Part Twelve: Communication
Week 3, Day 5: Thursday, June 23, 2022
Thursday morning, Lucy wakes to a troubling message from Jackson. He'd gotten back from Palm Springs on Tuesday and returned to work the day before.
Something really bad almost happened yesterday. I think Stanton's starting to suspect I may not be on board with his tactics. Talk after shift?
She quickly responds. Yes — of course. Sooner if you can. Please be careful, Jackson.
The situation continues to swirl in her mind as she showers and readies herself for work. She doesn't even register that Tim is talking to her in the kitchen until he reaches over to touch her elbow.
"Are you okay?" his eyes are filled with concern as he studies her.
She nods her head, "Yes." Then shakes it, "No." She huffs a frustrated sigh as she tries to focus on the conversation at hand. "Sorry. I'm fine. I just…" she trails off, knowing it's absolutely not her place to share Jackson's business with anyone else, especially not someone who also works for the LAPD.
But god, she is so worried about him. His text was just vague enough to send her to a worst-case scenario panic room, but the last thing she wants to do is put more on his plate by pestering him for more information.
It's not the first time she's considered talking to Tim about Jackson's situation at work. He's more senior in the department — he's been around almost a decade longer and may have connections or insights that could be helpful. At a minimum, he can offer a different and potentially more relevant perspective than Lucy can. But she's wavered, unsure of if she can truly trust him with something like this.
Then she thinks about the trust he'd placed in her when he'd warned her about the virus, and the decision is easier for her to make.
She sucks in a breath and meets his eyes. "I'm worried about Jackson," she confesses.
His brows knit together in confusion, "Why? I thought you said he was in Palm Springs. Did something happen?"
She shakes her head. "He was, but he's back. It's not about that. It's about work. It's his partner."
Tim's expression changes and his shoulders tense, and Lucy suddenly feels like she is talking to Sergeant Bradford, seasoned veteran of the LAPD, and not Tim, her concerned made-for-TV husband. "Why is Jackson talking to you about an issue with his partner?"
Lucy bristles. "Why wouldn't he? I'm his best friend."
Tim sighs, softening a bit as he processes her aggravation. "Lucy, I know that. But you're not a cop. Worse than that — you're a reporter. These kinds of things… it's just better if they're dealt with in-house.
She feels a bit indignant, despite Jackson having said almost the exact same words to her. "He's not talking to me as a reporter, Tim. He's talking to me as his friend."
He immediately arches an eyebrow as if to say, "Remember that time I thought I was talking to you as my wife?" And though he doesn't actually say anything, she feels as if he's just forced her to eat her words.
She shakes her head, turning her gaze to the floor as she tries to sort through her confusion and frustration at where the conversation has ended up.
She frowns as Tim closes the distance between them. He gently takes hold of her upper arms, rubbing his hands up and down to comfort her. And despite her irritation, she does find the contact and his closeness reassuring.
"Lucy, I'm sorry. I should have just let you finish. What's going on?"
And if she's honest, she's feeling a bit sulky about his handling of the conversation so far and less inclined to open up to him at the moment. But in this particular case, it's not about her.
"He thinks his partner might be a racist," she says simply.
Tim's eyebrows shoot up almost into his hair, and a wariness again enters his expression that puts Lucy on guard.
"That is quite the accusation. Does he have proof?"
Lucy pulls out of his hold. "Are you being serious right now? Do you think we'd be having this conversation if he had proof? God… you really do see the world in black and white."
She immediately regrets the words as soon as she sees the wounded expression cross his face, hand flying up to her mouth as if the movement can somehow shove the words back in. She feels suddenly on the brink of tears.
Everything about this situation is so damn hard. Such a confusing mix of physical and emotional intimacy combined with the fact that they've only known each other for two and a half weeks all on top of the stress of their real lives and having to film a reality TV show. They're still learning to read each other, figuring out how to communicate and disagree when things get emotional or heated.
"Tim — I — I didn't mean that. I'm sorry," she explains, knowing that it's not nearly good enough to make up for how painful it must have been for him to hear her throw those specific words back in his face after what he'd shared.
He nods stiffly and turns away from her, heading to the sink to rinse his coffee cup and load it into the dishwasher.
He doesn't even have to say a word for her to feel the wall that he is rapidly assembling between them.
