Archive of Our Own

1. Infinity Entangles the Moon

“I can’t believe Austin’s turning thirteen this weekend.” Lucy keeps her voice to a soft murmur as they stroll through the aisles of the quiet bookstore, the first of a few planned stops in their gift search.

“You’re telling me,” Tim responds, coming to a stop in front of one of the bookshelves, scanning the titles critically. “I remember the day that kid was born.”

“A teenager now; next thing you know, he’ll be all grown up like his uncle Tim.” Uncle Tim doesn’t seem to be a fan of that observation if his small frown is anything to go by, and he doesn’t grace it with a response. Lucy’s eyes follow his, perusing the options in front of them. “Wouldn’t have pegged him for a historical fiction kid, though.”

Tim pulls his lip between his teeth, chewing on it as his eyes narrow. “I know,” he says. “But Genny said he’ll read anything and everything, so… maybe he’ll want to branch out?”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

The sigh he lets out is a little tense. “I’m not.”

With a smile and a gentle touch to his shoulder, Lucy slips past him, heading to the YA crime section.

When she returns to her boyfriend, he’s still in the same spot, shaking his head as he returns a thick paperback to the shelf, hands empty. Luckily, Lucy’s search was a little more successful.

“What about a couple of these?” she suggests, holding out the small pile she’s collated.

Balancing the books in the crook of his elbow, Tim casts his eye over them one by one, examining the title, cover, blurb, and even the first page of most of them, before ultimately dismissing each one with various expressions of disapproval.

“What? Not even this one?” Lucy exclaims, taking back one that had looked particularly interesting. Looking at the blurb again, she might buy it for herself.

“No,” Tim says. He provides no further explanation.

Mildly confused as to why he’s being so particular about a book of all things, Lucy goes to put her selections back as Tim gives up on historical fiction and moves on to the next section—sci-fi.

After carefully looking over what feels like almost every book on the shelves, he finally settles on a thick paperback with an astronaut on the cover, glancing down to re-read the blurb several times on their way to the cash register.

Picking out the rest of Austin’s gifts is far less of an ordeal. They grab a new game for his Switch, as well as a baseball mitt—“I still want to encourage him to get back outside a little,” Tim had reasoned—before heading home. There, the gifts get wrapped and safety kept on the dining table, ready for the small get-together Genny’s hosting this weekend.

That night, Lucy shuffles into their bedroom with her mug of tea to find Tim sat up in bed, scrolling on his phone. The sight makes her frown a little, since Tim isn’t normally a phone-in-bed kind of guy. After setting the mug on her nightstand, she flops down across the bed, face squished against Tim’s arm so she can see what he’s doing.

He’s reading the plot of the sci-fi book online.

Lucy clicks her tongue. “Tim.”

His eyes flit over to her for a moment before returning to the summary. “What?”

She angles her head so she’s looking up at him, her chin digging into his arm. “Seriously?”

He blows out a sigh. “I just want to make sure we picked right.”

She shoots him a bemused look which he doesn’t see, eyes still locked on the words as he continues to scroll. He’s chewing his lip again, and the mild anxiety etched around his eyes makes the realisation dawn on her. This means something to him.

“Hey,” she whispers, softening her voice. Pulling herself upright, she cups his jaw with her hand until his eyes slide over to her. “He’ll love it, okay?”

“But—”

“Tim, the kid has a star projector on his nightstand. He adores space; you picked the perfect book.”

His eyes hold her gaze, searching for any hint of a lie, and Lucy knows he won’t find one. It’s a few seconds before his lips turn up into a soft smile.

“Okay,” he murmurs, clicking his phone screen off.

As he pulls away to reluctantly put his phone on his nightstand, Lucy repositions herself, crawling under the covers. When Tim settles back down, she tucks herself into his side, resting her head on his chest. He wraps his arms around her, absentmindedly trailing his fingertips up and down her spine.

“I can hear you thinking,” she comments. Tim’s chest vibrates with a low chuckle, but he doesn’t respond with anything more than an absent hum. “Why is that book so important to you?”

