He was stuck. No, not stuck as in actually, literally stuck, but he did feel like he couldn't fucking move. Several minutes had passed since Lucy walked away from him, but her words still rang in his ears, and the combination of her glare and her presence had rooted Tim to the spot. She'd put him in his place with one icy look and five sentences or less. It was impressive. It was infuriating.

He was still standing, well, still when Wrigley crossed his path a second time. "You haven't left yet, Bradford?" the other man asked with a grin. Wrigley had changed out of his uniform and was now dressed in his street clothes. Tim figured he was on his way home to Annette, to his kids. How many did they have now? Two? Three? He'd never asked, and he suddenly felt bad that he'd never thought to ask.

"Wrigley," Tim began, sort of on a whim; he was unsettled enough by his latest encounter with Chen that he was scrambling for whatever foothold he could find. "Can I ask you a question about timers?"

At the mention of timers, Wrigley visibly brightened, notching up from cheerful to unbearably chipper. "Sure, man! What's your question?"

"When your timer went off, did you…" Tim struggled to phrase it. How could he talk about his reaction to Chen in a way that didn't sound batshit insane? "Did you, or Annette, I guess, did you ever feel anything? Different than what you already felt, I mean?"

Again, Wrigley grinned. "Did we have a reaction, you mean?" He shook his head, which made Tim feel deflated and abnormal for a second until Wrigley continued. "But you know, not everyone does."

"Really?"

"Really. I have a theory about that, you know," he added. "People like Annette and me, we already knew we were soulmates. All the timers did was confirm it. Do you think that means we loved each other less because we didn't have, I don't know, the shivers or something when we laid eyes on each other?"

Wait, were shivers a potential reaction? Did he need to google a list of symptoms? Maybe later; for now, he replied, "I can't imagine you loving her any less."

It was the correct response, one that made Wrigley chuckle. "That's exactly my point. We didn't. We couldn't. So, maybe we didn't feel anything because we didn't need to feel anything."

"So, what are you saying? If someone reacts, it's because they need it?"

Wrigley grinned. "Something like that, I guess."

We didn't feel anything because we didn't need to feel anything.

That… made no sense.

Yeah, but none of this makes any sense, Tim thought with a groan as he pulled into the driveway. He stared at his house, the hedges, the darkened windows, trying and failing to find the will to go inside. Tonight more than most nights, he hesitated to walk in, and several minutes passed before he reached for his phone and dialed Lopez.

After two rings, she greeted him with, "What's up?"

"Something happened," Tim began, and it was quickly followed by the sound of her tense breath as she rifled for her keys.

"Where are you? I'm on my way."

Oh, shit. "No, not tonight. I don't mean something happened tonight. I meant something happened the day my timer went off."

She sighed in relief. "You couldn't have said anything other than 'something happened'?" Lopez scolded. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I called, didn't I?"

"If you're going to be a dick, I'll hang up."

"Sorry. It's just…" he slumped in the driver's seat, "it's weird to talk about it. I haven't even said it aloud, and I know it's going to sound fucking stupid."

"What's going to sound stupid?"

Amber in the right light and the world disappears. "I see her, Angela. I mean, of course, I see her, but when I see her… she's all I see." He kept the other sensations back; the protectiveness, the urge to reach out and touch her hips, the way his gaze already had fallen too often to her lips, to her waist and thighs… yeah, some things were really better left unsaid. What he'd just revealed was embarrassing enough.

A pause followed as Angela processed, and after a minute, she snickered. The sound made him bristle.

"Never mind," he bit out and moved to hang up.

She stopped him, exclaiming, "I'm sorry! It's just so… cute !"

"'Cute'?" The word made him cringe. "How on earth do you get 'cute'?"

"I knew you were protesting too much. It's adorable."

"It is not adorable, it's… it's inconvenient and unprofessional, and… fuck, it makes things that much more complicated."

"Eh, not that complicated. She's your soulmate."

"No, she isn't."

A beat of silence followed before Lopez whispered, "But you just said-"

"- I said something happened when the timers went off. Not that she's my soulmate."

She scoffed. "Okay, dude."

"What?"

"Nothing. So, you felt something when you saw her, but you still say she's not your soulmate. Why call me then?"

"I don't know. I guess I was hoping you could help me fix it."

