Chapter Text
Sitting in the buttery soft leather seat of the LAPD private jet, Lucy realises she has no idea what day it is.
It could be extreme sleep deprivation. Or the delayed shock of being kidnapped within a minute of saying yes to the man who took a knee and promised to spend the rest of his life loving her. Maybe it was because, after her own rescue, the anxiety and fear of her fiancé being held captive elsewhere turned into adrenaline when the point was stressed that time was running out.
Somewhere deep down, she knows it’s all of the above.
She’s hardly spoken to anyone, pushing her emotions aside to focus on nothing but finding Tim. Lucy was lucky, if you could even call it that, that Mid-Wilshire got an anonymous tip about where she was being held. They’d found her within 48 hours, bound and left in the corner of an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Los Angeles. Her skin was littered with bruises, the gashes on her cheek dripping crimson down her neck, her arms patchy and irritated from the traces of sand that embedded itself in her jumper after she’d dropped to the ground on the beach. When the restraints were cut she’d fallen forward, Angela catching her, a tired groan against the duct tape barely audible. Angela eased it gently from her lips, her skin left raw and tacky.
"T-Tim," Lucy rasped, her throat coarse from dehydration. "Where is he?"
She was dizzy, her eyes swollen and heavy from the combination of her pain and whatever drug she’d been dosed with - horse tranquilliser, the doctors later determined - weighing every inch of her body down. Angela had opened her mouth to respond, Celina and Miles standing next to her, when the SWAT team ran through. Their voices echoed off the walls, heavy footsteps stomping through every entrance. Lucy watched the faces in front of her swap expressions, bouncing between uncertainty and worry. They were too quiet and before Lucy could ask again, Grey approached them gravely.
"Code four," he sighed, shaking his head. "No one’s here. He’s not here."
Immediately, she shut down. She remained silent on the way to the hospital, stared blankly at the floor as her wounds were cleaned and stitched. The nasally voice of the nurse explaining when she would need to come back for a check-up sounded distant through the ringing in her ears, Grey’s words on a repetitive loop in her mind. When she was finally free to go, Angela took her back to the station and before she could tell Lucy she was only swapping cars then going home, Lucy had steeled herself with determination and marched straight into Grey’s office.
"I’m going with you," she declared through the fatigue laced in her voice.
He gave her a warning look. "Not happening. You’re going to Celina’s to-"
"I am not sitting this out," Lucy interrupted him. "You can’t force me to just wait. Put me on the team."
“Chen-“
"Put me on the damn team!" she shouted, not caring that every face in the station was now watching her through the glass. She pressed her palms to the sides of her face in frustration. "I don’t want to rest, I don’t care about the last…however many days it’s been. I need to find him."
Lucy felt a pair of hands pull her shoulders from behind, turning quickly to see Nyla facing her.
"You need to calm down," Nyla said in a low voice. "Grey is right, you’re too close to this and you need to leave this to us."
"Harper, I-"
"You’re traumatised, Lucy. You haven’t slept, you haven’t eaten anything. You’re no good out there like this."
"So I’ll get a snack from the vending machine," Lucy snapped. Frustrated, she felt her eyes start to water, pressing the heels of her palms against them to stop the tears from falling. "Harper," she exhaled, hands dropping to her sides. "Yes, this is personal, but it’s also part of my job. You know I can usually separate the two but not this time. I need to be there, I have to find my…" she takes a breath, her thumb circling the ring on her left hand. "I have to find him. Please."
Nyla gave her a look, followed by a glance behind her to Grey. His reaction was silent but when Nyla nodded "okay", everything that reeled through Lucy’s subconscious was immediately pushed aside and locked away in the metaphorical box in the back of her mind.
Lucy blinks back to reality, glancing at the bruises on her arms. She hadn’t thought of anything other than finding him, not allowing herself the time to let that box crack open even a little. She was fine, she was alive. She could deal with the repercussions later.
"Is this seat taken?"
