Chapter 1: Epic Badassery
Their last shift together is eventful to say the least. But once they are on the way back to the station to clock out, Lucy decides to test the waters again, "Are you sureee you're not going to miss me?"
Tim laughs, "I am definitely not going to miss that incessant needling from the passenger seat." He rolls his eyes in her direction, before his expression turns serious, "Maybe a little… but Boot," he tries to continue over the sound of Lucy's explosive cheering.
Rolling his eyes again, he tries once more, "Boot, listen up, because I'm only going to say this once, and no, you cannot get it in writing. You might think things are going to get easier now that you no longer have to answer to me, or pass my Tim tests, or worry about all the things that I definitely know you got wrong on a call…"
"Why would I want this in writing?" Lucy interjects, pointedly returning an eyeroll in his direction.
"Let me finish. Now, as I was saying, I won't be there to catch all of your mistakes, but trust me when I say you will be tested in ways you can't imagine when you're out there on your own. You will be the one making the decisions, and you will be the one that has to live with the outcomes of those decisions. In this job, that's not an easy weight to carry, Boot."
Lucy frowns and sighs, wondering if this is really the anti-pep talk he is going to leave her with, You will fuck up. And it will suck, she mocks in her head.
"BUT," he emphasizes the word as if he's able to read her snarky thoughts, "With all that said, you've got everything it takes to be an incredible cop, and I have no doubt, mostly because I trained you, that you will be one. I'm proud of you, Lucy. And I hope in your toughest moments, moments where you are questioning yourself, that you'll remember that."
Lucy feels as if her heart might burst from her chest, as her eyes well up, wholly unprepared for how good it feels to hear Tim Bradford finally say he is proud of her, "Awww. Tim, that was so -"
"No crying in the shop, Boot," he barks, shooting her a quick half smile before turning his eyes back to the road.
Lucy bursts into laughter, "Fine. Fine. I'll take it, but Tim…" He glances at her, waiting for her to finish. "Thanks."
"For what?" he responds teasingly, "Doing my job? Although, come to think of it, I think I should probably get paid extra for all the feelings. That part is definitely not in my job description."
Lucy and Jackson go into their first shift riding together [without their TOs!] fully expecting it to be epic. They can practically taste the freedom as they head into the station together, discussing all the badassery that will be sure to ensue once they are unleashed on the City of Angels.
And their shift does turn out to be epic, but in all the worst possible ways. It starts out small, a botched piece of paperwork on their first arrest gets them a stern reprimand from Grey and a warning that this is most definitely not the time to be getting careless. Afterward, Lucy can't help but glare daggers at Jackson; maybe he would have caught it if he hadn't have been so busy flirting with the horse cop guy instead of helping her get their arrest processed. But the day is young, things could still turn around, right? And she definitely can't stay angry with Jackson for more than 5 minutes.
Next up is the crime scene, where they stand around for 5 hours guarding evidence, clearly still considered the lowest of the low by all of the more senior officers on scene. And in case there is any question in that regard, it is immediately dispelled when they are next assigned to search all of the garbage in the surrounding area.
By the time they are on their way to investigate a suspicious car parked on a neighborhood street, Lucy and Jackson's moods are about as foul as they smell and they soon find themselves bickering over who should take point on their next call, Jackson's shameless claim to his legacy driving Lucy to throw her 91 in his face. Needless to say, most of the rest of the evening is spent in silence.
It is their final call of the day when things get much, much worse. Afterward, Lucy replays the call in her head over and over, questioning and second-guessing every move she and Jackson made from the second the call came in to the moment they burst through the door at 3412 Newton Drive. It was supposed to be a simple welfare check, if even that. The college-aged daughter of a state senator hadn't returned a text from her mother that afternoon. It had been less than 4 hours, but the mother had been insistent that her husband call in the cavalry to check in on her. Lucy and Jackson weren't strangers to the political elite using the LAPD as their own personal concierge service, so simply viewed it as the perfect ending to an already completely aggravating day. So much for epic badassery.
When they approach the home, neither Lucy nor Jackson have their guards particularly high, not finding the failure of a spoiled college kid to text back their mother within a matter of hours as anything particularly alarming. So they boredly check the boxes off on protocol, announcing themselves as police as they knock on the door.
From there it's a blur, the situation escalates so quickly that Lucy is still trying to unwind it in her mind. The scream, the call for backup, the frantic checking of windows and doors for insight into what is going on inside and entry into the home, how it feels like hours pass before they are finally able to break the door down, the glint of metal, the terrified green eyes that meet Lucy's as she raises her gun, the blood, the light dimming out of those eyes, the bang of the back door, the screaming between her and Jackson as they split up to tend to the victim and chase the assailant.
He got away. And she didn't make it.
Lucy still can't fathom how everything could have gone so completely wrong in such a short period of time. And she can't stop seeing her eyes. Those fearful, panicked green eyes. A young woman who knew her life was in grave danger but was still holding out hope, fighting for survival.
Lucy is sick when finally finds herself in the locker room after shift, tears streaming down her face. She and Jackson had been interrogated for hours. She has never been this shaken after a shift, never felt like such a complete and utter failure.
It's well past midnight when she finally emerges from the locker room. She is stunned to see Tim waiting for her, leaning against the wall across the hallway. His face is unreadable, and she feels herself immediately tense; the last thing she needs is a patronizing 'I told you so,' from her former TO right now. It's almost darkly comical that his words from just the day before have become her reality so quickly. She briefly considers walking right past him, but even when she's in the darkest of headspaces, she does not have it in herself to turn away from him.
"Hey," she says warily, acknowledging him, but unwilling to stop and face him for a conversation. He falls into step beside her as they begin the walk toward the parking garage.
"Heard it was a rough day," he says simply.
Lucy is surprised to feel the sudden emotion building in her throat as she struggles to respond, "Yeah," she finally says, still waiting for the 'I told you so'that is certain to be coming.
"Lucy…" and there's just something in the way he says it, in that no-nonsense you're about to get a Tim Bradford pep talk way of his that sets her over the edge.
She whirls to face him, knowing that she is not at all herself right now, not anywhere near her normal Lucy level of resilience and positivity. "Tim - whatever you're going to say, just don't. Okay. I can't do this right now. I already know I screwed up, and now a girl is dead and her killer is just out there somewhere... and I just … I can't..." her voice breaking as she trails off.
He looks stunned, but Lucy is too far gone to fully process that maybe, just maybe she isn't reading him correctly, and that 'I told you so' is definitely not the reason he waited hours and hours past the end of his shift to see her.
He reaches for her elbow, "Lucy - that isn't…It isn't your fault." But she's pulling away. She needs to get out of here.
She doesn't miss the brief flash of hurt on his face, but she is too emotionally overloaded to know what to do with it. Tim already has a way of putting her emotions into disarray that she hasn't quite sorted, and she just doesn't have the emotional space to process anything else in this moment. She starts walking away toward her car, before stopping to throw over her shoulder, "You weren't there. You don't know that," her voice breaks again before she is able to get enough control over her emotions to continue, "I'm sorry, Tim. I really am. I want to hear what you have to say, but let's just talk about it later, okay?" She doesn't look back or wait to hear his response before getting into her car, and pulling the door closed, desperate to escape, but knowing that leaving the station will give her little reprieve from her own mind.