Chapter Text
Tim can admit that since returning to work he has been a little more . . . attentive when it comes to Lucy. He is still riding the desk which means he, theoretically, has ample time to keep an eye on her.
Not that he was keeping an eye on her.
And despite what anyone may say, he certainly was not hovering.
Hovering implies excessive attention.
Making sure his pregnant wife ate lunch was not excessive attention. It was common sense.
Excessive attention would be like hand feeding it to her or something.
He is definitely not that bad. Just thorough.
Tim has simply gotten better at anticipating what she might need before she has to ask. Whether that is taking something off her plate or just doing something to put a smile on her face, he sees no harm in making her day a little easier.
Most recently, that has meant packing both of their lunches with meticulous planning to ensure they are balanced and sustaining.
And . . . yes, he may or may not occasionally notice when she leaves half of it untouched. Of course he notices. They eat lunch together almost every day. He has eyes.
She is eating for two after all.
Now, their break is coming to an end and the remnants of their lunch are scattered across the table between them as Lucy finishes telling him a story about something that happened on patrol that morning.
"He said, and I quote, 'I was only speeding because I was practicing for my Fast and Furious audition.'"
Tim huffs out a laugh. "Are they even still making those movies?"
"Apparently."
"What did you say?" he asks her, stabbing his fork into his own food.
"I didn't say anything, I let Celina handle it."
"Perks of being a Sergeant."
A small giggle slips out of her at that, the sound causing a little flutter in his chest.
"Oh, did you see that picture of Tyler at his football game that your mom sent in the group chat?" Lucy asks, wrapping her own fork in a napkin.
He can't help but notice she ate maybe a third of her taco salad.
Sure, appetite fluctuates during pregnancy, he knows this, but that knowledge does very little to stifle the instinct to catalog what she has eaten.
"Uh . . . yeah," he responds, forcing his gaze from the half-full Tupperware back up to her expectant face.
"I can't believe how big they are getting. We need to make sure we get off for the next game."
"Yeah, for sure."
His eyes drift back to her hands as she snaps the lid back on her container. This time, when he glances back up the way she is looking at him says he hasn't been particularly subtle.
Of course she noticed.
"Tim—"
"Yeah?"
"What's wrong?" she asks, even though they are both aware she already knows the answer.
"Nothing."
She raises an eyebrow, evidently waiting for the truth.
Tim's fingers twitch subtly against his thighs, betraying the uneasiness he is trying not to show. He knows better than to interrogate her over her eating habits, especially when she has already told him she feels fine, but the question still sits on the tip of his tongue.
Screw it.
"You didn't eat very much today," he points out gently, making sure it doesn't sound like a reprimand.
Lucy looks down at the Tupperware in front of her.
"Yeah, I'm just not very hungry."
"Do you feel okay?" he rushes out.
"Yes, Tim." She smiles. "I feel good."
He nods, but his face must show that he is not completely satisfied with that answer. Lucy catches it immediately, because naturally, years of knowing him have made every attempt at hiding his concern completely useless.
She tilts her head slightly, that fond look settling over her face that he has come to recognize whenever she thinks he is being cute.
"I promise," she assures him. "I'm good."
If you say so.
"Alright."
She eyes him, apparently expecting more. "Really?"
"Really."
She holds his gaze for another second.
"I'll have some dinner ready for you when you get home."
She rolls her eyes, but he can tell she is fighting off a smile as she stands to leave his office.
"I'll see you tonight," she says with a soft smile.
"Yeah," he answers with a smile of his own. "Be safe out there."
"Always."
She gives him one last knowing look before slipping out the door.
He watches her stride through the bullpen, somewhat proud of himself for letting the subject drop instead of pushing for more answers. Maybe he is getting better at this whole not-hovering thing after all.
. . .
I should make sure she still has extra protein bars in her bag.
After roll call, Tim slipped out ahead of the others, hoping to quietly put some essentials into Lucy's shop before she and Celina head out for the day.
He had just placed some Tums and ginger candies, among other things, into the vehicle and has barely made it halfway out of the passenger side when he nearly collides head-on with Officer Juarez.
