what I let you believe. But the truth is… I met him in college. He wasn’t a student there, he was visiting for a game—he played basketball for Michigan.” A faint, almost wistful smile crossed her lips. “We connected, in a way I’d never felt before. But we were young. He was about to graduate, and then deploy with the army. Neither of us thought long term.”

Her father’s voice was even. “And when you found out you were pregnant?”

Lucy’s hands tightened around her napkin. “I didn’t tell him. I thought… if I did, he’d feel like he had to stay. Out of obligation. And I didn’t want that for either of us.”

Her father leaned back, studying her. “So you decided you would shoulder everything alone.”

“Yes,” Lucy admitted, barely above a whisper.

His jaw worked, the lines around his mouth deepening. “All this time, I thought the man had refused to be part of your lives. I’ve resented him for it—hated him, if I’m honest. But he never even knew.” His eyes flicked to hers, pained. “You could have discussed this decision with us back then, Lucy.”

Lucy’s gaze softened, but she didn’t flinch. She gave him a look that carried both regret and quiet resolve. What’s done is done, it seemed to say. “I thought I knew best,” she admitted quietly. “In retrospect… I’m second-guessing every decision I made.”

Her mother exhaled, arms folding across her chest. “Then why now? Why are you telling us this after all these years?”

Lucy drew in a steadying breath. “Because I met him again. Recently. At the LAPD.”

Her mother gave a short, almost wry laugh, though her eyes were damp. “All these years, you were so tight-lipped about him. Somewhere in my mind, I imagined he was some criminal you couldn’t even name. And all this time… he was a soldier. And now a cop?”

Lucy blinked hard. “His name is Tim Bradford. He’s an LAPD sergeant now.”

Her mother’s brows rose. “And is he the one you’ve been going on dinner dates with?”

“What?” her father cut in sharply, looking from one to the other.

“It wasn’t really a date,” Lucy said quickly, flustered. “I went because I had to come clean about Ethan. Ever since I met him again, I knew he had to be told. He’s… a good man. He’ll be a good father. He deserved to know.”

Her father’s voice was low, measured. “And you’ve told him?”

Lucy swallowed. “Before I could, he found out. The day we couldn’t find Ethan at the swimming pool.”

Her mother tilted her head, her tone thoughtful. “Was he the tall cop standing near you when I arrived at the precinct that day?”

“Yes. Probably. He was upset, of course… that I’d kept this from him.”

“Obviously,” her father muttered, his disapproval quiet but cutting.

“But he wants to be part of Ethan’s life,” Lucy pressed gently. “And he’s trying—really trying.”

Her mother’s gaze sharpened. “And what about your life, Lucy?”

Lucy hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “We haven’t really talked about that yet. Right now, we’re focusing on Tim bonding with Ethan. Ethan’s with him at the park as we speak—they’re playing basketball together.”

Her father’s jaw flexed. “I hope you know what you’re doing this time. Letting them build a bond without knowing if this is permanent—it will affect Ethan. Have you even told him who Tim is?”

Lucy met his gaze head-on. “Not yet. But we will. When the time is right.” Her voice steadied. “I know you’ll always worry, Dad. And I promise—Tim will be there for Ethan. No matter what happens between him and me.”

Her father studied her, then gave a short, grudging nod. It wasn’t approval, not really—but it wasn’t rejection either.

Her mother sighed, softer now. “I sound like a broken record, but Ethan deserves a whole family.”

“One thing at a time, Mom,” Lucy said quietly. “The last few weeks have been overwhelming. But I’m… hopeful.”

Her mother studied her for a long moment, then nodded. “Hopeful is good. It’s a start.”

The meal wound down in a quieter rhythm. When Lucy stood to leave, her mother packed two containers of dumplings, tucking it into a bag.

“I packed some for Ethan. And for Tim, too. If he’s going to be in your boy’s life, he might as well get a taste of this family.”

Lucy let out a shaky laugh, relief threading through the ache in her chest. “Thanks, Mom.”

———-

When Lucy pulled up by the park, the afternoon sun had dipped just enough to soften the light. She spotted Tim and Ethan near the hoop—Ethan’s arms flailing as another shot bounced off the rim, while Tim laughed, reaching out to ruffle his hair.

She smiled to herself as she walked over. “Hey, you two.”

Ethan spun around. “Mom! Coach says I’m getting better!”

“I can tell,” Lucy said, her gaze flicking to Tim. “You look like you’ve been running a full game.”

Tim chuckled, towel draped around his neck. “He’s got energy to spare. Might have to recruit him for my next team.”

Lucy laughed, then noticed Ethan’s bare head. “Wait—where’s your cap?”

Ethan froze mid-sip of water, eyes widening. “I left it by the court!”

“Go grab it before someone steps on it,” she said, nodding toward the hoop.

Ethan took off at full speed, leaving the two adults by the bench.

Lucy turned to Tim as he settled onto the bench, taking a sip of water. She sat down beside him, reaching into the tote at her side and pulling out a small container. She held it out toward him.

“My mom sent these—for you. Dumplings. She can’t help herself—she loves feeding people.” 

“So that’s where you get it from?” Tim teased as he reached out to take the container, fingers brushing hers.

She smiled, then added quietly, almost hesitantly, “I told them… that you’re Ethan’s dad.”

He froze for a beat, fingers still lingering on hers. Then something flickered across his face—not just surprise, but a quiet spark of happiness, like a door opening onto a world he hadn’t expected to be invited into.

“Thank you,” he said finally, his voice low. “For telling them.”

Before either could say more, Ethan came sprinting back, waving his cap triumphantly. He skidded to a stop when he saw the container next to Tim on the bench. 

“Grandma’s dumplings? No way!” He pried the lid open and popped one into his mouth before Lucy could object. “Best ever.”

Tim laughed, his gaze fond. “Can’t wait to try them myself.”

Lucy let out a breath as she stood up. “Alright, let’s say goodbye. We should head home, if you want to make it to Danny’s party. ”

Ethan wiped his hands on a napkin and turned to Tim. “Bye, Coach!”

Then he stepped forward without hesitation and wrapped his arms around Tim’s shoulders. The movement was so natural—so certain—that for a second, Tim just stared, startled by the small hands tightening around him.

He exhaled softly, before his arms came up to return the hug with quiet warmth. It wasn’t awkward; it just fit. His palm rested on his son’s back, steady, affectionate—and his hands lingered a moment longer than he meant to.

Lucy froze, the sight hitting her with unexpected force—the ease of it, the trust it showed. Her eyes met Tim’s over Ethan’s shoulder, noting the mix of emotions there—wonder, tenderness, and a quiet protectiveness. She could feel the emotions welling up in her own throat.

She smiled faintly, a silent I saw that. I get it.

“I’ll practice like you said—plant, breathe, shoot,” Ethan added, as he pulled away with a small grin.

“That’s my guy,” Tim said as he got to his feet, still a little overwhelmed by how much the hug—given so readily—had meant to him. “Keep at it, and next week we’ll work on layups.”

Ethan nodded eagerly before heading toward Lucy’s car.

Tim and Lucy followed Ethan with their eyes, watching as he hopped and skipped his way to the car, before turning back to face each other. Tim folded his arms in front of him in a familiar stance, as if trying to contain his joy, but he couldn’t hide the grin spreading across his face.

Lucy’s arms lifted almost without thought—a fleeting urge to hug him—but Ethan’s presence held her back. Instead, she reached out and gave his arm a gentle squeeze, smiling softly at him.

They shared this small, wordless celebration—a milestone that had arrived like an unexpected gift on a sunny Saturday afternoon.

Lucy stepped back, murmured a soft, “See you,” and turned toward the car.

Tim watched her go, sunlight catching in her hair as she waved once before sliding into the driver’s seat.

When her car disappeared around the corner, he sank back onto the bench, opened the container, and popped a dumpling into his mouth. The flavor hit instantly—ginger, garlic — it was comforting. The corners of his mouth curved upwards slowly.

---

Chapter Text

On Monday afternoon, the bullpen was busier than usual—phones ringing constantly, officers weaving between desks with files and evidence boxes, the hum of overlapping conversations filling the air. Too much happening at once, the kind of chaos that made it hard to think straight.

Lucy spotted Tim cutting through it all, his stride purposeful as always.
She quickened her pace to intercept him. "Hey, you got a minute?"

He barely slowed, but his eyes softened—almost apologetic. "I'm on my way to the evidence room."
But he couldn't quite bring himself to refuse her even when pressed for time. "Walk with me," he offered.

She fell into step beside him without missing a beat, folder tucked against her chest.
“It’s for my hit-and-run case. I was looking at the notes from when you and Aaron canvassed the neighborhood near the gas station."

"And?"

"The witness—the guy who said he saw a dark sedan speed off around nine-thirty." She glanced at the page, then back at Tim.
"His statement checks out on paper, but… what was your gut feeling? Was he being honest?"

Tim's jaw tightened slightly, the way it did when he was replaying a scene in his head.
"He was nervous. Kept looking at his phone. But not like he was lying—more like he didn't want to get involved."

"Scared?"

"Maybe. But I think he just didn't want the hassle."

As they moved through a cluster of desks, Tim's hand lifted instinctively, two fingers brushing her elbow, steering her left around a desk corner jutting out into their path.

Lucy shifted with the touch, seamless.

"I think we should—" She fumbled with the folder as she tried to flip it open mid-stride, and a sheaf of papers started to slip free.

Tim's hand shot out, catching them before they hit the floor. He handed them back without breaking pace.

"Thanks." Lucy tucked them securely back in, her gaze dropping briefly to where his watch had rotated around his wrist, the face turned to the underside.
As she continued talking, her hand reached over almost absently.
"Anyway, I think we should bring the daughter back in first—" Her fingers brushed his forearm, turning the watch upright in a small, practiced motion.
"Her timeline doesn't match the footage you pulled."

Tim's expression shifted, just a fraction, something unguarded flickering across his face as he registered her quiet gesture.

They reached the hallway leading to the evidence room. Lucy stopped, letting him continue on, but Tim paused too.

His gaze lingered on her face—on the way her teeth caught her bottom lip, worrying—her mind was clearly still running through the case.

Without a word, his finger brushed lightly against her bottom lip, the touch gentle and gone in an instant.

"Don't stress so much over the case, Detective Chen."

The formality of the title—Detective Chen—contrasted sharply with the intimacy of the action.

Lucy's cheeks flushed pink. It had been brief, and there wasn't anyone in the immediate vicinity, but still. Her breath caught.

She nodded, pressing her lips together to suppress a small smile as she turned toward the bulletin board.

Tim allowed himself a faint smirk before heading toward the evidence room.

Aaron leaned against Nyla's desk, a grin tugging at his mouth. "They're doing that thing again."

Nyla followed his gaze, before her eyes went back to her computer screen.
"Hmmm," she said drily. "They think they're subtle."

Aaron shook his head, amused.
"Look, Tim's been grumpy on and off for weeks now. But whatever's going on with him and Lucy? Seems to be keeping the Sarge in a good mood. Honestly, I'm just happy."

Nyla said nothing. Aaron might've picked up on the tension, the way Tim and Lucy orbited each other—but he didn't know the full picture.
Didn't know about Ethan. She wasn't going to share though, it was their secret to tell, when they were ready.

——————-



The next afternoon, Tim approached Aaron’s desk with purpose, his expression all business.

“Let’s go. Need to check something out.”

Aaron looked up, and a flash of hesitation crossed his face before he managed an apologetic expression.
“Oh… sorry Sarge. I didn’t know you needed me. The detective team asked for help, so I said yes.”

Tim’s eyes narrowed, his voice taking on a stern edge. “You could’ve run it past me first.”

Aaron managed to look both sly and sheepish at the same time. “Well, it was Detective Chen who asked. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

Tim’s eyebrows shot up.

Just then, Lucy’s soft laugh carried across the bullpen where she stood huddled with Nolan and Harper, clearly amused by something Nolan had said.

Tim’s gaze flicked toward the sound, his expression softening for just a heartbeat before he caught himself and looked back at Aaron, who was watching him keenly.

