Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

If the end of the world was near, where would you choose to be? If there was five more minutes of air, would you panic and hide? Or run for your life? Or stand here and spend it with me? If we had five more minutes, Would I, could I, make you happy?

The late afternoon sun spills warm and golden across the windshield as they make their way back to the shop, the quiet hum of the engine settling into something easy, familiar. It feels strange in a way Lucy hasn’t quite put words to yet, being back in the passenger seat of a patrol car with John behind the wheel, like no time has passed and too much time has passed all at once.

She nudges the door shut, sliding into the seat with a soft exhale as she glances over at him, already narrowing her eyes in mock offense.

“We haven’t ridden together in so long and you’re going to make me do the paperwork?” she asks, the accusation light but deliberate, like she’s testing how far she can push him.

John laughs under his breath as he rounds the front of the car and climbs into the driver’s seat, shaking his head as he starts the engine. “That guy had five felonies on this call,” he says, glancing over at her with a grin that’s already apologetic and not apologetic at all. “I’m definitely not touching that amount of paperwork with a ten foot pole.”

Lucy huffs, crossing her arms as she settles back into the seat, but there’s no real bite to it. “You suck,” she mutters, though the corner of her mouth twitches like she’s trying not to smile.

John chuckles, pulling them out onto the street with an ease that hasn’t changed, not really. “Missed you too.”

The words land softer than the joke intends, and for a moment, Lucy just lets the quiet settle between them. The city moves around them in a blur of motion and sound, cars passing, distant sirens, the low rhythm of life continuing, but inside the shop, it feels…still. Grounded.

She leans her head back against the seat, eyes drifting out the window as something in her chest loosens. They haven’t done this in a long time. Not like this.

Not since…Her thoughts catch, unbidden, and shift. Since right after their rookie year. Since everything changed. Since Jackson.

The memory comes with a familiar ache, sharp but fleeting, like something well worn that still knows how to sting if she presses too hard on it. For a second, it threatens to pull her under, to drag her back into that grief, but instead it twists into something softer. Warmer. Because Jackson would have so much to say about all of this.

The thought hits her all at once, vivid and ridiculous, and she lets out a quiet laugh, shaking her head as the image forms, Jackson, perfectly put together, absolutely horrified at the chaos their lives have become.

“What’s so funny?” John asks, glancing over at her like he’s trying to decide if she’s lost it.

Lucy huffs out another laugh, turning her head toward him, her smile lingering. “Just thinking about how Jackson would react to our lives now.”

John lets out a sharp breath of laughter, the sound immediate and genuine. “He’d lose his mind,” he says, not even hesitating.

Lucy hums in agreement, her smile widening just a little as she ticks things off casually, like it’s nothing. “You’re a T.O. now, union rep, and married.”

There’s a quiet pride in her voice, subtle but there, and John catches it, glancing at her again with a look that’s half amused, half suspicious.

“What?” she asks, feigning innocence as she shifts in her seat.

He gives her a look. Not buying it for a second.“You and I both know it wouldn’t be my life he’d find wild.”

Lucy shrugs, deliberately casual, turning her attention back to the window as if the passing buildings are suddenly fascinating. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, please,” John scoffs, shaking his head as he merges through traffic. “You and Tim? Come on. You’re in love with your T.O., you’re living with him, you’re a sergeant, he’s watch commander,” he pauses just long enough to glance at her, grin widening, “and if Celina’s manifesting works, you and your boss will be married soon.”

Lucy feels the heat rise to her cheeks before she can stop it, the reaction immediate and impossible to hide. She exhales softly, turning her face fully toward the window this time, hoping the movement is enough to mask the way her expression betrays her.

Because the thing is he’s not wrong. Her mind betrays her instantly, flashing to the garage, to the way Tim has been weirdly protective of that space lately. The way he moves just a little too fast whenever she even mentions going in there. The way his voice shifts, casual but not quite, like he’s trying to redirect her without making it obvious. The way he practically leaps out of his chair every time she dares to touch the door knob.

And she’s not stupid. She knows him. She knows there’s a ring somewhere. And she’s almost certain it’s in that garage. The thought alone is enough to make her smile widen, something soft and bright blooming in her chest as she presses her lips together, trying, and failing, not to react.

Beside her, John hums, low and knowing, like he has all the confirmation he needs. “Yeah,” he says lightly. “That’s what I thought.”

Lucy doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t need to. The smile lingering on her face says more than enough. The radio crackles to life just as the quiet settles into something comfortable, something familiar enough that Lucy almost forgets they’re still on shift.

“Any available units near Wilshire, we’ve got a 415 disturbance. Male subject yelling, acting erratic, reportedly confronting bystanders. Caller states he may become physical. No weapons confirmed. Units to handle?”

Lucy is already reaching for the radio before the dispatcher finishes. “7-Adam-100, responding.”

Beside her, John flips on the lights and sirens in one smooth motion, the low hum of the car shifting instantly into something sharper, more urgent as they merge into traffic. The city seems to part around them, sound warping into that distant, familiar blur that always comes with the job, sirens, horns, movement, all of it narrowing into a single point of focus.

Lucy straightens slightly in her seat, the easy warmth from before slipping away as her attention sharpens. Her hand rests loosely near her belt, not tense yet, but ready.

When they arrive, the shift is immediate. The man stands out before they even fully step out of the car. He’s in the middle of the sidewalk, shirtless, broad shouldered, his skin slick with sweat despite the breeze that cuts through the street. He paces in tight, erratic circles, arms slicing through the air like he’s arguing with something no one else can see, his voice raised in sharp, disjointed bursts that don’t quite form sentences.

Lucy watches him for half a second, taking in the signs, the agitation, the lack of focus, the way his movements don’t track with anything real. “PCP,” she murmurs under her breath.

John nods once, already on the same page. Which means stronger. Faster. And a whole lot less responsive to pain.

They step forward carefully, the space between them and the suspect measured.

“Sir,” John calls out, his voice steady, as he lifts one hand slightly, the other hovering near his belt. “Hey, let’s talk for a second.”

The man snaps toward them. The movement is too fast, too sharp. His eyes are wild, unfocused, chest heaving like he’s been running for miles, even though he hasn’t moved more than a few feet. There’s no recognition there, no grounding, just raw, untethered energy.

“Don’t come closer!” he barks, his voice cracking as he stumbles a step back, then forward again, the motion unpredictable and unstable.

Lucy shifts subtly to the side, adjusting her angle without drawing attention to it, giving them a better position if this goes bad.

“We’re not here to hurt you,” she says, her voice calm but firm, the tone she’s practiced a hundred times, the one meant to cut through panic. “We just want to make sure you’re okay.”

For a split second, just one, it looks like it might land. Like he might actually hear her, and then he lunges and everything collapses into motion at once.

John reacts first, stepping in, grabbing for the suspect’s arm just as the man swings wildly. The force of it is enough to carry them all off balance, momentum crashing through the space between them as Lucy moves in without thinking, grabbing the other arm.

“Stop resisting!” she shouts, her voice sharp as the struggle explodes.

The suspect thrashes hard, his strength uneven but overwhelming, fueled by something deeper than adrenaline alone. His movements don’t follow logic, don’t follow pain, and it takes everything they have just to contain him.

Shoes scrape harshly against pavement, bodies colliding as they fight for control, and then they’re going down, hard, hitting the ground in a tangled mess of limbs and weight.

“Hands behind your back!” John grunts, trying to wrench the suspect’s wrist into position.

For a moment, just a moment, it feels like they’ve got him. The man’s chest is pressed to the ground, one arm halfway pinned, Lucy shifting her weight to keep him there… And then everything fractures.

A second figure rushes in from the side, fast and Unexpected.

“Hey—” Lucy barely gets the word out before impact slams into her.

Hands hit her hard, shoving, and suddenly she’s off balance, her footing gone as she’s thrown sideways. The ground comes up fast and unforgiving, as she hits it with a sharp, breath stealing force that knocks the air clean out of her lungs. For a second, there’s nothing. No breath. No sound. Just the hollow, suffocating absence of it.

Behind her, John’s grip falters, just for a fraction of a second. But it’s enough. The suspect twists violently, ripping his arm free and surging to his feet without hesitation, bolting down the street.

“Stop!” John shouts, pushing himself up, his attention snapping between the fleeing suspect and Lucy as she struggles to orient herself, the world tilting just slightly out of place.

“I’m good,” she manages, forcing the words out past the lingering tightness in her chest as she pushes herself up, ignoring the flare of pain that sparks along her side. “Go!”

He hesitates. Just a beat. Then he turns and runs.

Lucy exhales sharply, forcing air back into lungs that still haven’t quite recovered, and then she’s moving again because stopping isn’t an option, not here, not now. The adrenaline surging through her veins dulls the sharpest edges of the pain, pushes everything else to the background, and she lets it, lets instinct take over as her gaze sweeps the scene with practiced precision.

Movement catches her eye. Just a flicker ahead, subtle enough that she might have missed it if she weren’t already keyed up, already searching for what doesn’t belong. One of them doubled back.

Her focus sharpens instantly, the rest of the world narrowing around that single point as her body shifts, ready to react, ready to move,  but she’s a fraction of a second too late. He charges.

The impact hits her before she can fully brace, slamming into her with enough force to drive her backward, her boots scraping uselessly against the pavement as she fights for traction that isn’t there. The breath she just forced back into her lungs is knocked loose again as his weight barrels into her, unrelenting, unbalanced, stronger than it should be.

She tries to hold her ground. She really does. But he comes at her again, reckless and full force, and this time her balance breaks completely. She goes down. Hard.

The world compresses into a blinding flash at the edges of her vision as her body hits the pavement, the shock of it rattling through her bones, through her spine, through every part of her that makes contact with the ground. For a split second, everything feels distant, like her body hasn’t quite caught up to what just happened.