She looks between him and the open door, amusement already pulling at the corners of her mouth.
"Something wrong with the shop, Sergeant?"
"Um, no. Not at all."
"Then what were you doing just now?"
"I was . . ." He cycles through excuses in his head, unable to land on anything believable.
She just looks at him, waiting.
He sighs. There is no point in pretending anymore when the knowing look on Celina's face makes it obvious that she has him all figured out.
"Fine, I was putting some antacids in there for Lucy. She was complaining of heartburn last night and I just wanted to make sure she had something in case it was still bothering her."
"Mhmmm. And that trail mix?" she asks, pointing at the bag poking out of the center console.
"Long days. Easy snack. Lots of protein."
"I also happened to notice the war bags seem to have magically appeared in the trunk lately. I'm pretty sure I would have remembered if we had grabbed them."
"They are heavy," he scoffs. "Are you going to carry both of them?"
"No, because Lucy would kill me."
"That's a little dramatic." He gives her a flat look.
"You know she can carry her own things, right? She is pregnant, not helpless."
I know that.
"Of course, I just don't see why she needs to lug around a heavy war bag if she doesn't need to—"
"Hey, what's going on?"
Lucy's voice cuts him off before he can finish. He looks over to find her walking toward them, fingers fiddling with the shop keys.
He can't help the smile that tugs at his mouth when he sees her, the reaction automatic by now.
"Oh nothing," Celina says easily. "Sergeant Bradford was just checking the, uh, radio mount."
Tim nods, grateful for the cover.
Lucy still looks unsure, her eyes lingering on him for a moment longer than he would like. "Okay . . ."
"Yeah, people have been complaining about them coming loose."
Lucy looks suspiciously between him and Celina, while Tim does his best to look appropriately innocent.
"Alright, well, be safe out there," he says, deliberately steering the conversation into a safer territory.
"Always," Lucy says, gently brushing her fingertips against his forearm as she climbs into the driver's seat. The familiar gesture sends a warmth through his body.
He lingers there for a beat, watching her settle into her seat before the door closes between them. Only then does he look back at Celina, silently mouthing, "thank you."
She gives him a look that clearly communicates this is the last time.
Tim watches their shop disappear out of the sally port, reassuring himself that there is nothing unreasonable about making her shift a little easier when he has the opportunity.
It is what any good husband would do.
Oh, I wonder if her phone is charged? Maybe I should put an extra charger in there. Just in case.
He finally turns back toward his office, already planning to see if he has a spare in his desk.
3.
Sunday is one of the rare days they both have off and they are determined to make the most of it. The game is on, Kojo is stretched across the rug, and Lucy is curled up beside him when suddenly she stands up.
"What are you doing?" he asks before she is even fully vertical.
She shoots him a mildly incredulous look.
"Just getting more water," she says, shaking the bottle in front of him, the ice rattling in the now empty bottle.
He grabs it from her hand before she makes it a full step away from the sofa. "I got it, sit back down," he tells her with a soft smile.
"Oh— okay," she says slowly as she reclaims her spot on the couch. Kojo lifts his head at the movement before settling back down with a huff.
By the time the game ends, they have both mostly forgotten about their earlier exchange. Tim gets up to quickly use the bathroom, walking back out to find Lucy clipping Kojo's leash onto his collar.
"Hey, where are you going?"
"I was just going to take Kojo for a quick walk," she answers casually.
"But, we usually do that after dinner."
"I know," she says with a grin. "But, I figured we could both use some fresh air."
"It's alright, Luce, I can take him," he offers.
"No," she insists. "Really, it's okay. I want to."
He knows better than to argue with her when she gets that look in her eye.
"At least let me come with you guys?"
That compromise feels reasonable enough, but Tim groans when she does that head tilt again, clearly knowing she has already won.
"Yes, of course."
Kojo is already halfway out the door before either of them moves. His nails click excitedly against the wood as they grab their shoes.
"Alright buddy, you ready for a walk?" Tim asks the dog as he grabs the leash out of Lucy's hand, leaning to give her a quick kiss before walking out the front door.
