Chapter Text
1.
The hours in Metro suck.
Tim had known they would suck, of course, so this particular fact doesn’t come as a surprise, exactly, but the way he feels about it does.
He misses Tyler’s birthday party, Angela’s baby shower, two little league games, and more dates with Lucy than he can count on both hands. He’s often off so late that he doesn’t even bother going to her apartment or inviting her over to his, because all he’s going to do is shower and crash.
Tonight is going to be another one of those nights, he knows, because it’s already half past seven and he still has a sizable pile of paperwork on his desk. The others reassure him that it’ll get easier, that he’ll figure out how to prioritize and how to multitask so that the paperwork is done before the end of the day. So far, though, Tim hasn’t been able to see a light at the end of the tunnel, and it doesn’t help that he’s been staring at Lucy’s text message for the last ten minutes, unable to force himself to reply.
Lucy: Hey, baby! I just started cooking. I can’t wait to see you. ❤️
Tim taps his phone when the screen starts to automatically dim, and then sighs as he drops his head into his hands.
Lucy is making them dinner tonight. She’s been planning it for weeks, excitedly bugging him about his favorite foods and what wine would go best with the steaks they’d decided on, and Tim had promised her that he would be off on time. He’d promised he wouldn’t have to cancel, that he’d be off and on his way by 7 but here he is, buried under paperwork that he can’t put off.
A second message comes through exactly eleven minutes after the first, and Tim feels his heart plummet as he reads her words. His chest feels tight and achy, and he fucking hates himself a little bit.
Lucy: You’re not going to make it, are you.
It’s a statement, not a question, and Tim thinks that the lack of question mark in the text actually makes it worse.
She knows.
She’s used to the disappointment now and it’s been less than a month.
He swallows, presses his fist into his chest to try and relieve some of the ache, and forces himself to respond.
Tim: I’m so sorry, Lu. I swear to god, I tried. If I don’t file this paperwork, though, a warrant will fall through and this guy is a real scumbag. I swear I’ll try and get out of here as soon as I can.
Lucy doesn’t respond, and Tim feels sick to his stomach as he goes back to his paperwork.
He drives over to her apartment after work, lets himself in with the key she’d given him, and feels like a complete and utter asshole when he sees the yellow sticky note on the counter, illuminated by the single light she leaves on in the kitchen at night.
Dinner is in the fridge if you’re hungry.
Tim sits at the kitchen island for a long time, his head in his hands, and finds himself wondering if it’s worth it. He’d been miserable when he’d been stuck at a desk, and Metro is exciting, sure, but this?
Is it worth this?
As hard as he tries, he doesn’t find any answers while staring at the fruit bowl Lucy keeps on the counter, and eventually he gives up and pads quietly into Lucy’s room. She’s fast asleep, curled up with the pillow he uses, and he watches her for a long second, his chest aching.
He crawls into bed with her and the pressure in his chest loosens when she curls into him immediately, humming sleepily as she relinquishes his pillow in favor of cuddling him.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, but she doesn’t wake up even as he brushes his fingers through her hair.
He falls asleep surrounded by her warmth and her scent, and he promises himself that he’ll do better.
He will.
He has to, because this, they, are too important to fuck up.
2.
“—and they scored three home runs, Tim! Three! I was so excited that I was just jumping up and down and screaming when James rounded home base and won the game for us, and Tyler made fun of me for hours. He reenacted it so that Piper and Isaac could see when we got ice cream, and Genny laughed so hard that she snorted ice cream out of her nose. It was so funny.”
Tim tries to smile as he listens to Lucy excitedly talk about Tyler’s latest little league game, but as he listens to her recap the game right down to the little details like high-fiving Cohen as he rounded home base, all he can think is I was supposed to be there.
He thinks about the first game they’d coached together and his throat feels tight as he remembers the way that Lucy had been so terrible at being encouraging to the boys.
We’ll work on that, he’d said, but it turns out that she didn’t need his help after all.
Now she’s coaching on her own, teaching the boys and cheering them on and celebrating their wins without him, and it hurts more than just a little bit.
