Work Text:
1.
As Lucy makes breakfast, she carefully watches Tim do one of their daughters’ hair at the kitchen table.
He’s intent in his practice, focused and methodical as he combs her hair evenly and separates it into two sides, the part impeccable. He gathers one side of hair up into his hand, sprays her hair with water, and combs it out to make sure it’s smooth. He puts the comb between his teeth as he focuses on tying the hair up into a bun, the first of the two space buns that Nora has requested.
She loves watching him like this. It always makes her heart melt – and, truth be told, turns her on a little bit (a lot?).
Tim is good at doing their daughters’ hair. Ever since that first day when Nora had enough hair and he proudly scooped it up into a baby ponytail atop her head, gushing “Lucy, look!” he’s become a pro. She’d caught him more than once online looking at hair tutorials, and there had been quite a few failed attempts before he reached mastery at the French braid.
But he had reached mastery. Because that was Tim Bradford.
He’s so focused and intent, gentle and thorough. Tim takes pride in everything he does, and doing his girls’ hair is no different.
She loves watching him be a father.
And, after everything – repressed feelings disguised as friendship and breakups and kidnappings - to have it be a reality to watch Tim be a father, she feels a rush of love and affection every single time she watches him engage with their children. She always knew he would be a good dad, but it’s better than she ever expected – when he does their hair, when he paints their nails, when he plays tea party, when he buys them the cutest outfits all of his own accord.
(When he plays soccer with them in the backyard and teaches them how to throw a football, too.)
Lucy scrambles the eggs, careful not to let them burn while she observes Tim as he works on the second bun.
“Alright, baby, you’re all done,” he tells Nora, pressing a soft kiss to her head, admiring his finished product.
“Daddy, I’m not a baby!” she laughs as she hops off the chair.
“You’ll always be my baby, Baby,” he reminds her, and Nora grins as she hurries off to the couch. “Both of you,” he adds, kissing Isla on the head where she sits at the table, hair already done in a sleek French braid. He turns and sees Lucy smiling at him. “What?” he asks.
Lucy just grins and turns back to her pan of eggs.
2.
Lucy loves when she has a day off, and can pick the girls up from school and allow them time to play on the playground with their friends.
The weather has been beautiful, and they’re enjoying the nice afternoon.
Lucy stands with a few other parents she’s gotten to know who are hanging around while their kids also play, listening to them gossip about the PTA parents and the argument at the meeting last night. Apparently one of the teachers and the PTA president went toe-to-toe over the funding for the arts program.
“Wow. Look at that fancy bubble ponytail!” one of the mothers, Stella, comments on Nora’s hair when she runs up for a water break. Stella turns to Lucy. “You find the time to that with your busy schedule? When I was working my kids were lucky if I threw it in a ponytail for them.”
“My daddy did it!” Nora declares with pride as she gulps water from her water bottle and then runs off to rejoin her friends
The other mom, Jane, quirks an eyebrow at Lucy. “Your husband did her hair?”
Lucy shrugs, because it’s such a common occurrence in their routine that it doesn’t seem like a big deal. And yet, she feels a little pride that these women seem in awe of the type of husband she has. “Yeah.”
“Nice to see a husband actually helping out,” Stella notes.
Lucy hums. “He’s been doing their hair since they had hair to style. I mean, I do it, too. Just depends on our schedule, really.”
Jane gestures towards Isla with her head. “Don’t tell me he did the French braids?”
“One of his favorite styles,” Lucy boasts with a little grin.
“Your husband can French braid?” Stella notes in awe. “Damn, that’s kind of hot.”
“Tell me about it,” Lucy says with a small smirk, biting her lip, and the women laugh in delight.
Jane adds, “I’m lucky if Max can get Clementine’s hair up in a ponytail that’s halfway decent and doesn’t fall down. Mrs. Johnston always has to fix her hair. I know, because it comes home actually being held up securely.”
