Work Text:
ــــــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ
"Tim?"
The voice doesn't even register, at first. Tim can barely understand anything over the sound of the truck stereo blasting in his… from all around him, honestly.
It sounds almost like the vehicle's sound system has been amplified, but that doesn't explain the liquid dripping onto his forehead. The heavy bass beats hit his skull repeatedly with the same intensity as an ice pick.
"Tim?"
The voice calls out again, more insistent this time. The music still won't stop playing, and Tim's eardrums feel like they're about to rupture.
"Yeah?" He groans, trying to roll his neck—
"No!" The person calls out desperately. Not just any person; the voice belongs to Lucy. "We're upside-down. Don't move."
The song finishes, and damn it, it starts again. The music must be on repeat.
"Lucy?" Tim groans.
He hears a cry of relief. "Yes! I-I'm here. Are y…?" The rest is drowned out by the song.
"What?" He strains to hear her over the music.
He hears a frustrated sigh that definitely did not come from the song. "I asked, are yo—"
"Pardon me?" Tim feels bad for asking, but he simply cannot hear her. For the sake of all that is holy, just what were they playing? The song is certainly familiar, but his brain is not getting enough oxygen for him to recall its name or singer.
"You good?" Lucy yells, then coughs three times.
Tim winces. "I think so, but something's leaking onto my face. I think it might be blood." He tries to reach up and touch the substance, but finds his arms are pinned to his torso.
"Don't-don't move, 'kay?" Lucy says with worry, and Tim wants nothing more than to reach out and comfort her. "We're both upside-down and your arms are pressed to your chest by the airbag, the stuff dripping on your face is…" She laughs. "It's your pink drink from Starbucks."
Tim has too many questions to ask, but not nearly enough brainpower to give platform to all of them.
"You okay?" He manages to get out, raising the volume of his words as much as he can.
"Sorry?"
For fuck's sake. "You okay?" He tries, this time a little bit louder.
"I still can't hear you!" Lucy yells back.
He's just gathering his strength to yell again when she finally understands what she's been asked.
"Oh, yeah, I'm alright! You got the worse end of the deal, and your shirt's kinda fallen just over your eyes." Lucy coughs. "I must've inhaled some dust or something."
She falls silent, and the only sound in the vehicle is that fuckass song once again.
"Hey," Tim asks, "what song's this?"
Lucy's quiet, and that is when the female singer's voice requesting that while they're there in her arms, they make the most of the night like they're going to die young registers to his damaged brain.
"Die Young by Kesha," they groan in unison.
He sneezes; perfect timing. "Why is this on your playlist?"
"Let's make the most of the night like we're gonna die young!" Kesha's voice cuts in.
Lucy laughs nervously, "So, I-"
"We're gonna die young!"
"It's a really funny story, actually-"
"We're gonna die young!"
"During the pandemic, when we were all-"
"Let's make the most of the night like-"
"On sparse shifts, Jackson and I-"
"…we're gonna die young!"
"Spent some of that time doing the TikTok thing where you play Die Young super loud on a big speaker, pound on people's doors, and run away, to our neighbours… I don't even know how this started playing." Lucy finishes just as the song ends.
Only for that same muffled guitar intro to fade back into existence again.
"I hear your heart beat to the beat of the drums,"
Lucy groans very loudly as two even louder thumps obliterate Tim's equilibrium and his ears fill with a high-pitched ringing.
"Oh, what a shame that you came here with someone,"
"You sure you're good?" He yawns, forcing his jaw to pop. The ringing doesn't go completely away, but it does subside.
"So, while you're here in my arms,"
"Yeah!" She breathes, "I'm just trying to reach the panic button on my bracelet."
"Let's make the most of the night like we're gonna die young!"
Thank fuck. That had been an amazing birthday gift idea.
"Please be careful," he clears his throat.
"We're gonna die young!"
He waits for what feels like several minutes, but in reality is probably closer to forty-five seconds.
"Take my hand, I'll show you the wild side,"
Lucy emits a triumphant cry. "Yes! It worked. At the very least, someone will be here soon."
"Like it's the last night of our lives,"
"Imagine if it's Smitty," Tim scoffs.
"We'll keep dancing 'til we die! I hear your heart-"
Lucy laughs, a sound he is beyond grateful to hear. "I'd settle for Larry Macer himself right now."
"-beat to the beat of the drums,"
His forehead pinches. "Isn't that Temu-Nolan?" (thump thump) "The rookie whose gun went off during roll call?"
"Oh, what a shame that you came here with someone!"
"Yeah, oh shit," she scoffs, "you remember he's a sergeant now, right?"
"So, while you're here in my arms,"
Who in their right mind would appoint Macer to a sergeant position? The situation with the State Coast Freight Police Department must be far worse than he'd thought. It would make a great trivia question for their wedding Kahoot, though.
What job did Temu-Nolan (Larry Macer) take after his massive day one fuckup?
-
He moved to New York and teaches Burlesque lessons (feathers and all) in Central Park (for free) on weekday mornings.
-
He joined Law Roach's team and now helps to dress the likes of Zendaya.
-
He joined Scientology, gave Tom Cruise and Elisabeth Moss all of his money, and signed a billion-year contract to be a soldier in the Sea Org.
-
He became a police sergeant and now ranks higher than most people here.
Their wedding.
He hasn't even proposed yet, has he?