By the time they get back, make dinner, and settle into the rest of their evening, Tim's earlier attempts to keep Lucy planted on the couch have become an afterthought.
They enjoy their dinner, happy to enjoy each other's presence without the usual rush of the workday hanging over them.
As they wrap up, Lucy grabs both of their plates and carries them into the kitchen, turning on the faucet and reaching for the sponge.
"I've got the dishes, Luce. Why don't you go change into something comfortable?"
"I really don't mind, Tim. Plus, I would rather shower first."
"You should go shower then," he suggests. "You have been on your feet enough today."
He turns at the sound of her scoff and finds her staring back at him, thoroughly unimpressed.
"I have barely been on my feet at all, Tim."
He doesn't budge, just walks into the kitchen and pulls up his sleeves.
"Please, let me help," she persists, her bottom lip poking out just short of a full-on pout.
He sighs deeply through his nostrils.
"Okay," he concedes. "How about you sit on the counter and dry while I wash?"
She nods eagerly, a satisfied grin pulling at her lips as he helps her hop up. Her knee bumps lightly against him, likely to remind him that she is humoring him more than anything.
They get into a rhythm, him scrubbing and rinsing while she takes her time drying and stacking the dishes nicely along the counter to be put away. He can't stop himself from glancing over every few seconds, enamored by her as she hums and swings her feet idly beneath her, completely focused on the task at hand.
Tim scoops some of the bubbles from the sink and swipes them across her nose. She tries to look angry, but she can't stop the giggle that bubbles out of her.
"Jerk," she jabs, slapping playfully at his chest as she wipes the bubbles off of her face and flicks them at him.
He laughs, bumping his shoulder lightly against her before turning back to the sink.
They fall into easy conversation while he washes and she dries, the rest of the evening passing without much incident.
By the time they have finally showered and begun winding down for the night, Tim has almost convinced himself he has done a half-decent job at backing off . . . until Lucy grabs the laundry basket from the bathroom.
She makes it approximately two steps before the basket is lifted out of her hands.
Immediate disapproval washes over her face. It's a look she usually reserves for suspects or when Tim says something especially stupid.
"Really, Tim?" she asks with a small whine.
"What?"
"Do you seriously think I am not capable of handling the laundry?"
"Whoa, I didn't say that."
"You kinda did," she accuses, motioning at the basket now in his hands.
"It's heavy."
He winces at the dramatically offended scoff she gives him.
"Oh my god. Tim. It's towels."
He lifts the basket a little, almost as if he needs to verify the claim for himself.
I guess she has a point.
Before he can formulate a proper response, she yanks the basket out of his hands and stomps toward the washer in the garage. He falls into step behind her, not even realizing he is doing it.
"Tim."
"Yeah?"
"Sit down."
"I am helping," he insists.
"No," she rolls her eyes. "You are following me around the house like a lost puppy."
That is an exaggeration.
I think.
He follows her the last couple of steps to the washer without meaning to, jumping a little when she, rather aggressively, sets the basket down on the machine.
"Tim," she says flatly.
"Yes . . ."
"This has gone too far."
"I'm just trying to make things easier for you."
She inhales sharply through her nose. She doesn't look angry, per se, mostly just done.
"I get that. I really do, but there is a difference between helping me and not letting me do anything."
He pauses, mentally retracing the day and realizing just how many times he took over for her.
"You haven't let me get my own water, take Kojo out, do the dishes, and now you won't even let me carry a half-full basket of towels. And that is just today. Are you going to be like this for the next 16 weeks?
I mean—
No.
When she says it like that, it does sound a little . . . excessive.
"I need you to pinky promise you are going to stop hovering," she demands.
"Pinky promise? We are grown adults."
The request is ridiculous enough that, for a second, he expects her to crack a smile, but the unwavering look on her face makes it clear this is not a joke to her.
"Well a regular promise clearly didn't do the trick."
He gives her a flat look.
She doesn't budge.
With a sigh, he reluctantly hooks his pinky around hers.