Stella nods her agreement. “Last time Ralph tried to do Lily’s hair, she came over and asked me to fix it. What was I supposed to say? That would’ve hurt his feelings. So then Juliette, her nanny, came and she just started doing both Lily and Isabella’s hair as if it hadn’t been done, because it still looked a mess and she thought it hadn’t. But? He didn’t even notice.”
Jane busts out laughing. “Typical.”
Lucy laughs. “Tim takes pride in everything he does. He started watching YouTube tutorials on French braiding before the girls even had enough hair to braid.”
“Don’t let go of that man,” Stella teases, and Lucy chuckles.
“I don’t plan to.”
3.
Isla’s in a mood, and Lucy is losing her patience as she tries to convince her it’s time to take a bath and wash her hair.
Tim watches the whole thing as they volley back and forth, Lucy determined not to give in and lose this battle, but, unfortunately, Isla seems to feel the same.
“All right,” Tim declares. “Hair salon is open.”
“What?” Isla asks, confused, the drama stopping momentarily while she tries to process what Tim is saying. Meanwhile, Lucy looks at him just as lost.
“Ma’am,” he says, holding his hand out to hers. “I’m Tim. I’m the stylist who will be doing your hair today.”
“Daddy!” she laughs, but her mood has instantly changed as she shakes his hand.
“Hair stylists, though – you know we love to gossip, so you gotta tell me all about your day while I wash your hair in my special sink.” He pats the kitchen counter, and Isla raises her eyebrows, surprised. “Lie down here.”
Lucy lets out a breath of relief and locks eyes with Tim, a silent thank you, as she leaves the room.
Isla climbs up onto the stool and Tim lifts her up. She immediately lies down on the counter, hair in the sink, while he places a dish towel under her neck for comfort. “Comfortable?”
Isla nods. “Yes.”
“So, tell me. What’s the tea in first grade today?”
“Well, you know Kylie M., the new girl? Mrs. Thomas caught her cheating on her spelling test!”
“No way.”
“Yeah. She had a paper with all the words on it. But Daddy, get this – she used the wrong paper! She wrote down last week’s words on her test! Not one of the words she wrote was a word Mrs. Thomas said.”
“That’s… unfortunate for her.”
“Yeah. I don’t think she’s a really good reader yet, ‘cause she goes to reading class, so she didn’t know she was writing the wrong words she was just copying them.” Tim runs the shampoo through her hair, stopping to massage it into her scalp. “Oh and Marcos? He got mad at Mr. Brandon during recess and he climbed up in a tree and they had to call the principal to get him down and he couldn’t even!”
“Oh?”
Isla continues to chatter as Tim rinses her hair, folds conditioner into it, and rinses again.
“Alright, Miss Bradford. Your wash is done. Sit up, please,” he says, wrapping a towel behind her back to keep her wet hair from wetting her pajamas. “Come to my styling chair.”
Isla looks confused. “Where’s that?” she asks, soft whisper, as if she doesn’t want to break the spell of their game with reality.
Tim nods over towards the couch and she nods, eyes wide and serious.
Tim goes to get her hairbrush and hair ties, and Isla turns to him when he returns, remote in hand. “Can we watch that Sarah show?”
Nora, sitting on the couch next to Lucy, perks up. “Sarah Jane Adventures!”
Tim glances at Lucy, then at the clock. “One episode, then bedtime.”
The girls cheer, Lucy shakes her head good naturedly at their reactions as Tim begins brushing Isla’s hair out before braiding it for bed while she intently watches the show.
“Can I come to the salon next time, Daddy?” inquires Isla.
Nora nods eagerly. “Me too, me too, Daddy!”
“Salon will open on Saturdays,” he informs them, realizing he’s probably opened a whole can of worms with this and this is going to be the only way they ever want to wash their hair. “By appointment only. Tips accepted. And, salon rules: we only open on Saturdays if you agree to wash your hair the rest of the week, no arguing.”
“Okay. But what’s a tip?” Isla asks.