And then the first kick lands. It’s sharp and brutal, the kind of impact that doesn’t just hurt but disorients, knocking what little air she has left clean out of her lungs. Pain blooms fast and deep, spreading across her ribs as she curls instinctively, arms coming up to shield what she can, to protect what matters.

Another strike follows, just as hard, just as unforgiving.

“Stay down!” he snarls, his voice cutting through the haze, though it sounds wrong somehow, warped and distant like it’s coming from underwater.

She doesn’t listen. She can’t. Training overrides everything else, cuts through the chaos and the pain and the instinct to stay curled up and safe, because staying down here means losing control, and losing control is not an option she allows herself.

She forces herself to move. Even when every part of her body protests. Even when it feels like her ribs are splintering with every breath she drags in. She twists just enough to avoid the next blow, the movement clumsy but deliberate, buying herself inches of space that feel like miles in the moment. Her hands press against the pavement, fingers scraping for leverage as she drags one knee under her, trying to push herself up, trying to get back to her feet where she has a chance—

his boot comes down on her thigh. Hard. All of his weight behind it. The force drives her leg straight back into the pavement, the impact jarring and wrong in a way her body immediately recognizes, even before the pain fully registers. When it does, it’s blinding, sharp and immediate, shooting through her leg so intensely it steals whatever breath she has left and replaces it with something dangerously close to panic.

Her leg gives out beneath her. She tries to push anyway. She tells it to move, to hold, to do something. Nothing happens. It doesn’t respond. For a split second, that’s the part that truly rattles her. Not the pain. Not the impact. The fact that her body, something she has always relied on, something that has always responded when she needed it to, simply… doesn’t.

He lifts his foot again. She sees it, tracks the movement even through the blur creeping into her vision, and she knows, with a clarity that cuts through everything else, that she is not getting up in time.

Her hand moves without her fully thinking about it, fumbling at her belt, fingers clumsy and uncoordinated as they search blindly, her focus narrowing down to one singular goal.

Find it. Now.

Another kick glances off her shoulder, sending a sharp jolt through her upper body that makes her vision swim harder, makes the world tilt in a way she doesn’t like, but she grits her teeth against it, forces herself to stay present, to stay here.

Her fingers finally close around something solid. The taser. Relief doesn’t come, not fully, but it’s enough. She rolls onto her back, the movement slower than she wants it to be, her injured leg dragging uselessly as she shifts, just as he steps in again, his shadow looming over her, his foot already lifting for another strike.

She doesn’t hesitate. She fires. For a split second, nothing happens, and in that heartbeat of silence, something cold slips into her chest, something dangerously close to fear and then his body locks. Every muscle seizes at once, the aggression draining out of him as the current takes over, replacing motion with rigid, uncontrollable tension. His limbs jerk violently before he collapses, hitting the pavement hard, the force of it echoing faintly in Lucy’s ears as the world begins to settle again.

He twitches once, twice, then stills except for the faint residual tremor running through him. Silence rushes in. It’s thick and sudden, pressing in around her in a way that feels almost unnatural after the chaos, broken only by the sound of her own ragged breathing as she lies there, staring at him, waiting for any sign that he might move again. He doesn’t.

Lucy stays where she is for a moment longer, her chest rising and falling unevenly as the adrenaline that carried her through begins to flicker, unstable now that the immediate threat is gone. The pain she shoved aside starts creeping back in, settling deep into her ribs, her shoulder, her leg, each pulse of it more insistent than the last.

She swallows hard, forcing herself to move despite it. Slowly. Carefully. She pushes herself upright, her movements deliberate, controlled, even as her body protests, even as her leg threatens to give out again beneath her. She keeps the taser trained on him the entire time, her grip steady even if the rest of her isn’t quite there yet.

“Don’t move,” she manages, her voice not as strong as she wants it to be but still firm enough to hold.

Footsteps pound back into the scene, fast and heavy. John drops to a knee beside the suspect almost immediately, his movements efficient despite the lingering edge of urgency in them as he grabs the man’s wrists and pulls them behind his back.

“I’ve got him,” he says, breathless, the metallic click of the cuffs snapping into place cutting cleanly through the air. He glances up at her then, eyes scanning quickly, assessing. “You okay?”

Lucy doesn’t answer right away. She just nods once, small and controlled, focusing on keeping her breathing even, on keeping herself upright, on holding everything together through sheer will as the moment finally, slowly, settles around them.

By the time John has both suspects cuffed, searched, and secured in the back of the shop, the adrenaline that carried Lucy through the fight has burned down to something thinner, shakier, leaving everything underneath it exposed.

He finds her sitting on the curb where he left her, shoulders slightly hunched, one hand braced against the concrete beside her like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. Her breathing is uneven, each inhale just a little too careful, and when she presses her lips together, he catches the faint smear of red at the corner of her mouth.

Up close, it’s worse. Color is already blooming along her neck, angry and dark beneath her skin, and there’s a tightness in the way she holds herself that immediately sets something off in his chest. John crouches in front of her without saying anything at first, just taking her in, assessing the way she’s sitting, the way her weight is shifted.

Lucy notices. And because she does, because she knows exactly what that look means, she pushes her hand harder against the curb and tries to stand before he can say a word. It’s automatic. Reflexive. She gets maybe halfway up before the world tilts violently. Her vision blacks at the edges, then all at once, and her balance disappears with it.

“Woah, woah, okay, okay,” John says quickly, reaching out to steady her before she can go down again, guiding her back to the curb with a firm but careful grip. “Sit back down.”

“I’m fine,” Lucy grumbles, the words coming out thinner than she wants them to, strained around the way her lungs protest the effort.

It’s a lie. A bad one. She can feel it in every shallow breath she takes, in the deep, aching throb wrapped around her ribs, sharp enough that even the smallest movement sends a spike of pain through her side. Her leg feels wrong and her head is starting to pound in a way that makes it harder to focus on anything for too long.

John lets out a short, disbelieving scoff, already reaching for his radio. “No, you’re not.”

Lucy’s head snaps toward him, the movement slower than usual but just as stubborn. “What are you doing?”

“Calling in medics,” he replies easily, like it’s not even a question. “Getting you cleared.”

“John,” she groans, the sound catching halfway through as her ribs remind her exactly why that’s a bad idea.

He doesn’t budge. “Nope. No way, Lucy. You look like you just got your ass handed to you by a seven foot, three hundred pound man,” he says, glancing pointedly at the bruising already spreading along her skin. “You’re lucky I’m not calling Tim right now.”

“Don’t you dare,” she hisses immediately, fixing him with a glare that would be a lot more intimidating if she didn’t look like she was actively trying not to pass out.

He raises a brow at that, unimpressed. “I won’t,” he says after a beat, his tone shifting just enough to let her know there’s a condition coming. “If you let the paramedics check you out.”

Lucy exhales sharply, which turns out to be a mistake, because it sends a sharp lance of pain through her ribs that makes her wince despite herself.

“Fine,” she mutters finally, the word dragged out of her with clear reluctance.

John doesn’t look convinced she means it, but he calls it in anyway.

It doesn’t take long. The wail of an ambulance cuts through the air before she’s even fully settled again, the sound growing louder as it pulls up beside them. The back doors swing open, and Bailey hops down with practiced ease.

She takes one look at Lucy and lets out a low whistle, hands already moving as she approaches. “Wow,” she says, not even bothering to hide it, her gaze sweeping over the visible injuries. “I don’t even need to say it.”

Lucy groans again, quieter this time, her lungs protesting the sound as she shifts slightly on the curb. “Please,” she mutters, already knowing where this is going. “No hospital.”

Bailey’s expression softens, but she doesn’t hesitate. “Sorry, babe,” she says gently, crouching down in front of her as she starts her assessment. “But I can already see the bruising coming in on your neck.”

Her fingers press lightly against it, testing. Lucy hisses, the sound sharp and immediate, her body jerking despite her attempt to stay still.

“Yeah,” Bailey murmurs under her breath, not unkindly, just… certain.

Her hand moves lower, grazing along Lucy’s chest, and Lucy bites down hard on the inside of her cheek to keep from reacting, to keep from letting the pain show more than it already is.

“Sorry,” Bailey whispers, her voice quieter now as she continues, more careful but no less thorough.

Lucy doesn’t answer, just focuses on breathing through it, shallow and controlled.

A few more seconds pass, and then Bailey leans back slightly, her expression settling into something that leaves very little room for argument.

“Definitely think you need a hospital,” she says, her tone gentle but firm. “Sorry, Lucy.”

Before Lucy can even try to protest, John is already lifting his radio again, calling in for a prisoner transfer without hesitation.

Lucy shoots him a look, but it’s half hearted at best, the fight draining out of her as Bailey and her partner move in, guiding her carefully onto the gurney. Every shift of movement sends a new wave of pain through her body, and she can’t quite hide the small, involuntary sounds that slip out this time as they secure her in place.

John hovers nearby, watching, his expression tight. “I’ll meet you at the hospital,” he tells her once they’ve got her settled.

Lucy’s head turns toward him, just enough, her gaze sharpening despite everything else. “Don’t tell Tim,” she says quickly.

John hesitates. “Lucy—”

“John,” she cuts in, her voice low but insistent, meeting his eyes in a way that makes it clear she’s not joking.

He exhales slowly, dragging a hand over the back of his neck. “He’ll kill me,” he mutters. “And not in the joking, I’m-going-to-strangle-you way. I mean he might actually shoot me.”

A faint, pained huff of laughter escapes her before she can stop it, and she immediately regrets it, her ribs protesting sharply.

“No, he won’t,” she grunts as Bailey adjusts the straps, securing her more firmly.