She pulls on their joined hands and kisses her thumb.
He raises an eyebrow, still attempting to process the absurdity of what she is making him do.
"You have to lock it in," she says completely serious, glancing back down at where their fingers are still intertwined.
He rolls his eyes before leaning down and kissing his own thumb.
"Happy now?"
"Very much so," she says, smiling triumphantly.
He stands there for another moment, not totally sure what he is supposed to do with himself. She looks at him expectantly.
"Babe."
"Yeah."
"Go. Sit. Down."
Right.
"Yes. Sitting down now."
He turns on his heel toward their bedroom, forcing himself not to look back when he hears the lid of the washing machine open behind him, even if it goes against every instinct in his body.
She is perfectly capable of doing the laundry. She does harder things every day.
He makes it a few steps further before abruptly turning back on his heel.
I should probably make sure she doesn't try to move the wet towels by herself.
He stops.
Nope. She's got it.
He finally turns back and continues his original path.
Shortly after he settles into bed, Lucy crawls in next to him, pulling at his arm until he creates space for her to curl up into his side. He leans down and places a soft kiss to the top of her head. She immediately tilts her chin up, pursing her lips in silent demand for more.
They kiss lazily for a couple of moments before she pulls away.
"You know, there is something you could help me with," she says with a mischevious grin.
"Yeah?" he asks. "What's that?"
Her smile grows and she swings her leg over him, settling onto his lap.
Oh.
He can definitely help her with this.
Roll call has just wrapped up when he spots Lucy across the room, tucked into a little cluster with Penn, Juarez, Nolan, and his new rookie.
He almost lets it go. Almost.
The thought has been nagging at him since the drive to work, refusing to leave him alone.
He knows he shouldn't ask, but he watches her laugh at something Penn says, one hand resting absently over the slight curve of her stomach. He feels his resolve crumble immediately.
It's just a question.
Tim makes his way over before he is able to talk himself out of it.
"Hey, did you remember to take your vitamins this morning?"
Lucy freezes mid-conversation. When she slowly turns around to face him, her expression is nothing short of murderous.
"Are you serious?" she asks in disbelief.
Tim throws his hands in the air, feigning innocence.
"I'm just asking. I didn't see you take them this morning."
Lucy closes her eyes and takes a steadying breath, one foot tapping sharply against the floor.
"That's because I took them before you came in the kitchen."
"Okay, but how was I supposed to know that?"
"First of all, you don't have to know that," she says with indignation burning in her eyes. "Second of all, by trusting that I am a grown woman who is perfectly capable of taking the same vitamins that I have taken every morning for months."
He is beginning to see his error.
"I was just checking," he responds, this time with much less conviction than before.
"And you thought that right now," she looks pointedly around the room, forcing him to acknowledge exactly how public this conversation has become, "was the best time to do that?"
In retrospect, probably not.
"Tim," she says through clenched teeth, her tone dangerously low. "I thought we agreed you would leave husband Tim outside of the building."
"I'm not being husband Tim."
Her eyebrows practically disappear into her hairline.
"Are you telling me that Sergeant Bradford would interrupt, I don't know, Harper, mid-conversation, at work, to ask her if she took her prenatal vitamins that morning? Which, by the way, she has literally never forgotten to take."
"Well . . ." he hesitates. "Harper isn't my responsibility."
He internally cringes the second the words leave his mouth.
Lucy, unsurprisingly, scoffs.
"Do you seriously think that helps your case at all?"
"I mean, she's a detective and you are patrol so technically you are my respons—"
If looks could kill, Tim Bradford would be dead.
He sees her pinky before he sees the expression on her face.
Oh.
Right.
He cuts himself off before he can dig himself any deeper.
"Right. I am sorry."
The annoyance in her face eases slightly, but the warning in her eyes remains.
"Is he always like this?" he hears Penn ask quietly in the background, and out of the corner of his eye, he spots both Nolan and Juarez nodding in immediate agreement.
Of course.
A wave of mortification washes over him.
"Alright," he says, now addressing everyone. "Back on duty."