“You have to give him something to say thanks for doing it,” Nora informs her.
“Oh. Mommy can tip you,” Isla decides, and Lucy almost chokes on her water and Tim smirks at her over Isla’s head, Nora turning to look at her in concern due to her coughing.
“She sure can,” Tim teases with a wink and Lucy bites her lip and shakes her head at him. “See you ladies next Saturday, then?”
The girls excitedly run off to brush their teeth.
“I can’t believe you’ve turned them into fellow sci-fi geeks,” Lucy says with a chuckle as she shuts off the TV.
“Please. I saw you watching.” Tim smiles softly. “It kind of blows my mind, you know?”
“That they’re falling for your sci-fi propaganda?”
“That they’re so much of us. Not just physically – but yeah, that too - but in the things they like, their personalities. You know, those are my kids that like sci-fi and watching baseball games but in the same breath they also love making orange blossom tea and doing yoga with you on Sunday mornings. I love that my kids have the mark of Lucy Chen in their personalities because you’re their mother.”
Lucy’s eyes soften. “Yeah, it’s really special.” Lucy hums as she stands, starts picking up items off the floor. “Genius idea with the salon, by the way. There’s no way I was winning that hair washing debate. Thanks for the save.”
Tim chuckles. “Anytime.”
“So, this salon. Does it offer other services?” Lucy asks, intentionally avoiding eye contact as she picks up.
Tim raises an eyebrow. “What services are you interested in?”
“Massages,” Lucy states, standing straight to look at him, then lowers her voice. “Full body massages?”
“I suppose that could be arranged for a specific, elite clientele.”
“Mmm,” Lucy considers. “I’ll tip very well.”
“I bet you will.”
“But by full body, I mean full body. Or else, I don’t tip.”
Tim laughs and pulls her into his arms. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
4.
It’s the day of Nora’s dance recital, and Lucy’s stuck at work later than expected.
“I’ll be able to make the performance,” she tells Tim over the phone that afternoon, “but I don’t think I’ll have time to get her ready.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he tells her nonchalantly as he balances his phone between his ear and his shoulder, handing Isla the apple he’d just peeled and cut for her – because she won’t eat peels, unless they’re red apples (and, they have no idea why).
“I’m just worried about her hair-”
Tim can hear the anxiety in her voice, can see her biting her lip clear as day through the phone. “I can do her hair, Lucy.”
“I mean, I know, you can – but, it has to be really secure,” Lucy notes, “so that it doesn’t come undone while she’s dancing.”
“I’ve got it,” he assures her with confidence, though Lucy has always been the one in charge of hairstyles for dance performances.
“And it has to be sharp,” she adds. “Sleek. I know it sounds lame, but the outfit and the hair are as important as the routine at these things.”
“Understood.”
She trusts him, she does - and he’s great at getting their girls ready – but it is a lot of pressure. Half the competition at these dance events is the outfit, the hair, the look, and she kind of hates it, but Nora loves dancing so she goes along with it.
“Okay,” she agrees – because she knows he’ll figure it out, and she has no other option, anyway. “I’ll see you later. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” he returns. “Be safe.”
“Use hairspray!” she adds quickly.
“Bye, Luce.”
“Where’s Mommy?” Nora asks, appearing as if the conversation had summoned her, hair loose and wavy around her face.
“Uh, she’s at work,” Tim tells her carefully. “She’ll meet us at the recital. I’ll do your hair.” Nora gives him a look of uncertainty, one that’s so Lucy he can’t help but marvel at how life works. “I do your hair all the time!” he protests.
“Not for a recital, Daddy.”
“Give me some credit, Nori. Come on, I’m thinking we use the glitter gel.”
“Really?” Nora beams in delight. “Can we use the pink one? No! The rainbow one? I don’t know!”
“You have your outfit?” Nora nods. “Go put it on, and we can see what matches the best.”
