If he wanted to, he could mark the days that followed by the dates that Lucy went on. It annoyed him a little at how tuned in he was to her feelings, but Tim was always able to tell when she'd seen that guy and when she hadn't, a subtle shift in her demeanor that would probably not be noticeable to anyone who wasn't stuck with her for hours. Sometimes she'd sneak a peek at her personal phone on shift, and something on the screen would make her smile before she bit down on her lips and looked away. Other times, he'd spot her in the parking garage sitting in the driver's seat while her dinky little orange car idled, applying lip color in the sun shield mirror; and more times than he cared to count, he heard and saw her talking about Him with West and Nolan, saw her lips wrap around his name, a lovestruck look on her face each time.

Cam. Cam. Cam.

Gross. Ew. Yuck. Not that he cared, so long as it didn't affect her ability to do the job, and to that end, he barked at her, "Put your phone away, Boot," after he caught her looking at his Instagram during their shift. Otherwise, Tim managed to convince himself he wasn't bothered by it. Lucy was a good woman, right? A good woman who deserved good things; if a "good thing" was this guy she was seeing, well then… so be it. She should get to have someone that could put her first, that would hold her hand and look at her like she hung the moon. Tim wasn't jealous, and if he was, it was only because his own relationship was so obviously at its endpoint.

Hard not to envy her happiness just a little when it felt like his was firmly in the rearview.

November was Tim's least favorite month. That was true for multiple reasons. For one thing, daylight savings time was always a shit show. Seeing the sun set before six pm awoke a very specific type of anger in him, and even though he had no hard proof, Tim was really fucking certain criminals took advantage of those extra hours of darkness. He was already counting down the weeks until the spring time change. Separate from the job, November was hard during one day in particular. This was the month that contained his mother's birthday (November 21st). No matter how many years had passed between her death and the present, Tim felt her loss on that day the most, maybe even more than the anniversary of her death. Lastly (and possibly most annoyingly), November represented the start of the holiday season. Although Tim had done his share of merrymaking in years past, now all it did was remind him of what he'd lost.

It started, like always, with the days leading up to Thanksgiving. At the beginning of November, officers would begin vying for the day off. Sergeant Grey and Captain Andersen accommodated as many time-off requests as they could, but it wasn't like crime and crisis took holidays; somebody had to be the hands on deck. In previous years, Tim had established himself as reliable coverage whenever the holidays rolled around. He'd done so with hopeful motives, believing himself to be racking up goodwill for when his turn for time with family came. Now, it was habit. Now, it was simply something to do; a way to fill his time, to convince himself he didn't mind his empty house, that he didn't miss what he never had, and it wasn't like he was without company if he wanted it. Angela had invited him to spend the day with her and her mom, which he declined. Dennis and Francesca asked him over as well, an offer he contemplated briefly until learning their son would be coming to visit; he didn't want to impose on their time as a family, although that was not the reason he gave when Francesca tried to insist. He told her he'd be working that day, and while her eyebrows lifted with suspicion, she allowed him to bow out without more prodding.

So as he'd done in almost every year past, while everyone else submitted for PTO Tim asked for overtime approval. Unlike previous years, Sergeant Grey did not instantly approve his request, instead eyeing the paper with scrutiny before turning his attention on his officer. "You've worked the last three Thanksgivings, Bradford," Grey began, 'and the past two Christmases. You know we share the load in this department."

"I understand, sir. That's what I'm trying to do. Happy to trade so someone else can be with their family."

"Hm." Grey set the sheet aside before leaning back in his chair. "You're sure there's no one you want to spend that day with? No family or friends that will be expecting you?"

Tim shook his head. "No, sir. No one is expecting me."

He didn't expect the Sergeant to look almost distraught by this statement, briefly silent before answering in a whisper, "I see." After a pause, he picked the request up a second time. "Well, if I can't change your mind," Grey said, and approved the OT.

Working a holiday was always a mixed bag. Over the years, Tim had been paired up randomly with officers he barely knew. A few times, he'd patrolled alone. This was the first Thanksgiving that kept him at the station, arriving Thursday morning to learn he'd be manning the front desk. It was his least favorite duty; he'd much rather be out on the streets, but there was no arguing assignments after they were handed down, so he tried to make the best of it. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad staying put for one day.