He pauses, hands gripping the edge of the sink before he turns to face her, "I should get going. But…" he swallows and Lucy can tell he's struggling with his next words — fighting himself and his expert wall-building army. "Uh — maybe we can try talking again tonight?"
And she feels as if her heart might be melting because it's the tiniest of olive branches, but she knows how hard it must be for him to reach instead of lash out when he's hurting.
She briskly crosses the kitchen toward him and throws her arms around his middle. It takes a few moments for him to relax enough to respond, but he eventually does return the hug, allowing his chin to rest on top of her head as he soothingly runs his hand up and down her back.
She pulls back just far enough to look at him, lifting a hand to his cheek, and meeting his eyes with her own. "I really am sorry, and I really didn't mean it."
He laughs softly. "I don't think I've ever met anyone as good or efficient at apologizing as you are," he teases.
She rolls her eyes, and he reaches up to affectionately tuck her hair back behind her ear.
"I'm sorry, too. I promise I'll try to actually shut up and listen tonight if you'll give me another chance?"
She nods her agreement, slipping her arms back around him for a final squeeze as he presses his lips to the top of her head.
Unfortunately, Lucy doesn't end up getting to see Tim at all that evening. She burns half the morning digging into Stanton's previous partners and his past at the LA County's Sheriff's Department. (Yes, even despite Jackson asking her to stay out of it; she has to do something.) After already having lost time to the needle incident last week and then the virus situation on top of that, she is left having to scramble to make the deadline on her story about the misuse of funds earmarked for houselessness.
She spends the bulk of the day out in the field on follow-ups and then works late into the evening getting the article written. She's so absorbed in her work that she doesn't even think to check her phone until after 8:30.
Shit. Jackson was supposed to have called her.
But it's not a missed call from Jackson that pops up via her notifications, but rather multiple texts from Tim. She feels an immediate wave of guilt; she hadn't even thought to give him a heads up that she'd be working late.
Shit. This just isn't something she's used to — being married and going home to someone. Sure, Jackson would have worried if she'd been out until the wee hours with no mention, but he wouldn't bat an eye if she made it home before midnight. And they are usually in such constant communication he already knows when she has work or social plans that may keep her out a bit later.
She immediately hits the call button, not bothering to read the rest of the messages after seeing the first. What do you think about tacos for dinner?
He answers immediately. "Lucy? Are you okay?"
She feels a warmth spreading through her core at the obvious concern in his voice, despite feeling like an asshole for making him worry.
"I'm fine. I'm so sorry. I'm still at work. I just got caught up with this story and lost track of time."
He's quiet for a few moments, and she can't help but wonder what he's thinking.
"That's okay," he finally says, and she wonders if it's as strange for him as it is for her — this married couple dynamic they've been forced into while not being entirely sure what they actually are to each other.
"Listen, I'm probably going to be here for at least a few more hours. Please don't wait up."
He's quiet again for a few more beats, and he sounds unsure when he finally ventures. "Is that safe Lucy? I can come get you whenever you're ready — if you want, I mean."
And it's almost just too much — this man can be a real asshole, but he can also be so incredibly sweet. It's obvious he's worried, but trying not to overstep or imply that she can't take care of herself. She's never been a fan of protectiveness stemming from possessiveness, but this — protectiveness rooted in genuine concern — makes her feel safe and valued. Safe and valued in a way that makes her wish she was home with him instead of here, trying to perfect an article that she's put months of [literal] blood, sweat, and tears into. She's not sure she's ever felt that way in any of her prior relationships — compelled to choose time with a partner over her passion.
"Oh, no — Tim, you don't have to do that. I'll have one of the night guards walk me to my car. Trust me, I do it all the time. I'll be fine, but thank you for offering."
And she says it so casually, so airily, there's no way he could ever know that she strategically chooses her parking spot every day so she'll never have far to go from the stairs or elevator in the garage. No way he could know she always has the exact route to her car mapped out in precise detail (and two backups as well), knows the names and shifts of every guard in the building, knows the position of every light and how it flickers, knows every damn shadow on the path back to her car. No way he could know that she can't walk to her car alone at night or even in a sparsely populated area during the day without her keys clutched in one hand, pepper spray key chain always at the ready. Or that she keeps her other hand in her bag settled on her taser. Or that the gun she keeps in her dash is always, always loaded. Because no one is more aware of her safety than she is.
He makes a "hmmph" sound that indicates that the idea that she does this all of the time does not actually make him feel any better.