Nora comes back in her dance outfit, and Tim does a once over, acting as if he hasn’t seen her in it twenty thousand times in the last few days – she’s tried it on almost every evening in excitement.
“Okay. Well, I’d say we go with both pink and rainbow glitter gel.”
Nora gasps, eyes wide, as if they idea to put both in her hair never occurred to her. “Really?”
Tim hums his agreement. “Let me put it up first and then we can style,” he says as he begins to brush through her hair.
Once he has her hair securely in a bun – applying more hairspray than he normally ever would just to appease Lucy, he pulls out a little paint brush and the hair gel.
“What’s that for?” Nora inquires.
“Watch and learn,” Tim tells her with a grin. He starts at the base of her bun, applying the glitter gel thickly, and then begins to move outward, the layers getting thinner and thinner, ending with a layer of pink before he goes and lightly brushes the pink gel across the top of her scalp.
He takes a photo so she can see, and she gasps in delight. “Daddy, that’s beautiful,” she squeals.
“Anything for my princess,” he says with a grin. “Come on, let’s get ready to go before we’re late.”
After the show, a tiny, blurry blob comes speeding into Lucy’s arms.
“Hi Mama! Did you see me?” Nora asks with glee, face flushed from both dancing and the joy of seeing her parents after the show.
Lucy kisses her on the forehead, noting the hairstyle that Tim had done up close. Her hair is slicked back into a perfect bun, with so much gel she can feel the stiffness without even touching it. The bun is still tight and secure, no strands of hair having come loose even with all the jumping and tumbling of her performance.
Then she sees it – the specks of glitter in her hair and the glitter styled at the base of her bun.
“I did, honey. You were amazing,” Lucy praises as Nora beams. “Did Daddy put glitter gel in your hair?”
“Yeah! He did! He said I’d look fancy and I couldn’t decide on the rainbow or the pink so we mixed ‘em together to make a rainbow with pink in it!” She frowns. “Pink should be part of the rainbow anyway, right Daddy?”
“Right,” Tim agrees easily.
“’Cause it’s the most best color.”
Lucy smiles at her, catching Tim’s eyes behind their daughter. He’s such a girl dad and she loves that so much – this big, muscular, hard-ass sergeant by day who does all things glitter, rainbow, pink, and shiny with his girls - completely willingly. “Well, you look fantastic.”
“Thanks Mama!” Nora spots one of her friends and runs over to give them a hug.
“You did a great job,” Lucy says to Tim, and chuckles at her next thought. “Y’know, I’m the one who’s supposed to have mastered the secure, pristine cop bun.”
Tim laughs. “Well, to be honest – I stole your method. Braided it tightly first before wrapping it up and securing it.”
Lucy hums, loving that he knows exactly how she does her hair for work, how good he is with their kids, how lucky she is to have this life.
5.
“I don’t feel like going to soccer.”
Tim looks up and frowns, because this is unusual. Isla loves soccer and usually looks forward to it all week.
Isla is the one who enjoys sports. Nora’s athletic in her own way – she’s their dancer - but Isla is the one who plays soccer and softball, who jumps at the chance to accompany her dad to a sporting event and religiously watches the games with him on TV. She’s been begging him to buy season tickets to the Rams games.
“What’s going on, Isles?”
“It gives me a headache.”
The weather has been warmer lately, and Tim wonders if that’s part of the issue. Then he looks at her hair and thinks about the high, tight ponytails she wears for soccer. He and Lucy make sure to secure it tightly so it’s not in her face and doesn’t fall down while she’s on the field.
“What if we do your hair in a braid for soccer today?” he wonders, running his fingers through her soft, sleek hair with a texture that reminds him so much of Lucy’s, though the color of it is more similar to his. “Maybe the ponytails are too tight, they give you a headache?” True, Tim doesn’t know much about wearing hair in a ponytail (okay - anything), but he knows that Lucy complains about the pressure on her head, which is why she usually sticks to lower, looser ponytails.
Isla bites her lip and considers. “I guess.”