He stills for a moment, before his shoulders shift with a slight shrug. “It’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not.”

He tightens his hold on her, arm curling further around her until his fingertips are almost brushing her shoulder. “I… it’s not just—” Shaking his head, he breathes in and shrugs, starting again. “There was this one book, when I was a kid. I loved it; read it over and over and over. It became this kind of… I don’t know, an escape, I guess, when things weren’t great. Could practically recite it from memory after a while.”

Lucy’s heart breaks and sews itself back together at the thought of a young Tim—too young to have been through what he had—hiding himself away in the pages of a worn paperback. Maybe even whispering the words under his breath sometimes, eyes screwed shut as he tried to pretend the rest of the world wasn’t real, just for a little while. It’s probably why he’s always been so drawn to sci-fi. Other worlds and planets, far removed from their own, giving him somewhere to run to.

“I… I guess I want Austin to have something like that, too,” he continues. “Not that Genny is anything even close to our dad, obviously, but… just somewhere for him to go when he needs an escape. Another world to hide in. Every kid should have something like that.”

Lifting her head from his chest, Lucy gives Tim a watery smile.

“That’s beautiful, Tim,” she says, before pressing upwards to capture his lips in a gentle kiss. His hand reaches up, fingertips brushing her jawline as he smiles. When they pulls away, she doesn’t go far, their faces still inches from each other. “And he’ll love the book you chose, I promise.”

His exhale blows warmth across her face. “I hope so.”

She kisses him again, just because she can, before settling back down, her cheek pressed against his chest. In the quiet, something occurs to her.

“What was it called?” she asks.

“Hm?”

“The book. The one you used to read.”

“Uh,” Tim’s chest shifts with a breathy chuckle. “It was called Infinity Entangles the Moon.”

Lucy can’t help the giggle that slips out. “Bit of a mouthful.”

Tim shrugs. “That’s sci-fi.”

Wrapping her arms around his torso, she gives him a squeeze. “My little nerd,” she coos.

“Hey!”

“It’s cute!” she giggles. “I wonder how many people at the station know their big, scary Watch Commander has a Star Wars chess collection.”

“Can a man not have hobbies?”

“Of course. It’s definitely not what the station would expect, that’s all,” she says. “Lucky for me, I know Sergeant Bradford is a lot more squishy than his hard shell makes out.”

Tim hums. “That’s just for you.”

“Oh, I know,” she says. “That side of you is all mine.”

2. Forests

Tim doesn’t remember the last time a week has been so chaotic. The buzz of the city feels like it’s burrowed under his skin with more intensity than usual, and he knows Lucy feels the same—they climb under the covers on Friday worn out and yet unable to wind down, feeling like the exhaust fumes are clouding their minds.

Lucy’s the one to suggest a hike.

“Somewhere different than our usual trail, though,” she says absently, scrolling through a few options on her phone before setting her sights on one a little further out from the city. When she presents Tim with her screen, he immediately notices that it’s more of a forest than a trail, covered by a canopy of trees rather than the open hills they usually opt for, but he’s open to it all the same.

That’s where they end up Saturday morning, the early sun beaming down on them as Kojo tries to chase after a squirrel the second they let him down from the truck. A single loosely nailed sign points them directly into the shade of the trees, so they head in its direction, the sun’s warmth quickly absorbed by the tree cover.

Tim’s always preferred the idea of open hiking trails to covered forest floors—the effort of a steep incline, the comfort of having a good vantage point in every direction, as far as he’s concerned, they don’t have any downsides to pick at. But as they venture further into the forest, the dappling casting gentle light over the mud and branches and fallen leaves, he can’t help but watch how Lucy looks undeniably at home in their unfamiliar environment, clocking the skip in her step and the particular way in which the tension loosens from her shoulders, and it makes the rocks and tree roots they have to watch out for more tolerable.

