Work Text:
Ha, I think I get Thorsen, Lucy thought, that thought instantly evaporating when the boat rocked gently, and a wave of nausea rolled over her, causing her to lose her composure momentarily.
Sure, the view was fantastic – it was nearing sunset, the rays casting a really beautiful shade of orange across the sky, bouncing off the waves, before reflecting off the backless, emerald-green sequin gown that she looked absolutely stunning in – she made a note to see if there was any way she could ‘borrow’ it and keep it – albeit one that provided absolutely zero tactical advantage.
Well, tactical advantage was subjective. After all, she had managed to get onto the boat and not stick out like a sore thumb.
She turned away from the ocean, lifting her champagne flute to her lips to hide the movement of her lips as she relayed the fact that she had eyes on their target, and he was moving below deck.
“Copy that,” Tim’s voice came through, clear and steady. He was on a tiny speedboat, idling just out of sight, he and seven other officers ready to move in once Lucy got what they needed.
Or if something went south.
30 seconds. That’s how long she’d have to hold out.
Lucy turned to follow the target - Julian Waters, an arms dealer with a penchant for performing sales on the sea, disguised by lavish parties overflowing with champagne and liquor that you couldn’t get in the United States. She weaved through the crowd, glad that she was heading away from the chill above deck.
“Hey! Wait a minute!”
A hand clamped around her bare upper arm, stopping her in her place. She forced a polite smile onto her face and turned to face a man in a white suit that cost more than her and Tim’s yearly salaries combined. He was swaying slightly now, and it was not from the gentle rocking of the boat.
Fuck.
“I thought I recognised you,” he slurred, his fingers pointing dangerously close to her face, his grip on her arm still iron-like.
“You must be mistaken, Sir,” Lucy pointed out smoothly, aware of an increasing number of eyes staring in her direction, “I’m just heading below deck.”
“No, no,” the drunk persisted, rudely tugging Lucy into him, leaning in, the expensive scotch reeking off him, “I know you. And I never forget a pretty face, especially when it’s one that ruins my wedding anniversary. You’re that cop.”
Lucy’s stomach dropped. Now, really? When she was in the middle of the fucking ocean? Fuck.
“Sir, you’ve had a bit too much to drink,” she pointed out, dropping her voice, trying to de-escalate before she became the talk of the entire swanky yacht, “I suggest you let go of my arm before your suit becomes waterlogged and you will have to swim back to LA.”
“You gave me a ticket for a U-turn I’ve done on that road since before you were born, bitch,” he stated louder, and there was no use in trying to be discreet now, “Oh, Julian is going to love this – a cop on his yacht.”
The music seemed to stop, and the chatter died down, everyone looking at them. The target, Julian froze, turning around slowly, first looking at the drunk man, and then at the mysterious woman in emerald.
Lucy was burned.
“I need an out,” she whispered quietly, hearing confirmation that her backup was on the way.
“Is that true?” Julian asked, his voice quiet, but with the music now off, and all the guests staring at them intently, he was more than audible.
She was about to start sweet-talking her way to buy herself 30 seconds when the drunk man lunged at her, and she reacted, shoving him backwards into a waiter carrying more champagne, moving towards the stern of the ship, trying to reach for the tiny gun she had strapped to her thigh, but another man grabbed her – Julian’s bodyguard probably – stopping her, twisting her arm behind her arm with enough force to make her gasp.
She kicked back, the bodyguard letting go, and she propelled herself forward towards the railing, knowing it was her only escape.
Besides, Tim and the team should be close now. Right?
“I’m jumping,” she relayed over comms, readying herself to dive into the ocean.
“Grab her!” Julian yelled behind her, the weapon firing behind her just as she vaulted over the railing. A sudden, searing heat was tearing across her upper left arm, and it was evident that she had been hit.
Fuck.
She opened her mouth to scream, but it was ripped away by the wind before she hit the water.
Hard.
The cold forced the limited air in her lungs out of them, but she couldn’t think about that for long when the ocean water lapped against the fresh bullet graze.