“You want one braid or two?”
“Two. Can you do French braids?”
He scoffs. “Of course, who do you think you’re talking to?” Tim teases, and she giggles and sits as he begins to separate her hair for the two braids.
He takes his time and braids her hair, smoothing it as he goes, making sure that no strands stick out while she prattles on about the last game and the goal she’d just barely missed. The way she tells a story is so much like Lucy, and he finds himself enamored listening to her - much the same way he does when Lucy talks.
Once he’s done, Isla shakes her head and tests the hairstyle out but he can tell that having the braids whipping against her back will bother her as she plays soccer. He frowns, takes the two braids, and twists them into buns at the bottom – a style he’s never done before, but he’s seen other girls wear when they play.
“How about that?” he asks, proud of his handiwork and improvisational skills.
Isla tosses her head around to test the security of the style. “I like it!”
“Great. Now, make sure to fill your water bottle so you don’t get a headache from being dehydrated.”
“Whoa, who’s that with the new fancy style you got there?” Lucy asks as she walks into the room.
“Daddy did it for me so that my hair won’t give me a headache during the game,” she declares with a grin as she bounds out of the room to get ready, her attitude much improved from how she’d come into the room earlier.
Tim smiles as they watch her go. “She reminds me so much of you with her hair like that,” he says, and Lucy quirks an eyebrow, trying to figure out his meaning. “The beginning of your rookie year, you used to wear your hair braided a lot.”
Lucy smiles softly, understanding. That lifetime, that version of them that was once the crux of who they were, now seems so long ago and such a tiny blip in their relationship. “You remember that?”
“Of course I do,” he returns, turning to gather the snacks on the counter for the soccer team, because it’s their day to supply the snacks and he’s not going to forget like the last time when he had to miss the game to run to the store.
Lucy chuckles. “Yeah, I finally gave up on the fancy hairstyles because I realized real quick that my appearance wasn’t going to impress my training officer and that time spent doing my hair was better spent reading my rook book.”
Tim laughs, stepping close to her to wrap his hands around her waist, letting his fingers sneak just under the hem of her shirt to rub circles into her skin. She smiles and loops her arms around his neck. “That’s kind of ironic.”
“Why?” Lucy asks, tilting her head in question.
“Because it turns out your appearance impresses me a lot, actually.”
She can’t help but let out a laugh and removes one of her arms from his neck to hit him playfully in the chest. “Stop.”
“Mmm, okay,” Tim agrees, leaning forward to kiss her.
“Tim,” she chuckles, even as she kisses him a second time. “The girls. Soccer.”
“Later,” he whispers into her ear and grins as he feels the goosebumps break out over her skin at his promise.
+ 1
“What’s going on?” Tim asks when he walks inside, but he stops dead in his tracks because he knows exactly what’s going on.
Lucy just gives him a look that confirms everything he’s suspecting as she combs through Nora’s hair with the lice comb, biting her lip in concentration. “Don’t lean on that!” she admonishes Isla, who attempts to lean back on the couch, visions of lice burrowing into the fabric in Lucy’s brain.
“But… I put their hair up every day this week!” Tim stutters, recalling the tight buns and braids he’d done every morning after the notice of several cases of lice came home from the school.
“I know. But, you know, they have a way of getting in anyway,” Lucy sighs. “And…” she lowers her voice conspiratorially, “I think I have it.”
“What?”
“Yesterday – when we were at the park for Isla’s soccer practice – I let Nora borrow my hat for a little bit because she was complaining about the sun.”
“Lucy,” Tim sighs.
“I know, I know,” she mutters. “Be thankful you have, like, no hair.”
“Okay, let me...” Tim takes off his jacket, careful about where he puts it, worried about picking up lice. “Let me finish combing out her hair while you go wash yours, and I’ll comb yours after.”
Lucy blinks at him, hand frozen in midair with the lice comb suspended over their daughter’s head. “You’ll… what?”