"Fix it?"

"Or stop it. Whatever."

"Bradford, I don't think there's any stopping it," she replied, then asked, "Have you told her?"

He hadn't. "I don't want to do that."

"Why not?"

"Because…" A half-dozen reasons came to mind in as many seconds. Because he didn't believe. Because he was her training officer, he was married. Because despite everything he felt -and despite all the things he couldn't explain- he needed soulmates to not be real. Because if they were…

Tim's mouth went dry. "I just don't want to," he answered dully. Because if soulmates were real, then what he had (or at least, what he once had) with Isabel was an imitation. A fake, and if it was a fake, then, "… I'm such an idiot."

Lopez prodded gently, "I think you should tell Lucy."

He sighed. "I wouldn't know what to say."

"You're not proposing marriage, Tim. Just tell her the truth. Tell her what you told me."

"What would telling her even do? How would that help?"

"I don't know. Maybe it won't help at all, but at least she wouldn't feel alone anymore."

"You think she feels alone?" he asked in a whisper.

Another chuckle from Angela, but this one was joyless. "Come on, Tim. She waited for you for fourteen years only to learn she couldn't have you. Wouldn't you feel alone?"

He glanced down at his wrist, at the watch that concealed his timer, remembering all those years with a blank screen. Six years, waiting for numbers; six years, waiting for the proof of Her.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I would."

Tim had one request when he returned to the job. It was simple, really, or it should have been. People liked to applaud when someone injured on the job returned, and he hated it. It reminded him of his days in the Army to an extent. A handful of times, assignments required him to take a plane with his fellow recruits. Without fail, the pilot would announce their presence over the intercom, and people would applaud. Even though good intentions were behind the gesture, it always made him uncomfortable, and the same was true of his first day back. He wanted to get back to normal (he hadn't had "normal" in a while). He didn't just miss it; he needed it.

Despite his hopes, Bishop and Lopez failed to keep people from clapping. Disregarding their promise to him, they led the charge, applauding enthusiastically as he entered the room. He rolled his eyes only once before his gaze landed on Lucy, spotting her with clarity in a crowd that went dim a moment later, and for only that long. She looked less enthused than everyone else, managing only three slow, sarcastic claps. He paused in his stride, remembering what Wrigley had theorized; maybe this was happening because he needed it. Perhaps it wouldn't stop until he stopped fighting it. He dismissed the thought with a shake of his head as he walked towards his seat…

… and paused as he noticed an inflatable hemorrhoid pillow on his chair. A Post-it had a greeting written on it in black sharpie.

Welcome back, Grandpa.

He quickly stabbed the pillow with a pen, shooting Lopez a dirty look as it deflated with a hiss.

The roll call was brief. When it ended, Chen practically skipped out of the room with her head lowered. Either ignoring him, or she didn't see the way Tim tried to catch her by the arm as she passed. His hand fell limp at his side as he watched her head off to pack their shop.

"Trouble in paradise?" Lopez teased from behind him.

"I was just going to say good morning," he replied.

Bishop looked unconvinced. "Since when do you need your hands to say 'good morning'?" she asked flatly and walked away before he could answer. The question was loaded, either meant to upset him or make him think, and he was not particularly interested in doing either right now as he stalked out of roll call and towards the garage with Lopez on his left.

"What's got Bishop pissed today?" he asked.

Lopez shrugged. "Beats me." She looked at Tim uncertainly. "You sure you're good to roll today?"

"I got cleared, didn't I?" She eyed him again, and with a huff, he came clean. "I was told not to overdo it."

"But you're going to, aren't you? Overdo it?"

"I can't control the calls that come in, Lopez." When her face clouded with concern, he relented again. "I'll call if I need back up."

"No, you won't," she retorted. "I know you. Just try not to be a cowboy today, okay?"

"I make no promises."

By the time Tim made it to the garage, Chen had finished setting up the shop. He arrived just as she brought the trunk door down. There was a strange, intense moment where they stared at each other, and he thought about what Wrigley said about the timer reactions, then Angela's suggestion. Maybe he should tell Lucy. Maybe he should just say it. Here, though? In the garage, beside the shop, as they were about to roll out? It could make for a long, awkward shift.

While he was thinking, Lucy broke the silence. "Do you want me to drive?" she asked.