Tim shook his head, saying nothing. He was doomed—Lucy was his weakness, everyone seemed to have noticed. And Aaron knew exactly how to play it.

Tim scowled slightly and looked around the bullpen, scanning for someone else to ride with him.

“Smitty’s available,” Aaron piped up helpfully. “In fact, I could come with you and ask Smitty to accompany Detective Chen—”

Tim’s look could have frozen lava.

The younger officer quickly changed tack. “—or maybe not.”

Yeah, like Tim would let Lucy anywhere near that moron Smitty.

Aaron stood and walked away, looking apologetic yet faintly amused.

Tim’s eyes followed Aaron as he crossed the bullpen toward Lucy. She looked up just then, catching Tim’s gaze across the room.
A quiet smile crossed her face—just for him—before she turned and walked toward the motor pool with Aaron.

Tim watched them go, and the scowl slowly disappeared.

———


Lucy drove while Aaron settled into the passenger seat beside her.

“So we’re gonna check on the daughter of the hit-and-run victim,” she explained as they pulled out.
“Though it’s seeming less and less like an accident.” She glanced at him briefly. “Anyway, the woman has a history, and I thought I could use some backup.”

“Sure,” Aaron said easily. “Happy to help.”

After a beat of silence, Aaron glanced at the radio. “Can I turn on the music?”

“Okay,” Lucy agreed. As Aaron fiddled with the music system, he spoke casually. “Sarge doesn’t like music in the car.”

“Well, it’s different when you’re on patrol,” Lucy said immediately, jumping to Tim’s defense.
She caught the hint of a smile on Aaron’s face and stopped herself, realizing she’d revealed more than she intended.

Music filled the car—a familiar melody from the ‘70s. Lucy’s face lit up.

“Oh, I love this song.” She started humming along softly.

“And when you moved your mouth to speak / I felt the blood go to my feet…”

Aaron grinned and began singing. “Hmm… baby, I’d love you to want me…”

“Wow, you’ve got a nice voice,” Lucy said, genuinely impressed.

“Thanks! So do you,” Aaron replied.

Lucy smiled at the compliment.

“Maybe we should do karaoke sometime,” Aaron suggested.

Lucy’s smile faltered, her gaze drifting to the road. “I don’t really sing.” Anymore.

Her mind drifted to the last time she’d sung on stage—Tim in the audience, watching her with that look in his eyes.
Blue eyes that had seen right through her, even then.

"Well, you should," Aaron said, watching her expression shift.

Lucy's smile returned—smaller, more private. Maybe she could now. Maybe even this song.

"Yeah," she said softly. "Maybe I could."

They drove on, the melody fading but lingering in the quiet between them.

———


The next two days passed in a blur of interviews and follow-ups.
By Thursday afternoon, the hit-and-run case was wrapped—the daughter had confessed, just as Lucy had suspected.

She was standing by Aaron’s desk, going over the final notes, when she felt Tim’s presence nearby.
He was at the next workstation, absorbed in a case file.

“Good call on the daughter,” Aaron said, signing off on his notes. “That was sharp work.”

“Thanks,” Lucy replied lightly. “Couldn’t have done it without your backup.”

Aaron smiled. “Anytime.” Then, glancing pointedly at Tim, his grin turned cheeky and his voice lifted just enough.
“Actually, Sergeant Bradford said I can help you out on any of your cases, Detective Chen—standing offer.”

Lucy blinked. “He did?”

Aaron nodded solemnly, but his eyes were bright with mischief.

Lucy’s gaze flicked toward Tim automatically. He didn’t look up right away, just flipped a page in his file like he hadn’t heard a word.
Then, finally, he glanced up—expression unreadable—and met her eyes.

The look lasted half a second, a silent exchange full of meaning.

Lucy arched an eyebrow, a small question in her eyes.

Tim’s answer came in the faintest shake of his head and a look that said ignore him, he’s nuts.

Her lips curved before she could stop them, laughter barely contained.

Aaron looked between them, pleased with himself. He whistled a tune softly as he walked off, hands in pockets, toward the break room.

Lucy's head bent toward her file, recognizing the tune—the same song Aaron and she had hummed in the car a couple of days ago.
She folded the corner of a page before sneaking a glance at Tim.

He’d gone back to his paperwork, but she caught the tiny pull at the corner of his mouth—a faint smile he didn’t bother to hide.

A little later, as Tim spoke with another sergeant by the whiteboard, movement by the door caught his eye.

Lucy was heading out, bag slung over her shoulder. She met his gaze for a second, offering a small smile that said bye, a fleeting glance at her watch—apologizing for her rush.

He gave a brief nod, tried to refocus on the conversation—but his mind had already followed her out the door.

——

That evening, Lucy was home, the apartment quiet after Ethan had gone to bed.
She moved through the kitchen, filling the kettle and letting it begin to boil, the comforting ritual pulling her thoughts to Tim.

Everything seemed to pull her thoughts to Tim these days.

She smiled softly, remembering how Ethan had hugged Tim in the park last weekend.
It was time to tell Ethan, she mused. And she needed to discuss it with Tim.

Her phone buzzed, the sound slicing through the quiet. It was a FaceTime call. And the name flashing on the screen made her stomach flip: Tim.

"Hey," she answered, trying to keep her voice casual.

"Hey," he said, his smile wide and warm. "I—I thought I could drop by to see Ethan. I know it's a bit late…"
He hesitated, and she could see the eagerness lingering in his eyes, the slight tension in his shoulders.

Her expression softened. "He's already asleep. I was actually just thinking… that we need to plan your next meeting soon."

"We do," he answered. Then she caught the flicker in his gaze—he was thinking the same thing she was.

He could come see her, even if Ethan wasn't awake.

There was a quiet beat, then he took a breath, almost daring. "Well… I was driving toward your place. I'm just a couple of blocks away… and I thought I had an open invitation to dinner?"

Lucy's chest fluttered. Her fingers tightened slightly on her phone. "You do. Come on over," she said, a hint of pink creeping across her cheeks.

"Really? What's for dinner?" Tim asked, his voice playful.

Lucy grappled for a response, thinking she could whip something up for him, her mind running through the contents of her fridge.

"Don't fret, Lucy. I was just kidding. I already ate," he said, eyes dancing with amusement. "See you in a bit."

She ended the call with a flustered laugh, scolding herself under her breath.

Seriously, Lucy? You're a grown woman—get a grip.

She poured herself a mug of tea, oversized and warm. She took a deep sip of the soothing liquid, as she walked down the hallway to check on Ethan, then slowly turned the doorknob with her free hand to peek in.
The sight of her son sleeping peacefully, as always, helped her feel calm.
She smiled to herself then she gently shut his door and walked back to the kitchen, as the front door buzzed.

Her pulse jumped as she set the teacup down and glanced at the screen—Tim's familiar face filled it and she quickly buzzed him in.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door just as he arrived.

“Hi,” she said softly, stepping aside to let him in—and before she could think twice, she leaned in to hug him—quick, instinctive, full of warmth, her arms looping around his neck.

Tim froze for half a heartbeat, one hand still on the door behind him. He gently shut it, then both arms came around her—steady, certain, reluctant to let go.

"Hi," he murmured against her hair, the word coming low and a little breathless.

She leaned in closer, one hand lowering to rest against his chest, counting the buttons on his shirt—one, two, three.

Lucy pulled back slightly then, as if finally realizing what she'd done.

She hadn't planned to hug him. It just… happened—a pull she had given in to before her mind could catch up.

Nervous butterflies skittered through her stomach as she stood in his arms under the dim light of the entryway, taking in how effortlessly handsome he was in a black henley—with three buttons—and blue jeans.

She swallowed; the sight did nothing to slow her pulse.

She looked down at her plain V-neck and the messy ponytail she'd barely thought about, suddenly aware of his nearness, every inch between them.

He looked at her with a small, indulgent smile, his thumbs caressing the inside of her wrists.
"Wasn't expecting such a warm welcome. I might stop by every day if this is how it's going to be," he said, his voice edged with that low current she always felt more than heard.

She dropped her gaze, trying to sound casual. "That was for the rain check," she said quickly, the words tumbling out with a faint, self-conscious smile.

"Oh, I see," he said, widening his eyes in mock realization, though the glint in them said he understood perfectly.

"Mm hmm," she said, a little more confidently. She stepped back and began walking toward the counter, resting her forearms on it as she picked up her teacup and looked at him.

Tim chuckled as he removed his boots, before following her inside. His gaze held hers, lingering with quiet intent.
Lucy swallowed, her heart doing that usual, helpless flip as he took a measured step closer—only the narrow wooden counter separating them, the air between charged and taut.

"Tea?" she blurted, needing to fill the silence. "I can pour you a cup… there's more in the kett—"

Before she could finish, he leaned over the counter, his hand closing over hers around the cup. He tugged gently, guiding her hands upward until the rim brushed his lips.
She forgot to breathe for a moment as he drank—a long, unhurried sip—his gaze locked on hers.

As if such intimacy was normal for them, as if they did this all the time.

A winter morning at the Northwestern campus diner flashed in her mind—sharing toast and coffee. The boy who'd stolen her heart then, and was still capable of quickening her pulse with a single touch.

"It's nice… minty," he said, setting the cup down carefully, but his fingers lingered over hers, resting lightly. His eyes traced her face, drinking her in. 

For a moment, neither spoke. Lucy's lips parted, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"You're enjoying that way too much," she whispered, her voice almost bashful.

"I am enjoying… this. You. Us." he murmured, low and deliberate, his eyes never leaving hers.

The words wrapped around her, stirring the same feeling she'd had eight years ago—only now it didn't ache with uncertainty.

He moved around the counter in slow strides and she turned to face him, her back brushing the smooth wood. One hand came to rest on her hip while the other reached up, fingers threading gently through the loose strands of hair at her temple.

Her breathing quickened as he leaned in—and her fingers gripped his t-shirt, holding on. Steadying herself against the pull drawing them together.

She raised her face, closing the narrow gap. Her pulse hammered in anticipation. His lips brushed the corner of her mouth—tentative, maddening… unbearable. With an impatient sound, she tilted her chin and caught his mouth fully with hers—firm, hungry, certain. The spark between them ignited, his brief hesitation dissolving as he matched her intensity.

Tim's hands found her waist, pulling her against him.

Her hands moved up, fingers carding his hair to tug him down. She chased every shift of his mouth, every nerve lit up—alive, desperate.

He let control slip, giving in to her, to the heat he'd held back for too long. His hold on her hips tightened—firm and sure—as in one smooth motion, he lifted her onto the counter. A startled sound escaped her throat—half gasp, half laugh—but it melted as his hands slid beneath her t-shirt, fingers skimming bare skin.

He stepped between her knees, palms sliding up her waist as he dragged his mouth from hers, tracing down to her jaw, the soft hollow beneath her ear, before moving lower. That patch of skin had haunted him for weeks—ever since she'd stood in his living room, ponytail high, neck bared, unknowingly tempting him. Her head tipped back now, offering a silent invitation.

As he kissed the curve of her neck, his stubble rasped—almost deliberately—against her skin. As if he knew how much she thought about it in her most private thoughts. Her hands clutched his shoulders, pulling him even closer.

Each taste drew him in further. His hands skimmed higher beneath her shirt, hungry for the familiar skin he'd once known. They met the thin band of her bra and instinct made him splay his hand, drawing her closer, anchoring her to him.

Her hips teetered on the edge of the counter as his mouth found hers again, the kiss all raw need. She felt lightheaded, dizzy with it. Her hands gripped his arms, muscles taut beneath her touch, and pressed against her stomach was the hard truth of his desire. Awareness jolted through her—he had to feel the answering heat in her own body. A soft creak echoed from somewhere down the hall—the apartment settling, or maybe—

Ethan's face appeared in Lucy's mind—asleep just down the hall.

The realization hit her like cold water. They were out here in the open, where he could walk in on them at any time.

Tim sensed her hesitation instantly. Want still burned in him, sharp and insistent, but he wrestled it back. Slowly he lifted his mouth from hers and wrapped her fully in his arms, hands still warm against her skin—but gentle now, holding her close.