Her eyes flash up to the source of the voice, her vision blurred as she sees the blues of Tim’s eyes looking at her expectantly. A small smile tugs at his lips, barely visible through the scruff of the hair on his face that he’s never willingly let grow longer than a millimetre. He leans against the edge of the headrest, wincing as he adjusts his weight, waiting for her to respond.
Lucy shakes her head, feeling the slightest bloom of warmth in her chest as Tim eases into the seat next to her, letting out a raspy sigh when he sits back and closes his eyes. She sees the bands of red around his neck, his skin tender from the rope that caused it. She glances down, the same raw marks lining his wrists and reminding her of how they found him.
And how they were almost too late.
There’s noise all around them - phone calls being made, chatter on the other side of the aisle, the heavy clunk of the door as the attendant pulls it closed, the low grumble of the plane engine vibrating the seats. She blocks it out, nothing surrounding them more important than the man next to her.
Tim opens his eyes, head turning to look at her. She sees it properly then, the bruises and cuts bloomed across the side of his face. Some yellowed, from the first day. One an angry deep purple from a couple of days ago, she assumes. The most recent starting to colour, the angry cut in the centre of it cleaned and covered, the white stitch bandage doing the best it can until he gets to the hospital on the other side.
Lucy tentatively raises her hand, fingertips lightly touching Tim’s cheek as she cradles his jaw carefully. Tim leans into her touch, his hand coming up to hold her palm to his face. She exhales shakily, brows knitted together as she studies him, committing him back to memory. He looks different, the beard unfamiliar, but he’s staring at her, the slightest twinkle in his eyes. Her thumb brushes lightly across his cheekbone.
"Not as bad as it looks," he murmurs, squeezing her hand.
"Sure," she whispers back. "Doesn’t look painful at all."
Tim rolls his eyes, smirking at her teasing as he pulls her hand away, linking their fingers together on the arm rest. His smile falters, glancing at the collar of her shirt. Lucy senses it, feels the concern as his gaze trails to her left hand, hidden from his view.
She slowly holds it up, wiggling the finger adorned - still - with the delicate gold band he slipped onto it seven days ago, the small stream of sun peeking through the window catching the small diamonds just so. He watches her reach to her neck, lifting her necklace to place it back over the material, and lets out a sigh of relief.
"They wouldn’t dare," Lucy says, fingertips holding the pendant to her chest.
She’d hidden the necklace, the chain tickling her skin when she’d woken up on the cold concrete floor, the immediate panic when she thought of her ring and the threat of it being taken-
No. She shakes her head, banishing the thought. Not now.
"You okay?" Tim asks softly. She meets his eyes again, concerned, wary, tired. Her thumb rubs the back of his hand.
"Yeah." She forces a smile, tapping her fingers against his lightly, and leans back into her own seat. She can tell he’s still watching her, he knows her well enough by now to tell when she’s lying. He pulls her arm into his lap, his other hand engulfing hers gently.
"We’ll be taking off in a minute, folks," a voice announces over the speaker. "Please make sure you’re seated and belted, once we’re in the air you can move wherever you want."
Lucy feels the plane move, turning corners on the short runway before picking up speed, the force pushing her back into her seat. She hears a sharp inhale, her hand suddenly tight between his. She looks over at Tim just in time to see him drop his head, the deep lines on his face turned down into a frown.
He hates take-off, Lucy remembers. He’s good with landing but he hates take-off. The plane tilts up and the sudden change in altitude makes his eyes close tighter, his grip on her hand almost painful.
"Hey," she whispers, her left hand coming across to hold his arm, the dizziness making herself blink rapidly to adjust. "It’s okay, you’re okay, almost there."
Tim mumbles something under his breath that she can’t quite catch, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth. Lucy watches him, rubbing his arm and repeats her words softly, silently cursing the plane to get to its damn altitude because for him, the stress of a plane leaving the ground combined with the aftermath of being kidnapped and tortured is-
No. Not now.