“I’m fine,” she adds, softer now, like if she says it enough it might actually become true. “I’ll be out by lunch. I’ll tell him later. I just… don’t want to worry him right now for nothing.”

Bailey shoots her a look at that, one brow lifting slightly. “Nothing,” she repeats, clearly unconvinced.

Lucy pointedly ignores her.

John shakes his head, already stepping back as the ambulance doors begin to close. “I’m a dead man walking,” he grumbles.

Lucy manages a small, strained smile in response, the expression fleeting as Bailey pulls the doors shut.

The moment the ambulance starts moving, the shift is immediate. Without the distraction of everything else, the pain surges back in full force, and Lucy lets out a quiet grunt before she can stop it, her body tensing against the gurney.

Bailey glances over at her, adjusting something near her arm before leaning back slightly. “For what it’s worth,” she says, her tone lighter now, almost teasing, “your boyfriend is definitely going to throttle my husband.”

Lucy exhales carefully, letting her head rest back against the thin pillow, eyes slipping half closed as exhaustion begins to creep in around the edges.

“He will not,” she murmurs, though there’s not nearly as much conviction behind it as there usually is.

Bailey huffs out a quiet laugh. “He will,” she insists easily. “And you’re going to have to live with it.”

Lucy lets out a soft, breathy laugh at that, the sound barely there before it catches and turns into a wince, her body reminding her, again, that she’s not nearly as fine as she keeps insisting she is.

Still, she settles into the gurney anyway, holding onto that fragile sense of normalcy just a little longer as the ambulance carries her toward whatever comes next.

———— 🚑 ————

The ER is loud in a way that never quite settles, a constant hum of movement and voices layered over the sharp beeping of monitors and the occasional bark of urgency from behind thin curtains. It smells like antiseptic and something metallic underneath, something she doesn’t let herself think about too hard as she lies back against the stiff hospital bed, an IV taped into her arm and pain medication slowly taking the edge off everything that had once felt unbearable.

Now it’s dulled. Not gone. Just distant enough that she can breathe without feeling like her ribs are splintering apart.

A nurse had already come and gone, efficient and brisk, shining a light in her eyes, pressing along her ribs, her leg, her shoulder, and delivering the verdict with a kind of finality Lucy hadn’t appreciated.

You’re not going back to work today.

As if that had ever been her plan. John sits beside her, close enough that she can hear the faint tap of his thumbs against his phone screen, rapid and uncharacteristic. It’s the only thing he’s focused on, his posture tight, shoulders slightly hunched, attention completely locked in.

Lucy frowns, turning her head slightly on the pillow despite the protest it earns from her neck.

John Nolan is not a texter. Not like this. His brows are furrowed, his mouth set in a line that screams guilt before he even says a word.

“Who are you texting?” she asks, her voice quieter now, a little rough around the edges, but steady enough.

She already knows. She just needs him to say it.

John’s fingers still instantly. Slowly, like he’s been caught doing something he absolutely shouldn’t be, he lowers the phone into his lap and looks at her. There’s no easing into it. No attempt at deflection.

“Please don’t be mad at me.”

Lucy exhales slowly through her nose, already bracing herself, her eyes narrowing as she studies John’s expression, the guilt written all over his face before he even opens his mouth.

“What did you—”

She never gets the chance to finish. Because a voice cuts clean through the noise of the ER. Loud enough to turn heads. Sharp enough to slice through the controlled chaos like it doesn’t belong to it.

“Lucy Chen. Where is she?”

It hits her before she can even process it, something instinctive and immediate tightening in her chest at the sound of it. The familiarity lands first, deep and unshakable, settling somewhere beneath her ribs in a way that has nothing to do with her injuries and everything to do with him.

Around them, the room shifts. Conversations stutter. A few nurses glance up from their stations, posture sharpening as they clock the source of the disruption.

A softer voice tries to intercept, calm but firm in the way hospital staff are trained to be. “Sir, I need you to calm down. We have to clear it with her before we—”

He doesn’t let her finish. “John!”

Lucy closes her eyes. Of course he came. There was never a version of this where he didn’t. She lets her head fall back fully against the thin hospital pillow, staring up at the harsh fluorescent lights for a brief second as if maybe she can will herself somewhere else, somewhere quieter, somewhere he isn’t about to walk in and look at her like she’s something fragile and breakable. Again.

But that’s not how this works. It never has been.

She turns her head instead, looking back at John, who now looks like a man actively regretting every decision that led him to this exact moment, his shoulders tense, his mouth pulled tight like he’s already preparing for the fallout.

“Go,” she tells him, her voice flat, resigned, leaving no room for argument.

John winces, offering her a small, apologetic look that does absolutely nothing to help his case before he pushes himself to his feet and slips out from behind the curtain.

The sounds outside sharpen immediately, voices overlapping as John speaks in a lower tone, likely trying to explain, to soften, to manage something that Lucy knows is already well past managing.

Then she hears it. Footsteps. Fast. And then the curtain is yanked open with enough force that it rattles slightly on its track.

Tim. He looks exactly like she expected. And somehow worse than she hoped. His chest rises and falls a little too quickly, like he didn’t slow down once from the moment he heard. His hair is slightly out of place, like he’s dragged his hand through it too many times on the way over, and his eyes… His eyes lock onto her immediately, zeroing in with a kind of intensity that makes everything else fade into the background.

For a second, the noise of the ER disappears. The beeping, the voices, the movement, none of it matters. There is only that look.

He doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t slow. He crosses the distance between them in a few quick strides, barely sparing John a glance as he reaches for the curtain and shoves it the rest of the way closed behind him, effectively pushing John out of the space entirely.

“Hey—” John starts, caught off guard.

Tim doesn’t even look at him. “Out.”

The word is quiet. But it lands with absolute authority, leaving no room for interpretation.

John lifts his hands slightly in surrender, stepping back without another word as the curtain swings shut, cutting off the rest of the world and leaving the space suddenly smaller, more contained, more intense.

And then, silence. Tim doesn’t speak right away. He just stands there, a few feet from the bed, his gaze moving over her slowly, deliberately, taking everything in with sharp, practiced precision.

The bruising already darkening along her neck. The careful way she’s angled her body to avoid pressure on her ribs. The IV line taped into her arm. The tension she can’t quite hide, even with the medication dulling the worst of it.

Lucy swallows under the weight of it, suddenly far too aware of every injury, every weakness, every place she can’t quite pretend she’s fine.

“Hi,” she says softly, aiming for something light, something easy, like maybe if she keeps it there, it won’t spiral into something heavier.

It falls flat almost immediately. His jaw tightens, something sharp and contained flickering behind his eyes as he takes a step closer, closing the distance but still stopping just short of the bed.

He doesn’t touch her. Not yet.

“You okay?” he asks, and the words are measured, controlled so carefully it’s almost rigid, like there’s something much bigger sitting just beneath them that he’s refusing to let loose.

Lucy almost laughs at that. Almost. “I’ve been better,” she admits, attempting a small smile that doesn’t quite hold under the intensity of his gaze.

Because he isn’t buying it. Not even for a second. His eyes drop briefly to her ribs, tracking the subtle way she’s holding herself, then lift back to her face, searching, assessing, piecing together the damage without anyone having to spell it out for him.

And underneath all of that control, she sees it, Fear. Raw. Immediate. Barely contained. Lucy sees it, and it hits her harder than anything else has so far, settling deep in her chest and pulling tight.

“I told him not to call you,” she murmurs, her voice quieter now as her gaze flicks briefly toward the curtain, like John might still be hovering on the other side. “You can yell at him later.”

Tim exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face, the motion rough, grounding, like he’s trying to pull himself back into control piece by piece.

“Oh, I will,” he says, the words low and certain.

But his focus snaps right back to her almost instantly, like he physically can’t hold onto anything else for more than a second.

His hand lifts slightly, hovering in the space between them as hesitation flickers across his expression for just a moment.

Then, carefully, like she might break under too much pressure, he lets it settle against her arm, just above the IV site.

The contact is light. Tentative. But it’s there. And Lucy feels it everywhere.

“Lucy,” he says, softer this time, her name losing its edge, something deeper breaking through the control he’s been clinging to.

“What happened?”

She opens her mouth to answer him, the words already forming, the explanation sitting right there on her tongue and then the curtain is pulled aside again.

The interruption is abrupt enough that it jars her, pulling her attention away from Tim before she can say anything at all. The moment fractures, whatever fragile thread had been building between them snapping cleanly as a man steps into the space with the kind of detached efficiency that immediately puts her on edge.

He doesn’t look at them. Not really. His attention is fixed on the tablet in his hands, eyes scanning the screen as if everything he needs to know is already there, as if the two of them sitting in front of him are just… background noise to the information he’s reading.

“I’m Dr. Kang,” he says, his tone flat, bordering on bored, like this is just another stop in a very long, very unremarkable day. “Did you bring her in?”

The question is directed generally, but his gaze still hasn’t fully lifted from the screen, and something about that, about the lack of presence, the lack of engagement, rubs Lucy the wrong way almost immediately.

Tim answers before she can. “No.”

There’s a clipped edge to it, subtle but there, his posture shifting just slightly beside her as his attention locks onto the doctor in a way that is far more focused than the doctor’s is on them.

Lucy tries again, pushing past the irritation. “I was brought in after a call, I was—”

“Yeah, I see here in the nurse’s notes,” Dr. Kang cuts in without looking up, his voice carrying that same detached monotony as he scrolls. “So we’ll send you up for some imaging and labs, and depending on what I see is what will determine how we go from there.”

He finally glances up then, but it’s brief, perfunctory at best, like he’s checking a box rather than actually assessing her.

“Any questions?”

The words are rushed together, offered more out of obligation than genuine concern, and before either of them can even process the opening—

“No? Okay, good.”