The moment passed and he had to put aside his plans to confess for the present. His mouth twisted into a frown at her offer. Did she think he wasn't capable? Had Lopez instructed her to coddle him? "Why would I want that, Boot? You think I'd go back on duty before I'm a hundred percent? Or do you think you deserve special treatment for some reason?" As he spoke, he closed the gap between them with slow, deliberate steps. She rolled her eyes and walked around him, helping herself to the passenger side and buckling in without another word.

It was silent in the shop as they rolled out. She said nothing, and he was kind of surprised by that. Sure, he barely knew her, but he'd seen how she behaved with the other two rookies, remembered well her pep during their first ride. He expected at least a good morning. Or a welcome back.

Then he remembered her disinterested, unimpressed applause when he arrived. Maybe she had nothing to say to him. Maybe she'd said it all last night.

It was quiet until dispatch called. He recognized Nell's voice as she said their call sign and directed them to a bank nearby.

"A robbery?" Lucy asked as he diverted down a side street and turned on the siren.

Tim shook his head. "Don't think so. Didn't sound urgent enough."

They arrived on the scene few minutes later to find a frantic branch manager pacing nervously, a sheen of sweat on his face as his expression contorted with worry. The details were relayed to him and Chen in a frantic tone. An employee had been locked in while repairing the ATM; stuck overnight. He was already showing signs of hypoxia. There was no time to wait for the fire department, so Tim sent Lucy to the shop to get the Halligan tool.

She departed at a run, returning within a minute, tool in hand. Tim took the Halligan from her and, after ordering the man to stand back, began to swing. He only managed three weak blows when the still-healing wound on his side started to burn. It didn't feel like a popped stitch, but it stung like shit, and the pain was so sudden it left him breathless. He heard Lopez's voice in his head, warning him, urging him not to be a "cowboy," whatever the fuck that meant.

Damn it. First call, and already he was in agony. Tim looked back at Chen; his voice strained as he asked sharply, "Why am I the one doing this?"

He could tell by her stance, by the way she rushed for the tool, that she'd been waiting for just such a comment. Five good strikes later and she got through the paneling, and he stood by watching with his hand pressed to the side. He didn't perceive any dampness to the bandage when he prodded it; he was probably right about the stitches holding, but the skin around the wound ached, like it had been pulled in his efforts to get through the paneling.

Lucy glanced back at him as the man in the wall pressed his face to the hole she'd made. Her cheeks were little flushed by the work she'd done, by the thrill of succeeding in averting a tragedy, but her smile faded as she noticed the position of his palm.

Tim shook his head at her as he lowered his hand. Don't worry about me, he thought, silently willing her to focus.

Every breath felt a little uncomfortable as the fire department arrived to finish extracting the man. Chen said nothing, but as they prepared to hand off to LAFD, she made a suggestion.

"Can I head up the hand-off, sir?" she asked, and he saw at once that her innocence was an act, her angle clear. She was throwing him a bone, trying to give him a break. When he eyed her warily, she added, "It would be a good learning experience."

He was tempted to contradict her, to decline her offer, but the inhale he took to argue made him wince, and that was enough to make him back down. "Fine. I'll be in the shop. Hustle, boot," he replied and retreated.

Alone in the shop, he prodded the injury carefully. No, not bleeding, but damn, it hurt. Sitting allowed some relief, though, permitting him to relax for a second. Reclining the seat slightly took some of the pressure off of his side. He knew what Chen was doing when she offered to take over, and he kind of hated that she was already so in tune with his needs.

Hated it, yeah, but also appreciated it. What could he say? He was a man of contradictions.

After a quiet start, the day picked up. Within a few minutes of returning to their beat, another call from dispatch came; cold burglary at a nearby solar facility. Tim had already figured there wasn't much they could do, but he did his best to calm down the owner and left him with a business card after promising to file a report. The moment the owner excused himself, Chen announced she needed to hit the restroom.

"Make it fast, Boot," he barked, and waited until she was about thirty feet ahead of him to follow. He had a feeling she wouldn't follow protocol to the letter and was proven right when he entered the restroom after her and saw the stalls did not go from floor to ceiling.