She felt the shift—the effort it cost him—and something soft cracked inside her. She buried her face in his shoulder, breathing him in as the fire cooled to a steady, aching glow.

He drew back until their eyes met, both of them still breathing hard. For a long moment, he just looked at her—the soft flush on her cheeks, the way her eyes shimmered in the low light, the faint mischievous smile that had captivated him eight years ago. She was still the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

And as much as every nerve in his body screamed to close the distance again, he forced himself to still. They had time now, and he wasn't going to rush her.

Lucy slid down from the countertop, landing unsteadily on her feet. Tim caught her instantly, steadying her with a hand at her waist. She leaned into him, laughter bubbling up, a small giggle slipping out before she could stop it.

His mouth curved, eyes glinting even through the heat. "You're laughing?"

"Maybe a little," she teased, breathless. "You look like you're about to combust."

He huffed a low, humorless sound, his thumb brushing slow circles against her hip. "Trust me, I am." His gaze traced over her face, then lower, before snapping back to her eyes. "And you're not exactly helping."

Her grin was quick, daring. "So it's my fault?"

"Entirely." He leaned in, lips brushing the curve of her ear. "Don't think I've forgotten who kissed who first."

Her breath caught, but she shoved lightly at his chest anyway. "Someone had to do it."

His voice dropped an octave, low and rough. "I'll make sure I thank you properly later."

She couldn't help the color that crept up her neck at the promise in his voice. She felt the restrained strength of his hands at her waist, the hard press of his body close to hers.

Neither of them moved to close the distance further, though. They stayed like that for a few more minutes. His thumbs found the sharp curve where her hips flared, gently stroking up and down; her hands rested on his chest, counting each breath he took. She finally looked up at him, sighing softly. "What time does your shift begin tomorrow?" he asked.

"Eight," she said, the thought of an early start making her feel tired already.

He slowly pulled back. "I should leave, so you can go to bed," he said as he reluctantly let go of her.

She nodded, following him as he turned and walked to the foyer.

The heat still hummed under her skin, but beneath it, nerves started to surface. Tomorrow they'd have to pretend this—whatever this was—hadn't happened.

"Umm… how are we supposed to go into work tomorrow?" Lucy asked, pouting slightly as Tim bent to put on his boots. "You know… with all this—" she waved her hands vaguely between them, the space still crackling.

Tim arched a brow, smiling inwardly. "What do you mean?" he asked, feigning innocence.

She huffed, cheeks heating. "Nothing. Forget it. I'll just see you at the station and try not to think about… kissing you, okay?"

His laugh was low, warm, as he straightened. "Okay. And I'll watch you try."

"I'm a professional, Tim. I'm sure I can manage it." She crossed her arms, eyes flicking toward the ceiling. "Hopefully you'll keep your hands to yourself."

"I can't promise anything," he said easily, grin tugging wider, raising his palms in mock disclaimer.

She rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed her.

His chest felt light, unburdened—like maybe he'd been waiting for this, for her all along.

At the door, he glanced back, caught her trying—and failing—to smother a grin. Their eyes met, silent but charged, before he finally pulled the door shut behind him.

——

Tim took the stairs two at a time, the cool air biting at skin still too warm. He dropped into the driver's seat and let his head fall back against the headrest, breath catching somewhere between a curse and a laugh.

His hands were still unsteady on the steering wheel. The feel of her against him, the way she'd responded to his touch—he'd been seconds away from not stopping. From sliding that t-shirt over her head and—

He cut the thought off sharply, cranking the ignition.

He knew what had made her hesitate—Ethan, and everything still unsaid between them. She didn't want their son walking in on them, and he got that. Respected it.

And honestly? Part of him was okay taking things slow. But the way she'd stood there afterward, hair mussed, that impish smile playing at her lips—it had taken everything he had to walk out that door.

He'd wanted to talk to her about telling Ethan. That's why he'd come over in the first place. But they'd gotten… sidetracked.

Tomorrow, he decided, pulling out onto the street. They'd talk at the precinct.

Night-time traffic wasn't too bad, and soon he found himself turning into his street. His phone buzzed just as he pulled into his driveway.

Lucy: Hope you made it home okay?

He shifted into park, smiling at the screen.

Tim: Just pulled in. Why, worried about me?

Lucy: Maybe a little.

He stepped out of the truck, pocketing his keys as he typed with one hand.

Tim: That's cute.

There was a pause, before he saw the three bubbles appear again.

Lucy: That was some exit you made.

He unlocked his front door, shaking his head.

Tim: Had to leave before I forgot all my reasons for being a good guy.

Lucy: And here I thought you were ALWAYS a good guy.

Tim: Not when you look at me like that.

Lucy: Like what?

Tim: You know exactly like what.

Inside, he tossed his keys on the counter and reached for a glass, filling it with water.

Lucy: Maybe I do. Maybe I like seeing what happens when you aren't thinking straight.

He took a long drink, the cool water doing nothing to ease the heat still thrumming through him.

Tim: That's dangerous territory, Chen.

Lucy: Is it working?

He stared at the screen, jaw tight, then typed simply:

Tim: Goodnight, Lucy.

Lucy: That's what I thought. 😏 Sweet dreams, Bradford.

He pocketed his phone and stood there for a moment, his hand braced against the counter. Every nerve ending still felt alive, charged.
He could still feel the whisper of her lips against his, the softness of her skin under his fingers.

He pushed off the counter and headed upstairs.

Sleep wouldn't come easy tonight.

He didn't mind.

---

Chapter Text

The next afternoon, Lucy and Tim sat side by side at his desk, case files spread between them. She’d come to him for a consult on one of her cases.

Tim leaned back in his chair, arms folded, reviewing the file. But his focus kept slipping—catching on the curve of her neck when she bent over her notes, the way her fingers drummed absently against the desk.

Lucy glanced up and caught him staring. Their eyes held a beat too long. She cleared her throat and looked back down.

“So, the timeline—”

“Doesn’t add up,” he finished, his voice low.

“I saw that.” Another pause. Her pen tapped twice against the paper.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

“Fine.” But the word came out too soft, too breathy—and she knew he heard it.

His hand rested on the desk between them, close enough that she could feel its warmth. She thought about last night—his hands on her waist, his mouth against her throat—and then, almost worse, the teasing texts that followed.

Now, in daylight, she was far more flustered than he was, which hardly seemed fair.

Then again, she’d been all over the place last night, hadn’t she? Hugging him without thinking, kissing him first when he’d been the picture of restraint—then pulling away to ask that ridiculous question about work, as if she hadn’t been the one pushing things forward.

And after he’d left? Those texts. God, those brazen texts. Where had that confidence even come from?

She shifted in her chair, trying to focus.

Tim’s lips curved slightly, like he knew exactly what she was thinking.

“We need to—” She stopped, thrown by the way he was looking at her.

He raised an eyebrow, all quiet amusement. Then, before she could recover, he leaned in—ostensibly to point at something in the file, but his arm brushed hers, deliberate.

“So…” His voice dropped, meant only for her. “You actually thinking about pouncing on me in the middle of the precinct? Or was that just a threat?”

Lucy’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing. “Excuse me?” Her voice pitched higher than she intended, and the flush creeping up her neck betrayed her indignation.

Tim’s grin widened. “You’re the one who said it.”

“That was not—” She stopped herself, biting down on a laugh. “I did not say I was going to—” she lowered her voice, hissing, “—pounce on you.”

“Oh right, you said you wanted to kiss me.” His tone was maddeningly even, teasing without breaking stride.

Lucy swatted his arm with the nearest pen. “Stop it!” Then immediately froze, realizing what she’d just done.

Her eyes darted around the bullpen—and of course, Smitty was watching, utterly unfazed, before turning back to his monitor.
“God, I’m terrible at this,” she muttered, covering her face with one hand. “I literally told myself this morning I was going to be professional.”

Tim chuckled softly. “How’s that working out for you?”

She dropped her hand, meeting his eyes with a rueful smile. “You’re a bad influence, Bradford.”

His smile deepened, clearly satisfied with himself.

Then the mischievous glint in his eyes softened, and he leaned closer, voice dropping. "I actually came over last night to talk to you about something," he said. "But we got… distracted."

Lucy's teasing expression faded. She knew immediately. “Ethan.”

He studied her for a beat before continuing, “We need to tell him,” he said, voice firm and determined.

"I agree," Lucy said immediately.

But her hands had already curled into fists on the desk, knuckles whitening. She caught herself and relaxed them, reaching for a piece of paper.

Tim watched in silence as she folded it over and over, each crease sharp and deliberate.

“Lucy?” he said gently.

"I know." She exhaled, setting the paper airplane down. "I know we need to. I just—" She paused, biting her lip. "What if he's upset? What if he feels like I've been lying to him this whole time?"

"You had your reasons."

“Yeah…I don’t know about that.” Her voice went quiet, edged with something like regret. “Maybe I was just trying to avoid dealing with it.” 

The way she had with telling Tim about Ethan, she admitted silently.

Tim bent his head towards her, voice steady. "Hey. We'll do it together."

Lucy looked at him, something vulnerable flickering across her face. "He deserves to know you're his dad. You deserve that too." Her voice dropped. "I just don't know how to start that conversation."

Angela strolled over just then, oblivious to the gravity of their conversation.
Tim and Lucy, still angled toward each other, barely registered her approach.
A sly smile tugged at her mouth as she noted the closeness between them. “Hey, lovebirds.”

Lucy stiffened immediately, her cheeks coloring. She opened her mouth to protest—"Angela…" she started.
Then stopped.

What was the point? She'd already proven she couldn't maintain professional distance.

Tim, on the other hand, just smiled, leaning back in his chair, unfazed by the teasing, “What’s up?”

“Well,” Angela drawled, clearly enjoying herself, “Wesley and I were planning to take Jackson to Malibu Creek State Park this Saturday. Harper and James are bringing Lyla.
Kid-friendly trek, picnic, the works. You two game? The kids can keep each other entertained.”

Lucy glanced at Tim, silently checking. His easy nod was all the answer she needed. 

“Ok,” she said, still trying to sound casual.

“Perfect.” Angela looked at Lucy again. “I’ll add you to the group chat with Harper—we have to decide on the food.”

Lucy nodded. “Sure. Thanks for inviting us.”

Angela’s grin sharpened as her eyes flicked to Tim. “Don’t forget sunscreen. And maybe don’t get too distracted staring at each other on the trail.”

Lucy groaned softly, pressing her lips together in embarrassment as Angela walked off.

Lucy pushed up from her chair, needing the excuse of movement to put some distance between her and Tim.

When she risked a glance back, Tim’s eyes were still on her—warm, attentive, serious—and she knew they still had to finish that conversation.

About telling Ethan.

——-

The next evening, Lucy walked into her apartment, as the last traces of sunset painted the walls a soft amber.
Rose was on the couch with Ethan, flipping through a book about the solar system.

“Hey,” Lucy greeted, setting her bag down.

“Hey, Lucy.” Rose smiled, gathering her things. “He was great as always — had a snack, finished his homework.”
She paused as she reached Lucy. “A little quiet tonight, though,” she whispered before heading to the door.

Lucy glanced over at Ethan, who gave a half-hearted wave from the couch. 

“Thanks, Rose. I’ll see you Monday?”

“Sure thing.”

When the door closed behind her, Lucy crossed the room and ruffled Ethan’s hair. “Hey, kiddo.”

“Hey, Mom.”

The lack of his usual spark made her pause. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he said too quickly, as he picked up the remote and switched on the TV.

She crouched beside him. “You don’t sound like yeah.”

He shrugged, and she could tell she wasn’t going to get more than that.
So she stood, brushing her palms on her jeans. “How about cheese toast and veggie soup for dinner?”

His eyes flicked up, a little interest returning. “Sure.”

“‘Sure’?” she teased gently. “That’s all the enthusiasm my cooking gets now?”

A ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth. “It’s good, Mom.”

“Ok, then,” she said, heading for the kitchen.