They carry on through the loosely marked trail for a while, making light conversation and enjoying the different sense of quiet, until Lucy suggests they stop at a cluster of rocks for lunch. They sit on the rocks shoulder-to-shoulder, and Lucy takes a swig from her water bottle as Tim passes her one of the sandwiches they’d packed.

As they eat in comfortable silence, Lucy watches the birds flutter between the trees while Tim eyes their unfamiliar surroundings. The trees feel like a shelter, enveloping them in a sense of stillness. It doesn’t feel like there’s a single soul for miles except the birds and squirrels; there are no people, or distant car horns, or yelling, or quiet tension drawing the air taut. It’s so far removed from the city’s chaos that Tim thinks they could be anywhere in the world right now.

He voices his question once they’ve finished eating, opting to linger a little longer in the stillness. “Why’d you pick here?”

As she hums in contemplation, Lucy leans over to rest her head on his shoulder. “I don’t know,” she admits. “I saw a few pictures online and I just… I guess it reminded me of home.” He feels her cheek expand with the gentle smile forming on her face. “I used to love exploring the woods by my house.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.” Tim’s seen the photos of her caked in mud, swimming in rivers, a triumphant grin on her face. Lucy Chen was an outdoors child if there ever was one.

She laughs, still quiet, like she doesn’t want to break the fragile birdsong, melodic as it soars above their heads. “They were just such a nice place to exist,” she reflects. “I used to love taking my bike and riding for as long as I could.”

At that, Tim frowns. “Sounds unsafe.”

Far too many missing children’s cases—or missing people, period—involve the woods. People disappearing through a crowd of trees and never coming back, swallowed by the shadows and the monsters waiting inside them. Hell, if they weren’t cops who knew how to handle themselves, Tim might’ve thought twice about their walk today.

But Lucy just shrugs, nonchalant. “Maybe, but I never felt unsafe. The only thing at the other end was our neighbours’ house; I’m sure they kept an eye out,” she says. “I needed the quiet, you know? There were no books in the woods, no parents, no expectations. The squirrels weren’t telling me I should drop one of my extra-curriculars to focus on bringing up my math grade, or asking me if I even wanted to be successful in life if I was happy with a B.”

Tim wraps an arm around Lucy’s shoulders and squeezes, and she leans in a little closer. The weight of her parents’ expectations isn’t new information to him—they’d touched on it in one of the first conversations they’d had, before he’d used it as a fake-out for her first Tim Test and kicked her out of their shop.

As she blows out a wistful exhale, Lucy cranes her neck to look up. “There’s something about how the wind catches the leaves.” She gestures at the canopy over their heads, watching it rustle. “The way it’s all covered like a secret.”

It’s moments like this where Tim would give anything to see the world through Lucy’s eyes. Just for a minute, he wants to experience the wonder and amazement that drips from her voice first-hand. But this works, too, and maybe hearing it through her words is even better, getting to understand things through the sparkle in her eyes.

As he’s watching the branches sway in the reflections in her eyes, the smile tugs at his lips. “We can make this a thing,” he finds himself saying.

Lucy hums in question, eyes catching on a bird hopping between the branches.

It’s his turn to gesture at their surroundings. “This. Walking through the woods. You love it; Kojo’s having the time of his life.” Both their gazes drift to their dog, who’s currently watching a squirrel scurry away, his tongue hanging out and tail wagging like there’s no tomorrow. “We can switch up the hiking trails for places like this. A little peace further away from the chaos.”

When he looks back at her, Lucy’s looking at him, now, the soft amazement in her eyes unshaken. “I do love hiking with you, though.”

“Who says we can’t do both?” he shrugs. “Plus, there’s no other people out here. It’s kinda nice, it just being us.”

Her smile is soft, like the dappling across the mud floor. “I’d really love that.”

“Then it’s settled.”

“Perfect.” Tim grins at the joy in Lucy’s face and voice as she stands. “Come on, let’s keep going.”

However, his smile slips when she extends a hand to help him up. He stares at the offer, offended. “How old do you think I am?”

She wiggles her fingers, teasing.