"Okay. Well, call me if you change your mind. It doesn't matter how late. Otherwise, I guess I'll see you in the morning then?"
"Sounds good. Thank you, Tim."
"Good night, Lucy."
Week 3, Day 6: Friday, June 24, 2022
Lucy's excited to see Tim the next morning after having missed him the evening prior. She gets up extra early to maximize her time with him even though she'd barely gotten any sleep as it was.
Tim comes through the door with Kojo in tow just as Lucy is finishing up omelets for them both.
"You're up early," Tim observes.
Lucy glances up from the stove and her eyes go wide as she begins to cough, choking on her own spit.
"You okay?" There's just enough cockiness in the gleam in his eyes for Lucy to recognize that he knows exactly what's gotten into her.
She drinks him in — his shirtless chest glistening with sweat and the perfect V of his hips drawing her eyes down to the waistband of his basketball shorts. It should be illegal for a man to have an upper body that looks this good.
"I — uh — I didn't know you ran shirtless," she observes as heat begins to pool in her cheeks.
He shrugs nonchalantly. "Only in the summer. And only on the really hot days."
Really hot, indeed.
"Hmmph," she observes, not sure how she feels about all of LA getting this particular show. At the same time, she wonders if she should rethink her initial response of laughing in his face when he'd invited her to join him on his morning runs. She prefers sleep and hot yoga, thank you very much. But perhaps the occasional run wouldn't be the worst thing.
Lucy continues to shamelessly check him out as Tim focuses on hydrating himself and Kojo. He settles onto a bar stool to watch as she plates one of the omelets and pours him a cup of coffee.
"This is nice. What's the occasion?" he asks as she moves around the island to set his plate and mug in front of him.
She smiles and shrugs, as she steps closer to him. "Just felt like it, I guess."
She loops her arms around his neck and Tim laughs, trying to lean back from her. "Lucy, I'm going to get you all sweaty."
"I don't care," she says as she pulls him back toward her, and then further still until her lips are capturing his.
And apparently, that's all the convincing he needs because he slides his arms around her and pulls her even more tightly against his warm, perspiring body as he deepens the kiss.
She sighs with pleasure as they pull apart just enough to get an oxygen fix.
"This is nice. What's the occasion?" Tim teases again, voice a throaty whisper against her lips.
She smiles against his mouth as she kisses him again.
They make out just long enough for Tim's coffee and omelet to get cold.
There's a unanimous decision that it was worth it.
Lucy settles on the stool next to him with her [also cold] tea.
Tim glances over at her as he begins to eat. "We never got to finish that conversation about Jackson's partner."
Lucy nods, realizing she still hasn't heard from Jackson about the specifics of what happened.
"Yeah, I mean, I think we covered the gist of it. I don't have all the details — I just know his partner has made some calls that Jackson has found concerning. And I'm really worried about him. He needs to be able to count on his partner to have his back."
"Jackson's a P2? At North Hollywood?"
Lucy nods.
"How long has he been a P2?"
Lucy's brow crinkles as she works through some mental math… "Um maybe like a year and a half. He finished the FTO program toward the end of 2020."
Tim nods but doesn't say anything.
"Is that a problem? Jackson had made it seem like it might be."
Tim sighs deeply and shrugs, "I mean… it's good that he's not still probationary, but yeah — a big disparity in seniority isn't going to favor the more junior officer. And stuff like this — allegations of misconduct — it can get really complicated —"
"What is so complicated about it? He's a racist. With a badge and a gun. In 2022," Lucy interjects with frustration.
"Lucy —"
"I swear to god, Tim — if you Pollyanna me, I'll —"
Tim shakes his head, reaching over to give her thigh a comforting squeeze.
"I wasn't going to Pollyanna you."
Lucy narrows her eyes.
"Okay. Maybe just a little," he concedes. "All I'm saying is that this stuff can be almost impossible to prove, and even with proof, there are so many protections in place for cops. Combine that with the union, multiple opportunities for appeal, and a legal defense team that will rip apart every detail surrounding the allegation, including going after the accuser, and it's highly unlikely any meaningful disciplinary action will be the outcome.
"And you're right to be concerned — if Jackson is actively going after his partner, things could get very, very dangerous for him. He needs to lay low and tread very carefully, Lucy. Or Stanton will continue to get away with whatever he's doing with other cops unified behind him, and Jackson will pay — with his career or with something far worse."
A chill runs down Lucy's spine as she processes Tim's warning.