By the time the toast was golden and the soup steaming, the small dining table was set.
They ate together, conversation light. He picked at his toast more than usual, though his eyes finally brightened when she mentioned the picnic.

“Angela and Wesley are bringing their son Jackson. Nyla and James are bringing their daughter Lyla. You’ll have company.”

He looked up. “Really?”

“Really. It’s a short trail, a picnic after. And apparently you can swim in the shallows of the creek. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

He shrugged, but she caught the flicker of excitement, when she’d mentioned swimming.
She knew how much he loved the water.

“And,” she added casually, “Coach Tim will be there.”

That earned her the faintest grin. “Cool,” he said.

Later, when he was tucked into bed, the room dim and warm, Lucy sat on the edge of the mattress watching him thumb through his comic.
His blue eyes—so like Tim’s—were quieter tonight, less open than usual. 

“What, Mom?” he asked, without looking up.

“Nothing,” she said softly. Then, after a pause: “You know how bedtime is our judgement-free zone, right? You can tell me anything. Whatever you want to share.”

“Yes, Mom, I know.”

“You sure? You seem a little off tonight.”

He sighed, still flipping the page. “I don’t have anything to share today.”

She gave him that quiet, patient look that said I’ll wait anyway.

“Okay, fine…” He hesitated. “You know Luke?”

“Yeah.”

“I…” He paused, brow furrowing. “I’m sleepy, Mom.” He closed his comic and slid under the covers. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Lucy’s chest tightened. “Okay. Tomorrow then.”

He nodded, eyes already closing as she kissed his forehead. Moving quietly, she gathered what he’d need for tomorrow’s trek—sunglasses, swimming trunks, sunscreen, towels, his favorite comic—slipping them neatly into his backpack.

Behind her, the sheets rustled—Ethan still shifting, not quite asleep.

She glanced back once more, the corners of her mouth softening. She hoped he would be in a better mood tomorrow.
With a small sigh, she switched off the light and stepped out, leaving the door slightly ajar.

——

In the kitchen, she packed in silence: bottles of water, folded napkins, and a neat row of containers for tomorrow. Pineapple slices. Apples. Strawberries. Nuts.
The familiar rhythm of small tasks steadied her — something to hold onto while her thoughts circled Ethan and the conversation they still hadn’t had.

Her phone buzzed against the counter.
Tim. 

A smile found her before she could stop it.

She wiped her hands, pressed speaker, and kept moving as she answered.

“Hey,” she said, walking toward the fridge.

“Hey yourself,” he replied. “Long day?”

“Always.” She smiled faintly. “You?”

“Paperwork, gym, more paperwork. Living the dream.” He paused, then added. “It was productive, though. I got through all the reports I’ve been putting off since last week.”

“I’m impressed,” she said, pulling open the fridge to tuck in the containers.

“Yeah, I work pretty efficiently when a certain LAPD detective isn’t trying to throw me off my game by making eyes at me across the bullpen.”

Lucy let out a mock offended huff. "Well Sergeant Barista, this is like the pot calling the kettle black."

He chuckled. “You already turned in for the night?”

“Ethan’s in bed. Or at least pretending to be. He’s been quiet this evening.”

Tim hummed thoughtfully. “Did something happen?”

Lucy paused before replying, “He just seemed a little… off.”

Concern edged into Tim’s voice. “Off how?”

“I’m not sure.” Lucy said, as she repacked the nuts into three smaller Ziploc bags - one for each of the kids.
“Something happened at school I guess - may be an argument with a friend. But he didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to push.”

Tim was quiet for a moment. “You think he’s okay?”

“I think so,” she said, though the hesitation was there. “Just quieter than usual.”

“Okay.” His voice softened. “Let me know if there’s something I can do, yeah?”

That simple offer made her sigh inwardly. For so long, she'd carried every decision, every worry about Ethan on her own. She'd gotten used to it. Good at it, even.
Having someone she could lean on, someone who wanted to help?
It felt both reassuring and unfamiliar, like she was still getting used to not being alone in this.

“I will,” she said quietly. “Thanks, Tim.”

“Always,” he said, and she could hear the sincerity in it.

For a few moments, neither of them spoke. It wasn’t uncomfortable — just a familiar stillness that felt like its own kind of closeness.

Then Tim cleared his throat, shifting the mood. “So, about earlier… we didn’t really get to talk about how we’re going to tell him.”

Lucy picked up the phone, taking it off speaker as she held it to her ear. She exhaled slowly, leaning forward on the counter.
“Yeah. I’ve been thinking about that.”

“And?”

“And I still don’t know the right way.” Her tone was honest, weary but thoughtful. “Part of me wants to just say it — rip the Band-Aid off. But I also don’t want him to feel blindsided. He deserves space to process.”

“Agreed,” Tim said. “Maybe after the picnic. When he’s relaxed. We can sit down together.”

“Together,” she repeated softly, and smiled to herself. “That’s still strange to say.”

“In a good way, I hope.”

“The best way,” she admitted.

He chuckled, low and warm. “Then it’s a plan.”

Another pause, lighter this time.

“You all set for tomorrow?” he asked. “Angela will track us down if we’re late.”

“Yeah, we’re group texting about the snacks,” Lucy said, her voice wry. “We’re bringing the healthy options—fruit and trail mix, obviously.”

“Great,” said Tim approvingly. “Someone’s gotta keep Lopez from turning it into a chips-only event.”

There was the faint sound of him yawning, then a comfortable silence. Lucy could almost picture him — leaning back, half-smiling, the quiet of his house matching hers.

He hesitated, then added, “Actually, I was thinking—I could pick you guys up in the morning. Say around ten-ish? That way you don’t have to worry about loading everything into your car.”

“That’d be great,” Lucy said, smiling. “Thanks.”

“Sure,” he said simply.

They lingered a little longer, trading soft laughter and weather forecasts until finally saying goodnight.

When she hung up, Lucy found herself still smiling—one hand absently tracing circles on the countertop, thinking about tomorrow.
The smile lingered as she turned off the lights and headed to bed.

———

They were already downstairs when Tim pulled up. The Silverado rolled to a smooth stop near the entrance to her apartment block, the chrome glinting in the morning light.

Lucy stood beside Ethan, both of them with backpacks slung over their shoulders and a large canvas tote at her feet. Ethan shifted on his feet, a small glimmer of excitement in his eyes as he watched Tim climb out.

“I could’ve come up to help,” Tim said, eyeing the gear they carried.

“It wasn’t much,” Lucy said lightly, though the tote did look suspiciously heavy.
“And someone was a little too wound up to wait on the couch.” She tilted her head toward Ethan, who gave a sheepish grin.

Tim’s gaze flicked between them, then met hers for a quiet beat—an unspoken question in his eyes, Is he okay?
Lucy gave a small nod and half-shrug, answering I think so… not sure.

Breaking the moment, Tim turned to Ethan. “You’re looking all set, buddy.”

Ethan’s eyes were already glued to the truck. “Whoa, Coach. It’s so shiny.” He stepped closer, running a hand reverently along the side. “I’ve never ridden in a truck before.”

Lucy smiled as she gently took Ethan’s backpack off his shoulders to place it in the truck.

The three of them were unconsciously coordinated—Lucy in a sleeveless white shirt knotted at the waist, beige cargo pants, a blue cap, comfy shoes and dark sunglasses that were perched on her head. Ethan in beige shorts, a white T-shirt that read Here Comes Trouble, and a bright red Spider-Man cap with white sneakers. Tim matched them both unintentionally—beige cargos, a short-sleeved white tee that fit just right, dark LAPD cap, and black sneakers.

Ethan noticed first. “Hey! We’re all matching!”

Lucy groaned under her breath, as she looked down at herself. “Great,” she whispered to Tim.
“Angela’s never gonna let us live this down.”

Tim chuckled, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Guess we’re a team now.”

They started loading up—Lucy tossed her backpacks into the back seat and slid in to the front seat, while Tim put the tote bag away.
Then he rounded to the other side, opening the rear door for Ethan with a small flourish. “After you, sir.”

Ethan’s face lit up when he spotted the booster seat already strapped in. “You have a booster seat for me? Cool!”
“Of course,” Tim said, pleased. “Safety first.”

“It’s just like mine!” Ethan said. “I know how to buckle this one myself,” he added confidently.
He climbed in, expertly snapping the belt in place, looking up at Tim.

Tim looked suitably impressed, as he raised his hand for a fist bump that Ethan returned with a small smile.

Lucy watched from the passenger side, her chest easing at the sight of some of the sparkle returning to Ethan’s eyes.
He settled back into the booster seat, still quiet, but the faint grin lingered as he looked around.

Tim closed Ethan’s door gently, then got in on his side. The engine came to life, a soft hum filling the quiet.
As they pulled onto the road, Ethan leaned toward the window, eyes brightening as the world began to move.

Lucy glanced back at him, then caught Tim’s eye. She turned slightly in her seat.

"Hey, Ethan. Why don't you show Tim your superpower?"

Ethan's gaze shifted to her. "What superpower?"

"You know—the car logo thing." She smiled warmly. "Tim, did you know Ethan knows all the car logos?"

Tim glanced in the rearview mirror, eyebrows raising with genuine interest. "Wow, really?"

"Not all of them, Mom," Ethan said quietly, but there was the faintest hint of pride creeping in.

“Most of them," Lucy said encouragingly. "Come on, give it a shot."

Ethan hesitated, then leaned slightly toward the window. "Honda," he said softly as one passed.
Then a beat later, a little stronger: "Ford. Toyota. Ooh…Porsche!”

Tim grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling behind the sunglasses. "That's impressive, buddy!”

A small smile tugged at Ethan's mouth as he continued calling them out, his voice growing steadier with each one.

Lucy reached for the radio, cycling through static until George Ezra's Shotgun came on. She smiled instantly, tapping her fingers against her thigh.
"Oh, I love this one," she said, humming along.

Ethan was still calling out logos in the background (Tesla, Toyota, Volkswagen…), fully absorbed.

Tim glanced sideways at Lucy—her hair pulled back beneath the blue cap, lips moving softly to the song. 

His gaze lingered a beat too long. The knot at her waist caught his attention—simple, careless, and suddenly impossible to look away from.
He imagined undoing it, tugging the fabric loose, his hands finding the warmth of her skin beneath—

He stopped himself, jaw tightening as he turned back to the road. Not now.

Instead, he reached for Lucy’s hand resting on her thigh. Her eyes flicked to his, and he gave a small squeeze.

We’re gonna tell him today, she mouthed.

He nodded, smiling as her fingers laced briefly through his before he pulled his hand back to the steering wheel.

The freeway opened up ahead of them, sun spilling across the hood of the truck, music thrumming in the background.

Tim felt a sense of satisfaction settle in his chest.

It was going to be a good day.

---

Chapter Text

They reached the trailhead after a short drive, piling out of the truck into the soft morning sun.
Nyla was already there with James and little Lyla, who bounced on her toes in pink sneakers and a daisy-print backpack.

Angela and Wesley pulled in just then, and their son Jackson tumbled out of the car, running straight for Tim.

“Hey, Uncle Tim!”

Tim grinned as he crouched to hug the boy. “Hey, champ. How are you?” 

“I’m so excited about this hike!” Jackson grinned. “I brought my swimming trunks so we can go in the creek later.”

Tim noticed Ethan hanging back a little and gestured him forward.
“Hey, buddy — this is Jackson.”

Ethan gave a small smile. “Hi, I’m Ethan.”

“Oh, you’re so much taller! How old are you?” Jackson asked.

“Seven.”

“Wow! I’ll be five soon!”

Angela walked over then, wicker basket in hand — and immediately took in the color-coordinated hiking gear Lucy, Tim, and Ethan were wearing.
Her jaw dropped in exaggerated surprise. She opened her mouth, but Tim shot her a warning look, eyes flicking toward Ethan.

“Looking good, Detective Chen,” she said instead, smoothly changing course mid-sentence.

Lucy smiled, but she’d caught every bit of that silent exchange — and knew this wasn’t the last she’d hear about their outfits.