Tim can’t help himself. He takes her hand, but instead of using it to pull himself up, he yanks Lucy back down, and her squeal slices through the serenity as he pulls her into his chest.

“What are you doing?” she giggles, trying to get her feet back under her.

“I love you,” he murmurs into her hair.

She goes still, leaning into his hold, her head resting against his chest. “I love you, too.”

The words are quiet and whispered, carried away by the breeze blowing through the trees.

3. Nu metal

Like so many weekends, when Lucy shuffles into the kitchen Saturday morning, it’s to the smell of breakfast and the sound of Tim humming along to the radio.

She swears he doesn’t even notice he’s doing it, focused on his task as he mimics the melody playing at a low volume through the speaker, hands tapping against the countertop when they’re not occupied preparing the pancake batter.

When she leans against the kitchen counter, Tim slides a fresh cup of coffee her way, before leaning over the counter to kiss her. It’s more of a smile than an actual kiss, but Lucy loves it all the same.

“Good morning,” she says, her voice still slightly weighed down by sleep.

“Morning,” he smiles. “Pancakes will be ready soon.”

“My hero.”

Wrapping her hands around the warm mug, Lucy watches him ladle batter into the pan. He’s still humming along to the song playing, the smile lingering on his lips. Even after all this time, it’s still so rewarding to see him so… at peace, here, in their home.

He must clock on to her stillness out the corner of his eye, because as he reaches for the spatula, he pauses and looks her way.

“What?” he asks.

She lifts her coffee and takes a sip to hide her smile. “Nothing.”

Tim’s gaze narrows, but he soon trains it back on the pancake in the pan, flipping it before it burns.

It’s not even thirty seconds before his humming picks up again, his hand returning to tap a steady beat against the edge of the counter as their breakfast sizzles. He definitely doesn’t realise he’s doing it, and it’s cute. She doesn’t notice she’s grinning until Tim is looking back at her, lightly exasperated and shifting on his feet.

“Okay, seriously, what is it?”

“Nothing,” she repeats, but he doesn’t buy it this time.

“You said that already. What? Is there toothpaste on my face” He spins to check his reflection in the door of the microwave, obviously finding nothing there.

“No, I’m serious, it’s nothing,” she giggles, and he looks back at her, incredulous. “It’s just—for a man who claims he loves the quiet, you seem to get lost in music sometimes.”

As he shoots her a long-suffering stare that holds no heat, a flush dusts his cheeks that contradicts his next words: “I do not.”

“You do,” she insists. “It’s cute.”

His shoulders lowering, Tim gestures to the radio with a motion that’s almost sheepish. “I used to love this band when I was a kid,” he admits.

She’d never really paid much thought to the kind of music younger Tim might’ve listened to, but—“Yeah, I guess this tracks.”

It’s not the heaviest music she’s ever heard, but the layers of percussion and electric guitars create a complex soundscape that’s undeniably Tim. Now he’s pointed it out, it’s easy to picture him as a kid in his room, listening to this song on his Walkman.

She curves her lips into a teasing smile. “You had all their CDs?”

“I did, actually; I think they might be in a box in the garage.” Tim points the spatula her way, eyes still focused on his task as he tilts the finished pancake onto a plate. “I’d listen to them while I was studying, or trying to wind down.” His expression dims slightly. “Cut out a lot of the noise.”

Lucy’s heart clenches. She doesn’t need any clarification on the noise he’s talking about.

“Yeah,” she breathes, voice almost lost to the song still playing.

“Yeah,” Tim echoes. “It just helped me go somewhere else, no matter what I was feeling, if I was angry, or scared, or sad, or anything. I could just…” He trails off with a shrug, searching for the right words. “I could just escape for a couple hours.”

As he spoons another ladle of batter into the pan, Lucy can’t help but round the counter to wrap her arms around him from behind. Tim leans into her touch, exhaling softly.

“And now, there’s nothing for me to drown out anymore,” he says, turning in her hold and wrapping his arms around her. “So when old songs come on the radio like this, I can just enjoy them. Make some new memories.”