She feels the plane level, the soft ding bringing her back to the present to see Tim’s eyes open, his grip on her hand loosening as he shakes his head, running a hand over his face. He looks up at her, eyes filmy, and lifts their hands to his lips, kissing her own bruised knuckles softly. The warmth she felt earlier returns briefly, the numbness of her emotions opening slightly to let his sweet gesture remind her that he’s here. He’s here and he’s holding her hand and he’s going home with her and he’s hers.
Tim watches her intently, his eyes saying a million and one different things that Lucy knows he wants to verbalise but she tilts her head, a silent warning of the occupied seats around them. Their friends, their boss, several unfamiliar faces of the FBI; all doing their best to not pay attention to the two people that have taken precedence of their lives for the past week, but failing miserably. Lucy knows what he wants to say, knows that once he starts she’s going to have to unlock that box and start processing the hell they’ve endured, the separation, the-
"No. Not now."
It takes Lucy a moment to realise that, this time, she’s said it out loud. She meets Tim’s gaze and she can tell he’s pushed back everything he was about to say. She hates to do it to him, hates that she’s making him backtrack on all the progress he’s done over the years, but the look he gives her is one of reassurance. He’s still holding her hand to his lips, a pause before he kisses it again and nods.
"Okay."
She feels the words brush against her fingers, the air growing heavy with another emotion that she can’t conceal. She doesn’t want to give in to it, can’t give in to it, but she feels it tugging at her heart. It’s in the way Tim holds her hand, not just for her but for himself, too. She sees it in his eyes, now watching her, waiting, not caring about the dozen faces surrounding them. Their hands intertwined isn’t enough.
He needs her. She needs him. Closer.
Comfort.
Out of the corner of her eye, Lucy sees the seat-belt sign flicker off and before she can say anything, Tim releases her hand to manoeuvre the armrest that divides them, pushing it up between the seats in one swift motion. She shifts as he reaches down, lifting her legs to drape across his lap, one hand curling around her knees, the other sliding around her back, pulling her towards him. Lucy’s careful, resting her head against his shoulder with a sigh, knowing that beneath the tattered shirt, Tim likely has bruises forming there too. Her left hand comes to rest against his chest, her ring glimmering again, his heart thudding under her palm.
Lucy knows Tim has never been much of a fan of public displays of affection but this is a unique circumstance. She feels his head lean against hers, hears him let out a breath and, for the first time in days she feels herself relax. His thumb slips under her shirt to run circles over her skin, so warm, and when he presses his lips to the top of her head, she closes her eyes.
He’s here. He’s alive. They're alive.
They’re silent, neither one of them wanting to say anything, content to finally have this small moment of peace. She hears the voices around them pick up again but doesn’t pay attention to the words. Only the feeling of Tim’s heart thundering away under her hand, giving his chest a feather-light pat. He holds her tighter then, his own injuries be damned, the hand curved around her knees sliding up to her hip, nails scratching lightly through the material of her leggings. Then she feels it, sleep finally threatening to consume her as his heartbeat slows, his muscles encircling her relaxing. She feels Tim’s head heavy against hers, a sign that he’s seconds away from-
"We hate to break this up but we need to talk, to both of you."
Tim groans and Lucy’s eyes snap open at the sound of Angela’s voice, her and Agent Garza dropping into the seats directly in front of them. Angela’s expression is sharp, despite the smudged mascara and the layers of dust covering her maroon slacks. Garza is equally as stoic, leaning his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together.
"We need to brief you on exactly what’s going to happen the second this plane touches the ground," Garza explains.
"This couldn’t have waited until we got there?" Tim snaps, gesturing between the two of them. "Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we could use some shut-eye right now."
"Tim," Angela warns, her head tilting. "I’m sorry but we have to do this now, there won’t be time when we get there. We need to move quickly."
Lucy feels the change of intensity in the air, her eyes narrowing as she glances between the detective and the agent.
"It’s not over, is it?" she asks, panic starting to course through her veins. She’s met with silence, Tim’s grip around her waist tightening slightly as they both wait for the answer.
"We don’t know," Angela finally says.
No. Not now.
"What do you mean you don’t know?" Tim asks. "You said you got Everett, arrested him. Why would it not be over, what else is there?"