Tim bit back a sound of displeasure before reaching over the stall door. His fingers brushed the corded vinyl of her belt, and he grabbed it and hauled it over the door. Lucy began shouting, but her calls were muted when the door shut behind him. Tim hustled back to the shop and quickly placed the belt in the backseat before resuming his relaxed position.

She burst out of the building looking frantic, confirming that she didn't suspect him. That was good; he didn't want her to think he'd taken it. It was better that he taught her this lesson than someone else.. He was ramping up to a lecture when his cell phone rang.

"Bradford," he said, his voice close to a growl, but the anger quickly dissipated as the voice on the other end greeted him.

"Mr. Bradford, my name is Kelly Reynolds. I'm a nurse at Shaw Memorial."

No.

The nurse continued, unaware of his growing panic. " I'm calling to let you know your wife was brought in following an overdose."

"When?"

"In the last hour," she replied. "She was revived with NARCAN and is currently in our care."

"I'll be right there," he said, hanging up before turning to Lucy. He couldn't very well leave her there, but he was hesitant to bring her along. Moot point to mull, though; he had no choice, so he reached into the back of the shop, retrieved her stolen belt, and shoved it in her direction. "Consider this a lesson learned. Get in," he sniped.

She didn't ask where they were going, and neither he nor Chen spoke again until they pulled into the hospital parking lot.

"Do I need to come with?" she asked as he got out.

"Don't care," he replied, then took off towards the main entrance. He heard but did not see Chen follow behind. Of course, she was coming. He almost told her he changed his mind, almost said to stay put, but it was pointless; she was already at his heels.

Isabel walked out of a triage room just as Tim arrived at the nurses' station. She looked… terrible. Worse since the last time he'd seen her, her skin waxy, her hair dirty and limp. Her voice sounded like it had been through a blender when she noticed him and said with a glare, "I told them not to call you."

She tried to push past him, but he caught her by the arm.. "What are you doing? You just OD'd," he said through clenched teeth, his hold on her arm remaining firm. Again, she tried to break his grip, but he was stronger. Even if he weren't, Isabel was still weak from the overdose.

She was also skin and bones, a revelation that made his stomach roil with nausea. His hand could circle her bicep and touch. She was sick. She was really sick, he thought as he dragged her back into the triage room and shut the door behind them.

Isabel's eyes blazed as she turned on him. "They can't hold me."

He ignored her. "Do you know how many dead junkies I've found in the last month? All because their buddies didn't want to get caught when the cops showed up?" Dozens. Too many. Seized-up, blue-lipped. Images he'd never fullly scrub out of his brain. Each time he was terrified it would be her, and he was always disgusted by his relief when it wasn't. "If you keep doing this, you are going to die!"

His warning -his begging - meant nothing to her. It made no difference. "I am not your responsibility anymore, okay, so please, stop trying to be my white knight, and leave me the fuck alone," she yelled and stormed out.

In his frustration, Tim punched through a wall. He felt every laceration that formed on his knuckles as he dragged his first out of the drywall, then looked down at the cuts in disbelief, at the hole he'd made. His face felt hot, red with anger; with humiliation. Putting his fist through a wall was enough to make him feel small with shame, but the feeling was compounded when he realized Lucy had entered the room. Not only was she present, but he could tell with a single look that she'd seen it all. Probably heard it all, too.

"Are you okay?" she whispered, and how the fuck was he supposed to answer that? She didn't ask again, though, only walked closer as she noticed the scrapes on his knuckles. "What happened?" Concern was plain on her face, her eyes widening and her pretty lips parting as she took in the sight of him. Her worry -clear, unguarded; unearned- was like cold water on his rage. Tim clenched his fists, ignoring the pain that surged through the right from where he'd blown through the drywall as she reached for him.

"Don't touch me, Lucy," he said weakly. Hell, it barely sounded like an order; it was more like a plea. Everything, every feeling, was so near to the surface, if she touched him, he might lose it. Cry, or something. He didn't think he could bear it. He knew he couldn't take it.

For the moment, she listened, retreating to a cabinet in the corner and helping herself to the medical supplies within. The cuts weren't very deep, but she retrieved some bandages nonetheless. Then, she reached for him, gingerly taking Tim by the hand. He expected her to have him apply the bandages himself, but she didn't. She tended his wounds herself. Her touch was soft, her hands small. Occasionally she peeked up at him, and he watched her throughout the process.