“I’m so proud of them,” he murmurs, and Lucy makes a noise of agreement on the other end of the phone. She’s driving home after going out for ice cream with Genny and the kids (another thing Tim should have done with them), and he wishes desperately that he was in the car with her instead of stuck behind his fucking desk. “I’m so proud of you, Lucy. You’re doing an amazing job with them.”
“Thanks, babe. I just wish you could have been there to see how awesome they were.”
Me, too, Tim thinks, and he suddenly, desperately wants to get off of the phone. He doesn’t want to bring Lucy’s good mood down, but he’s having a hard time forcing enough cheer into his voice to be convincing.
“Are you coming over tonight?” Lucy asks after a long pause, and Tim sighs as he eyes the stack of paperwork on his desk.
“I can, but…”
“It’ll be late. That’s fine, just let yourself in,” Lucy says, and Tim appreciates the way she takes his response in stride. He knows she’s disappointed, but she hides it well.
“Will you be awake?” he asks, though he doubts she will. It’s already past 8 and he’s only done about half of what he has to do before he can leave.
“If I’m not, feel free to wake me up,” she murmurs, and Tim can hear the suggestion in her voice.
It’s been almost a week since he last made love to her, an amount of time that would have been unfathomable when they’d first started sleeping together, but he doubts he’ll have the energy tonight, either.
He’s exhausted, mentally and physically.
It’ll get easier, he reminds himself.
He’s only been in Metro for five weeks, but it’s so much harder than patrol. The hours are longer, the stakes are higher, and the paperwork is triple what it was. The days are long and the nights longer, the mental toll is far greater, and he wonders if he’s cut out for it.
The idea of going back to a desk, though…
“I have some ideas about how I could wake you up,” he teases, and Lucy giggles on the other end of the phone.
“I’m looking forward to it, Bradford.”
Tim chuckles and signs another form before pausing to stare at his phone. Lucy’s contact photo is smiling up at him, her cheeks flushed and dimpled and her eyes crinkled with happiness. He’d snapped the photo on their third date when he’d taken her to the zoo, after one of the giraffes had licked her face.
They’d both laughed so hard they’d cried.
He hasn’t seen her smile like that in a while, and he misses it.
“I’ll see you soon,” he whispers.
“Okay,” Lucy responds.
They say their goodbyes and Tim hangs up before turning back to the paperwork currently ruining his life.
He does go to Lucy’s that night, but he doesn’t wake her up. The intent is there, and he wants desperately to surprise her, to wake her up to his mouth between her thighs, but as soon as he crawls under the blankets his limbs feel like they’re a thousand pounds each and he can’t do anything more than pull her close to him before he’s falling deeply asleep.
He wakes up alone the next morning.
3.
Tim doesn’t remember that it’s Valentine’s Day until well past 11 pm.
He doesn’t mean to forget, and in fact he’d even made plans. He’d cashed in several favors to secure the evening off, had made reservations at a restaurant that Lucy had been raving about for weeks, had bought flowers, and had planned an evening alone for them at his place. There was wine and flower petals and the whole fucking nine yards because Lucy was worth it and he’d been a terrible boyfriend recently.
He’s hopeful and excited and more than a little giddy about the plans he’s made, and he practically floats through the day until Nyla is pulled into an undercover op after she’s recognized as Crystal by one of the crew she’d worked with while deep undercover. She doesn’t have a chance to do anything more than fire off a text to Angela before her phone is taken and she’s taken, and all of Metro is pulled in to supply backup. It’s a chaotic twelve hours, and it’s 11:48 pm by the time he returns to the station, exhausted, filthy, and covered in blood (only about half of which is his, thank goodness).
He walks into his office and immediately remembers what day it is (for 12 more minutes at least, since Valentine’s Day is almost fucking over) because Lucy is curled into his chair, wearing plain black leggings and one of his large hoodies from the police academy. It’s worn and the sleeves are slowly unraveling, but she claims that it’s her favorite and she won’t let him get rid of it because it’s worn and soft and smells permanently like him.
“Lu,” he whispers, but she’s fast asleep, her cheeks red and stained with the tracks of her tears.