"This is so messed up. He's just trying to do the right thing, Tim. And you're saying that could what? Get him injured? Or even killed?"
Tim frowns, "Lucy, if I thought there was an easy answer in this situation, you know I'd give it to you. But it's —"
"Complicated," Lucy fills in. She sighs with resignation, "I know things aren't that simple, but I hate this. It's so wrong that he's in this awful position, and I'm really worried about him."
He studies her carefully for a few seconds. "I know you are, Lucy… Listen, I'll see what I can find out without drawing attention. Maybe there's some way I can help; let me think about the best course of action here, okay?"
Lucy feels her worry rise in her chest. Clearly, Tim is in a better position than Jackson, but it's more than clear no cop would want to touch this situation with a ten-foot-long pole. She shakes her head, "You don't have to do that, Tim. The last thing I want is for both of you to be caught up in this mess."
Tim gets to his feet and lifts a hand to cradle her cheek before pressing his lips to her forehead. He pulls back to look at her, "I want to. And you don't have to worry. I know what I'm doing, okay?"
She nods gratefully, feeling a warm wave of comfort and hopefulness wash over her.
That evening, Lucy and Tim film for a few hours, They attempt to cook dinner together, all the while mercilessly teasing and bickering over the right methods, utensils, temperatures, and just about everything else. Lucy gets particularly annoyed when Tim suggests that maybe her entree would be a bit more… flavorful if she just incorporated the patented Tim Bradford method of seasoning.
Her annoyance melts away, though, when he slides up behind her and nuzzles his face into her neck as he pulls her back against his chest. She's far too easy, she knows, but how is she supposed to hold a grudge when he smells so good and the scratch of his stubble against her skin makes her thighs automatically clench together?
They do a few silly communication exercises while they eat. One exercise requires them to maintain prolonged eye contact, which effectively devolves into a staring/laughing contest. Mature, highly over-competitive adults that they are, they spend the bulk of dinner silently making ridiculous, idiotic faces at each other in an attempt to claim victory. They both win the prize of looking extremely dumb (albeit adorably so) on national TV.
They settle in for a movie after dinner once the crew leaves and make it through about ten whole minutes before Lucy invites herself onto Tim's lap. She straddles him and slips her arms around his neck. He groans with pleasure when she hungrily kisses him.
It doesn't take a genius to realize that he's going to be a bit gun shy about being the physical aggressor after what happened when things heated up so rapidly between them on Monday night when Tim finally made it home. But Lucy doesn't mind; she's comfortable going after what she wants — for now, anyway.
Or at least she doesn't mind until they are over ten minutes into a heated make-out and his hands haven't strayed from where they've been chastely planted on her hips since they started. She had his shirt over his head by the two-minute mark — the image of his glistening naked torso from this morning still fresh on her mind. But even his damn thumb doesn't stray far enough to brush over the bit of exposed skin above the waistband of her jeans.
She contemplates moving one of his hands to her boob and the other to her ass herself, but then decides that moving at a pace that is comfortable for them both is probably more important than her need to feel his hands all over her body — for now, anyway.
She slides off of him after a few more minutes of making out that would at least make the tween version of herself blush.
The movie turns out to be pretty good once they rewind, and she has to admit that being wrapped tightly in his arms while they watch isn't the worst way to spend a Friday night.
Week 3, Day 7: Saturday, June 25, 2022
They get an email from production the next morning with information about the theme and activities for the next week. Lucy pulls it up on her phone as they finish up their lazy Saturday breakfast at the dining table.
She wiggles her eyebrows playfully at Tim as she reads aloud. "The Art of Seduction. You and your partner will each attend two classes this week that will teach you more about seductive techniques. Physical intimacy is a core pillar of a successful marriage, and the goal of this week will be to help couples that may be struggling in this area move forward.
"You and your partner will both have the opportunity to practice what you've learned in each of the two classes, but only one instance will be filmed. The roles will reverse for the next exercise.
"For the first exercise, you will each attend a class on Sunday, The Art of the Striptease. There will be two different versions of the class — one for the women and one for the men."
Lucy almost chokes on her own words as she processes the text. Tim can feel the heat rising to his own cheeks. Oh hell no.
"What's the second exercise?" Tim demands.
Lucy shrugs helplessly. "It doesn't say. So… um, I guess we need to decide which one of us gets to strip on camera?"