It wasn't bad. It was terrible. No, there was no drama, but a long day behind a desk was a soul-crushing grind. The minutes were determined to move at a crawl for the entire day. As the end of his shift approached, Tim was sure he'd go out of his mind with boredom until Sergeant Grey entered in plain clothes, carrying a brown paper grocery bag that he placed on the desk.

He did not greet Tim by name, but by rattling off the contents in the bag. "Deep-fried turkey, green bean casserole, homemade cranberry sauce, stuffing, and Luna's sweet potato pie." He patted the bag before sliding it across the counter towards Tim. "Happy Thanksgiving, Bradford."

"Sir?"

"I may have mentioned to Luna that one of my officers didn't have any plans for Thanksgiving." He chuckled a little. "Should've said less." Then, Grey added, "I know these past few years have been hard for you, but you don't have to get through it alone. You ever need anything, Luna and I are always here for you, okay?"

Tim took the bag. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

He knew that Sarge's encouragement -his promise to support Tim- was a sentiment true of most leaders for their workers at least in theory. Easy to say, but harder to live out, and only a week had passed before it was put to the test. Tim was teasing Lucy when the bad news came, had been ribbing her about the man she was dating. When he called him by the wrong name on purpose, she narrowed her eyes before correcting him; and no, he didn't really think the guy was dealing drugs but once voiced, the thought briefly put a look of fond exasperation on Lucy's face that was almost cute.

Their bantering was interrupted when Officer Patel approached their shop. "Officer Bradford," the other man said, "Sergeant Grey needs to see you in his office."

He nodded his acknowledgment before turning to Lucy. "Wait in the shop. I'll be right back."

Tim didn't know what to expect when he walked into Grey's office, but he was on his guard the second he entered the room when the sergeant instructed him to shut the door.

He did as ordered. "That's not a good sign."

"No," Grey agreed. "I'm afraid it's not." He stood and rounded his desk then, meeting Tim in the center of his office. "I just heard from Detectives Wolfe and Vestri. They've made an arrest. I recognized the suspect's name."

From his face, Tim knew in an instant. "Isabel."

"You don't seem surprised."

He wasn't. "I know Isabel's been using," he admitted quietly, then asked, "What are the charges?"

Grey's demeanor was somber, his tone grave as he spoke again. "Possession, with intent to sell. I'm sorry, Tim. I wanted to warn you. I know this is a complicated situation, but the department has your back. If you think you need to take the day to come to terms with it, you can. I'll get Chen assigned somewhere else."

What would a day off do? Going home wouldn't clear his head, wouldn't stop his thoughts from spiraling. Going home -going back to that house with its touches of Isabel everywhere- wouldn't soothe him, wouldn't comfort him. So Tim shook his head. "No, sir. I'll be okay."

Grey eyed him uncertainly. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," he said, feigning confidence he did not feel before adding, "but could I have a minute before we roll out?"

To that, the sergeant nodded. "Yea, Bradford. Take all the time you need."

There was little room to think and even less for silence in a station as active as Mid-Wilshire. Everywhere Tim looked, there were officers. Filing here, talking there. Detectives in the bullpen discussing their cases, patrolling officers walking by with their cups of coffee to end their breaks. Life as a whole didn't give a shit about the hand he'd been dealt. Life went on like nothing had changed, and for everyone else, it hadn't. This was Tim's crisis, and Tim's alone.

Only the room they used for roll call offered him a quiet space to compose himself, so that is where he went, taking a seat in the front row and folding his hands in front of him. At first, all he could do was repeat the charges in his head, Grey's voice like a broken record in his brain.

Possession with intent to sell. Possession with intent to sell.

The department had his back. Okay. That wasn't as reassuring as Grey thought it was. Tim had no worries for himself in that regard; he knew he was a good officer, knew the people that mattered would be able to separate his reputation as a cop from Isabel's arrest. But who had Isabel's back? Who was on her side? No matter the pain she had caused him, no matter how badly she'd broken his heart, he would never have wished this on her. He'd wanted to get her help, to get her clean. He'd wanted to protect her from the consequences addiction would inevitably lead her to.