Lucy blinks, caught somewhere between disbelief and irritation, her mouth still slightly open from where she’d been cut off. Beside her, she can feel the shift in Tim immediately. It’s subtle to anyone else. Not to her. His shoulders square just a fraction more, his jaw tightening, his gaze sharpening in a way that has nothing to do with panic now and everything to do with controlled, simmering anger.

“This is Nurse Nonie,” Dr. Kang continues, already moving on, already done with them as if they are nothing more than a task to be passed along.

Lucy’s attention flicks to the woman stepping forward. She’s young, early twenties, maybe close to Tamara’s age, with warm tan skin and dark hair pulled neatly into two French braids. There’s a softness to her expression that immediately contrasts the doctor’s detached demeanor, her smile gentle, reassuring in a way that feels real.

“Hi,” she says quietly, her voice calm and kind as her eyes meet Lucy’s properly, actually seeing her. “I’ve got you.”

It helps. More than she expects it to.

“Take them to CT, have a pan-scan done, and a full set of labs,” Dr. Kang says, already half turned toward the exit. “Find me when they’re done.”

Nurse Nonie nods easily, clearly used to the pace, to the lack of ceremony.

And just like that he’s gone. No goodbye. No reassurance. No acknowledgment beyond the bare minimum. The curtain falls back into place behind him, leaving a brief silence in his wake that feels heavier than it should.

Lucy exhales slowly, her irritation lingering, mixing uncomfortably with the dull ache spreading through her body. “Well,” she mutters under her breath, her voice dry despite everything. “He’s fun.”

Tim doesn’t respond right away. And that’s what makes her look at him. Because when she does, she sees it clearly now. The way his expression has hardened, his eyes still fixed on the space the doctor just vacated, something dark and protective settling in behind them.

“Dr. Kang is…” Nurse Nonie starts, and then pauses just long enough that Lucy almost smiles despite herself, because it’s obvious she’s searching for something polite to say that won’t get her written up later. “Particular,” she settles on finally, her tone carefully neutral before it softens again. “But I promise, any questions or concerns you have, I’m here to answer them, or I’ll find someone who can.”

Lucy nods, the tension that had coiled tight in her chest easing just a fraction. It’s not much, but it’s enough. Enough to make this feel a little less clinical, a little less like she’s just another name on a chart being pushed through a system.

“Okay,” she murmurs, her voice quieter now, the edges of the pain meds and adrenaline leaving her feeling just a little unsteady.

Nonie gives her a reassuring smile before unlocking the wheels of the bed, the quiet click echoing faintly in the space before she starts to guide Lucy out of the curtained area and into the hallway beyond.

The movement shifts everything again. The sounds of the ER swell around them as they re-enter the flow of it, voices overlapping, footsteps passing, the distant call of someone asking for assistance down the hall.

Tim stands immediately. “Can I go with her?” he asks, already stepping closer, his attention flicking between Lucy and the nurse, like he’s weighing whether he’s going to accept whatever answer she gives.

Nonie’s smile turns apologetic, gentle but firm. “Unfortunately, no. She’ll have to go alone for imaging,” she explains, her tone kind but unwavering. “But I can come find you once I get her settled back in a room.”

There’s a beat where Lucy can see it, the hesitation, the instinct to push, to override, to stay anyway. Then Tim nods.

“Okay.”

It’s controlled. Reluctant, but controlled. And then his attention shifts entirely back to her. The frustration, the anger from earlier, it’s still there, she can see it, sitting just beneath the surface, but it softens the second his eyes meet hers, something warmer threading through it as he steps closer to the bed.

His hand lifts, brushing gently against her temple as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the touch careful and grounding. The kind of touch that makes everything else fade out for just a second.

He leans in, closing the small distance between them, and presses a soft, lingering kiss to her lips.

“I’ll be right here,” he murmurs against her, his voice low, steady, a promise wrapped in something deeper. “Waiting for you.”

Lucy nods, her throat tightening just slightly as she meets his gaze. “I know,” she whispers.

And she does. That’s the thing. No matter how stubborn or frustrating or overprotective he can be, he stays. Always.

Nonie starts moving the bed again, gently steering Lucy away, and the distance builds quicker than she expects. Tim’s hand slips away from hers, his presence fading behind them as they move through the double doors and into a quieter, more sterile stretch of the hospital.

Lucy exhales slowly, her eyes lingering on the ceiling as it passes overhead in a blur of fluorescent lights. Beside her, Nonie’s voice cuts gently into the quiet.

“You two are cute,” she says, her smile easy, almost teasing. “I definitely didn’t see that coming.”

Lucy lets out a soft, breathy laugh, though it turns into a small wince when her ribs protest the movement.

She can only imagine what they looked like, her bruised and stuck in a hospital gown, him hovering like a storm barely held together.

“He’s a big teddy bear,” Lucy says quietly, the words softer than the image suggests, something fond threading through them as they reach the CT room.

Nonie huffs a small laugh as she begins preparing the space. “Oh, I can tell,” she replies, glancing back at Lucy with a knowing look. “He practically melted for you back there.”

Lucy doesn’t argue. Because it’s true. Even if no one else would ever believe it.

Nonie helps her sit up, the movement slow and careful as Lucy shifts from the hospital bed to the narrow CT table. The change in position sends a dull wave of pain through her ribs and leg, but she grits her teeth and breathes through it, letting the nurse guide her until she’s lying flat again.

The machine looms beside her. Something cold slips into her chest. It’s quiet at first. Subtle. But it builds fast. Her fingers curl slightly against the thin sheet beneath her, her breath catching just a little as her eyes track the shape of the scanner. Too enclosed. Too close.

Her stomach twists. She hasn’t had a claustrophobic episode in a while, not since she learned how to manage it, how to ground herself before it spirals, but the memory is still there, sharp and unwelcome.

The MRI. The way the walls had felt like they were closing in. The way her chest had locked up, her breath coming too fast, too shallow. The panic. The humiliation. The aftermath.

It had taken two nurses and Tim wrapping himself around her, holding her still, grounding her while she shook and gasped and fought against something she couldn’t even see before they finally gave up and sedated her just to get through it.

Her throat tightens at the memory.

“Is this like an MRI?” she asks, her voice thinner now, betraying more than she wants it to. “I have… bad claustrophobia. After a trauma on the job, and I—”

Her words start to close in on themselves, breath shortening, the edges of that familiar panic beginning to creep in.

But Nonie is already there. “No,” she says quickly, stepping closer, her tone calm and steady, grounding in a way that cuts through the rising spiral. “A CT has an opening, so you’re not fully enclosed. It’s a lot more open than an MRI.”

She pauses just long enough to make sure Lucy is tracking with her before continuing. “For some people, especially with more severe claustrophobia, it can still feel triggering,” she adds gently. “But if you’d like, I can give you something to help take the edge off. It won’t knock you out, you’ll just feel a little sleepy, more relaxed.”

Lucy nods immediately, relief flickering through her despite the lingering tension. “Yes. Please.”

Nonie smiles softly. “Got it. I’ll be right back.”

She helps Lucy settle fully onto the table, adjusting her position with careful hands before stepping out of the room.

The silence that follows stretches a little too long. Lucy focuses on her breathing, in through her nose, out through her mouth, trying to keep it steady, trying to stay ahead of the panic that’s still hovering just at the edges.

A few minutes later, Nonie returns, a small syringe already prepared.

“This will work pretty quickly,” she explains gently, swabbing Lucy’s arm before administering it through the IV. “Just give it a minute.”

Lucy nods again, her body already starting to feel heavy, the tension in her shoulders easing just slightly as the medication begins to settle into her system.

Nonie gives her one last reassuring smile before stepping back. “I’ll be right outside. You’re not alone, okay?”

Lucy lets out a slow breath, her eyes drifting toward the ceiling again as she focuses on that promise, letting the medication pull her just far enough away from the edge.

She inhales. Exhales. And waits for the calm to catch up with her.

———— 🏥 ————

By the time they roll her back into the room, sleepy doesn’t even begin to cover it.

It settles over her in heavy waves, thick and consuming, dragging at her limbs until even the smallest movement feels like more effort than it’s worth. The medication has taken the sharpest edges of the pain, but what’s left behind is a deep, bone level exhaustion that seeps into everything, making it harder to keep her eyes open, harder to think, harder to hold onto anything for too long.

All she needs, no, all she wants, is Tim. The thought alone is enough to anchor her, to keep her just present enough as the bed is maneuvered back into place, the quiet hum of the hospital room wrapping around her again.

It’s different now. Quieter. The chaos of the ER replaced by something more subdued, more contained. And warmer. The sun is beginning to set, the fading light slipping through the window and spilling across the room in soft golden hues that stretch along the walls and catch in the edges of everything, turning the sterile space into something almost gentle.

Then she sees him. Tim. The tension she’s been holding without even realizing it loosens immediately, her chest easing as she takes him in. His expression is softer now, the sharp edges worn down by time and distance, concern still lingering but quieter.

His duty belt is gone. She notices that right away. Which means he stayed. Which means John probably took it so he wouldn’t have to leave. The realization settles somewhere warm in her chest.

He stands the second he sees her looking, crossing the small distance between them without hesitation before lowering himself into the chair beside her bed.

Lucy doesn’t trust her voice right now, not with how heavy everything feels, so instead she lifts her hand slightly, opening and closing her fingers in a silent request.

He understands immediately. Of course he does. Tim exhales softly as he reaches for her hand, his fingers wrapping around hers with careful precision, like he’s still cataloging every injury, every place he needs to avoid. His grip is warm, steady, grounding in a way that makes her want to sink into it completely.

She watches him for a moment, the way his jaw tightens just slightly, the way his shoulders hold a tension that hasn’t quite left.

The lecture. She can see it forming, feel it in the way he holds her hand just a little tighter, like he’s trying to decide where to even start.

