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If someone were to ask Tim what Tamara was to him, he’d be stuck between saying she was his sister-in-law or his unofficial daughter.
Because, depending on the day, she could be either.
Some days, she was Lucy’s younger sister in everything but blood, the two of them disappearing into conversations Tim had no hope of following and laughing at jokes he was apparently too old to understand. Other days, she was a teenager who needed feeding, reminding to drink water, and occasionally asking questions about life that made him wonder how exactly he’d become the designated adult in her life.
He wasn't entirely sure when it had happened. Somewhere between Lucy taking Tamara under her wing and Tim finding himself making sure she got home safely, he’d apparently acquired another person to worry about. He supposed there were worse things. He just wished she’d learn to text before showing up at his house.
Especially today.
Lucy had only been home from her undercover operation with Nyla for a few hours, and Tim had been looking forward to spending every possible second of them with her.
He'd done the undercover girlfriend thing before. His relationship with Isabel had been a rollercoaster long before it ended, and he knew better than most what the job could take from a person, and from the people who loved them. He knew the waiting, the uncertainty, the way a phone that didn't ring could become the most infuriating object in the world.
But he'd never experienced missing someone quite like this.
Maybe it was because he knew Lucy. Knew the little things she did without thinking, the way she hummed under her breath when she was getting ready in the morning, how she'd steal the covers in her sleep and then somehow blame him for it, how she could turn a perfectly ordinary Tuesday into something he found himself looking forward to.
Or maybe it was simply that she'd become so thoroughly woven into his life that being without her felt less like an absence and more like a damn heart attack.
He'd continued functioning, of course. He got up in the morning, went to work, completed his shifts, and spoke to people when they spoke to him. Nobody at the station had any reason to suspect that anything was wrong, although Angela had given him a look on the second day that suggested she knew perfectly well he was one unanswered text away from losing his mind.
He'd been on autopilot. Going through the motions while his mind remained elsewhere, with Lucy.
Was she safe? Was she eating properly? Was she sleeping? Was she warm enough? Was she being careful?
He'd managed to catch a glimpse of her when he'd gone to supervise the operation. A glimpse. As if he really was a fast food worker, rather than her boyfriend, who had to content himself with seeing her from a distance and pretending that was enough.
It hadn't been enough.
He'd wanted to go to her. To pull her into his arms, press his face into her hair, and remind himself that she was real and here and, for the moment, safe. Instead, he'd done his job and left her to do hers.
He hadn't realised it was possible to miss someone so much. So, naturally, the first thing he'd wanted when Lucy finally came home was a little uninterrupted time with his girlfriend. No work, no phone calls, no emergencies. Just the two of them, preferably with Lucy tucked against his side and nowhere either of them needed to be.
He'd had plans.
Nothing elaborate. Dinner, a shower, maybe a film that neither of them would finish because Lucy would inevitably fall asleep halfway through it. He was perfectly happy with that. After days of worrying about her, he wasn't particularly interested in doing anything that required her to be more than a few inches away from him.
Which was why his lack of amusement was understandable when he and Lucy walked through the front door, her arm looped through his and a sleepy smile resting on her face, only to find Tamara sprawled across their couch.
In his house. On his couch. With a takeaway container balanced on her stomach and the television remote in her hand. The exact takeaway that he ordered for him and Lucy!
Tim stopped walking.
Lucy, who had been leaning comfortably into his side, nearly walked straight into him. "Oh," she said, brightening. "Tamara!"
Tamara lifted her head from the couch. "Hey!"
Tim looked at the teenager, then at the food, then at Lucy, who was already slipping her arm out of his to go and greet her.
He closed his eyes briefly.
So much for alone time.
***
An hour later, Tim had come to the conclusion that Tamara Chen was going to be the death of him. Not that this was a particularly new revelation.