"Yes, sir," Lucy replies, entirely too pleased with herself.
She waits until the others have turned away before lifting her pinky at him one more time.
Tim gives her a flat look.
She wiggles it.
"I said I was sorry."
Her smirk widens as she finally turns and follows the others out the door, leaving Tim behind to shake his head at himself.
Okay. That one could probably be classified as hovering.
5.
The bullpen has settled into its normal rhythm by the time Tim finds himself leaning against Angela's desk, listening to her ramble about something her kids did that morning.
He would do anything at this point to break up the monotony of a morning full of meetings with the brass. Most of which could certainly be an email.
He is in the middle of answering her when he hears a familiar voice cut across the room. A voice that happens to be laced with agitation.
"Did you ask Nolan and his boot to trail my shop today?"
It comes out as more of an accusation than a question.
He looks up to find Lucy stalking toward him, her face set in barely contained fury, as a sheepish-looking Nolan and Juarez trail several steps behind her.
Busted.
"Uh . . . no?"
"You are unbelievable," she scoffs.
Her jaw is tight, frustration practically radiating off of her.
It hits him then that denying it will probably only make this situation worse for him, so he chooses to remain silent.
"You put a security detail on me."
He sees a couple of heads turn their way as her voice starts to rise.
"Calling it a security detail feels a little dramatic."
She closes her eyes for a moment, evidently trying to keep her cool.
"Alright, Sergeant Bradford," she says through her teeth, her jaw clenched. "What would you call it then?"
He winces internally as the Sergeant Bradford lands as a pointed reminder of where they are right now.
"It was more of a precaution."
"You're kidding, right?"
He doesn't have an answer and glances over at Angela for backup, finding her watching with obvious amusement.
"No, I'm with your wife on this one," she chimes in.
He levels her with an incredulous look. "Seriously?"
"Yes, Tim. Seriously. I thought your hovering was bad three months ago, but this is extreme."
"It is not," he defends, his voice about two octaves higher than usual.
"You literally asked me to text you when she got upstairs yesterday," Nyla calls from a few desks away.
She said she was feeling a little dizzy.
"Yeah, and you asked me to make sure she is drinking a 'sufficient amount of water' while on patrol. You once had me track the ounces," Celina adds from behind Lucy.
Dehydration is bad for her and the baby.
"You also did ask, no, ordered me to make sure we stayed close enough to her shop that if she radioed for backup we would be there in less than 60 seconds," Nolan says. "You said something about having my badge if I took a second longer."
Okay. That one sounds worse out loud.
Tim shoots Nolan a glare even though he knows this is, by no means, Nolan's fault.
Nolan at least has the decency to look vaguely apologetic, though not enough for someone who completely threw him under the bus.
"Your office. Now," Lucy orders.
Tim exhales through his nose, bracing himself as he follows her toward his office.
"Ooooo someone's in trouble," he hears Angela whisper, intentionally loud enough for him to overhear.
He looks over his shoulder, narrowing his eyes at her, but when he notices the bemused look on everyone's face he realizes this has officially become a spectacle.
Great.
The second the office door closes behind them, Lucy turns to face him, wasting no time getting to the point.
"You pinky promised," she reminds him, now sounding more exasperated than angry.
He takes a deep breath as he studies the serious expression on her face.
"I know," he admits, hanging his head.
"Then what was that?" She rubs at her forehead. "Because, Tim—"
"I—"
"No. I need you to listen to me for a second," she pleads.
Her expression causes him to pause for a moment. She is still irritated, but there is something underneath it that catches his attention. Something that looks a little too much like hurt.
"Do you trust me?"
The weight of her question catches him slightly off guard.
"Yes, Lucy. I trust you."
Why would she even ask that?
Her eyebrows lift slightly, looking unconvinced enough that Tim's own expression tightens into a frown.
"It certainly doesn't seem like it."
"You know it's not like that, Lucy."
"Think about it, Tim."
A flicker of defensiveness rises in his chest. He opens his mouth, instinctively ready to argue his case, but stops. This time, he forces himself just to listen.