Tim’s heart aches as he stares at her, and it occurs to him belatedly that he hadn’t even texted her.
“Fuck,” he grunts, and he pats his pockets for his phone before realizing that he hadn’t taken it with him in the first place. It’s still sitting on his desk, the screen lighting up every so often with a text reminder, and Tim feels tears in his own eyes as he lifts it from the table and swipes to open it.
Lucy: I’m excited for tonight, babe. ❤️ Three more hours!
Lucy: I just finished my paperwork and I’m headed home. I have a surprise for you, for tonight. For after dinner. 😏 🔥
Lucy: Tim? Are you okay, baby? Are you going to be late?
Lucy: Tim please message me back. I’m worried about you.
Lucy: I’m not mad, I swear, baby. I promise I won’t be mad if you’re late. Just let me know you’re okay, please.
Lucy: Tim, please.
Lucy: Tim.
Lucy: I called the station and they told me what’s happening. Please be careful. Please.
Lucy: Oh, god, Tim, I’m so fucking scared. Please please please be okay. Please.
Lucy: I’m heading to the station; I’ll be there when you get back. Be safe, please.
Tim stares at the messages and then at Lucy where she’s curled into his rolling desk chair. Her shoes are on the floor in the corner, her feet wrapped in the soft, fuzzy socks she wears to bed so that her frigid toes don’t bother him. Her knees are pulled up under his large sweater, and she looks so small and fragile that his heart breaks a little bit.
He hates that she’d been so scared for him.
He hates that he’s the one who caused her tears.
“Lucy,” he whispers, and he realizes that he’s crying, too, as he drops to his knees in front of her. He reaches out and takes her hand into his, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles gently as her eyes begin to flutter open. “Baby, hey.”
Lucy looks confused for a long moment, and Tim wonders briefly how long she’d been asleep. She looks exhausted. Her eyes are bloodshot, still filled with tears, and her lips are cracked and dry from where she’s been licking and chewing on them anxiously.
“Tim?” she whispers, and he nods as she reaches for him with shaking hands.
“Hey, baby.”
Lucy makes a distraught noise and launches herself into his arms, and Tim falls on his ass as he catches her. He wraps his arms around her back, pulling her tight against him, and he knows he’s probably hurting her but he can’t force himself to loosen his hold. He digs the fingers of one hand into her hair and tucks her face into his neck as he apologizes over and over and over.
“I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry that I didn’t message you or call you. I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry, I’m—”
The apologies continue to slip past his lips as Lucy sobs unrestrainedly. He can feel her tears, warm and wet, sliding down his neck and soaking his shirt, and he knows that the situation had been urgent and there hadn’t really been time, but he thinks that if Nyla had been able to send a text to Angela to let her know that she was in trouble, he should have been able to text his girlfriend to let her know that he wasn’t fucking dead.
It takes him a long, long time to realize that Lucy is sobbing words into his neck, and when he registers what she’s saying, his heart fucking shatters.
“I love you,” she whispers, over and over again, and Tim chokes out a sob as she clings to him so tightly that he knows she’s going to leave marks. “I love you, I love you, I thought you were dead and I never told you I love you. Oh, god.”
Tim pulls away from Lucy until he can cup her face and kiss her. It’s a desperate kiss, full of longing and love and everything he can’t put into words. Her lips taste like salt and her kiss tastes like sorrow, and Tim’s heart hurts even as he kisses her.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers again, and then, “I love you, too, baby. I love you so much and I’m so fucking sorry.”
Lucy nods and then drops her head back to his shoulder. She sniffles and digs her fingers into Tim’s bloody t-shirt, holding him as close as she possibly can.
Tim knows that they’ll have to talk about it because he hurt her, more than he ever has before. He hadn’t meant to, but he had, and he knows that they need to talk about it, but right now all he wants to do is hold her. He wants to hold her and kiss her and reassure her that he’s still alive, that he’s still here, and so he does. He holds her until she stops crying, and when he glances up at the clock on the wall, it’s 12:32.
Valentine’s Day is over.
Fucking worst Valentine’s Day ever.
4.
Lucy answers the door with a frown on her face, and even though she hasn’t said a single word to him yet Tim is immediately on the defensive.