He sat in the armchair opposite the couch, one ankle resting on his knee, making a valiant effort to follow whatever story Tamara was currently telling Lucy about a girl on her college course who had apparently made a series of terrible romantic decisions. He'd caught something about a party, a questionable ex-boyfriend, and a group chat.
He'd also gathered that the girl in question had ignored Tamara's advice, which, judging by the way Tamara was recounting the story, was a personal betrayal of the highest order.
"And then," Tamara continued, sitting forward with the sort of enthusiasm Tim generally associated with officers recounting a crazy arrest, "she actually asked him if he wanted to get back together."
Lucy gasped. "No, she didn't."
"She did!"
"After everything you told me?"
"Thank you! That's what I said!"
Tim opened his mouth. "Well, if she-"
"Tim," Lucy and Tamara said together.
He stared at them.
Lucy gave him an apologetic smile that wasn't remotely apologetic, then turned back to Tamara. "Sorry. Go on."
He sank back into the chair. Unbelievable. He'd spent the better part of a week worrying about Lucy, and now that she was home, he couldn't get a word in edgewise in his own living room.
Beside him, Kojo let out a long, put-upon sigh. Tim glanced down at him.
The dog was lying on the rug with his chin on his paws, watching Lucy with an expression of profound longing. Every so often, his tail thumped hopefully against the floor, only to stop when Lucy remained entirely occupied with Tamara.
Tim understood entirely.
I know how you feel, buddy. Trust me.
He reached down to scratch behind Kojo's ears. At least someone in this house appreciated solidarity.
On the couch, Lucy laughed at something Tamara said, tipping her head back against the cushions. Tim felt his irritation soften before he could do anything about it. He'd missed that laugh. Missed the way her whole face lit up when she was happy, the way she leaned into people she loved without even thinking about it.
He could sit there and listen to her laugh all night. He just would have preferred if she were laughing at something he'd said.
After another ten minutes, during which Tamara launched into a detailed account of a disagreement with one of her professors, Tim checked the time on his phone.
It was getting late. And he was beginning to suspect that if he didn't intervene, Tamara would be spending the night.
"So," he said, loud enough to interrupt her, "what time were you planning on heading home?"
Tamara stopped mid-sentence.
Lucy slowly turned her head towards him.
"What?"
"Just asking."
"Why?"
"Because it's getting late."
Tamara glanced at the clock on the wall, then back at him. "It's barely nine."
"Exactly. Getting late."
She narrowed her eyes. "Are you trying to kick me out?"
"I'm asking a perfectly reasonable question."
"You're trying to kick me out."
"Tamara."
"Tim."
Lucy pressed her lips together, visibly fighting a smile.
He ignored her.
"Don't you have somewhere to be tomorrow?"
"Yeah. Here, apparently."
"Funny."
"I thought so."
Tim stared at her. Tamara stared right back, looking entirely too pleased with herself.
He should have known better than to engage. The girl had spent enough time around Lucy to develop the same infuriating ability to keep talking until he either gave in or walked away.
Usually, he walked away. Tonight, he wasn't sure he had the patience.
"I haven't seen Lucy all week," he pointed out.
The words were out before he could stop them.
Tamara looked at him as though he'd just said something deeply offensive.
"Yeah, well, neither have I?"
"You're not her boyfriend."
"And?"
Tim stared at her. "And I haven't seen her all week."
"You literally work in the same building."
"She was undercover, Tamara. I wasn't exactly taking her out to lunch."
"Okay, and I was at college. What's your point?"
"My point is that it's getting late."
"Then go to bed, old man."
Tim's eyebrows shot up. From the couch, Lucy made a small choking sound that she very poorly disguised as a cough.
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
"You're in my house, eating my food, sitting on my couch—"
"Lucy's couch."
"Our couch."
"Didn't realise you were married."
"Tamara."
"Tim."
He took a slow breath through his nose, reminding himself that he was a grown man, a sergeant, and more than capable of handling a teenager with an attitude problem. Although, in fairness, Lucy had never been particularly easy to handle either.