And honestly? She doesn’t have the energy for it. Not right now. But before he can say a single word,

“Alright.” The voice cuts through the room like a dull blade.

Lucy’s eyes flick toward the doorway, irritation flaring almost instantly as Dr. Kang steps inside, Nurse Nonie just behind him.

“So it looks like you have a thigh contusion, three broken ribs, six bruised ones, and an AC joint sprain,” he rattles off, his tone just as flat as before, the words spilling out quickly, efficiently, like if he gets through them fast enough, he won’t have to linger.

Lucy blinks. Three broken ribs. Six bruised. That… explains a lot.

Beside her, Tim goes very still.

She doesn’t even have to look at him to feel it, the shift in the air, the way his grip on her hand tightens just a fraction, the anger that had been simmering earlier flaring back to life in a quiet, controlled burn.

Lucy squeezes his hand gently in response, a silent plea. Don’t. Not here. Not now.

Dr. Kang continues without pause. “We’ll keep you for twenty-four-hour observation, make sure nothing unexpected pops up, then another round of scans. After that, you’ll be free to go.”

His eyes never fully leave the tablet. Not once. “If you have any questions, Nonie is here to answer them.”

He pats the nurse lightly on the shoulder, the gesture absent, dismissive, like passing off responsibility rather than sharing it, and then He’s gone.

Again.

No eye contact. No pause. No acknowledgment. Just out. Lucy stares at the empty doorway for half a second, incredulous.

“I swear to God,” Tim mutters beside her, his voice low and dangerous, his gaze fixed on the spot the doctor just vacated, “if he comes in here again, I’m going to tase him.”

Nurse Nonie lets out a small, slightly awkward laugh, clearly unsure how serious that might actually be before she clears her throat gently, stepping forward to refocus the room.

“Any questions?” she asks, her tone warm, grounding, bringing things back down to something manageable.

Lucy nods, shifting slightly despite the protest from her ribs. “Why am I staying overnight?” she asks, her voice slower now, weighed down by exhaustion. “I’ve been hit like this before, and they usually just… send me home.”

Nonie pulls the chart closer, glancing over it briefly before looking back at Lucy, her expression calm but serious.

“Usually, yes,” she agrees gently. “For a few bruised ribs, we would.”

She gestures lightly as she explains. “But the combination here is a little more complicated. The thigh contusion, the broken ribs, and the AC joint sprain, those are all in areas where we want to be a bit more cautious.”

Lucy watches her, trying to stay focused as the words start to blur at the edges.

“There’s a small risk of complications,” Nonie continues. “Things like a lung puncture from the broken ribs, or Deep Vein Thrombosis or DVT which is a clot forming from the thigh injury, or even nerve involvement from the AC joint sprain.”

Tim’s hand tightens again at that. Lucy feels it. Grounds herself in it.

“They’re rare,” Nonie adds quickly, offering a reassuring smile. “Very rare. But we don’t take chances with things like that. So we keep you, monitor you, make sure everything stays stable.”

She softens slightly, a hint of humor slipping back in. “But on the bright side,” she adds, “you get a paid vacation. It’s just… probably the worst vacation ever. You’ll be woken up every four hours, poked a few more times, and then you’ll be free to go home and never see Dr. Kang again.”

Lucy lets out a small, tired huff of laughter, wincing faintly when her ribs remind her that even that might be a bad idea.

Tim nods, the tension in him easing just slightly as he processes the information, his focus shifting back to Nonie.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice sincere.

Nonie nods, offering them both one last reassuring look before stepping back toward the door. “Try to get some rest,” she says softly. “I’ll check back in a bit.”

And then she’s gone, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving the room quiet again. Lucy glances over at him, catching the look on his face immediately.

There’s something knowing in it, something that tells her exactly where this is about to go before he even says a word. His brow arches slightly, his expression settling into that familiar, unimpressed line that usually means she’s about to be called out on something she absolutely deserves.

“So,” he says flatly, his voice calm in a way that feels far more dangerous than if he were actually raising it, “do you want to start, or should I?”

Despite everything, the exhaustion, the pain, the weight of the day, Lucy feels a small smile tug at the corner of her mouth.

“We could skip the argument altogether,” she offers lightly, her voice soft, almost hopeful, like maybe she can just… sidestep it this once.

“Lucy.”

Her name comes out in that tone. The one that immediately tells her she’s not getting out of this.

She sighs, the sound slow and tired, her shoulders sinking slightly into the bed as she gives in.

“I was going to tell you,” she says, quieter now, more honest. “I promise. Just… later.”

Tim lets out a disbelieving breath, the sound sharp but not loud, his gaze never leaving her.

“Later when?” he asks, the question cutting straight through the excuse. “Later when they brought you to CT? Or later when they told you you’re staying overnight for observation?”

Lucy grimaces slightly, shifting just enough to settle more comfortably against the pillows.

“Well, clearly I would have had to tell you then,” she mutters, her tone defensive but lacking any real bite.

“Lucy,” he says again, softer this time, but no less firm, trying to get her to actually hear him instead of deflect.

She looks at him then. Really looks. At the tension still lingering in his jaw, at the way his hand hasn’t left hers, at the quiet fear that’s still sitting just beneath everything else. And just like that, the fight drains out of her.

“I’m sorry,” she says, the words simple, unguarded, landing between them without anything to soften them.

“I should have been the first person you called,” he adds, his voice quieter now, more certain. “Not John calling me.”

“I know,” she says gently, and there’s no anger in it now, just truth. “You should have been.” Lucy swallows, her thumb brushing faintly against his hand where it still holds hers. “I just didn’t want you to worry,” she admits.

It sounds weaker out loud than it did in her head.

Tim huffs out a quiet breath, something almost like a tired smile touching his lips as he lifts his free hand and tucks another loose strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering for just a second longer than necessary.

“I’m always going to worry about you,” he says softly.

There’s no hesitation in it. No frustration. Just something steady and immovable. Lucy feels it settle over her, warm and grounding, and for a moment, she lets her eyes drift shut, leaning into the feeling of his hand, the safety of his presence.

The exhaustion pulls at her again, heavier now, deeper, wrapping around her like a weight she can’t quite fight off anymore.

“Lay with me,” she mumbles, the words soft and slightly slurred with sleep, more instinct than conscious thought.

Tim lets out a quiet laugh, the sound gentle, fond, as he leans forward and presses a soft kiss to her forehead.

“Angela’s bringing my go bag later,” he murmurs, his lips still close enough that she can feel the words more than hear them. “I’ll lay with you then.”

Lucy hums faintly in response, already drifting, already halfway gone as she leans into the warmth of him, the steady presence that makes everything else feel distant. His lips press once more against her forehead, lingering.

“Sleep, baby,” he murmurs softly. “I’ll be right here.”

It’s the last thing she hears. And this time, she lets herself go.

———— 🏥 ————

Lucy wakes slowly, like she’s being pulled up through layers of heavy water.

At first, it’s just sound. Soft movement. The faint rustle of fabric. The quiet beeping of machines that she’s already half gotten used to, even in the few hours she’s been here. Something shifts near her legs, the blanket being adjusted, and it’s that small disturbance that finally drags her the rest of the way awake.

Her eyes blink open, slow and heavy. The room is dark. Not completely, there’s a dim glow coming from the TV mounted in the corner, casting flickering light across the walls, but beyond the window it’s pitch black, the kind of deep night that makes everything feel quieter, more contained.

“Sorry,” a voice whispers gently. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Lucy turns her head slightly, her body protesting even that small movement, and finds Nurse Nonie standing beside her bed, carefully checking the line of her IV.

“It’s okay,” Lucy mumbles, her voice rough with sleep.

The words barely leave her mouth before a weak cough follows, the motion sending a sharp, burning pain through her chest and ribs that makes her wince faintly.

“Would you like some water?” Nonie asks softly.

Lucy nods, the movement small, and lifts her hand instinctively, only to realize it’s not free. Her fingers are laced with Tim’s. The realization settles something in her immediately.

She turns her head just enough to see him, stretched awkwardly in the hospital recliner beside her bed. He’s changed at some point, now in sweats and a gray henley, his head tipped slightly to the side, fast asleep despite how uncomfortable he looks. But his hand… his hand is still wrapped tightly around hers, like even in sleep he refused to let go.

Lucy’s chest tightens, and this time it has nothing to do with the injury.

Nonie gently brings the straw to her lips, and Lucy focuses on that instead, taking a careful sip.

It hurts. More than she expects. The simple act of swallowing sends a sharp ache through her chest, her ribs burning in protest, and she has to fight not to react, not to pull away.

“How’s the pain?” Nonie asks as she sets the cup back down, her voice quiet but observant.

“I’m fine,” Lucy whispers automatically.

Nonie doesn’t even hesitate. “There’s no need to lie to me,” she says gently. “Your blood pressure and heart rate will tell me the truth.”

Lucy lets out the smallest breath, something almost like a defeated huff. “Like… an eight,” she admits quietly. “Maybe a nine if I breathe too hard.”

Nonie nods, not surprised. “I’ll get you something to help with that.”

“Thank you,” Lucy murmurs, her voice softer now, more genuine.

Nonie gives her a small smile before stepping out, leaving the room just as quietly as she entered.

The silence settles again. Lucy shifts carefully against the stiff hospital sheets, trying to find a position that doesn’t send sharp reminders of pain radiating through her ribs, and in the process her fingers loosen around Tim’s hand for only a second, but that second is enough.

He reacts instantly. It’s subtle at first, just a faint twitch of his fingers like his body notices the absence before his mind fully surfaces, and then he inhales a little deeper, his head shifting against the chair as his eyes blink open. For a moment he looks disoriented, caught somewhere between sleep and awareness, but the second his gaze lands on her, that fog disappears completely.