Tim's already shaking his head, "Oh no, that's all you."
She arches an eyebrow in disbelief, "Excuse me?"
He scoffs, "Come on, this is clearly meant for the girls. I'm sure next week will be something more masculine. I'll do whatever that is."
Her jaw drops open. "I'm sorry, what? Did you just say stripping is for girls? Do I need to introduce you to the Magic Mike franchise? Take you to see the Thunder Down Under? I had no idea you were such a sexist, Tim."
Tim frowns, realizing he should probably shut his mouth if he doesn't want to dig himself deeper.
"Maybe I don't want to strip on national TV, Tim. Did you think about that?"
He frowns because he hadn't. Frankly, it seems a lot more up her alley than it does his. She loves dancing, is smoking hot, and is confident as hell. If he wasn't so worried about having to execute his own strip tease, he'd already be salivating in anticipation of hers. But at the moment, all he can focus on is how much he absolutely does not want to do this. He honestly hadn't been expecting her to push back like this.
And while, yes, the idea of anyone's eyes on her other than his own isn't particularly appealing, there is nothing he wants to do less in the world that an on-camera striptease. Hell, he'd even marry another stranger before agreeing to this. Maybe even several.
"Lucy, come on. Please. You could just stand there in a damn ski suit while some music plays if you wanted and still be the sexiest woman in LA; I'll look like a complete idiot. Think about if the guys at work saw this. It's bad enough I'm on reality TV at all. I'd never hear the end of it."
Lucy glowers at him. "Ah, yes, because I guess I should just be grateful for the opportunity to go back to work and have the pervy intern leer at me?"
Tim's frown deepens as they stare at each other, clearly at an impasse.
Lucy switches tactics, walking around the table until she's standing behind his chair. She slides her hands down over his shoulders and chest as she leans down until her lips are close enough to brush his ear.
"How about you do the on-camera one, and then, when I do the off-camera one, I promise I will make it very, very worth your while?"
Tim's throat goes dry as his traitorous dick twitches in response to the visuals her sensual whisper is inspiring.
But no — just the idea of having to dance and strip on camera is far too offensive to even consider.
He stubbornly shakes his head, "No deal."
He sighs at the loss of her soft warmth as she moves away from him in a huff, clearly offended by his almost immediate rejection of her offer.
She crosses her arms and glares at him. "You're seriously going to make me do this? Even when you know I don't want to? Thanks a lot, Tim."
"Come on, Lucy. I don't want to do it either, okay? And who knows — next week could be even worse. I'm willing to take that risk for us both."
"How generous of you," she deadpans.
Her lips form a pout until she eventually throws up her hands. "Fine. I guess it's on me. Guess we know how things will work if we ever need to compromise on something neither of us wants to do."
The bit of relief he feels from her agreeing to do it his way is extremely short-lived when she turns to leave the room grumbling something about him being a sexist asshole and chivalry not just being dead, but the victim of a brutal murder.
He presses his eyes closed, wondering if there's anything he's capable of refusing to do for this woman.
"Lucy…" he whines.
She turns back to face him, crossing her arms stiffly over her chest. She stares at him, not even a glimmer of her sweet smile on her face.
He groans. He cannot even believe he is saying this. "If you're gonna be like that about it, then fine, I'll do it."
The smile that spreads across her face and the sparkle of joyful laughter that appears in her eyes leaves him suddenly feeling like he's been duped.
He narrows his eyes, "Were you testing me?"
He's had it just about up to here with these little Lucy tests. He thought he was hard on his boots during training, but he's got nothing on his new bride — who apparently is quite capable of being a little asshole when she wants to be.
She shrugs coyly, crossing the room toward him. He gazes up at her suspiciously as she bends to loop her arms around his neck. Despite himself, his hands automatically move to her hips, tugging her even closer.
She presses a kiss to his forehead and then pulls back to meet his eyes. "Maybe next time you should just ask nicely, Tim, instead of being a presumptuous, stubborn, sexist idiot," she suggests helpfully.
She giggles and squirms as he sweeps her into his lap, arms circling her and crushing her into his chest
"You little —"
Her mouth pressing against his cuts him off, and… maybe just this once he doesn't mind being interrupted.
Jackson comes by later that morning. Lucy had demanded to see him in person for an actual conversation since they hadn't been able to properly catch up following his text on Thursday.