“What?” he asks, his tone short and clipped, and Lucy shrugs as she moves out of the way and lets him inside.
“Nothing,” she says, but when he glances into the kitchen and sees that she’s currently in the middle of putting the dinner she’d made for them into storage containers and into the fridge, he realizes that he’s late again, that she’d waited for him in vain again, and that she’s probably upset.
Again.
“Fuck,” he says, and Lucy sighs as she throws the hand towel she was holding over her shoulder.
“It’s fine,” she whispers, but he can tell that it’s not.
The thing is, they both know that it’s no one’s fault.
It’s the nature of the job, the job that they’d both signed on for, and Tim isn’t to blame for his shitty hours any more than Lucy is.
They both know, but it doesn’t make the long days and the weeks of separation any easier. Tim has seen his men in Metro go through some shit at home because of their hours and the inherent danger of the job, but it’s different. Most of them have been married for years, and their significant others have been dealing with this shit for just as long.
He and Lucy are still in the thick of it, though, simultaneously trying to figure out their relationship, who they are together, while Tim learns a whole new job. They’re navigating opposing shifts, not seeing each other as often as they’re accustomed to, and to top it off, they’d only become intimate a week before he’d started in Metro. Sex already feels like something that they struggle to find time for, a chore that they’re having to schedule, and Tim knows that they’ve lost the honeymoon portion of their relationship to his job and that they’ll never get it back.
It’s hard to navigate the shitty parts of a relationship without the good, easy parts to fall back on, and he knows that if he’s frustrated then Lucy must be, too.
“I should just go home,” he says, and he hates himself when Lucy turns to him, her eyes wide and vulnerable.
“What… why?” she asks, and whatever frustration she’d been feeling earlier is suddenly gone. Her voice is soft and quiet, confused at his sudden change in mood, and Tim shrugs, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he watches her open one of the containers she’d already closed. She digs out a large piece of lasagna and sets it on a plate, moving to put it in the microwave as her lips turn down in a frown. “I… it’s fine that you missed dinner, Tim. I’ll just … I’ll heat something up for you. Sit down, have a glass of wine.”
Tim wants to.
He does, but he feels like shit and he doesn’t want his mood to affect Lucy.
“It’s okay, baby. I’ll just… I won’t be good company tonight. I should go.”
Lucy closes the microwave harder than she means to as she turns to him. She’s still frowning, though Tim recognizes the spark in her eyes that reminds him of her days as his rookie.
“I don’t care that you’re not good company, Tim. I don’t mind if you’re crabby and tired. I don’t care if all you want to do is shower and sleep. I want you here. I want … I want you here, with me.”
Tim stares at her, his eyes stinging with emotion.
He’s fucking exhausted, and all he’d wanted as he’d climbed the steps to Lucy’s apartment was to take her into his arms and take comfort in her presence. He’d wanted to hold her, to kiss her, to wrap his body around hers and forget the insanity of the day.
But he’s already dimmed the light in her eyes enough, he thinks. She’s like the sun and he’s a fucking eclipse, and he doesn’t want to bring her down any more than he already has.
“I just… I don’t … I should go. I’m sorry,” he says, and Lucy makes a noise as he turns around and reaches for the door again. His fingers wrap around the handle, and he wants to turn back, to take her into his arms and take her to bed, but he doesn’t. “I love you, Lu,” he whispers, but she doesn’t respond as he opens the door and walks out.
He doesn’t kiss her or hug her goodbye or even touch her, and by the time he’s on the first floor landing he’s so fucking mad at himself that he can’t hold back the tears of frustration and anger.
“FUCK!” he shouts, and he clenches his hand into a fist, and he feels like the Tim Bradford he was before he knew Lucy as he lashes out, his knuckles splitting open as he punches the wall beside the door. “Fuck,” he whimpers again, and he drops his head against the wall as he cries. It’s an ugly cry, loud and undignified, but he can’t find it in himself to care.
He messages Lucy when he gets home, but his message is left on read.
He doesn’t blame her.
He goes to bed alone, angry and upset.
5.