"We found his plan sheet," Garza replies, leaning back in his seat. "With all the names of his accomplices. It was saved on his phone after we confiscated it. I thought a smart man like him wouldn’t be so idiotic but he proved me wrong." He shakes his head. "We ran the names through the database, there were nine people on that list, including Heath Everett. Two were the couple that took you from the beach, which we have already taken into custody. The four that held Lucy turned themselves in, wanting to make an immunity deal in exchange for letting her go."
The pain searing in her ribs, the kick of his boot into her abdomen knocking what little portion of fight she had left, was almost enough for her to miss the argument behind her. Curled up on the hard floor, she resists the groan that threatens to escape her.
"They’ll cut us a deal," one voice snarled. "We did what he asked, this is our chance."
"We’re part of this now," another voice snapped. "What’s he gonna do if he finds out we let her go?"
"He’ll kill us, man! She’s a fucking cop too!"
"You know what they do to cop killers in prison? You remember Manny?"
The voices go quiet. She hears the sound of scuffling, then the scraping metal of a chair being dragged across the filthy floor.
"Call them back." She’s being pulled across the concrete, the tape across her mouth muting her protests of pain as she’s dragged up, realising she’s suddenly sitting on a chair. "Make them promise." She feels her shoulders being pulled behind her, her arms tightening against the back of the chair followed by the scaly texture of rope. "They can have her, but I ain’t going back. None of us are."
Lucy’s hand fisted the material of Tim’s shirt, small tremors coursing through her body at the memory. She silently cursed the box in her foggy brain for letting that one slip out.
"Obviously we didn’t agree to that," Garza reassures, cracking his knuckles and looking at Lucy sympathetically. "But they stayed on the line long enough for us to ping your location. Wouldn’t say a thing about you though," he gestured to Tim. "Turns out a fifty-fifty shot of not having to go into gen-pop still wasn’t desirable enough for them to break on your whereabouts."
Tim lets out an exasperated sigh. "Yeah, well, whatever," he says with a wave of his hand, his palm returning to curve across Lucy’s legs. "You got them, you got Everett, so that’s two left."
Angela and Garza look at each other hesitantly.
"You got them, right?" Tim urges. "I swear to God-"
Garza holds a hand up to stop him. "Frank Baxter and Lewis Rosales are still unaccounted for."
Lucy looks up at Tim, sees his glare full of anger evident through his bruises. There’s a flicker behind his lashes, only a second, and she recognises it immediately.
Fear.
When they first got together, Lucy learned that Tim’s nightmares were easier to come back from when he woke to her palm across his heart, whispering words in the darkness to shush his gasps, bringing him back to reality. Her voice soothed him as his hands fisted the sheets, shocked gasps turning to deep breaths while his heart rate returned to normal. Her hand sliding down his chest to wrap around his waist, her lips pressing against his jaw, whispers of "it was just a dream, I’m here."
When Lucy revisited her own trauma in her sleep, first Caleb after the case with Samantha, then the incident at Westview, she’d open her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks. She’d felt the warmth of Tim’s hand on her chest, heard murmurs of comfort followed by lips pressing her forehead, her temple, the places he knew made her relax. "It’s me, honey, it’s okay."
Lucy presses her hand against Tim’s chest again now, the gesture she knows helps calm both of them down, and looks at Angela.
"So we’re…not out of the woods," she surmises, trying to make sense of this new situation they were in through the clouds in her mind. "What’s the level of danger with two more still out there?"
"We have a lead," Angela replied, crossing her legs. "We’re working through it as we speak. Baxter and Rosales are not Everett’s best, they have a history of being sloppy and making mistakes. It won’t take us much longer to track them down. But given the severity, the level of communication within that group, the details they know," she gives a pointed look. “Everything is still a risk. Everywhere is still a risk. So until we have them…” she trails off, eyeing them both.
Lucy knows where this is going and for the second time in minutes, she doesn’t want to hear the next sentence.
“We’re taking you to a safe house,” Garza finishes. “You cannot go home.”