It was more than a sting – it felt like an all-out immolation, despite the fact that she was colder than she had ever felt before. The pain was all-consuming, and whilst she knew deep down that she had to keep swimming, keep moving, she could do nothing as she slipped underwater, reflexively gasping, inhaling a mouthful of frigid, salty water.
She choked, limbs thrashing as her panic set in.
She wasn’t a strong swimmer. A couple of laps in the pool? Sure, no problem. But this was the open Pacific – freezing, choppy, dark. Her heels felt like lead weights, tugging her down, and she attempted to contort herself to free herself of them, not succeeding.
Up. You need to go up.
She found the strength to break the surface, gasping as she coughed up the water, swivelling her head as she tried to locate her backup.
“Tim?” she called out, but a wave slapped her in the face, her efforts to stay afloat less and less effective.
Her one good arm was struggling to keep her buoyant when she paddled, and the sequins of the dress, albeit stunning, were no doubt adding to the difficulty of her staying afloat.
She went under again.
What a way to go, dying in a sparkly dress in the middle of nowhere.
Someone yelled, or maybe she imagined it. But she kicked with more force, breaking the surface again, and tilting her head back, but not getting any air before another wave crashed into her, currents tugging at her far too strongly.
Her strength was gone, the cold leaching into her bones, mixing in with the burning of the salt against the young officer's wound as the distance to the surface grew.
Just as Lucy closed her eyes, a hand grabbed her, frantic, another iron grip against her arm, tugging her to the side.
She was hauled upwards, her face breaking the surface, and she sucked in a desperate breath, shivering.
“I got you,” she heard Tim behind her, treading water, keeping her above the waves as they crashed straight into him.
“Breathe,” he ordered her, hearing the speedboat pull up behind him, a light casting over the two of them.
“Lucy, you hit?” he asked her, but she only clattered her teeth, wincing when he tried to get a better look.
Two sets of hands reached down, grabbing Lucy from Tim’s arms, pulling her up as she screamed in pain.
Tim pulled himself up too, at her side instantly as she rolled to the side, retching seawater, holding on tightly to her hand, willing the officer commandeering their tiny boat to speed up and make it back to their larger one, where they’d be able to warm up Lucy and tend to her injury.
*
“Need a medic!” Tim hollered out as they made it to their boat – well, technically Aaron’s yacht - five minutes later, Lucy frigid in his arms, lethargic.
“I got you, Sergeant,” one appeared almost instantly, giving her a once-over, even as the Sergeant still clung onto her.
“She’s hypothermic, and you’re close to it, Sergeant.”
“Can you see how bad her arm is first?” he asked, the medic cutting the beautiful dress, pouring saline all over it as Lucy arched into Tim, whimpering in pain. He lowered his mouth to her ear, whispering into it as the medic worked to clear the wound, stitching it up with six neat stitches in less than five minutes.
“Done. Now, you need to get into dry clothes, both of you. Sergeant Chen’s turning blue.”
Tim looked at Lucy, her skin indeed icy under his touch, her lips tinging blue.
Swiftly, he lifted her back into his arms, heading below deck, glad that Thorsen had a penchant for the rich and extravagant.
In record speed, he stripped himself of his wet uniform, grabbing the first set of spare clothes that fit him in the wardrobe, before turning to Lucy, talking to her as he unzipped the dress and tugged it off her gently, watching as she sluggishly responded to him.
“Lucy, I need to take everything off you, you okay with that?” he asked her, and she managed to vocalise a small yes, letting Tim take everything off her – there was no hesitation, no awkwardness, just Tim terrified that he had dived after Lucy far too late.
“Arms up,” he commanded gently, pulling a thick, dry hoodie over her head, before tugging on sweatpants and then socks he managed to find in a drawer.
“Better?” he asked her, and she nodded.
“A little… still… cold…”
Tim looked through the wardrobe again, finding a thermal blanket, wrapping it around her, careful of her injured arm, but when she still clattered her teeth, he pulled her into him, wrapping his arms around her, letting her rest against his chest, tucking his chin over her shoulder, knowing she felt much better as she melted into him, no sign she was in any more pain, or that she was getting any colder.
“We’re about ten minutes out, Lu. I got you.”