As the final chorus begins to play, Tim sways them side to side in an echo of a dance, resting his cheek against her hair. She feels the soft vibration of his humming resonating through his chest, while his fingertips gently tap the melody against her pyjama shirt.

4. Herbal tea

Tim winces in sympathy the moment he sets foot in the front door, hearing Lucy cough sharply from their bed.

“I’m back,” he calls out. He’s pretty sure she croaks something out in response, but it gets swallowed by the walls between them.

After setting the bag of groceries on the counter and pulling out some of the supplies he’s bought, he heads straight for their bedroom. Lucy’s burrowed beneath the covers, the flush still dusting her cheeks as she sniffles.

“Hey,” he says, setting flu pills and a new box of tissues down on her nightstand.

“Hey,” Lucy croaks.

He runs a hand through her hair, feeling the warmth of her forehead against her palm. “I picked up some tea, too; I’ll make you a cup. How are you feeling?”

“Like the universe has it out for me.” The words are a displeased groan as Lucy pulls the covers even further over herself. “What kind of tea did you get?”

“It’s a surprise.”

Bleary brown eyes peek out from beneath the covers, narrowing as she stills. “What does that mean?”

Tim has to bite back his smile, swapping it for an offended furrow of his brow. “What, you don’t trust my ability to pick the right tea?”

“Not exactly.”

It was one time. One time, he’d picked up peppermint instead of green tea. In his defence, he’d been on his way home from a double shift, and when he’d seen a vaguely familiar looking green box, he’d beelined for the cashier in his desperation to get home and into bed. And now, every time Lucy asks him to pick up some type of tea from the store, there’s a precedent to the distrustful look in her eyes.

He swallows that memory, though, because he knows there’s no way he’s gotten this wrong. Instead, he chuckles lightly, leaning down to press a kiss against her forehead. “It’ll be a couple minutes. You want anything else?”

When she shakes her head, he heads back to the kitchen and pulls the new box of tea from the bag, flicking the kettle on and preparing it in the way that’s pretty much muscle memory by now.

By the time he’s returning to their room, Lucy has propped herself upright against the pillows, and she eyes the mug warily as he hands it over. But the moment the steam hits her face, her eyes widen in recognition.

“Did you—?”

“Try it,” he cuts in, finally letting his smile free.

She takes a sip, and immediately starts blinking away tears, looking up at him.

“Where did you find this?” she asks, holding the mug tighter like it could be a figment of her flu-addled brain. “I’ve been looking for years.”

“Your aunt told me a place to try as a Hail Mary,” he responds. “They had two boxes, so I got them both.”

Lucy lowers the mug a little, swallowing another sip as she sniffles. “You’ve been talking to Aunt Amy?”

“Don’t get too excited—it was only a couple of messages,” he shrugs. “I was thinking about it after you mentioned it the other day, and thought you might appreciate it since you’re not feeling great.”

Lucy’s lips curl up, a tear almost falling. “That’s so sweet.”

She gingerly sets the mug down on the nightstand and watches it for a moment with a soft smile, nostalgia shining in her eyes.

“Come here,” she says after a moment, pointing at the cup. “Look at this.”

Rounding the bed, Tim leans over until his chin is resting on Lucy’s shoulder—the closest he’ll ever get to seeing something through her eyes. He follows her index finger to where it’s pointed at the mug, gently tracing the steam floating into the strip of sunlight stretching across the room.

“Isn’t it pretty?” she whispers, her voice taking on a wistful tone. “I always loved watching the steam drift in the light, like some ethereal creature made of tiny clouds. I could watch it for hours.”

Tim can’t help it. “The tea would be cold by then.”

Lucy turns her head, and he doesn’t need to see the exasperated look on her face to know it’s there.

“I know that,” she says. “That’s why you’ve got to see it now.”

He presses a kiss to her warm cheek before pushing himself back upright. Even if he doesn’t always understand it, he’ll never get tired of how much Lucy loves the little things. It’s one of his favourite things about her.