Jackson turned to Ethan. “Did you bring your swimming stuff too?”

Ethan looked at Lucy for confirmation. “I guess so,” he said when she nodded.

“Cool! Let’s go see if Lyla brought hers!” Jackson grabbed his hand, tugging him forward. Ethan hesitated only a moment before Lucy gave him an encouraging smile — go on, have fun.

As the boys took off toward Lyla, Lucy adjusted the strap of her backpack and looked up — only to find Tim already watching her. There was something unspoken in the way his gaze lingered, something that felt warmer than the morning sun.

Soon everyone gathered at the start of the trail. Tim exchanged easy greetings with Wesley and James. Lucy had met James Murray once before when he'd stopped by the precinct.

As for ADA Wesley Evers, she had known him since before she came to Mid-Wilshire—and discovered that he was married to Angela. Wesley shook her hand warmly. “Good to see you again. My colleague—Chris Sanford—mentioned you recently. Said he was really impressed by your undercover work."

Lucy caught Tim stiffen slightly beside her and had to bite her lip to keep from smiling.
Something about Chris had clearly irked Tim that day.

The group started up the trail — Ethan, Jackson, and Lyla darting ahead while James kept a casual watch, his long strides matching the kids’ energy. Behind them, the adults fell into an easy rhythm: Nyla and Wesley chatting about work, while Tim, Lucy, and Angela brought up the rear.

Angela’s grin was unstoppable as she switched the wicker basket to her other hand.
“So. Matching outfits. Gives off this whole ‘we’re a unit’ vibe.”

Lucy shot her a look. “It wasn’t planned.”

“Right,” Angela said, eyes dancing. “You just accidentally coordinated your hiking gear. All three of you.”

“Drop it, Lopez,” Tim warned, though his tone was more amused than stern.

“I’m just saying,” Angela went on, “this is so… committed. And disgustingly cute!” she added, making Lucy blush a little.

Nyla glanced back, catching the exchange, and grinned. “Wait, you guys are matching? That’s actually sweet.”

“See?” Angela gestured triumphantly. “Harper gets it.”

“Of course,” Nyla agreed, her tone warm but teasing. “Very family portrait.”

Lucy groaned. “Not you too.”

Wesley chuckled from a few steps ahead. “You guys walked right into this one, Detective Chen.”

Tim adjusted his cap, jaw tight but lips twitching. “Can we talk about literally anything else?”

“Nope,” Angela said cheerfully. “This is happening. You’ve set family goals for the rest of us.” She caught up with Wesley in two strides. “We’re totally doing this next time. I don’t want to be left behind.”

She laughed as Wesley rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

Lucy shook her head, fighting a smile despite herself. The canvas tote slung over her shoulder had started to slip, but before she could adjust it, Tim reached out and took it from her without a word. Their eyes met briefly, and she smiled, a tender warmth settling in her chest as he turned back to the trail.

She glanced sideways at him, as they walked together—his shoulders relaxed, the sun hitting his profile—and thought how good he looked like this. At ease. Lighter.

Her arm brushed his as the path narrowed—a light touch, but enough to spark that familiar current again. She felt him react almost imperceptibly, just a subtle shift in his breath before he looked ahead.

Up ahead, Ethan’s laughter echoed through the trees as he raced Lyla toward a fallen log, Jackson close behind. Tim watched as Lucy’s eyes softened with affection, relief flickering across her face at the sound.

He wanted to reach for her, to pull her close, to brush his thumb across the bare skin of her arm — he knew she’d shiver slightly, and God, he wanted to feel that.

But for now, he would settle for the quiet comfort of her walking beside him.

———

The air grew cooler as they descended toward the creek. As the glimmering water became visible, the kids raced toward the edge, laughter spilling through the trees as sticks and pebbles flew in every direction.
“Shoes off before you step in the water!” Nyla called, laughing.

Lucy bent to help Angela spread the picnic blanket across the soft grass, the wicker basket rattling gently as she adjusted it.

A few steps back from the water’s edge, Tim stood with Wesley and James, watching as Lyla and Jackson kicked off their shoes, squealing when their toes met the cool shallows. Ethan lingered behind, crouching to pick up a smooth rock from the shoreline.

Nyla joined the women on the blanket, pulling out bottles of water from her backpack.

Sunlight filtered through eucalyptus and oak, casting dappled patterns on the water; the air was scented with pine and damp earth.

Angela wandered toward the water’s edge, camera in hand, calling for everyone to smile. Lucy picked up her phone and zoomed in on James and Lyla—he was showing her how to skip a pebble, both of them laughing when it sank instead.

“Look at them,” Lucy said, angling the screen toward Nyla.

Nyla smiled, her expression softening. “He’s good with her.”

Lucy nodded, then pinched the screen to zoom out—Tim and Ethan stood close to the water, both frowning in deep concentration over a pebble. She tapped her phone to capture a candid shot of father and son, a small smile on her lips.

Nyla sat back, stretching her legs out in front of her as she watched James and Lyla—Lyla’s face lighting up in triumph when her stone skipped once across the surface.

Lucy followed her gaze, smiling at the scene.

Nyla leaned toward Lucy, brushing grass off her knee, before she spoke—her voice low and thoughtful. “You know,” Nyla started, “after my divorce, I didn’t think I’d ever find peace again. But then James happened.”
Her lips curved, soft and certain. “We’re still figuring out what family looks like for us, but it’s… real. Quietly good.”

Lucy’s chest warmed at that, though something in her softened too. “You deserve that,” she said sincerely.

Nyla smiled—a knowing, content smile. “Hmm. Thanks,” she murmured, glancing toward Tim and Ethan again. “Looks like things are looking up for you guys too.”

Lucy followed her gaze, warmth blooming through her chest. “Yeah,” she said softly. “They are.”

———

Tim found another stone, black and smooth with pale white stripes running across it. “This one looks interesting,” he said, holding it out to Ethan.

Ethan’s blue eyes brightened as he took it, turning it over in his palm.

“Want to find a few more?” Tim asked.

“Sure, Coach,” Ethan murmured. But then he lowered himself onto a flat rock near the creek’s edge.
He tugged off his sneakers and dipped his toes into the cold water, absently splashing as he fiddled with the pebble Tim had given him.

Tim watched him for a moment—the way his shoulders hunched just slightly, the quiet tension around his mouth. Then he stepped closer and sat beside him, mirroring his movements. He rolled up his cargos and dipped his feet in too.

“Ah,” he said, feigning surprise. “Now I see why you’re doing this. The water’s cool—it’s tickling my toes.”

That earned a small giggle from Ethan before he fell silent again, gaze fixed on the ripples.

Nearby, Lucy laughed softly at something Angela said, her voice drifting through the breeze. When Tim glanced toward her, she met his eyes for a heartbeat—an unspoken thread of connection—before his attention returned to Ethan.

A few splashes later, Jackson and Lyla clambered out of the water, chattering as they padded back toward their moms. James and Wesley followed, their voices low as they drifted toward the picnic blanket. The creek grew quieter, the sound of laughter fading until only the soft rush of water and the rustle of leaves filled the space around them.

A moment passed before Ethan spoke, his voice barely carrying over the murmur of the creek.

“You know how Mom’s a cop?”

“Yeah,” Tim said gently, waiting.

“Well… there’s this kid at school—Luke—and some others, too. They say stuff like, ‘Don’t borrow Ethan’s book, his mom’ll arrest us if we lose it.’ Or, ‘If Ethan’s playing, we have to listen to him because his mom’s a cop.’”

He stared at the water, his voice small. “Like I can’t just be normal. Like they think I’ll get them in trouble just for being there.”

He paused, his brows drawing together. “And it’s not even true—I never tell them stuff like ‘my mom’s a cop.’ I don’t even say that. So I don’t get why they have to.”

Tim’s chest tightened. He could see the confusion in Ethan’s blue eyes—so much like his own—and something protective rose in him.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “That stinks. I get it.”

Ethan picked up a smooth stone and sent it skimming across the surface. “Mom says I should be proud of her—and I am, I guess. She’s cool. But I just want them to treat me normal.”

"Fair enough," Tim said, his tone calm but steady. The gurgle of the creek, the voices of the rest of their group, and the warmth of the sunlight all seemed to fade around the quiet bubble they shared.

“When I was your age,” he began, “my mom was a teacher. At my school.” He waited until Ethan glanced up. “Kids figured I had a free pass. They’d get me to start pranks or break rules because they thought she’d let it slide. They’d say, ‘Let Tim do it—he’s safe.’”

He huffed out a quiet laugh. “But I didn’t want to be that kid. I just wanted to fit in. Sometimes I went along with it anyway, and honestly? It made me miserable.”

Ethan looked up at him, really looked, searching Tim's face. "Did it get better?"

“Eventually.” Tim nodded. “Once I realized I didn’t need everyone to get it. Just the people who mattered.”

He paused. “And you know what helped? Having someone to talk to. Someone who actually listened.”

Ethan traced lazy patterns in the water with his toes.

“That’s what I’m here for, buddy,” Tim said softly. “Anytime. You’ve got two people who’ve got your back—your mom and me.”

Ethan glanced up, hesitant. “You as well?”

Tim’s chest tightened a little at the question, but he nodded without hesitation. “Me especially.”

Ethan let the words sink in, the corners of his mouth curving into a small, cautious smile.

"Here's the thing," Tim continued carefully. "You can't control what Luke says. But you can control how you react. Next time he says that stuff, just shrug and say, 'Dude, she's a cop, not a hall monitor. She catches actual criminals.' Say it like it's boring—like you can't believe he doesn't know that. Trust me, it’ll take the fun out of it for him.”

Ethan tried the line under his breath, testing it. “She’s a cop, not a hall monitor.”

"And here's the other thing—the kids who really want to be your friend? They won't care about any of that. From what you've told me before, you've got plenty of great friends. So let's just ignore the ones who aren't worth your time, okay?"

"Okay." Ethan hesitated. "But... what if they keep going?"

Tim's expression softened. "Then you come talk to me or your mom about it, and we'll figure it out together. Deal?"

“Deal.”

Tim ruffled his hair gently, smiling down at him. Ethan's shoulders relaxed a bit, the tension visibly easing, and a flicker of relief brightened his eyes.

From the blanket, Lucy glanced up, her hands stilling on the napkins she'd been arranging. She caught Tim's subtle nod, saw the way Ethan's shoulders had dropped, his face lighter. She blinked quickly, her fingers gripping the napkin a moment longer than necessary, then returned to the tote bag. This was their moment, and she knew it mattered.

When she glanced up again, Tim’s eyes met hers across the clearing. No words, just a shared understanding—soft, steady, and enough.

———

Ethan walked back to the small patch of grass near the picnic blanket where Jackson and Lyla were crouched with sticks, poking at something in the mud.
Tim followed at a distance, watching as Ethan joined the other two kids.

Before long, the quiet hum of conversation drifted back over the creek—the easy rhythm of a group settling into the warmth of the afternoon.

The scent of freshly unpacked sandwiches drifted through the clearing, just as Angela clapped her hands together. “Alright, lunch break! Everyone grab something before the kids eat it all.”

Lunch was a feast—sandwiches cut into halves, sausage and cheese wraps, containers of sliced fruit and juice boxes for the kids. The adults settled into easy conversation while the kids ate with single-minded enthusiasm that came from a morning of running and exploring. Ethan demolished his turkey sandwich and reached for strawberries, his earlier reticence replaced by animated chatter with Jackson about the rocks they'd found.

The food was cleared and packed away and the closed wicker basket now only held empty containers. The group lingered in that lazy, content lull that follows a good meal.

Tim walked across to the edge of the water, and settled on a sun-warmed rock, watching the kids as they flopped down on the grass, whispering conspiratorially together.

A moment later, Jackson suddenly snorted with laughter, clutching his stomach. Lyla giggled, covering her mouth. Ethan's face lit up with pure delight.

From the blanket, Lucy lifted her head. "Fart jokes?" she called out.