First the gunshot, now this? Twice now, she'd taken it upon herself to hold him together. Tim was starting to feel indebted to her. He didn't know if he could handle her kindness; not when he'd done so little to deserve it.

Not when so much had happened that should have sent her running.

Soothing. Peaceful. Calm. That was what Lucy's touch had made him feel, and its absence the second his hands were bandaged brought back all the anxiety, the anger, and the fear from earlier. Seeing Isabel had fucked with his head, and following it so closely with… well, he couldn't call it anything else but affection from Lucy, fucked him up. It made him weak.

It made him, it turned out, careless. Reckless.

Angela's warning reverberated in his head like sirens as Tim got out of the shop and slowly walked towards the biker bar. Dispatch had warned that the gang (a real-life MC, some straight out of Sons of Anarchy bullshit) was causing trouble. Lucy asked if they should call for backup, and he'd responded with some half-assed snark. The prospect -a younger man in a black leather cut, eager and itching to prove himself- would fight Tim the moment he got out. He knew it.

What Tim hadn't anticipated was the worry that distracted him. His side, the fucking stitches, the wound, all of it pulled at his skin as he fought the prospect, but half of his mind was occupied by the brief glimpses he got of Chen. She remained on the edge of the parking lot, but three of the gang members were slowly approaching. Worry overwhelmed him, peaking into panic as the prospect landed blow after blow. Two or three knee-strikes landed directly on his ribs, and he cussed as he felt a few of the stitches yank through. Tim tried to get the upper hand, knowing the second he did, safety would be more certain for both he and Lucy. He finally managed it through a stroke of luck, subduing the gang member and cuffing him. The rest of the MC backed off, and he couldn't quite meet Lucy's eyes as he dragged the prospect back to the shop, mentally berating himself the entire way. What the fuck was wrong with him? Why was he acting so fucking unhinged? He could've gotten them both killed. What was he thinking?

Of course, Lucy asked him, "What the hell was that?"

The only answer he could give was, "Patrol work, Boot. You planning on saying otherwise?" Hell, for all he knew, she'd do exactly that. Surely she was running out of grace for him.

But, "No, sir," was how she answered, and she didn't press it or question him even as they returned to the station.

His side was on fire as they pulled in, and he ordered her to book the prospect before retreating to the locker room to check on his injury. Blood had begun seeping through his white cotton undershirt shirt, coming clear through the store-bought gauze he'd used to cover the stitches that morning before work. Tim peeled off the undershirt, doing the same with the gauze. It was luck, not foresight that he'd left the box of gauze in his locker, making it easy to switch out, although he winced as he pulled the bloody cotton away from the stitches. Damn, Jordan had gotten some good blows in. He could tell without looking that his lip was split, and he paused replacing the gauze when he looked down and saw his hands, the bandages applied by Lucy still in place.

He'd been an idiot. He should've called for backup. He'd endangered them both. What the hell was wrong with him? Even if the Isabel stuff had shaken him up, even if going to the bar was what the job required, fighting wasn't part of it. He'd endangered her. He was bad for her. Maybe it would be better if he sent her away, handed her off to someone else.

He replaced the gauze and tried to stand, his breath hitching in his chest before he managed a full inhale. The wound had ached this morning, and now it was ten times worse, but Tim had no choice but to power through.

As he pulled a clean undershirt over his head, Tim thought about Isabel, about her waxy skin, her too-pale lips, how he saw her in every junkie he'd rolled up on in the last month, and a plan formed in his mind. A bad plan, a reckless plan, but a plan nonetheless. It was against the rules, and he knew he shouldn't, but he had to save her somehow. If she wouldn't let him enroll her in rehab, what other choice did that leave him?

His step stuttered only once as he walked towards the kit desk, remembering the danger he'd put Lucy in. This -what he was about to do- was significantly lower stakes, but still he wanted to be cautious. The danger here wasn't to her person, but to her job. That meant he'd have to evade her; avoid her. She'd done enough for him since… well, since the moment they met, basically. Since the second they came across Isabel on that second day, and she told him point blank, "I won't tell anybody". Since the afternoon he got shot, and she refused to leave his side.