After watching the steam for a few more moments, she lets out another cough and lifts the mug again, closing her eyes as she takes another sip. Tim watches her savour it, treasuring the soft, tired smile on her face, and he already knows he’s hunting down every last box of that tea he can find.

He loves making her tea. It’s such a small thing, simple and quiet, but it seems to bring her infinite joy and lightness—and he wants her to have that feeling forever.

“Reminds me of being a kid,” she says eventually, staring into her reflection rippling in the cup. “Mom would always set down a cup for me while I was studying at the kitchen table, and we’d have one together every morning. It was just this moment of quiet that I could steal, no matter what was going on. I could just hold the mug in my hands,”—she wraps her hands tighter around the mug, and Tim wonders if it’s subconscious—“and be for a minute, watching the steam.”

Even if he’s not one for seeking it out, Tim quietly loves when Lucy shares small things like this with him, because he gets to connect it back to her, everything tied to the centre of his world with a shining yellow thread. Now, every time he sees steam or fog curling in the sunlight, he’s going to think of her, safe and content and warm, wearing the same gentle smile on her face that’s there now as she steals a moment of quiet for herself.

“Mom would always make this for me when I was sick, too, and I used to swear it was magic.” Lucy takes another sip, as though she’s punctuating her point. “See, I can feel myself getting better already.”

At that, Tim’s expression scrunches slightly—he gets the sentiment in theory, but it’s only been three sips. “You’ll feel even better after you take some of these.” He lifts the flu pills he’d left on the nightstand, the small capsules rattling in their packet. “And once you’ve gotten some more sleep. You need it.”

After she sets the mug back down, Tim helps adjust the pillows before Lucy pulls herself beneath the covers. “This bed’s too big,” she sighs, overexaggerated, dragging the covers over her head. “I can’t sleep in these conditions.”

Tim laughs, rich with affection he can’t stifle. “Give me five minutes to get changed and I’ll come join you.”

Clearly pleased, Lucy smiles, but it’s broken by a sharp cough.

5. Football

Even once they reach the bar, they’re still buzzing from the high of their win. The LAPD are the flag football champions for the second year running, and anyone around can probably tell, going off their group’s celebratory cheers, matching jerseys, and painted faces.

The air is electric, and while Lucy’s competitive side is grateful they won just for the sake of winning, and for the sight of the cheap trophy that’s going to continue to sit on the shelf in the breakroom for another year, she’s also glad she finally gets to experience this feeling first-hand. This time last year, she’d been at home, watching sitcoms under the covers after her ordeal with Greta Wooston. Tim had called to check in on her after the game, the noise of the bar just barely meeting the speakers as he’d stepped outside, and as much as she’d been grateful she didn’t go, the FOMO had gotten to her a little.

But this year, she’s here too, her cheeks aching from smiling. She got a few pretty damn good passes in during the game, if she does say so herself, making the win that much sweeter in her eyes. They won by a bigger margin than last year, and she’d joked to Tim while they were walking here that that was down to her. He’d just responded with a kiss to her hair, and she’d tried not to read too far into the non-response.

Once they’ve pushed a few tables together in the middle of the bar to fit them all, Tim and Wesley head up to get the first round, and Lucy’s gaze trails after them. Tim has a specific glow to him she thinks she’s only seen a handful of times, his smile practically luminescent—as it should be, since he’d captained one hell of a win. They’re met with enthusiastic cheers when they return with several bottles of beer, and Tim takes the seat Lucy’s saved for him, leaning forward to announce a celebratory toast. For a moment, the room is filled with chimes of clinking glass and cheers, before he sits back, slinging his arm over the back of her chair, and she can’t help but lean over and press a kiss to his cheek.

“You did good,” she smiles, lips close to his ear so she can hear him through the noise of the bar.

His arm moves to rest on her shoulder, squeezing lightly. “Back at you. That was one hell of a pass to Nyla in the third quarter.”

Lucy can’t help but beam at the praise, even after all this time, and she closes the gap between them to steal a chaste kiss.