“I’m really fucking pissed at you.”
Tim sighs as he opens his front door.
Lucy stalks inside, not meeting his eyes as he closes the door and drops his head against it.
He hadn’t slept at all the previous night. Between the spiral of self hatred and the constant worry that Lucy was going to wise up and realize that he wasn’t worth the effort, he’d tossed and turned for hours. He’d checked the message he’d sent her over and over again but she never responded. He’d been left on read for nine hours, and when he’d finally given up and crawled out of bed at eight in the morning, he’d immediately been greeted with Lucy knocking obnoxiously on his front door.
She has a key, he thinks, and he wonders if it’s a bad sign that she hadn’t felt like she could use it.
“The hours aren’t my fault, Lucy. We knew they were going to fucking suck,” he says, and he realizes that he’s said the wrong thing when she turns to him, her hands clenched into fists at her side.
“That’s not the problem here, Tim,” she snaps, and he sighs as he turns around and leans against the door.
“Then what is? Because it seems like I’m fucking everything up and I don’t know how to fix it.”
“I have never, not once, been mad at you because of your hours,” Lucy says, and Tim raises an eyebrow as he meets her fiery gaze. “I’ve been upset and disappointed when you’ve canceled. I’ve been tired and angry when I’ve cooked and then watched the food go cold and the wine go untouched, but not with you, Tim. I had never been disappointed with you until last night.”
Tim swallows and licks his lips as he drops his gaze from Lucy’s.
He can feel it coming.
This isn’t worth it.
We should break up.
We need time apart.
He’d been so happy when he’d gotten the news that he was going to Metro. He’d grinned and bounced around like a fucking puppy and had wanted to celebrate the news with Lucy. He’d held her hand in the station, he’d almost kissed her, but he’d had no idea, at that point, how it would tear them apart.
He wishes he could go back in time and tell himself that it wasn’t worth it.
Losing Lucy wasn’t worth it.
Nothing was worth losing her.
Lucy continues, oblivious to the way his heart is slowly shattering.
“I’m pissed at you because you left, Tim. You left. I asked you to stay and you fucking left.”
“I didn’t want to … I’m ruining you, Lucy. You don’t smile as much anymore. You always look a little bit sad and it’s because of me. I didn’t want… I don’t want to be the reason you stop smiling.”
Lucy glares at him, her eyes wet and her fists clenching and unclenching.
“Tim,” she whispers, and he licks his lips again as he shoves off the wall and takes a single step closer to her.
“Are you… do you want to break up with me?” he asks, because the anticipation is too much.
If it’s over, he wants to rip it off like a bandaid.
(As if it would be that easy, he thinks. He doesn’t think that he’ll ever be able to recover from losing Lucy Chen).
“What?” Lucy asks, and her voice is confused and more than a little bit annoyed. “No, I don’t want to fucking break up, Tim. I want you to fight for us! I want you to stay even when you’re crabby and angry and tired. I want us to figure it out together, instead of you running away because you think you’re going to upset me. You’re not the only one in this relationship, Tim, and when you left? It made me feel like shit. It made me feel like we weren’t worth the effort.”
Tim swallows and nods, though he doesn’t move closer.
“I don’t know if it’s ever going to get better,” he whispers, his voice hoarse. “The hours. The long days. I’m just so fucking tired, baby. I’m just so tired.”
“Me, too,” Lucy admits, and Tim nods as he watches her. He knows this is just as hard on her as it is on him. She may not be the one working the long hours, but she’s the one waiting at home, terrified when he doesn’t respond to her messages. She’s the one making dinner and then boxing it up when he doesn’t show up over and over and over again. “I’m tired, too, Tim. But I’d rather we be tired together. I want us. I want to fight for us. But I can’t fight on my own.”
Tim nods, but he still can’t move.
He’s still plagued with doubt and worry and he’s just so fucking exhausted that he doesn’t trust himself to speak. His chest hurts and his throat swells and there are so many words inside of him, fighting to get out, but he can’t seem to force them past his lips.
“Call me when you decide if you want to fight for us, too,” she whispers, and then she walks up to him, kisses him on the cheek, and leaves.