Ethan smirked—he knew this tone—and sure enough, Lucy grinned. "Okay, but did you tell them the one about the silent-but-deadly?"

Jackson and Lyla burst into fresh giggles. Ethan shook his head, grinning. "Mom, seriously?"

Angela raised her eyebrows and Nyla wrinkled her nose. James grinned and Wesley let out a surprised guffaw—clearly expecting Lucy to shut it down, rather than jump in.

Tim blinked, caught off guard. Then a slow grin spread across his face as he watched Lucy, completely at ease, clearly enjoying the chaos she'd just unleashed.

Lucy met his gaze, a small smile playing at her lips, as if to say, Yeah, I've got moves you haven't seen yet.

She stood then, brushing grass off her pants as she walked over to where he sat. She settled beside him on the rock, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched, her voice dropping low enough that only he could hear.

"You do what you have to do as a parent," she said simply, watching Ethan laugh with the other kids. "Sometimes that means being the fun one too."

Tim studied her profile—the way she tracked Ethan's every movement even while seeming relaxed, the subtle tension in her shoulders that never quite left. She'd been doing this alone for so long. Every role, every version of parent Ethan needed.

"You're good at this," he said quietly.

She glanced at him, something vulnerable flickering across her face before she smiled. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

For a moment, they simply sat there, side by side, watching the kids play. But somewhere beneath that easy silence—something unspoken stirred.

Lucy wanted to ask what he and Ethan had talked about by the creek—whether her son had opened up about something that had been weighing on him—but she stopped herself. She didn’t want to make Tim feel like she didn’t trust him to have that space with Ethan.

Tim caught the flicker of thought in her eyes. *What?* he mouthed.

She shook her head softly. “Nothing,” she murmured.

He held her gaze for a beat longer before turning back toward the kids. And as she watched him, Lucy told herself that if he thought she needed to know, he’d tell her.
It wasn’t easy—suppressing that instinct to want to know—but she was learning to trust him. To trust them.

Lucy's gaze returned to Ethan, but her hand found Tim's where it rested on the rock between them. Tim brushed his thumb over her knuckles, both of them watching Ethan together.

They stayed like that for a few silent moments, both thinking the same thing.

The trust, the bond, was quietly, firmly taking root.

———

As the afternoon wore on and the sun shifted higher, warming the rocks beneath them, the children started to grow tired of their stick game.

Jackson was the first to break away from the group, jogging over with Lyla and Ethan close behind.

“Can we swim now?” he asked, bouncing on his toes.

"Go change," Angela said, laughing. "But no going in until the adults are ready."

The kids scrambled to grab their swim gear, disappearing behind the trees to change. Wesley and James emerged first, laughing as they adjusted their board shorts. Then Tim appeared—gray t-shirt clinging lightly to his chest, dark swim trunks hanging low on his hips.

Lucy blinked, caught off guard. She hadn’t realized he’d planned to swim.

He caught her look and smirked: a slow, teasing curve of his mouth.

“You’re missing out,” he said. “The water’s great.”

Nyla shot Lucy a curious glance. “You like swimming?”

“Used to be on her university team,” Tim answered before Lucy could speak. “She was really good.”

Angela’s brows shot up, amusement flickering across her face. “Bradford remembers all the details,” she drawled.

Tim ignored her, eyes steady on Lucy. “I do,” he said softly—his voice low, meant only for her.

Color rose to her cheeks as she watched him walk to the creek. Memories flashed—an early morning at the campus pool, cool water, sunlight breaking through ripples, and stolen kisses between laps.

Her gaze remained on him as he waded in beside Ethan, who was already splashing in the shallows. Ethan was a strong swimmer—but this wasn’t a pool.
The creek’s current tugged in places, the rocks uneven beneath the surface.
Lucy’s was glad Tim was there, close enough to reach him if he slipped.

None of the women chose to swim, so they decided to take a walk along the trail while the men watched the kids. As they strolled under dappled sunlight, conversation flowed easily—Lucy learned about Nyla's time undercover, the risks and adrenaline, the toll it took. Angela shared stories from her days as a training officer, funny anecdotes about rookies who'd fumbled their way through ride-alongs. Tim was a T.O. for a while too,” Angela mentioned. “Before he made sergeant. He drove his rookies nuts, but they usually turned out to be damn good cops.”

Lucy smiled faintly, picturing Tim with his rookies—pushing them too hard. But today with Ethan, she’d seen what they probably saw too, eventually: the calm under the fire, the kind of patience that built trust.

Back at the creek, Tim was waist-deep in cool water, Ethan and Jackson circling him like eager sharks. He scooped up a handful of water and splashed them both, earning twin shrieks of laughter. Jackson retaliated immediately, slapping the surface with both hands and drenching Tim's shirt. Lyla, meanwhile, had climbed onto James's shoulders, safe from the chaos below, giggling as she watched.

Wesley waded closer, grinning. "You're outnumbered, Bradford."

"I've handled worse," Tim shot back, grabbing Ethan around the waist and lifting him just enough to dunk his feet deeper into the water.
Ethan yelped, laughing, kicking his legs in mock protest.

They spotted small fish darting between the rocks, and the kids crouched low, trying to catch them with cupped hands—an impossible task that kept them entertained for a solid ten minutes.
Tim stayed close, one eye always on Ethan, watching the way his face lit up with every discovery, every smile.

Watching Ethan laugh freely, unguarded, Tim caught himself smiling.

Ethan trusting him, confiding in him, looking to him for help today—it all hit deeper than he expected. He already felt like a father, even if the word hadn’t been spoken yet.

He looked forward to when Ethan would call him “Dad,” but in every way that mattered, the bond was already there.



———

Chapter Text

By the time they climbed out of the water, the kids were ravenous again. Towels were passed around, bodies dried off, clothes changed behind trees. Another round of snacks appeared—bananas, trail mix, yogurt boxes—and the kids devoured everything in sight.

As they packed up together, Ethan grew quieter, his energy finally flagging. He leaned against Lucy's hip as they started back down the trail, dragging his feet slightly.

"You want me to carry you?" Lucy asked gently.

"What? No," Ethan said, affronted. "I'm not a baby."

Nearby, Jackson was already perched on Wesley's shoulders, and Lyla rode high on James's, both perfectly content.

Tim stepped closer. “He’s right, Lucy,” he said with mock seriousness, then shot Ethan a look. “He’s way too old to be carried.”

He paused, a mischievous glint sparking in his eyes. “But maybe—”

Before Ethan could react, Tim scooped him up and slung him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Coach! Noooo…” Ethan squealed, kicking and laughing, but when Tim started jogging down the trail, the boy’s protests gave way to laughter—the kind that came from deep in his belly, bright and unrestrained.

Lucy’s chest tightened, warmth flooding through her. She’d rarely seen Ethan like this—so free and happy. She watched them disappear around the bend, Ethan’s laughter echoing through the trees.

By the time the rest of the group reached the parking lot, the sun was low in the sky, painting everything gold. Ethan sat perched on the hood of Tim's truck, while Tim leaned against it—both of them breathless yet grinning.

Dusk settled as all of them loaded into their vehicles. The kids exchanged sleepy goodbyes, promises to do this again soon, while the adults echoed the sentiment.

"This was perfect," Nyla said, pulling Angela into a hug. Then she stepped back, eyes narrowing playfully. "You're an evil genius, you know that? Getting all our shifts aligned so we could actually do this?"

Angela laughed. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Color-coded spreadsheet and everything, I bet," James added with a grin.

Angela glanced around at the group. "It was worth it though. Days like this don't happen by accident."

Lucy caught Tim's eye across the parking lot. He gave her a small smile—one that said he agreed.

It had been a good day—the kind that left everyone tired and content.

As Tim pulled onto the road, Lucy glanced back at Ethan. He was already quiet, head tipped back, eyelids heavy. Her apartment was an hour away. He wouldn't last.

"Let's stop somewhere?” she asked softly. “We could grab a light supper.”

Tim nodded, pulling off at a small diner ten minutes later.

Inside, they slid into a booth—Lucy and Ethan on one side, Tim across from them. They ordered soup and salad, something easy. While they waited, Ethan folded a paper menu into an airplane, his face scrunched in concentration—the same expression Lucy made when she focused on something. Tim caught it and smiled, glancing at her.

Lucy leaned closer, her voice barely a whisper. "We were going to tell him today.”

Her voice was low, regret softening the edges. They’d promised themselves today would be the day—and somehow it had been too perfect to risk changing.

Her eyes flicked pointedly to Ethan, whose exhaustion was written in every line of his small body.

Tim nodded, understanding. Later, he mouthed.

Their food arrived, and Ethan perked up slightly, talking between bites about how much fun he'd had, recounting everything Lyla and Jackson had done in the water. His voice was animated, but his eyes drooped.

———

After dinner, they drove back into the night. Ethan fell asleep almost immediately, slumped in the booster seat, head tilted against the window.

Tim glanced in the rearview mirror, confirming he was out, before speaking in a low voice. “Ethan and I talked today. About the teasing at school."

Lucy's expression shifted, concern flickering across her face, as Tim repeated what Ethan had told him.

“Again? He told me about this a few months ago. I thought it had stopped." Her voice tightened. "He should be proud I'm a cop."

"He is," Tim said gently. "He told me so. But you know how kids are. They can be mean."

"I know." Lucy sighed, rubbing her temple.

Tim explained his approach—the parallel he'd drawn from his own childhood, his mother being a teacher at his school.

Lucy looked at him curiously. He rarely spoke about his childhood. "Did that actually happen?"

He glanced at her, before grinning sheepishly. "My mom was a teacher at my school, yeah. But no one really bullied me for it. I just thought... it would help him feel connected. Like he wasn't alone in it."

"Impressive, Bradford," Lucy said, a smile tugging at her lips. "Look at you, using psychology techniques even though you scoff at the subject."

"I do not scoff," he protested, then chuckled, thinking about the arguments they'd had about this very topic back in college.

Tim’s voice softened. “He’s not gonna like it when he finds out his dad’s a cop too, is he?”

Lucy exhaled, a small, wry smile tugging at her lips. “Hmm… probably not. But he’ll learn. Slowly. Just like we are.”

He nodded, thoughtful. "Anyway, I thought that was enough emotional talk for one day. Didn’t want to pile on another big thing. We’ll do it next week—just sit him down at home and tell him. Together. Okay?"

"Okay," Lucy said softly.

For a moment, she just watched him—his profile lit by the passing streetlights, hands steady on the wheel, expression resolved. “It was a nice thing to do,” she said finally. “Empathizing with him like that. I’m glad you two are starting to build your own connection.”

For a while, she stared out at the dark road, thoughts turning inward. Ethan had always turned to her—for comfort, for answers. Sharing that space with someone else felt… new. Different. She knew, deep down, it was good for Ethan—good for all of them. Still, she would have to learn to let go, one small piece at a time.

A comfortable silence settled between them. He reached out absently, fingers grazing her thigh—instinct more than intention.

She turned, meeting his eyes. He lifted his eyebrows slightly, a careful question.

"Nothing," she murmured, her fingers finding his. Her thumb traced the edge of his hand before he pulled back, leaving warmth in his wake.

Tim didn’t push. They were both still learning—coming to terms with the way things were shifting between them.

Lucy tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, exhaling. "It was… nice today," she said, her voice soft with satisfaction. He met her eyes and smiled.

“Yeah… it was very nice,” he agreed.

When they reached Lucy's apartment, Tim easily lifted Ethan from the booster seat, cradling him carefully against his chest. Lucy grabbed the backpacks and tote as she followed them inside.

Tim carried Ethan straight to his room, laying him gently on the bed before stepping out into the hallway. Lucy slipped in, pulling off Ethan's shoes and socks, carefully tugging his damp t-shirt over his head and replacing it with clean pajamas. She tucked the blanket around him, pressing a kiss to his forehead before stepping out.

——-

Lucy eased the bedroom door shut, the faint creak swallowed by the hush of the apartment. The soft glow from the hallway light caught the edges of her hair, loose and messy from the day. She exhaled, tired but oddly content.