Their crowded table spends the night discussing the game, trash-talking the LAFD with light-hearted affection and criticising Wesley’s decisions as umpire, which he defends with the same ferocity he would in a courtroom. The atmosphere is light and victorious, and Lucy keeps Tim’s smile in her periphery the whole time, basking in the glow he exudes.

While they’re driving home, tired and yet still buzzing, she finally says what she’s been thinking since she saw Tim on the field, making a particularly good pass to Miles. It’s been circling her mind as she’s watched how happy he’s been tonight.

“You know, I always forget you actually played football.”

Tim glances over at her, the remnants of the smile that’s been stuck to his face all night still lingering in his eyes. Reaching over, he tangles his hand with hers, resting them both against her thigh.

“Almost went pro,” he reminds her. “I love it.”

She sees how much joy it brings him, the rush of adrenaline different to the one that gets triggered when a call goes sideways. “You ever regret not going for it, as a career?”

As she asks the question, she expects he’ll take a second to ponder it, but his answer is immediate.

“No.” The words are accompanied by a sharp, certain headshake. “I mean, sure, I think about what could’ve been sometimes, but I don’t regret the choice I made at all.”

Interesting. “Why not?”

Tim shrugs. “The military was a more stable career option right out of high school. More predictable, more options if something went wrong. Doesn’t matter how good you are; an athlete’s career is always hanging by a thread—you saw what happened to Penn. And anyway…” As Lucy nods, he squeezes her hand a little, a smile lifting the corner of his mouth. “Every step I’ve ever taken has brought me here, to you, so I wouldn’t want to change any of it.”

Her face scrunches, and she clasps both hands around his. “You softie.”

He scoffs in that affectionate way he does, through a smile he tries to tamp down, when he’s trying to reject what she’s saying even though he knows she’s right. “I’m serious. I didn’t go pro, sure, but it doesn’t change the fact that football made me who I am now. It’s where I learned discipline, and hard work, and where I gained some sense of structure. It sounds stupid, but I… I really do believe it saved my life.”

Lucy stills where she’s been rubbing her thumb across his knuckles, looking over at him. Tim’s gaze is still trained on the road, but she knows part of his mind is somewhere in the past. “How so?”

He swallows. “It was the first time I was ever in control,” he says, his voice quieter than before. “I’d grown up around violence and chaos and noise, and…”

Lucy stays quiet when he shrugs, letting him find the words.

“I had so much anger and emotion that I didn’t have anywhere else to put. It was just building up,” he says, “and football gave me a healthy outlet for all of it. Suddenly, if I had a shitty day, I could put all my force into a throw or a touchdown; I could channel my focus into making a play, organising my team. If I got a bruise, it was because I’d played a good game, taken a tackle or hit the ground making a sliding touchdown, whatever. For the first time, my pain was coming from something positive, somewhere I was constantly improving and bettering myself, surrounded by a team.”

That makes sense. Football was the first time he had something to channel his emotions and his whole focus into, something all-encompassing and exhausting and meaningful. It was something to run to away from the chaos of his home, somewhere he wasn’t alone.

Lucy gives him a gentle smile, and Tim’s gaze flits over to her when she hums. “Is that why you take this game so seriously?” she asks. “Because it means a lot to you?”

“Maybe.” He lifts his head slightly, his head tilting into a smile that tells her the serious moment is over. “But we’ve also gotta show those firefighters what’s what.”

It’s Lucy’s turn to scoff, even if she shares the sentiment.

+1. Each other

When Lucy finally makes it through their front door, she doesn’t have the energy to do anything except slump down on the couch. She barely remembers to take off her shoes, leaving them strewn in the doorway as she seeks out some semblance of comfort from their home.

Today was hard.