“Hey,” he says softly, his voice rough with sleep, low and warm in the quiet room.

Lucy feels something ease in her chest at the sound of it, something that has nothing to do with medication or rest, and she can’t help the small, sleepy smile that curves onto her lips.

“Hi,” she whispers back, her voice barely more than breath.

He’s already moving, pushing himself up in the recliner despite how stiff he must be, his attention locking onto her with that same steady intensity he always has when it comes to her. His eyes move over her face slowly, deliberately, like he’s cataloging every detail, every flicker of discomfort she might try to hide from him.

“How you feeling?” he asks quietly, and there’s something careful in the way he says it, like he’s bracing himself for an answer he won’t like.

Lucy hesitates for half a second. Not because she doesn’t know the answer, but because she does. Because everything hurts, because breathing feels like work, because her body feels heavy and wrong and far too aware of itself, but none of that is what she wants to give him right now.

“I’m okay,” she says instead, soft and simple, because it’s easier than explaining. Because he’s here. Because somehow that makes it true, at least a little.

Her fingers tighten around his again, seeking that contact without even thinking about it, and she gives a small, insistent tug, trying to pull him closer to her.

Tim follows the motion just enough to understand what she’s asking before he huffs quietly, his gaze flicking to the narrow hospital bed and then back to her.

“We don’t fit, Luce,” he murmurs, his tone gentle but practical. “Bed’s too small.”

Lucy immediately pouts, the expression exaggerated just enough to make her point, her lower lip pushing out in a way that she knows, knows, he has never been able to ignore.

And she watches the exact moment it works. His expression softens, the resistance melting almost instantly as a reluctant smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, and he leans in without thinking, pressing a quick, instinctive kiss right to that pout.

“Unfair,” he mutters quietly, more to himself than to her.

Lucy doesn’t say anything. She just looks at him. Wide, quiet, completely unyielding in a way that doesn’t need words to make itself understood.

Tim exhales slowly, the sound carrying the last of his resistance with it, and gives a small shake of his head like he’s fully aware he’s losing this fight and choosing to lose it anyway.

“Yeah, okay,” he relents.

He moves carefully, standing and stepping around the side of the bed before easing himself down beside her with deliberate caution, one hand braced so he doesn’t jar her as the mattress dips under his weight. It’s awkward, cramped in a way that would be uncomfortable under any other circumstances, but he adjusts without complaint, shifting until he can make it work.

Until she can make it work. Lucy moves with him, slow and instinctive, settling as close as she can without pulling anything or aggravating the pain, and when she finally rests her head against his chest, right over his heart, something in her finally, fully settles.

Her hand curls into the fabric of his shirt, fingers bunching the material like she needs something solid to anchor herself to, and she listens to the steady, rhythmic beat beneath her ear. It’s even. Strong. Unwavering. Grounding in a way nothing else has been since she woke up.

Safe.

“Better?” Tim asks quietly, his voice softer now, as he pulls the blanket up over both of them, tucking it carefully around her like he’s trying to shield her from more than just the cold.

Lucy hums in response, the sound low and content, her body already starting to sink again, the exhaustion pulling her under faster this time now that she’s warm, now that she’s here.

He leans down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss into her hair, his lips resting there for just a second longer than necessary.

“I love you,” he murmurs.

The words settle over her gently, wrapping around her in the same way his arms have, and Lucy smiles faintly against his chest, her thoughts already softening, drifting, her body giving in piece by piece to the pull of sleep.

“I love you too,” she whispers back, or at least, she thinks she does. The words feel like they form, feel like they leave her, but she’s not entirely sure they make it all the way into the space between them.

But the feeling is there. Warm and Certain. And as she listens to the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear, as his hand rests protectively against her, solid and unmoving. Lucy lets herself drift, held together by the simple, undeniable truth that he’s right there.

———— 🏥 ————

The second time Lucy wakes, it isn’t gentle. It’s the slow, disorienting pull out of sleep that comes with something shifting beneath her, something warm and steady trying to move away, and her body reacts before her mind fully catches up. She tightens her grip instinctively, fingers clutching at the soft fabric of Tim’s shirt as she buries her face deeper into his chest with a quiet, disapproving sound.

A low laugh rumbles beneath her ear, soft and fond even in the middle of the night. “I have to use the bathroom,” he whispers, careful and apologetic, like he’s negotiating with her even now.

Lucy barely processes the words. All she knows is that he’s warm, that his heartbeat is steady beneath her cheek, and that the second he leaves, she’s going to have to feel everything again.

Her head is already starting to pound, a dull pressure building behind her eyes, and each breath feels shallow, restricted, like her body doesn’t quite remember how to do it without pain. She isn’t ready for that yet. She isn’t ready to open her eyes, to move, to exist outside of the small, safe space she’s carved out against him.

So she just holds on tighter.

Tim exhales softly, another quiet laugh slipping out, but there’s no frustration in it, just patience. “Luce,” he murmurs gently.

Eventually, carefully, he starts to slip free anyway, slow and deliberate, trying not to jostle her too much as he eases out from beneath her weight.

The second he’s gone, Lucy drops back against the mattress with a soft, involuntary sound, the movement sending a sharp spike of pain through her ribs that makes her wince.

“Fuck,” Tim breathes immediately. “I’m so sorry.”

He’s there again in an instant, hands coming up to cup her face, grounding and warm, his thumb brushing lightly along her cheek as if that alone could take the pain away.

Lucy forces her eyes open and immediately regrets it. The room spins. Not violently, but enough that her stomach lurches, nausea rising fast and sharp as the pounding in her head intensifies, like something is trying to claw its way out from the inside. She squeezes her eyes shut again just as quickly, her breath hitching as she tries to steady herself, but even that feels wrong, incomplete, like she can’t quite pull in enough air to make it work.

Each inhale catches. Each exhale burns.

“Should I get the nurse?” Tim’s voice cuts through, and there’s a clear edge of panic in it now, his hands tightening slightly against her face.

Lucy needs quiet. She needs stillness. If he keeps talking, if anything keeps moving, she’s going to throw up all over him.

She shakes her head weakly, the motion small and unsteady as she fights back the rising nausea.

“I’m fine,” she tries to say, but it comes out thin, breathless, barely there. “Just… want sleep.”

There’s a pause. Then Tim softens immediately. “Okay,” he whispers, the panic dialing back into something controlled, something steadier as he adjusts the bed, lowering it flat again with careful movements before pulling the blanket back up around her.

“Rest,” he murmurs.

Lucy doesn’t respond. She stays curled slightly on her side, eyes closed, focusing on not moving, not breathing too deeply, not letting the nausea take over.

A moment later, she hears the bathroom door open, then close. The quiet that follows feels heavier. Without him right there, the pain becomes harder to ignore.

Lucy exhales slowly, carefully, trying to regulate her breathing despite the way it stutters and catches in her chest, and after a long moment, she attempts to open her eyes again.

The light stings. Even the dim glow from the TV feels too bright, too sharp against the pounding in her head, and she winces, her stomach rolling again but she doesn’t throw up.

That feels like a victory. A small one, but still.

The door opens softly.

“Hey, Lucy—” Nurse Nonie’s voice starts out warm, bright, but it falters almost immediately.

Lucy doesn’t have to look to know why.

“How are you feeling?” Nonie asks, but there’s already concern threading through her tone now.

Lucy doesn’t answer. She doesn’t trust herself to. Talking feels like too much, like it’ll tip something over the edge that she’s barely holding together as it is.

Nonie moves closer, efficient but gentle as she starts checking her vitals, and Lucy watches her through half lidded eyes, trying to focus on something other than the way her chest feels too tight, too heavy.

“Temperature’s 98.2,” Nonie murmurs quietly, more to herself than anything. “Heart rate 110… respiratory rate 25…”

There’s a pause. Lucy doesn’t miss the way her expression shifts.

“…oxygen saturation 92.”

That one changes everything. Lucy can see it. The concern sharpens, settles deeper, and Nonie steps closer, her voice losing some of its softness, replaced with something more urgent.

“Lucy, can you look at me?”

Lucy tries. She really does. But it takes effort, more than it should, her head feeling too heavy as Nonie gently guides her face toward her, a small light flashing across her eyes.

“I think your ribs being broken are affecting your breathing,” Nonie says carefully, her tone measured but serious. “We may need to keep you a bit longer until we can get this under control. For now, I’m going to order you some oxygen, okay?”

Lucy doesn’t get a chance to respond because the bathroom door opens.

“What’s wrong?” Tim’s voice is immediate, alert, already edged with worry as he crosses the room in a few quick steps, his attention locking onto Lucy like nothing else exists.

Nonie offers him a small, reassuring smile, but it doesn’t quite hide the concern in her eyes.

“I’m worried about Lucy’s oxygen levels,” she explains gently. “They’re a bit low, and she seems to be having a hard time breathing. We’re going to get her started on some oxygen while I update Dr. Kang.”

There’s a brief pause before she adds, softer, “I was just telling Lucy it looks like you might be spending a bit more time here.”

Lucy groans weakly at that, the sound more breath than voice. “No,” she whimpers, the word fragile, edged with exhaustion. “I want… home.”

Tim is beside her instantly. His hand slides into her hair, smoothing it back from her face, his touch careful and grounding as he leans down and presses a soft kiss to her temple.

“Hey,” he murmurs gently. “Just rest, baby. Don’t talk.”

His voice is steady. Calm. Even if she can feel the tension in him.

Lucy doesn’t argue again. She doesn’t have the energy to. She curls slightly into herself, one hand gripping the blanket as she focuses on breathing, on staying still, on not letting everything overwhelm her all at once, while just beyond her, Tim and Nonie start talking in low, quiet voices that she can’t quite follow anymore.

The only thing she holds onto is the way his hand never leaves her.