Tim was waiting in the kitchen, perched on a barstool, turning a small pebble over in his hand. When she appeared, he looked up, something in his posture softening.

“Ethan and I found this rock together today—for his collection,” he explained with a small smile, as she looked curiously at his hands. 

She smiled back, a little tiredly, as she murmured, “I feel grimy.” She stretched her neck. ”I’ll go freshen up. Be back in a few minutes."

He shifted almost imperceptibly, eyes following her as she started down the hall.

"You're going to change?"

She paused, brows lifting at the question. "Yeah… why?"

"Nothing," he said too quickly, setting the pebble down. He stood, that restless energy she knew too well threading through him. She almost turned to head to her room when his voice dropped—low, roughened. "It's just—"

He closed the distance between them in a few slow strides. Her pulse kicked up as he stopped in front of her, gaze tracing her face, before moving lower to the tied knot at her waist. Without thinking, his fingers reached for it, tugging lightly until the fabric loosened.

Lucy froze, breath catching as the knot fell apart.

"I've been thinking about doing that all day," he murmured near her ear, his breath brushing her skin.

She swallowed, the air suddenly too thick. His hands brushed her waist, light but deliberate, thumbs grazing the edge of her waistband. For a moment, neither moved. Then she lifted her eyes to his, lips parting—and he leaned down, kissing her the way he'd wanted to since morning: deep, unhurried.

Lucy's fingers curled into his shoulders as she kissed him back. His mouth softened, tracing the corner of her lips, then her cheek, before skimming the curve of her ear.

"I really should shower," she whispered, still pressed against him.

He smiled against her skin. "I could help."

She laughed—a breathless, surprised sound. "That's ambitious, Bradford."

He shrugged, pretending nonchalance though his voice still carried heat. "No harm in asking."

She looked at him for a beat, eyes bright with something between amusement and want.

"Go get changed," he said finally, backing away an inch. "I'll wait."

Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "Actually, I should probably shower too. I've got a spare set of clothes in the truck."

"Sure," she said, her voice lighter now. "Bathroom's next to Ethan's room. I'll put out fresh towels."

——-

Fifteen minutes later, Tim was back on the couch—clean, comfortable, hair damp. He'd traded his hiking outfit for black sweats and a navy t-shirt, somehow looking very much at home in her living room.

Lucy padded in quietly, hair piled up, dressed in a pale green t-shirt and black shorts. She smiled when she saw him sprawled there.

"Wow," she said, teasing. "You look entirely comfortable."

He smirked, patting the cushion beside him. "It's a talent."

She sat, curling up beside him. His arm slid along the back of the couch, brushing her shoulders. She exhaled softly, leaning into him.

A faint, fruity scent reached her nose. She tilted her head, sniffing near his throat. “Wait—” She leaned back, eyes twinkling with amusement. "Did you just use Ethan's Berry Blast body wash?"

Tim looked almost offended. "It was the only thing in there, Chen."

She laughed so hard her shoulders shook. "I think strawberries go really well with your whole tough cop persona."

"Don't get used to it," he said, trying to keep his voice serious, but his grin betrayed him.

She was still laughing when he leaned in and kissed her, stealing the last of her breath.

The kiss deepened before either of them meant it to—her knees bent, her hands clutched his shoulders—and suddenly she was straddling him. His palms found her thighs, fingers tracing upward until they rested just under the hem of her shorts. She gasped softly against his mouth, the contact burning. Then his hands moved, cupping her from behind, drawing her closer.

She shuddered, stopping herself.

Her forehead rested against his. His breath still brushed her lips, the air between them warm.

"Tim," she whispered, regret already in her tone. "I'm sorry. I just—got my period."

He blinked, processing, trying to school his face.

"Oh." He swallowed, managing a small laugh that didn't hide the edge of disappointment. "That's… really lousy timing."

Her smile was rueful. "Tell me about it."

For a beat, there was silence—then he sighed. "Damn, Luce. I...." The want in his voice was unmistakable.

Her hand came up, brushing his cheek. "I know. I want this too."

He studied her for a long moment, then reached up to unclasp the clip from her hair, letting it tumble loose around her shoulders. Hope flickered in his eyes as his smile turned faint, almost boyish. "We could… still do other things. If you're okay with that."

Before he could say more, she answered him with a kiss—slow, deliberate, her intent clear.

---

She shifted off his lap, her lips trailing from his jaw down his neck to his collarbone. Her fingers slid under the edge of his shirt, tracing the skin there. He stood, backing her toward the hallway, then she pulled away, her smile alluring as she tugged him toward her room. She closed the door softly behind them and locked it.

He leaned back against the door for a few seconds, taking it in—her private space. The room was dimly lit by a bedside lamp, bathing everything in amber glow. A double bed with floral sheets. A love seat tucked in the corner near the window. A dresser, mostly neat. Books stacked on the nightstand.

Then his eyes landed on her again.

She moved forward, hands clutching his arms, then sliding lower to the edge of his t-shirt. She tugged it up until he helped her pull it off.

Lucy’s breath caught. Golden skin. Hard muscle. And then—scars. Not just one. A small cluster near his ribs, another faint line along his shoulder, and one deeper mark low on his side — the kind that told stories without words. They hadn’t been there eight years ago.

She looked up at him, something tightening in her chest.

He shrugged, his voice quiet. "Souvenirs from my Army days. Few from LAPD.”

Her fingers traced the long scar at his shoulder gently—likely a knife wound. She didn't say anything—couldn't—but the gratitude was there, unspoken. Thank God he'd survived.

Tim moved her back toward the bed, eyes intent. She bit her lip as his hands moved to lift her shirt. She raised her arms, letting him pull it off, revealing her simple black bra.

His gaze moved over her slowly, drinking her in—the flush on her skin, the rise and fall of her breathing, the way she held herself still under his attention.

His hands skimmed her waist, thumbs brushing the soft skin just above her shorts. She tensed for half a second—it was instinct. She wasn't the same as eight years ago either. But his touch didn't falter, didn't hesitate. She exhaled, tension melting as he leaned in to press a kiss to her collarbone, his palms steady and sure at her hips. 

They tumbled onto the bed, limbs tangling. Somewhere between kisses, his fingers found the clasp at her back, and she helped him ease it off. Her hands explored him, tracing the hard lines of muscle with growing confidence. Tim’s mouth followed the curve of her throat, her breasts—lingering there—before moving to the soft skin of her stomach.

She straddled him again, pressing kisses along his chest and jaw, her fingers teasing the ridges of his abs. Then she rested her forehead against his, eyes bright, breath uneven.

Tim cupped her face, kissing her with slow, deliberate intensity, each touch deepening the pull between them.

The kisses grew urgent—breathless now. Lucy found herself beneath him, her fingers digging into his back as his hands gripped her hips. He made her feel wanted in every way, cherished and claimed without hesitation. She felt him hard against her, and though they didn’t cross that final line, the way he touched her—the way he whispered her name like a vow—left her trembling. Every stroke of skin, every breathless gasp built until they were both shaking, lost in each other in every way that mattered.

After a long moment, the intensity ebbed. He gathered her close, both of them flushed and quiet, their breathing still uneven. Tim locked his arms around her, burying his face in her hair. Lucy lay against his shoulder, stunned by the intimacy of it—how vulnerable this felt.

“Stay with me,” she whispered into the quiet.

He pressed a kiss to her hair. “I’ll leave early. Before Ethan wakes up.”

She smiled as she turned to meet his gaze, pleased he agreed. She gently pressed her lips to his once before pulling back.

She looked around the room, then murmured, “Do you know where my bra is?”

Tim gave her a look that clearly said he’d rather she didn’t find it. She shot him a sleepy glare, then spotted her T-shirt at the foot of her bed and pulled it on, while Tim made a disapproving noise.

She swatted at his chest but missed as he rolled off the bed, muttering, “What? I was enjoying the view.” He grabbed his own T-shirt from the floor near the door and pulled it on before slipping under the covers beside her.

She shifted closer without a word, curling into him. Her hand slipped under his T-shirt, fingers pressing against his bare skin.  Within moments, she had drifted off, the exhaustion from the day catching up with her.

Tim lay awake, thinking. A smile ghosted across his lips.

Lucy's fingers curled against his skin even in sleep, holding on—she felt solid and real against him.

Their son was safe down the hall, asleep in his bed.

He hadn’t expected peace to look like this—so ordinary, so close.

For the first time in years, he let himself believe he could keep it.

He set his alarm for 5 a.m. and turned off the bedside lamp before closing his eyes.

---

Chapter Text

The bed creaked at a little past one.

Lucy’s eyes flew open, pulse spiking, her hand reaching instinctively for where her holster would’ve been. It wasn’t there. The dark settled around her in slow, familiar shapes — her dresser, the outline of the window, the faint spill of streetlight through the blinds.

She let out a breath, letting her heartbeat ease back into her chest.

Home. Her room.

And Tim was here.

His arm lay draped across her waist, the weight of it unfamiliar enough to make her go still. She was snugly tucked against him, his body angled toward hers, breath brushing faintly across her collarbone — the same breath that had been warm on her skin hours ago when he’d kissed her, slow and deliberate.

The memory flickered through her — the way he’d said her name against her mouth, the way she’d traced each new scar on his body, both of them learning each other again.

She closed her eyes briefly.

She wasn’t used to someone else in her bed.

But this was Tim.

In the last eight years, she had fantasized about waking up in his arms more times than she would admit to herself. But it still felt strange. Different.

Good.

She sighed.

Tim shifted then, rolling away. The mattress dipped as he turned onto his side, his arm sliding off her and taking his warmth with it.

Lucy hesitated, then inched closer to his back — careful not to wake him. Close enough to feel the heat radiating off him.

She breathed him in, and there it was: the faint sweetness of Ethan’s Berry Blast body wash clinging to his skin, softening the scent that was so distinctly Tim.

The tension he carried during the day — all that coiled readiness — was gone in sleep. His shoulders were relaxed, his posture unguarded.

She watched the rise and fall of his back, his breathing deep and even.

Within moments, sleep found her again.

———

She woke again to a soft, rhythmic sound.

For a moment she couldn’t place it. The room was still dark, the edges of the furniture blurred in shadow. Then her eyes adjusted, and she saw Tim’s silhouette beside her — flat on his back now, one arm flung above his head, the other resting loosely across his stomach.

He was snoring.

It wasn’t loud. Just a low, steady rumble on each exhale. Most people wouldn’t have registered it at all. But Lucy had been both a cop and a single mother for too long; she woke to the smallest shift in air.

She lay there listening to the cadence, a little annoyed — mostly with herself for not being able to turn her brain off.

Had he always snored? She tried to remember those two nights eight years ago, but they’d barely slept at all. They’d been too busy making the most of the few stolen hours they had.

The way he’d kissed her today had brought it all rushing back. The intensity of it. She felt the echo of it now, low in her stomach, an ache stirred by the thought of what they couldn’t finish tonight.

She pressed her legs together, shifting slightly. The sheets rustled as Lucy rolled onto her other side and glanced at the clock.

2:09 a.m.

It suddenly felt too quiet.

The snoring had stopped.

She went still.

After a moment, she turned her head just enough to look over her shoulder. Tim had shifted onto his side, facing her now. Even in the dim light, she could see his eyes open — watching her.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was rough with sleep, gravelly enough to make her stomach tighten. “Can’t sleep?”

Lucy managed a small smile as she turned onto her back to face him. He moved closer, the mattress dipping, and she felt the light brush of his fingertip tracing down her cheek.

“Sorry I woke you,” she murmured. “I’m… just not used to someone else in my bed.”

He raised his eyebrows slightly, more awake now. Waiting.

“It’s been a while,” she added, her voice barely audible.

“How long’s a while?”

“Tim—”

“I’m just asking.”

She exhaled, resigned. “Over a year. Fourteen months, if you want specifics.” She didn’t know why she was telling him all of this. “His name was Stuart. He was a pharmacist. It lasted three months and ended… badly.”

His hand found hers under the blanket, fingers threading through hers before he spoke again. “Okay. I’m glad I don’t have to compete with Stuart the pharmacist.”