"You know," he said, settling back in his chair, "when I was your age, I knew when I was overstaying my welcome."
Tamara gave him a look of exaggerated disbelief. "When you were my age, they probably had state-wide curfews."
Lucy lost it.
Her laughter filled the living room, bright and unrestrained, and Tim turned to look at her despite himself. She had one hand pressed over her mouth, her shoulders shaking as she tried to compose herself.
He was being bullied in his own home by a college student who apparently had no respect for her elders.
"Are you finished?" he asked Lucy.
"Not even a little bit," she managed.
Traitor.
Tim looked back at Tamara, who was wearing the smug expression of someone who knew she'd won. He was going to have to start charging her rent.
Tim sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. He was never going to win this.
“Have you still got your stuff in the guest room?”
Tamara paused.
“What?”
“The guest room,” he repeated. “Have you still got your stuff in there, or did you take it all home last time?”
For once, Tamara seemed genuinely caught off guard. She glanced at Lucy, then back at him.
“Uh. Most of it, I think. Why?”
“Because if you're staying, I need to make sure you've got clean sheets.”
A small silence settled over the living room.
Tim frowned at her. “What?”
“Wait. You're okay with me staying?”
He looked at her properly then. For all her teasing, there was a genuine question beneath it, a small hesitation that hadn't been there a moment ago.
His expression softened.
“Tamara, you don't have to ask permission to spend time with us.”
She blinked. Then, because she was apparently incapable of letting a sincere moment exist without immediately setting fire to it, she grinned.
“Aw. You do love me.”
You know what, never mind. “I'm changing the locks.”
“You can't. Lucy would let me in.”
“I'm changing hers too.”
“Tim!” Lucy protested, laughing.
“Finally,” Tamara said, settling back against the cushions. “A man who's honest about his feelings.”
“Go check your room before I put you on the sofa.”
“You wouldn't.”
“Try me.”
Tamara stuck her tongue out at him before getting up, apparently deciding that checking the guest room was worth the risk. As she passed him, she leaned down patting his shoulder twice.
“Thanks, Dad.”
He stared after her, appalled.
Lucy was laughing so hard she had to lean forward, her face buried in her hands.
“You're enjoying this far too much,” he told her.
“I really, really am.”
“Glad someone's having a good night.”
She lifted her head, still smiling, and caught his eye from across the couch. Her expression softened, like she'd heard the thought he hadn't said aloud. She held out her hand to him, fingers curling in a silent invitation.
Tim took it.
“Come here,” she murmured.
He moved from the armchair to the couch, settling beside her. Lucy tucked herself against his side, her head finding his shoulder as naturally as if she'd never been gone at all. He pressed a kiss to her hair, breathing her in, and felt something inside him finally settle.
There she was.
For a little while, neither of them said anything. Lucy traced absent-minded circles over his knuckles, and Tim let himself enjoy the simple fact of having her close again. He'd spent the last week worrying about her, making do with brief glimpses and messages, telling himself that he could wait until she was home.
Now she was here. He could have done without the audience, but he supposed he couldn't have everything.
His evening hadn't gone remotely to plan. He'd wanted a quiet night with Lucy, just the two of them, and instead he'd acquired a houseguest who insulted him for sport, stole his food, and apparently intended to make Dad a permanent part of his vocabulary.
But Lucy was warm against his side, Tamara was happily arguing over whether they needed extra spring rolls, and Kojo had finally abandoned his post on the rug to settle at Lucy's feet.
Tim looked around his living room and felt the last of his irritation give way. He'd wanted his girlfriend back. He had her. The fact that everyone else in the house seemed to want her, too, was something he supposed he'd have to learn to live with.
Lucy kissed his cheek.
“Love you, Tim.”
He glanced at her, trying very hard not to smile.
“Yeah,” he said, squeezing her hand. “Love you too.”