"Let's make the most of the night-"
If he has to hear Kesha tell him they're going to die young one more time-
"-like we're gonna d-"
Tim thrusts his foot blindly in what he thinks is the general direction of the stereo.
By some miracle, his shin connects with hard plastic on its way back down. The back of his ankle hurts like hell, but at least the song is no longer playing. He nearly weeps—whether from pain or from relief, he doesn't know—but is swiftly disillusioned when the first tears make their way up his eyelids and through his eyebrows; leaving Tim with the most terrible desire for friction against his forehead. He tries to shift his body and get his shirt to rub at his skin, but his efforts do not produce the desired results.
"What the hell, babe?" Lucy cries, "we just got that stereo system replaced!"
Oh, so he did hit it then.
Tim laughs drily, "Not sure if you've noticed, but we're probably gonna have to get the entire truck replaced."
"Nah," she replies smoothly, "it'll buff out. Just a scratch."
He laughs again, the sound genuine, "Whatever. It's a good excuse to upgrade to the latest F-150, anyway."
For a few seconds, the only sounds filtering in through the shattered windows of his current Ford F-150 are the ambient noises of vehicles on the nearest highway. That is until Lucy begins humming the intro to Arctic Monkeys' "Do I Wanna Know?" and he knows exactly what she's about to do next.
"Luce, I swear-"
"Have you e'er been beaten by a wet spaghetti noodle by yer girlfriend b'cause she has a twin sister and you got confused and fucked 'er dad?" Lucy wonders aloud in the lowest, most gravelly voice and the best Southern accent she's capable of. "Well, that's how it feels to drive a Ford F-one-fifty…"
"You're not funny-"
"…Ford," growls Lucy. She then dissolves into a fit of wheezing laughter.
"The original meme mentioned a Ford F-two-fifty, not a one-fifty," Tim supplies grumpily.
His girlfriend's wheezing laughter turns into ragged gasping for air.
"I can't believe…" she pants, "that you decided to ratio yourself by correcting me."
"What the hell does 'ratio' mean in this context, is it some new slang? Been spending too much time debating teenagers on Reddit or whatever about whether or not Jayvik is canon?"
Lucy huffs angrily, hair hitting Tim's face as she twists in her seat. "Listen, I don't care how long it's been since the season two finale, you can't tell me that "in all timelines, all possibilities, only you" isn't gay as fuck, and ships don't always have to just be sexual, but Jayce would a hundred percent be the bottom-"
"I wanna marry you," Tim blurts, turning his head toward the sound of her voice so that even if he cannot see her, he can still perceive her.
Lucy's breath stops sharply. "What?"
"The ring's in the right pocket of my jeans," he smiles, "at least, I hope it's still in there. That's why I suggested we go to the beach… I was planning to propose at sunset."
She doesn't say a word.
"Luce?"
There's some creaking and shuffling and grunting coming from the passenger's seat, but then Tim feels Lucy's hand grasping at the denim on his legs, her fingers finding his pocket and her breath hitching as she pulls something out.
He's got the sound the ring's little box makes when it opens memorized. How could it not be, after what likely adds up to hours of getting down on one knee in whichever private reflective surface he could find?
What he does not have memorized, however, is the gasp she makes when she sees it. It's unfair, really, that his eyes are covered and that he will be forever robbed of the look on her face.
"Tim," Lucy says faintly, "oh my god…"
For a moment, none of Tim's injuries cause him any more pain.
And then the stereo crackles to life again, this time at full volume.
"-IE YOUNG! WE'RE GONNA DIE YOUNG!"
The two of them scream simultaneously, their shrieks of surprise and indignation indistinguishable from each other.
"WE'RE GONNA DIE YOUNG!"
He tries talking, speaking to her, giving the love of his life the best proposal of marriage he can muster in this state, but he can't even hear himself think over the noise.
"LET'S MAKE THE MOST OF THE NIGHT-"
Lucy's kick to the stereo doesn't make a sound he can hear, but he does feel it— it shakes the entire truck…. and shuts off the music.
"We've gotta stop kicking that thing," she tells him breathlessly, "don't wanna send ourselves further down this hill."
"Mm-hmm."
Some more creaking and shuffling and grunting and the ring box is being slid gently back into his pocket.
"That's yours again, just for the moment," Lucy says softly, sweetly, "you can give it to me properly when you're fit to be on one knee and I'm fit to pull you up and wrap my arms around you, okay?"
Tim blinks back tears, hot salt stinging his skin as his lip quivers. "So you like it? It's a yes?"
"I love it, Tim," she laughs wetly, "but I'm not saying yes until I can look you in your eyes and kiss you when I say it."
He smiles, closing his eyes. "Sounds good to me. You know, I-"
"Shut up," whispers Lucy.
"What?" He frowns. "Is everything okay?"
"Uh-huh. Tim, I can hear sirens!" She hisses excitedly.
He loses the battle with his tears, uncaring as they streak toward his hairline.
"I love you so fucking much, Luce." He whispers, trying to avoid a crack in his voice.
There's creaking and shuffling and grunting again, but instead of her fingers in his jeans pocket, Lucy slides her fingers around his upper arm.
"Because I can't hold your hand," she says, "I love y-"
"I HEAR YOUR HEART BEAT TO THE BEAT OF THE DRUMS,"
"Oh, my fucking GOD-"
ــــــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