Lucy huffed a laugh, shaking her head. She didn’t tell him the truth — that every man she’d dated in the last eight years had competed with him.

And none of them had ever stood a chance.

Instead she said, “You snore, you know.”

His eyes widened. “I do?”

“Just a little. Only on your back.”

“Alright,” he said, shifting closer again. “I’ll try to stay like this then.”

His hand reached up, brushing a few strands of hair back from her temple, fingers caressing. “What’s keeping you up, Luce?” he asked, his voice dropping lower. “The snoring?” He paused before continuing. “Or me being here?”

“I…”

She stopped, eyes locking with his — clear blue even in the dim light. “I don’t know, Tim. It’s just been…”

She trailed off as his hand slid down to her arm, slow and steady, fingertips tracing gentle patterns along her skin.

Something about his gaze, the comfort of him so close, the rhythm of his breathing — it loosened something in her. Made her feel like she didn’t have to guard every sentence.

“I spent the last eight years dating on and off,” she said finally, voice barely above a whisper. “But I never let myself get attached. I never let any of them meet Ethan. I told myself I didn’t need anyone. That we didn’t need anyone. That our family was… enough.”

His thumb brushed her elbow, waiting patiently.

“With you,” she continued, eyes dropping to his chest as her hand lifted to rest over his heart, the even thrumming grounding her, “I want this. You. Us. Whatever we’re becoming. And it feels right. It never did before.” She swallowed. “But it still feels strange. Like I’m suddenly not the person I’ve been for so long.”

Her voice thinned. “Even with Ethan… I’m glad he has you now. That I don’t have to do all of it alone. But I’ve always been the one he turns to—for everything.”

His fingers stilled on her upper arm. “And today he came to me,” he said in understanding.

Lucy nodded once. “Yeah.”

His hand squeezed her shoulder gently. “I’m going to be there for him with you. Not instead of you. You know that, right?”

She didn’t answer immediately. But when her eyes lifted to his, they were steady — vulnerable, but steady.

“I know,” she murmured. “I just need time to get used to it.”

Lucy shifted closer, resting her forehead against his chest. He wrapped an arm around her without hesitation, pulling her in. Snuggled against his warmth, breathing him in, she finally let the last truth slip out.

“I don’t know how to share Ethan. Or myself. It feels like… giving up control.”

She hadn't meant to say that out loud, but the dark of the night and the safety of his arms had brought out everything she'd kept locked inside.

Tim didn’t speak for a long moment. But his fingers resumed their gentle patterns, on her back now, a silent reassurance.

His breath brushed the top of her head. “I’m here with you Lucy. And with him. You don’t have to give up anything to make space for me.”

She paused before replying, her fingers curling against his chest. "I know that. In my head, I know that." Her voice dropped lower. "But... letting someone else be there for him, for us... it's harder than I thought it would be. Scary, even."

His arm tightened slightly around her, pulling her closer. "Yeah," he said, his voice low. "I know. But you're trying, and that's enough for me."

Something in his voice made her feel too visible, like he could read more in her words than she meant to reveal.

Lucy shifted, rolling onto her other side—away from him, needing distance from her own words—but Tim followed without hesitation, fitting himself along her back, his arm settling around her waist.

She sighed, pressing back into him, the heat of him seeping through her T-shirt.

Then she felt it—the unmistakable pressure of his arousal against her lower back.

Her whole body tensed.

"Yeah, I know. Sorry." Tim's voice was rueful. "Can't really control that part."

"Tim, I…" she started.

"You're pressed up against me, Luce. I can't help it." He cut her off, his voice staying gentle, but sure. "It doesn't mean we have to—I'm not expecting—"

"I know." And she did. But it didn't stop the wave of want that shot through her, or the ache of how unfair the timing was.

"Hey." His arm tightened, firm and grounding. "We have time, remember? We're not students anymore. We don't have to rush anything." He pressed a soft kiss to the back of her neck. "We can just be here. Right?"

Lucy closed her eyes, letting herself settle into the  rhythm of him—his breath steady and even at her back, bringing a calm she could feel all the way through.

Maybe he was right. Maybe tonight, this was enough.

Just before sleep claimed her, she felt him shift slightly, his lips brushing her shoulder through her T-shirt.

"Now sleep. Before Ethan catches me here in the morning."

——— 

Tim’s alarm buzzed in the still room, and his hand instinctively shot out to silence it before it grew any louder. He blinked, letting his eyes adjust to the pale strip of early light filtering through the curtains.

Lucy was still asleep, turned slightly toward him. Sometime in the night she had shifted out of the curve of his body, but not completely away — her fingers were curled loosely in the fabric of his T-shirt, as if she’d held on even after sleep pulled her under.

After the night they'd had — the confessions whispered in the dark, the way she'd finally let herself ease into his arms — he was grateful she looked peaceful now. Even the alarm hadn’t stirred her.

He lay there for a moment, watching her breathe.

Her face was calm in a way he didn’t often get to see. Last night had been… slow, honest. Unfamiliar in the way trust always felt—when you hadn't let yourself have it in a long time.

A familiar tension flickered in him — that worry he kept carefully buried. It wasn’t rational, not anymore, but sometimes he still feared she might close off again, the way she had eight years ago when she’d found out she was pregnant.

He’d told himself he’d made peace with it. Most days, he believed that.

But every now and then, the thought crept back in.

Last night, though… she’d let him in more than she usually did. And he was glad she’d felt safe enough to voice her fears.

Lucy shifted, rolling onto her back. Her hand slipped free of his shirt, her fingers relaxing against the sheets.

Tim smiled inwardly. He wanted to be there for her — to help her navigate all of it. And he wanted her beside him as he figured out fatherhood. As they tried, somehow, to build something that looked like a family.

That was what mattered.

He leaned in and brushed a kiss to the top of her head — light enough not to wake her — before slipping out of bed.

—— 

Lucy woke to pale gray light filtering through her curtains and the immediate awareness that she was alone in bed.

For a moment, she lay still, contentment washing over her.

Tim. Last night. His deep kisses and gentle hands. His chest pressed against her back. His voice in the dark.

Her lips curved into a small smile at the memory.

Then the rest of it came flooding back — the way she'd kept waking. The snoring. The confessions that had spilled out somewhere around 2 a.m. when exhaustion had stripped away every filter she usually kept firmly in place.

She pressed her palms to her face, groaning. God. She’d finally had the man she’d spent years quietly longing for in her bed — and she'd spent half the night telling him she wasn't used to sharing it.

And she'd told him everything. How scared she was. How hard it was to let him in. How she didn't know how to share Ethan or herself.

And he'd just... listened. Held her. Soothed her.

She pushed herself up on one elbow, her body still heavy with sleep. Though she'd woken several times during the night, those last few hours tucked against him had been deep and restful in a way she hadn't expected.

The other side of the bed was empty but still rumpled, the pillow dented where his head had been. She reached out, pressing her hand to the sheet. Still warm.

So he hadn't been gone long.

She glanced at her phone on the nightstand. 5:47 a.m. He must have slipped out right after his alarm, like he'd promised. Before Ethan woke up.

The realization brought relief—and something that edged close to loneliness.

She wasn't sure how to face him yet, not after last night. But she'd also gotten used to the solid weight of him at her back far too quickly.

Lucy turned onto her side, wincing at the dull cramp in her lower abdomen.

Right. That explained some of it—why the words had spilled out so easily, why everything felt bigger, harder to manage.

She lay back again, staring at the ceiling. He hadn’t flinched from any of it — from her fear, her uncertainty. He’d stayed.

And maybe that was what unsettled her most.

A creak sounded down the hall — Ethan's door.

Lucy sat up, running her fingers through her tangled hair. She needed coffee. Needed to pull herself together before her son came padding in for their usual Sunday morning cuddle.

Despite the exhaustion, despite the cramping, despite the vulnerability still tightening her chest — a small smile tugged at her lips. He wasn’t the type to run just because she’d been emotionally wound up for one night.

He’d probably driven home with that mildly amused look he always tried to hide, as he replayed her words in his head.

The thought made something settle in her chest—reassuring yet a little scary.

She heard Ethan's footsteps in the hallway and quickly smoothed down her shirt, trying to look like someone who'd had a perfectly normal, uneventful night.

——— 

Later that morning, sunlight spilled into the apartment through the curtains as Lucy rinsed the pancake griddle before setting it to dry.

Ethan hummed to himself at the table, coloring a cluster of oddly shaped rocks in his sketchbook — shades of grey, brown, and faint blue.

"You remember where you saw those?" she asked, wiping her hands on her apron, as she stepped closer.

"At the creek yesterday," Ethan said, not looking up. "They looked like they had sparkles in them when the sun hit."

Lucy smiled. "Yeah, you and Tim were picking through those, right? In fact," she picked up the stone from the counter before continuing, "Tim had this one in his pocket, asked me to give it to you."

Ethan grinned and placed it on the corner of his page like a reference model.

As he went back to drawing, Lucy leaned against the counter. A new message buzzed on her phone and she picked it up from the counter. Her heart gave a small, familiar jump at the sight of Tim's name.

Tim: Did you sleep okay after I left? And there was no more snoring sounds?

A smile tugged at her lips.

Lucy: Funny. I actually did sleep okay, thank you very much. And just for the record, you were not snoring. Much. 😏

Tim: "Not much"? Almost sounds like a compliment. So, what are you two up to today?

Lucy: Pancakes. Cartoons. Laziness. The holy trinity of Sundays.

Tim: Sounds perfect. I had to cover half a shift this morning, but I'm off now. Getting my truck washed, then going to go trim the garden hedge.

She chuckled, thumb hovering over the screen before typing.

Lucy: Very responsible of you. Should I be impressed?

Tim: Always.

A small, content silence filled the apartment as she scrolled through her photos from the Malibu hike. She started sending him a few — the group picture with Lopez's family and Nyla, a sunlit shot of the creek, a candid of Ethan trying to balance on a rock while Tim steadied him.

Tim: These are great.

Tim: This one though — you and Ethan. This one's my favorite.

Lucy looked at the photo he had tagged - Ethan leaning into her, cheeks flushed from the sun.

Lucy: Yeah? I love this one.

She attached a photo of Tim and Ethan kneeling by the water, both squinting into the light, smiles unguarded.

Her phone buzzed again—this time, his name flashing across the screen. She glanced at Ethan, still absorbed in his drawing, and slipped into the hallway before answering. "Hey."

"Hey. Figured this was easier than typing." His voice was relaxed, low. 

There was a pause—easy, familiar. The kind that didn't need filling.

"Hey… about last night," she said quietly. "I kind of unloaded a lot on you."

There was a moment of silence, and she could almost feel him listening on the other end.

"You didn't unload anything," Tim said firmly. "You trusted me."

She exhaled. "Okay." After a beat, she added, "I just wanted to make sure you're... still good with all of it."

He chuckled, low and easy. "Lucy, if we're going to do this right, you shouldn't feel guilty for being honest. That's kind of the point." He spoke with that calm certainty she'd come to trust — the kind that smoothed the edges of her doubt.

Her silence stretched for a moment. "Yeah," she said finally, her voice small but smiling. "Okay."

Tim waited a beat, giving her space before nudging them toward lighter territory.

“So… I was actually thinking of getting Ethan a little present,” he started.

"Oh?"

"I know one of his friends has this fossil thing—that he mentioned he likes—and I thought it might be fun to get him one too."

"Hmm." She tilted her head. "It's a nice thought. If we start matching everything his friends have though, it sets a tricky precedent."

"Got it," he said easily. "Looks like I still have a lot to learn."

"You'll get there," she said gingerly. "I've just had a head start." 

He laughed, and she could hear the smile in it — the joy that always crept in when they talked about Ethan.

"Hmmm," he answered. "Alright, I'll think of something else." 

She smiled. "Are you trying to soften him up before we tell him?"

"Maybe," he admitted. "Can't hurt my odds."

Her voice dipped. "We're really doing this next weekend, right?"

"Yeah," he said.

"Next weekend. No matter what."

——