She calls him on his drive over to confess that she'd confided in Tim about his situation. The fact that he doesn't seem bothered in the least is all the indication Lucy needs to know that the situation is only continuing to get worse.
The greeting between Tim and Jackson isn't particularly warm, but the fact that it's not cold either is enough for Lucy to feel a pang of hope.
"Lucy told me about the situation with your partner. I'm sorry, man — that's a really difficult position to be in."
Jackson nods, "Tell me about it."
"I did a little discreet digging yesterday; I hear he's a solid cop."
Lucy internally cringes as Jackson stiffens.
Oh, Tim. You sweet, stupid man. He really does have a way with words sometimes.
Tim puts his hands up as if to ward off their objections. "I'm not saying I think he's a good cop. I'm just passing along what I heard."
Jackson nods, but Lucy doesn't miss the tension that remains in his shoulders.
"Look, I know you're not asking for my advice. But for whatever it's worth, know that this is what I would tell you if you were one of my former boots."
Jackson indicates he's listening with a shake of his head.
Worry creases Tim's forehead, "Listen, you know as well as I do how messy this stuff can get. I think you should just keep your head down for a little bit. Put in for a transfer once the things die down. I'll put in a good word for you at Mid-Wilshire. That should move things along pretty quickly."
Jackson's jaw tightens, "And then what? Just let Stanton keep terrorizing the community? Switch stations and get a new partner? Then just go on pretending I didn't just watch him almost get an entire family killed the other day because he decided walking down the sidewalk while wearing a hoodie and being black means you must be some kind of criminal?"
Confusion flickers in Tim's eyes as he opens his mouth to respond.
"Jackson," Lucy tries to soothe with a hand on his arm.
He jerks away from her touch. "Forget it, Lucy. This was a bad idea. It's always the same answer — keep your head down; look the other way. The entire reason guys like Stanton get a pass is because guys like him hand it to him on a silver platter."
Lucy presses her eyes closed briefly, and Jackson whirls to head into her room. Her heart aches for her friend; she hates seeing him this upset. Hates that he is feeling the weight of the entire broken system resting on his shoulders in this moment.
She glances back toward Tim. He looks stunned and more than a little hurt.
She knows he hadn't meant to be dismissive or ignorant. He was thinking about Jackson as an individual and his career. Trying to help him the very best way he knew how. But it's evidence of his privilege that he hadn't even thought about the broader ramification of his advice. Jackson's words couldn't have been easy for him to hear, but that also doesn't mean they aren't true.
She offers Tim a miserable, apologetic half-smile before quickly turning to hurry after Jackson. He's her friend and he's the one that needs her right now.
She joins Tim on the couch later that evening after Jackson leaves. There's a playoff game on that she knows he's been looking forward to, but the TV is muted. And though he is staring at the screen, he doesn't seem to be registering what's actually happening since the Lakers just hit a wild buzzer-beater from well outside the three-point line to end the first half and he doesn't react.
She shifts until she is flush with his side, fully expecting him to pull her closer. When he doesn't, Lucy takes matters into her own hands, lifting his arm up and around her shoulders so she can cuddle into his chest.
She wraps her arms around his waist and gives him a squeeze. "Are you okay?"
She doesn't really expect him to be. First her father, and now Jackson have forced him to confront some very real and uncomfortable truths about not only his profession, but also about his own potential complicity.
He doesn't respond at first.
"Tim?" she tries again.
She tries not to read into it when he pulls none too gently away from her. She knows he's upset. How could he not be?
He turns to face her, his eyes tired and red. "Is that what you think, too?"
Lucy shakes her head in confusion, "What do you mean? What I think about what?"
He huffs a frustrated sigh. "All of it — that I should be ashamed to look myself in the mirror when I put on my uniform? That I'm part of the problem? That I'm no better than Doug Stanton?"
"Tim," she says softly, trying to think through the right way to answer a very complicated set of questions.
She chooses the easiest one first. "Do you really think I'd be over here crawling all over you if I thought you were no better than Doug Stanton?"
She reaches for him again, hugging his arm into her chest, and this time he doesn't pull away, though he does roll his eyes and grumble her name in response to her deflection.
She idly laces the fingers of her free hand through his. "I think… I think when you're on the inside of a broken system, it can be more challenging to see its faults."
He begins to pull back again, the frustration evident in his voice. "Lucy, I'm not an idiot. I know the system doesn't always work the way it should, and that there are real problems, but —"
It's Lucy's turn to be frustrated. "Could you maybe let me finish, Tim?" she snaps.