Of course, Lucy would not let herself be evaded. She had finished booking the gang member and caught up with him at the kit desk, glancing suspiciously at the stack of NARCAN in his hands.

"Do we really need all that?" she asked.

"Bad batch of fentanyl making the rounds out there. Need to be prepared." A lie, a lie, a fucking lie, and only time would tell whether she bought it.

She didn't, because he was learning one thing about Lucy Chen; she always saw through him. At least she was consistent.

Saw through him, but didn't stop him, and she didn't say another word until after he'd parked outside Isabel's apartment complex. Yeah, he'd long ago tracked down where she lived but kept his distance, knowing if she knew he'd found her, she was that much more likely to bolt. He had ordered Lucy to stay put but she ignored him, giving Tim no choice but to hide the NARCAN behind his back as he yelled, "I said, stay in the car!"

She was not deterred. "I know what you're doing here." Her voice sounded only a little nervous. "You're not helping Isabel. You're enabling her."

"Oh, and you know everything because you're some shrink's kid? She's going to shoot up! That's the reality, but this," he held up the NARCAN, "this will save her life."

He might as well have shut up because she barreled on with her rant like he hadn't said a damn thing. "Addiction doesn't just destroy the addict. It destroys the family."

She had all the nuance of a self-help brochure. He snapped, "Who the hell are you to tell me this?"

"I'm your rookie, and I need you to train me! Not put me in danger, not make me complicit in supporting your wife's addiction." She matched his tone and raised her voice, and Tim found himself shrinking back just a little as she spoke. "This stunt here? Or the one with the biker today? You've been back on the job for one day and I'm already having to cover your ass because the moment you so much as think about Isabel, you spiral." She finished speaking and chanced a step in his direction, then another. What was with her slow approach? Did she think he was going to get spooked? Run away? Did she really think that low of him?

Of course she did, he realized. He'd given her nothing but reasons to form a low opinion of him. Maybe that was a good thing, but it didn't make him feel like he was off the hook. It made him feel… like shit, to be honest. Like shit that he'd let her down so much already, and he couldn't pinpoint why he cared so much what she thought of him. Just that he did. He'd disappointed her, and he hated that he'd done that, but he also had no clue how to correct it.

She reached for the NARCAN. "I'll take it to her. If you go up, it'll just make things worse."

Well. He hadn't expected that.

Tim would never have guessed that that would be her aim. When she got out of the car, when she began to rail at him, he figured she was trying to scare him off helping, but she wasn't. Lucy didn't try to keep him from sinking; she got in the boat with him, determined to go down together.

"Apartment 510," he said, his voice gruff. Weak. It wasn't permission, but it was all he could say. Everything else felt wrong. He couldn't say thank you; it was wrong to thank her over this. She was breaking the rules for him. She was endangering her career, and he was endangering her period.

Damn it. He was failing her. Failing as her training officer, failing as her soulmate, not that he believed in that. Why couldn't he stop putting her in harm's way? What the hell was wrong with him?

He didn't keep track of how long she was up there, knowing watching the clock would only make him more nervous. It wasn't too long until Lucy exited the apartment with empty hands and a forlorn look on her face. She shoved it down when she felt him staring, schooling it into something a little more neutral as she came down the stairs and got back into the shop.

"Her apartment is pretty decent," was how she began.

That was a relief to hear. He nodded. "Good. That's good."

"Yeah. Um… she asked about your timer. Said you must've zeroed out by now. She wanted to know what your soulmate is like."

"What did you say to her?"

"I told her that I hadn't met her." Tim turned to her, confused. Lucy… lied? Why? For his sake, or hers? What could have motivated that? "I didn't want to to hurt her," she explained. "Besides, it shouldn't matter who your soulmate is since you don't believe in it."

"I never counted the date out myself," he admitted quietly. "She must've figured it out when I wasn't paying attention."

"You really didn't know the date?"

Tim glanced down at his wrist. "I forced myself to stop looking once I met Isabel," he said, although that wasn't quite true. "Once it looked like things were going to be a little more permanent." Even less truthful than the first explanation, but he felt like such a blatant lie was necessary, holding back that the timer was what caused their last great fight. He didn't see the point in telling Lucy that. All it might do was hurt her, and he'd done enough of that lately, hadn't he? "It just didn't seem to matter anymore," he finished, and the sharp intake of breath from the woman beside him made him grimace. Well, in trying to avoid upsetting her, he'd done exactly that. Top-notch talking, Bradford, he berated himself.