———— 🏥 ————

“I’m fine, Tim. I promise.”

Lucy isn’t even sure how many times she’s said it at this point, only that the words feel worn thin from overuse, like if she says them enough they might eventually become true.

“You can go,” she adds softly, her voice still a little breathless despite the oxygen flowing through the nasal cannula. “I swear I’ll be okay.”

Tim doesn’t move. He’s standing by the door, hands shoved into the pockets of his sweats, staring at her like she just asked him to do something impossible. Like leaving her here, like walking out that door, would cost him more than he’s willing to give.

“You’re insane,” he says flatly.

There’s no heat in it, no bite, just disbelief wrapped in something tighter, something harder to shake.

“You’re not fine. You’ve been on oxygen for hours and you’re still not getting better.”

Lucy exhales slowly, the breath catching halfway through, her chest tightening in protest, and she winces faintly as she has to force the rest of it out.

It’s morning now. The room is brighter, soft sunlight creeping in through the window and stretching across the floor in quiet contrast to the way her body still feels like it’s been through something violent. The nausea has dulled to something manageable, a low simmer instead of a rolling wave, but the effort it takes just to breathe hasn’t eased at all.

“They’re waiting on Dr. Kang’s next step approval,” she says, repeating what Nonie told them earlier, her voice quieter now, thinner. “He said I’m splinting because of the rib pain.”

Tim’s jaw tightens immediately. He’d nearly lost it when Nonie explained what he meant, that Lucy’s body was instinctively avoiding deep breaths because of the pain, that she was essentially purposely breathing wrong to protect herself. Making herself worse on purpose.

But he wasn’t wrong. She couldn’t take a full breath without it feeling like something inside her chest was tearing open. She’s had broken ribs before, but his feels worse.

“For now we wait until he comes in for rounds,” she continues, her words slower now, more measured as she works around her breathing. “Around eight.”

Tim doesn’t look convinced. He looks like he’s one wrong sentence away from going to find the doctor himself.

“And I’ll still be the same in two hours,” Lucy adds, trying again, softer this time. “If you leave now, you can be back before he even gets here. You can hear everything he says.”

Tim rolls his eyes, leaning back against the door like he’s physically anchoring himself there. “Yeah,” he mutters, “if I don’t punch the shit out of him first.”

Despite everything, Lucy lets out a weak, breathy laugh. He huffs one out too, though his is sharper, edged with something restless.

“Good thing Wes became a defense attorney again,” he adds dryly. “I think I’m gonna need one soon.”

“Stop,” Lucy murmurs, the word light, though it takes more effort than it should.

Tim’s expression shifts then. The humor fades as he really looks at her. And Lucy knows what he sees. She hasn’t looked in a mirror, but she doesn’t need to. She can feel it in the heaviness of her limbs, in the way her skin feels too warm and too tight, in the way even talking drains her faster than it should.

She looks like shit.

“I don’t want to leave you,” he says quietly.

There’s no sarcasm in it this time. No deflection. Just truth. Lucy swallows, her throat dry despite the water, and forces a small smile that she knows doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I’ll be fine,” she says, the words softer now, thinner, held together by something that barely qualifies as conviction.

Tim just looks at her. And she knows he doesn’t believe her. Not even a little.

“Okay,” she says after a moment, shifting slightly, her mind working around him instead of against him now. “But I really want my comfy pajamas… and my favorite tea from home… and my fluffy blanket.”

She pauses, her voice softening just a fraction. “The one I only use when I’m sick,” she adds. “The one in the back of the closet that has—”

“Little sunflowers on it,” Tim finishes immediately.

Lucy’s lips curve faintly, the expression soft and tired but real in a way that tells him she means it.

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “That one.”

And she watches it happen. The shift is subtle, almost imperceptible to anyone who doesn’t know him the way she does, but Lucy sees it clearly in the way his shoulders loosen just slightly, in the way his resistance falters not because of logic or reason, but because of her.

Because it isn’t her telling him he needs a shower, or food, or rest that makes him even consider leaving.

It’s this. It’s her asking for something she can’t get here. Something familiar. Something that smells like home and safety and the quiet comfort of being wrapped in something that belongs to her.

“Fine,” he says with a huff, like the word itself costs him something, like agreeing to this is far more difficult than anything she’s asked of him all day.

He pushes himself off the door and walks back toward her, slower this time, each step measured in a way that makes it feel intentional, like he’s trying to stretch the distance between staying and leaving for as long as possible.

When he reaches her, he doesn’t hesitate. He leans down, one hand coming up instinctively to cradle the side of her face as he presses a soft, lingering kiss to her lips. It’s gentle, careful in a way that makes her chest ache for reasons that have nothing to do with injury, and for a second she leans into it without thinking, chasing that warmth before it slips away.

His fingers adjust the nasal cannula with practiced ease, making sure it sits comfortably beneath her nose, the touch light and precise, and then he rests his forehead against hers.

“Promise me you’ll be okay.”

His voice is quiet. But the weight of it settles deep. Lucy isn’t prepared for how much it affects her. For the way her throat tightens almost immediately, for the way something in her chest dips, unsteady and uncertain, like the ground beneath her has shifted just slightly out of place.

She doesn’t know why that question feels different from all the others. Maybe it’s the way he says it. Maybe it’s the way he looks at her, like he’s trying to memorize her face, like he’s bracing for something he can’t name. Or maybe it’s because, for the first time since this started, she doesn’t feel entirely sure of the answer.

There’s a part of her, small, quiet, and achingly honest, that wants to take it back. Wants to tell him not to go. Wants to reach for him, to hold onto his shirt again and ask him to stay right here, because everything hurts and breathing feels wrong and the second he walks out that door she knows she won’t be able to keep pretending that she’s okay.

Because she’s not. And she’s scared. More than she wants to admit out loud.

But there’s another part of her that knows him. Knows that Tim Bradford doesn’t do halfway when it comes to the people he loves. Knows that he would stand here for hours, for days if he had to, without eating, without sleeping, without taking care of himself in any real way, if it meant not leaving her side. Knows that he would burn himself down to nothing if it meant she got to stay standing.

And she can’t let him do that. Not for this. Not when she’s still here.

“I’ll be okay,” she says finally, her voice soft but steady enough to sound convincing, even if it doesn’t feel entirely true.

Tim doesn’t respond right away. He just looks at her, his eyes searching hers like he’s trying to find something solid to hold onto in the promise she just made, like he’s weighing whether or not he believes her.

Then he takes a slow breath, the kind that looks like a decision, and steps back.

“Two hours,” he says firmly. “Max.” There’s no room for argument in it. “And I’m giving Nonie my number,” he adds, already planning three steps ahead like he always does. “If you don’t answer my texts, I’m making her FaceTime me every thirty minutes.”

Despite everything, Lucy lets out a weak laugh, the sound soft and tired but genuine.

“Go,” she tells him gently.

Tim hesitates. It’s brief, barely a second, but it’s there. Then he nods, his gaze lingering on her just a moment longer before he turns and walks out.

The door closes behind him with a quiet click. And the shift is immediate. The room feels different. Too quiet. Too still. The warmth he brought with him seems to disappear all at once, leaving behind something colder, something heavier that settles into the space around her.

Lucy keeps her expression in place for exactly one second after he’s gone. Then it drops. Completely. Her eyes slip shut as she exhales, the breath shaky now that she’s no longer holding it together for him, no longer forcing herself to seem okay when she isn’t.

And the pain… the pain rushes in like it’s been waiting. Sharp and overwhelming, crashing through her chest and ribs without anything to blunt it, without the distraction of his presence to soften the edges.

Her breathing stutters almost immediately, uneven and shallow, her chest tightening in a way that makes it feel impossible to get a full breath in, and then the cough hits. Hard.

It tears out of her without warning, violent and relentless, each movement sending searing pain through her ribs, through her chest, until it feels like something inside her might actually break further under the strain.

Lucy gasps between coughs, her body curling instinctively, trying to protect itself from the pain even as it makes everything worse.

Her hand fumbles blindly along the edge of the bed, searching for something, anything, until her fingers finally knock against the plastic of the bucket.

She barely gets it in time. Her body gives in completely, the nausea she’s been holding back finally winning as she heaves, the motion pulling at every injured part of her at once until tears prick at the corners of her eyes.

There’s no control now. No careful breathing. No pretending. Just pain. Just the raw, overwhelming reality of it now that she doesn’t have to hide it from him. And Lucy lets it take her. Because he’s not here to see it.

———— 🏥 ————

Tim doesn’t even think the first time Lucy doesn’t answer his text. There’s no hesitation, no second guessing, just instinct.

He’s already dialing before the message even fully registers as unread, his thumb hitting Nurse Nonie’s number as he turns the car around in one sharp, controlled motion that still somehow feels too slow for the panic building in his chest.

She answers quickly. Too quickly. And that alone makes something tighten in him.

“She got sick,” Nonie explains gently, her voice calm in a way he’s trying to hold onto. “But she’s okay now. We got her cleaned up, and she’s resting.”

Resting.

Tim clings to that word like it’s something solid. Like it means safe. Still, it doesn’t settle the unease curling low in his gut. It just gives it somewhere quieter to sit. He forces himself to follow through with what he said he’d do.

He goes home and It feels wrong the second he steps inside. Too empty. Too quiet. Like Lucy should be there, moving through the space, filling it in a way he’s never noticed as much as he does now that she’s not. She should be here curled up with Kojo whisper hissing at him to get down because she knows he’s not allowed on the furniture.

He shakes his head and he moves quickly, efficiently, not letting himself linger in any one place too long.

Shower.

Brush his teeth.

Change.

Everything is rushed, but deliberate, like he’s trying to minimize the time without cutting corners that would make her scold him later.