He raises an eyebrow at her interruption, clearly irritated, but then just shrugs.
"I also think… that if you're in a system that you know is broken in some very, very serious ways, and you aren't actively working to fix those things — and I mean more than just putting blinders on and making sure that you're doing the job the right way, then yeah…" She meets his gaze, knowing he's not going to like hearing what she has to say. "There's a very real possibility that you are a part of the problem — especially if you're in a position of privilege in that system."
Tim stares at her for a few moments. She can see in his expression that he's completely closing off to her, that he's shutting down.
"Tim, I'm not trying to hurt you or make you mad. I just —"
He nods curtly, getting to his feet. "It's fine. I'm gonna call it a night."
Lucy stares at his back as he heads for his room, frustrated that walking away from her is the choice he's making right now. She's feeling more than a little hurt and angry herself.
Week 4, Day 1: Sunday, June 26, 2022
Lucy can still feel the weight of her sadness and disappointment when she wakes the next morning, dreading the idea of having to face more tension between the two of them. She really, really doesn't want it to be this way. Not when it felt like they were finally starting to find their footing.
She doesn't feel like she was wrong for what she said, but maybe there could have been a more delicate way to handle the situation. Or maybe they shouldn't have had the conversation at all so close on the heels of him still being so hurt by her father's and Jackson's comments. Of course he was feeling defensive and on guard.
Tim's already at the stove making what Lucy assumes to be his breakfast specialty of salmon and eggs, but when the sound and scent of sizzling butter draws her attention, her stomach rumbles loudly enough for Tim to hear from across the room.
He glances up at her, laughter shining in his eyes as she blushes. "Good morning, Sunshine."
And though she knows they still have a conversation to finish, Lucy feels immediately relieved that whatever had caused Tim to shut her out last night appears to be gone this morning.
She walks over to him and slides her arms around him from behind. "Are you still mad at me?"
Tim adjusts the stove and sets down the spatula before turning to face her.
When he dips his head down to capture her lips in a sweet kiss, Lucy feels a flight of happy butterflies fluttering in her stomach.
"I'm sorry. I know I wasn't — I didn't — " He sighs as he stumbles over his words, taking a breath before trying again. "I wasn't mad at you, Lucy. I was mad at myself. What you said last night, what Jackson said — it wasn't easy to hear, and it was hard for me to process in the moment, but I know I needed to hear it. And I appreciate that you took the time to help me understand. I'm really going to try — to learn more, to do better."
Her eyes well — this man never fails to surprise her, sometimes in the very best ways.
She's not entirely sure there's anything hotter in the world than a man who is willing to listen and reflect and learn.
She tugs him down toward her for another kiss, and suddenly the skillet is not the only thing getting heated.
He groans against her mouth as she nips and sucks on his bottom lip.
"Lucy, I really — shit," he pauses when her tongue slips into his mouth. "I really wanted to make you pancakes."
Her stomach rumbles again and this time Tim laughs out loud.
She pulls back, ready to admit defeat. "Apparently, I really want you to make me pancakes, too."
Lucy's eyes sparkle with mischief once they settle at the table for breakfast.
"So are you excited about learning about the Art of the Striptease today?"
Tim rolls his eyes, apparently not willing to dignify that absurd question with a response.
"You should know beforehand — the effort you put into your striptease is exactly how much I plan to put into mine."
"What? What happened to 'I'll make it very, very worth your while, Tim'?" he finishes in a breathy, high-pitched whisper that is clearly intended to sound like Lucy attempting to seduce him.
Hilarious.
"Hmm… I believe your exact words were… 'No deal.'" Lucy shakes her head, "Should've taken me up on the offer when you had the chance. Now you're really going to have to earn it."
Tim grumbles something that sounds a lot like "brat" under his breath, but Lucy chooses to let it go. Sort of.
She leans toward him conspiratorially. "You know what would be really hot, though?" She sets her elbows on the tables and rests her chin on her interlocked hands, tilting her head with a dreamy sigh.
He stares at her warily. "What?"
Her eyes flash with delight, "If you dressed up as a firefighter. Seriously. So hot. That would definitely get you some bonus points.
"And, oh my god… if you grabbed your suspenders while you did that little body roll, hip thrusting thing…"
Tim doesn't speak to her for the rest of breakfast. Sometimes it's best not to communicate.