"How do you think the team perceives it when you are constantly checking to make sure I completed the most basic tasks. How much water I drink, how much I eat, if I take my vitamins," she points out. "Or the new rookie when, instead of her learning how to be a cop, she is having to shadow me because the watch commander doesn't trust me to do my job."
He remains quiet, the weight of her words settling in.
"This has gone too far, Tim," she continues. "It was one thing when it was just you and me at home, or you making sure I had extra snacks, or checking in with me personally, but do you understand how this makes me look as a sergeant to the people who are supposed to look up to me. The people who are supposed to trust me to lead them," she finishes, gesturing to the officers that are pretending like they aren't trying to listen through the walls.
When she puts it that way he can definitely see how it looks.
"I trust you," he says softly.
"Then act like it."
Ouch.
The words land harder than he expects.
If anyone else treated Lucy like she was incapable of doing her job, especially if it was because she was pregnant, he would be furious.
He has watched Lucy fight for every ounce of respect she has earned, overcome things that would have broken plenty of other cops, and prove over and over again that she is more than capable of handling herself. The idea that her carrying their child has somehow made him discount that, even inadvertently, is difficult to swallow.
He nods slowly. "Okay."
"Okay?" She narrows her eyes.
"Okay," he reiterates. "I'm sorry."
She doesn't answer right away, only holds his gaze long enough for him to realize that an "I'm sorry" is not what she is waiting for.
"I never meant to undermine your authority, make you doubt yourself, or make you feel like the team doubted you. I know you are more than capable, pregnant or not. I just . . . worry."
Her expression softens. "I know, Tim, but . . ."
"I understand," he nods. "No more keeping tabs. No more checking up on you through other people. No more helicopter husband. Especially on duty."
Her arms finally uncross, some of the tension leaving her shoulders, but something about the look on her face tells him she's not ready to let him off the hook just yet.
She holds out her pinky.
He stares at it, unmoving. She pushes it further toward him.
"Again?" he asks in disbelief.
"You broke the last one."
Fair. I guess.
"Alright," he concedes. "But I need you to promise that if you ever need any help at all you will say something. Even if it is something little or silly."
She pretends to think on it for a moment. "I think I can agree to those conditions," she says with a nod. Small but sure.
"You promise?" he asks with a small smile.
"I promise," she replies, sticking her finger at him again.
He hooks his pinky around hers. "I promise too."
Without explanation, she pulls her hand toward her and kisses her thumb. He sighs, already knowing it is not worth putting up a fight, and does the same.
"Locked in."
That finally gets a little giggle out of her.
Tim thinks he could maybe tolerate her pinky promises if it means he gets to keep hearing that.
"You know, I'm still a little mad at you," she teases. "But it is kinda cute how much you care."
"Cute?" he asks flatly.
Her smile only widens. "Mhmmm," she nods, looking entirely too amused.
He shakes his head and reaches for the door.
"Go. Get back to work, Sergeant."
"Yes, sir," she says with a wink.
His cheeks burn just a little, but he rolls his eyes, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of riling him up.
He stands in the doorway for a moment as he watches Lucy gather Celina and head back out to patrol. Once they disappear from view, he turns his attention back to the training officer who is trying a little too hard to look invisible.
"Nolan," Tim calls out, effortlessly slipping back into command.
Nolan straightens immediately, seemingly bracing for a lecture.
"Don't you have a rookie you are supposed to be teaching? Get back out there."
"Am I supposed to . . ." Nolan trails off, pointing to where Lucy just exited the station.
"No, Sergeant Chen has everything under control."
Tim turns to head back into his office when Angela's voice stops him.
"Hey, Bradford. Did your wife just make you pinky promise?"
"And lock it in with a kiss?" Nyla chimes in with a chuckle.
He groans loudly before closing his door behind him, effectively shutting himself off from their laughter and inevitable comments.
He is never going to hear the end of this.
Still, he settles behind his desk refusing to regret the silly gesture.
If giving her a little more space is what she needs from him, then he can try his best to give her that.
He pinky promised, after all.
To be continued . . .