She already knows she’s going to have a painful bruise on her side, and the cut on her cheek means irritating butterfly bandages for the next few days, but that’s not even the worst of it. The memory of that mother and son—in the wrong place at the wrong time, the metal walls caved in around them—has hit all of them, and this one’s going to take a while for the station to shake. It wasn’t the driver’s fault their tyre blew, but it doesn’t make the ensuing carnage any easier to stomach. She’s going to be hearing the creaking metal and the light twinkle of glass shards in the back of her nightmares for days.

Putting the TV on in some attempt to fill the quiet doesn’t do anything to stop the day’s chaos from pulling Lucy back in, though. She pushes herself to her feet, heading for the kitchen to make herself some tea, but the panicked yelling buries itself in the whine of the kettle. The first sip just burns her tongue as she brings it back to the couch, another layer of pain on top of everything else she’s collected today.

The blood on the asphalt is the same colour as the gaudy backdrop of the gameshow on TV, the stupid host’s overexaggerated joy too overwhelming. She mashes at the remote until it switches to a nature documentary, but the distressed fawn laying on the grass just sounds like the terrified child she’d helped extract from the car.

The panic is crawling up her throat in a way she’s helpless to stop, her breath catching almost painfully against the feeling and the memories. The tears are just beginning to sting the backs of her eyes again when a key turns in the front door.

At the familiar sound, Lucy flicks off the TV and looks up to see Tim pushing the door open, looking as wrung out as she feels. When his eyes meet hers, no words need to be said. He just toes his shoes off and comes straight to her, not even mentioning her shoes he almost trips over on his way. He just slumps beside her on the couch and pulls her in, tighter than usual.

“Hey,” she breathes, resting her head against his chest, feeling the knot in her chest already unwinding.

“Hey.” He presses a gentle kiss to her hair. “You okay?”

The sigh she lets out is watery, and she shakes her head. “No. Today was… today was hard.”

He hums, tightening his arms around her, and she wraps her arms around him in return.

“Are you okay?” she asks back.

“No.” As his sigh blows through her hair, he pulls her in even tighter, placing his cheek atop the crown of her head. “I will be now, though.”

Letting her eyes fall closed, Lucy couldn’t agree more, and the two of them breathe into the silence, the warmth of their home enveloping them. Finally, the wave of panic ebbs, the overwhelming noise of the day falling quiet against the steadiness of the home they’ve built around them, the one they’ve made theirs, together.

And to think there was a time where they thought they’d lost their chance to have this; the cold, quiet, empty months where they went home alone and sought comfort in places that no longer had the same effect. Sitting in her living room alone with a cup of tea, or forcing herself out on a walk paled in comparison to the safety she’d found in Tim’s company.

In hindsight, it’s almost funny to think about those months, because they hadn’t lost anything—they were always going to find their way back here, back to each other. Lucy can’t imagine a life where Tim isn’t the one. If anything, the notion seems ridiculous, and she’s just grateful she doesn’t have to entertain it anymore.

There’s nowhere safer than his arms, the steady thrum of his heart beneath her ear, his fingertips trailing up and down her spine. As the seconds slip by, peaceful and warm, the tension slowly releases from her muscles, dissolving into the silence.

Tim presses another kiss to her hair, and the familiar motion pulls a smile from her lips.

“Do you need anything?” he asks.

She shakes her head, overwhelmingly aware that she doesn’t need a damn thing right now. “Just this,” she mumbles into his chest, curling in impossibly tighter. “You always make everything better.”

His responding exhale is soft and slightly watery, but it’s also cloaked in relief. “Right back at you,” he breathes, burying his face in her hair.

Lucy doesn’t know how they’d ever managed without this. No cup of tea or thrum of birdsong will ever come close to the safety she feels right here, and it’s obvious that Tim feels the same. They both spent their childhoods searching for escapes from their reality, looking for safety in things and in places and in moments of quiet, and the realisation that they don’t need any of that anymore is freeing.

Right here, right now, there’s nothing else. There are no other distractions, nothing to fill the empty spaces, and yet there’s no desire to move or to run from the ghosts lingering in the shadows. It’s just the two of them in their home, wrapped up in each other’s arms, and it’s the safest they’ve ever felt.