He grabs a pair of pajamas for himself, then pauses in front of her dresser for just a second before pulling out two pairs of Lucy’s softest, most comfortable pajamas, the ones he knows she reaches for when she’s sick or exhausted or just needs something familiar.

Then the blanket. The sunflower one. Folded in the back of the closet exactly where she said it would be. He presses it down into the bag a little more carefully than necessary. Like it matters. Like it will help. He grabs her tea. His keys. And he’s out the door again.

The stop at her favorite Vietnamese place is quick, but intentional. He orders pho, plain, with chicken, something light enough that maybe it won’t make her sick again. Something warm. Easy. Comforting in a way hospital food never is.

From there, a convenience store. Flowers, because he knows she’ll roll her eyes at them but still smile. Hot water for her tea. Coffee for him. Because he hasn’t really slept, not properly, not with one ear tuned to every breath she took through the night, his body half twisted in that chair while he held onto her like letting go wasn’t an option.

His back aches. His head feels heavy. But none of that matters. Not compared to her. Not compared to the way he just wants her out of that hospital bed and back home where she belongs.

God, he hates hospitals.

He always has. But this is worse.

Now he’s pulling into the parking lot again, grabbing everything in one trip because there’s no way in hell he’s leaving anything behind when it means being away from her longer than necessary.

The duffle bag hangs off his shoulder. The flowers are tucked under his arm. The food, the coffee, the water are all balanced precariously in his hands like some kind of impossible balancing act. One wrong move and it all goes crashing down.

He doesn’t care. He’s not making a second trip. Not when he’s already been gone too long.

The moment he steps into the waiting room, he sees them. John, Angela, Celina, Miles, Nyla, they’re all there. Waiting.

John is the first to move, immediately stepping forward and taking the food from his hands without asking, while Miles grabs the duffle bag off his shoulder, easing some of the load.

“What are you guys doing here?” Tim asks, his voice rougher than he intends.

Angela scoffs, crossing her arms as she looks at him. “Um, our friend is hurt,” she says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Celina steps in before he can respond, her voice softer. “We just wanted to check on you and Lucy,” she explains. “See if she’s okay. John said it was nothing, but Grey told us he’s coming in to fill in as watch commander for at least two more days.”

Tim exhales slowly. “Yeah,” he says, the word heavy. “Her lungs are pretty beat up.”

His eyes drift to John and the glare that follows is immediate.

John reacts just as quickly, stepping behind Angela like she’s some kind of human shield. “You can’t hurt me,” he says quickly. “Lucy told me not to call you.”

“And as your boss,” Tim shoots back, his voice sharp now, “you should’ve known not to listen.”

John visibly gulps, holding up a finger like he’s about to argue his case in court. “But to be fair, we had the situation under control, so technically I would’ve been notifying her boyfriend, not her—”

Tim doesn’t even have to say anything. The look he gives him is enough and John shuts up immediately.

“Dude,” Nyla mutters, shaking her head as she watches John hide behind Angela. “He’s not gonna hurt you.”

John leans closer to her, lowering his voice like Tim can’t hear him. “He might,” he hisses.

Tim rolls his eyes, too tired to engage any further.

“Anyway,” Miles cuts in, more grounded than the rest. “We just want to see if Lucy’s alright, if that’s okay with you.”

“And make sure she’s not mad at me,” John adds, scratching the back of his neck nervously. “I feel bad for your future kids, man. There’s no way they’re getting away with anything with you two as parents. You guys are terrifying.”

A small laugh breaks through the group. Even Tim lets a faint smile slip, because he already knows, between the two of them, he’s the one who’s going to fold.

“Yeah,” he says, shaking his head slightly. “I think she’d like seeing a few familiar faces.” He pauses, his tone turning firm again. “But if she’s sleeping, I’m kicking you all out.”

They all nod without hesitation, the kind of quiet agreement that settles over a group when no one wants to be the one to push too far, and yet none of them are willing to walk away either.

Tim presses the button for the sixth floor, and they file into the elevator together, shoulders brushing, hands occupied with everything he had refused to leave behind. The doors slide shut with a soft chime, sealing them inside.

For a moment, no one speaks. The elevator hums quietly as it rises, the numbers ticking upward in slow, steady increments, and the silence stretches just a little too long to be comfortable. Tim shifts his weight slightly, adjusting his grip on everything he’s holding, his mind already ahead of him, already walking back into Lucy’s room, already anticipating the sight of her curled up in that too small hospital bed with her sunflower blanket pulled up to her chin.

He pictures the way her nose scrunches when she wakes up disoriented, the way her voice will be rough and soft when she says his name, the way she will pretend she feels better than she does just so he doesn’t worry.

The image settles something in his chest. Grounds him.

The elevator dings. The doors slide open. And everything tilts. It happens all at once, so fast his brain barely has time to process it before his body reacts.

Nurses rush past them in a blur of motion, their footsteps sharp and hurried against the tile floor, their voices clipped and urgent as they move with purpose in a single direction. A crash cart follows close behind, wheels rattling slightly, metal instruments clinking with every jolt.

The shift in the air is immediate. Palpable. Like the entire floor has tightened around something unseen.

“I hate hospitals,” Celina mutters under her breath, her voice quieter now, edged with something that sounds a little too much like experience. She gestures subtly toward the movement disappearing down the hall. “Anytime you see that, it means someone’s dying.”

Angela’s hand comes up instinctively, her fingers brushing her forehead, her chest, her shoulders in a quick sign of the cross, her lips moving in a silent prayer she doesn’t voice out loud.

No one tells Tim to move. No one suggests they follow. But they do anyway. There is something about the direction the nurses went, something about the urgency in their steps, that pulls them forward without question, like gravity has shifted and they no longer have a choice in where they are headed.

Tim tells himself it is coincidence. Hospitals are like this. Things happen. People get rushed around all the time. It doesn’t mean anything.

It doesn’t—

His grip tightens around the coffee cup as he walks, his pace picking up without him consciously deciding to move faster. The takeout container tilting dangerously in his hand, but he barely registers it.

Because something is wrong.

He can’t explain it, can’t put it into words in any way that would make sense, but it settles deep in his chest all the same, heavy and suffocating and impossible to ignore. His heart starts to race, each beat hitting harder than the last, his pulse loud in his ears.

His palms feel slick. His breath comes just a little shorter. It is a feeling he knows. A feeling he has learned, over years and years, not to ignore.

And still he tries.

It’s nothing.

It’s not her.

It can’t be her.

She was sleeping when he left. Nonie said she was okay. She promised him she would be okay.

The corner comes into view. Lucy’s room is just ahead. And the second Tim turns toward it, the world narrows.

The doorway is crowded. Too many people. Too much movement. Too much noise. Doctors and nurses fill the space, their bodies overlapping, their voices sharp and urgent as they call out orders to one another in quick succession. The air feels thick, charged, like something fragile is breaking apart right in front of them.

For a second, Tim doesn’t understand what he’s seeing. His brain refuses to catch up. Refuses to make sense of the pieces in front of him. Until it does. And when it does, it hits all at once.

Nonie is on the bed. Not beside it. On it. Her hands are locked together, pressing down hard against Lucy’s chest in steady, rhythmic compressions, her arms straight, her movements practiced but desperate in a way that sends something violent tearing through Tim’s chest.

CPR.

The sound comes next. That long, continuous beep tone that cuts through everything else. Flat. Unrelenting. Wrong in a way that makes his entire body go cold.

Tim doesn’t feel his fingers loosen. Doesn’t feel the exact moment the coffee slips from his grasp, the lid popping loose as it hits the floor, dark liquid spilling out across the tile. The cup of hot water follows, tipping over and rolling slightly before coming to a stop, the thin plastic container of food tilting dangerously before someone, John, maybe, catches it before it can fall.

None of it registers. None of it matters. Because all he can see…all he can focus on… is Lucy.

She’s lying there beneath Nonie’s hands, her body unmoving except for the force of the compressions driving into her chest, her head tilted slightly to the side, her lips parted beneath the oxygen mask. And even from here he can see the trail of dried blood running down her chin.

Her skin looks too pale. Too still. There’s no rise and fall of her chest. No sign of breath. No sign of anything. And Tim…

Tim can’t breathe.

The world around him fades into something distant and distorted, the voices in the room muffled like he’s hearing them from underwater, the movement blurring at the edges of his vision as his entire reality collapses down to a single, horrifying truth he can’t seem to process fast enough.

This is wrong.

This isn’t how this was supposed to go.

He was gone for less than an hour. He had been careful. He had made sure she was okay. She had promised—

His chest tightens violently, something raw and desperate clawing its way up his throat as he takes a step forward without realizing he’s moving, his body acting on instinct even as his mind lags behind.

“Lucy—” Her name breaks out of him, rough and unsteady, barely recognizable as his own voice, and it doesn’t matter that no one is listening, that no one turns toward him, that the room continues on in its frantic rhythm without pause.

Because Lucy doesn’t move. She doesn’t react. She doesn’t even flinch. And that’s what shatters him. Because Lucy is never still. Lucy is never quiet like this. Lucy—

The thought fractures before it can finish, something inside him refusing to let it complete, refusing to accept what’s right in front of him even as the evidence stacks higher and higher with every passing second.

Tim takes another step forward, his entire body tense, his hands empty now, useless at his sides as if he has forgotten what they are meant to do.

This is not happening.

It cannot be happening.

Not to her. Not like this. Not when he had just… not when they had just…  Not when she had just smiled at him. Not when she had asked him to come back. 

The flatline continues to scream through the room, unbroken and unforgiving, and Tim feels something deep inside his chest begin to crack under the weight of it, under the sheer, unbearable wrongness of what he’s seeing.

Because Lucy is lying there. Unmoving. Unresponsive. And for the first time since he has known her, Tim Bradford looks at her and doesn’t know how to fix it.