"I didn't mean it like that, Chen," he tried to amend quickly. "I just… I wanted so badly for it to work with Isabel." Then he asked, "Did she tell you she wouldn't let me remove it?"

Chen said nothing.

"I think she convinced herself it was romantic in some weird, fucked up way. That me having a soulmate out there somewhere and still choosing her made our relationship mean more." Actually, he was almost positive that was her thinking. How else could he interpret the way she ran her finger over his timer and said I don't need this to tell me you're mine?

"She didn't mention that," Lucy whispered.

Tim looked at her then, and it welled up in him quickly. Gratitude. He didn't enjoy feeling like he had to rely on her, didn't like that she'd already seen him so vulnerable. In a perfect world, he'd be able to put space between them. He wished he could keep her at arm's length, but clearly the universe, fate, the timers, what-the-fuck-ever it was had other ideas. She'd been flung into his orbit and, like it or not, too many of his thoughts and experiences revolved around her now. He wanted to stop it. He wished he knew how.

He knew that he couldn't.

"Thanks for going up there," Tim said in a whisper. "I um… I know that probably wasn't easy for you." No, it probably wasn't easy, but up she went anyway.

"Isabel's important to you," she replied simply, as if that were explanation enough. It left him with the impression that not only would he have never been prepared for Lucy Chen, but there was also a chance she was too good for him.

You're not proposing marriage, Tim. Just tell her the truth.

Angela's advice resurfaced in his memory as they saw out the rest of the shift. Yeah, Chen deserved the truth. She deserved to know about the effect she'd had on him, if only as compensation for how gracious she'd been since he got back. It was probably wrong of him to treat feelings transactionally, but whatever. That's where he was at with it all. Maybe that made him callous. Maybe that made him a dick. He had no illusions about what kind of man he was.

He didn't come clean until the end of their shift, when Lucy climbed atop a tractor-trailer in order to apprehend a robbery suspect. Tim would've made the climb himself, but his fucking side… well, it was better that she went, and within sixty seconds, her gun was trained on the suspect, and Tim was able to handcuff the guy. He had to admit it was kind of badass, seeing her atop the truck. She kept her stance wide, holding her gun with perfect technique. Badass, maybe a little hot, but he played it off by saying, "What are you waiting for? Applause?"

Lucy returned her weapon to its holster. "Actually, yeah. Applause would be nice."

Still on the ground beside the man, Tim clapped three times, mocking her earlier display of enthusiasm (or rather, the lack thereof). Three claps. Clap. Clap. Clap.

"Is that the best you can do?"

"Why not? It's the best you did," he replied, quickly realizing that he'd accidentally given himself away.

"Look. I was still pretty mad at you this morning, okay? And I didn't think you'd see."

It wasn't an apology, but then why would it have been? He didn't respond, waiting until they got their suspect into the back of the shop before saying her name.

"Lucy."

She turned to face him. A small smile was on her face as she pointed out, "That's twice now you haven't called me 'Chen' or 'Boot'." Was it? He hadn't noticed. "If you keep it up, people might think you're getting soft."

He didn't acknowledge her joke, only saying, "I can always see you, okay? You should know by now that I can always see you." With Angela, he'd worried about being embarrassed. With Lucy, he wasn't. There was no shame at play, but he felt tense, the weight of the moment making his spine as straight and rigid as rebar. It was a confession on his part, and he wondered if it resonated, but he didn't have to wonder long. Lucy's eyes widened when he said it, her lips ( God, those lips of hers) parting slightly as she stared at him, taking in his words.

You're something, aren't you? he thought. Not my soulmate, but something.

He waited for her to say something, to acknowledge him. Anything, truly anything would've been better than what she gave him, which was… nothing. She didn't respond, and Tim wondered if he'd misstepped. As the silence continued, he stopped wondering. He was pretty sure of it.

Telling her had been a mistake. He shook his head as if that was all it took to brush off the moment. To brush off the feeling.

"Back in the shop, Boot," he ordered, and realized that now that she mentioned it, the word was not as half as sweet on his tongue as her name had been. "We got a bad guy to book."