“I’ll comb out your hair, after,” he says again, nonchalantly. “It’s easier than you doing it yourself, isn’t it?”
She gives him a soft smile and a small nod. “Okay. But keep them off the couch,” she directs as she hands over the lice comb to Tim and heads towards the bathroom. “They put their heads on that fabric; it’s all over.”
Tim just gives a little laugh and it calms her instantly, the way he responds to such chaos when she’s already teetering on the edge of a meltdown.
He’s already got Nora laughing at some kind of joke, and she feels relief as she heads down the hall to the bathroom.
Lucy takes an extra-long shower, hoping she can kill the lice with the hot water even while knowing that won’t work, using the shampoo and making sure to lather it up through her long locks. She can hear Tim puttering around, and she takes a few extra minutes in the shower just to escape the entire lice situation that awaits her when she gets out.
When she comes downstairs with her hair damp and brushed, towel in her hand to make sure she throws it straight into the washer, she sees that Tim has already started washing all the bedsheets in hot water.
“Sit,” he directs.
She follows his command instantly. “Where are the kids?”
“Watching a movie. I put shower caps on their heads.” Lucy bursts out in laughter. “I guess I won’t make fun of you anymore when you steal those from hotels.”
“I told you. You never know when you’ll need them.”
“Mmhm.” He brushes out her hair gently, uses the lice comb to check for eggs, carefully checking her head strand by strand.
“Romantic,” she deadpans, and he breathes out a laugh.
“Romantic? No. Love? Yes.”
She hums her understanding, feels her insides turn warm and soft at his words, because being loved by Tim Bradford has been the best thing she has ever experienced – considering everything she loves: her children, her job, her life, all seem to be a product of him and their love for each other.
He continues to work through her hair, carefully completing the tedious task with accuracy while he tells her about the absurd thing Smitty did at work for his new pyramid scheme.
“I hope this works,” Lucy hums, knowing all too well that getting rid of lice is a long game.
Tim hums. “Well, if not, we can always try the good old mayonnaise trick.”
Lucy gasps. “I thought this was love,” she teases, “and you want to slather your wife with mayonnaise?”
Tim can’t help but let out a hearty laugh. “All in the name of killing the lice, baby.”
“Uh-huh,” she teases, “sure.”
“Do you want me to braid it?” Tim asks when he’s done, and she laughs a little, thinking he’s teasing but then she feels him begin to separate her hair into strands the same way he does for the girls.
He lets her fingertips massage her skill a little bit and she hums her pleasure – the pressure taking away some of the stress headache she has from the entire situation.
He gives her shoulders a momentary massage, too, before taking the brush and smoothing out her hair, beginning to braid.
She has never felt someone do her hair so tenderly, and she thinks how lucky their girls are.
When he’s done, he plants a kiss on her head.
“For better or worse,” she recalls, teasingly. “Maybe I should just chop it all off.”
“Don’t you dare,” Tim retorts.
“Why, you like my hair long?” she asks with a smirk, knowing how he loves to let his fingers run through it.
Tim’s reply is instant. “I love your hair long. I also I think you’d be dead sexy with short hair,” he admits. “But I know you like your hair long. And I am partial to it when you’re on top of me and it falls across your-”
“Mommy!”
“Whoops,” Lucy teases with a smirk. “Hold that thought for later.”
Tim chuckles as Isla bounds into the room. “Mommy, Nora took off her shower cap.”
“What? No!” Tim says in despair as he starts to scurry out of the room.
“I tried to tell her!” Isla says, trailing along behind her father. “She said it’s making her head itchy.”
“That’s not the shower cap, that’s because of the-" Tim sighs, not even bothering to reason. “I’m coming.”
“NORA, I told Daddy on you!!!” Isla yells, triumphantly.
“But the hat’s itchy!” Nora yells back from the other room, defensively.
“Love,” Tim reminds Lucy with a sigh with a wink, and she chuckles.
“Love,” she replies with a grin.