He had failed to do either, and that realization nearly made his head bow beneath its crushing weight.

"Tim?"

Lucy had found him; of course, she had, and her voice whispering his name tenderly broke him free of his thoughts. He blinked before looking up at her, taking in her expression, the way worry creased the space between her eyebrows, how she let concern show plainly on her face.

"What happened?" she asked.

What happened? Where to even start? I failed, he thought of saying. It's over. Another possible answer, but "It's Isabel," was how he replied, and again fell silent as movement across the bullpen caught his eye.

Wolfe and Vestri came into view first. Two men about as tall as he was, but broader. Imposing. The stature of both men briefly obscured Isabel from view, but she became visible as they led her across the bullpen in handcuffs. From across the room, their eyes locked, and Isabel could only hold his stare for a second before she lowered her eyes and looked away. They were stopped on their way to booking by Sergeant Grey, who spoke to the detectives before looking towards Tim and gesturing in his direction.

"Stay here," he ordered Lucy before walking towards Grey's office. He did not look back to see whether she obeyed, but Tim didn't hear her footsteps behind him, didn't sense her following on his heels. He guessed she had listened, and what a relief that she did. Detectives weren't all dicks, but Wolfe and Vestri could be, and Tim was glad his rookie wasn't there to hear him confront the detectives over the details about Isabel's arrest. Vestri sniping, "Your officer should figure out where his loyalties lie" was enough to make Tim see red, and he excused himself without waiting for dismissal.

Lucy had not followed him, but she had not heeded his order to stay put. He did not find her in the roll call room, and their shop still sat in the garage, packed but unattended. It took him several minutes of searching to locate her, finally finding his boot in booking just as she slid the door to cell number three shut.

"What the hell are you doing, Boot? When I say stay put, you stay put."

"I booked Isabel in," she replied, and although his anger was apparent (and misplaced; he was frustrated with the situation, not her), she didn't acknowledge it. "Vestri and Wolfe think she's just another druggie, okay? At least with me booking her, she got to keep a shred of dignity."

It shouldn't have surprised him that Lucy would concern herself with Isabel's dignity, mindful of how being arrested would affect the former cop. It spoke to Lucy's character, to her integrity, and to her apparently limitless empathy that she was willing to put herself in an uncomfortable situation if it meant showing someone else a little kindness, no matter how unearned it may have been.

"She says it's not hers," Lucy whispered. "She says she's not selling. Do you believe her?"

"Do you?"

She didn't answer. He could tell from her expression, from how she bit down on her lip but said nothing, that she wanted to believe but that enough had happened she could not be sure. That was true of him too. The idea that Isabel would be selling drugs didn't strike him as unlikely. He still held out hope that she wasn't, but it was by no means impossible.

"Get the clerk," he said, finally. "Have him open the cell."

Life hadn't been kind to the woman he once loved. That was true practically from the start, beginning when she was still a child. A car accident had left her an orphan before she was ten, and the rest of her youth saw her under the care of her aunt. She kept Isabel clothed and fed, but little else; in many ways, Isabel had raised herself, and upon turning eighteen, she left her aunt's home without looking back. To some extent, the tragedies in their individual childhoods had made them feel more connected, and their lack of family never bothered him except once. While planning their wedding, Tim remarked on how sparse the guest list was. His side was mostly men and women he'd met in the military. Isabel contributed even fewer to the number of attendees, coming up with only a handful of people she loved enough to include in their big day. Although that had made him sad for her sake, she'd squeezed his hand and put his worries to rest through a smile.

"You're all I got," she had told him, "and that's enough for me."

It was true. Until it wasn't.

Isabel somehow looked worse since he'd last seen her. That was shocking in and of itself, since the last time they'd spoken, she was coming down from an overdose. She was gaunt to the point of frailty. The golden hair that hung past her shoulders had lost all its luster, and her skin appeared waxy; sickly. There was little resemblance to the woman that had walked towards him in a white gown, to the person he'd pledged his whole life to.

"How bad is it?" Tim asked.

Isabel's voice sounded cold and distant as she spoke. "A solid arrest," she said. "It's Carson's car, but we both know that won't matter. I was in possession."

"Who is Carson?" She looked away at his question, but he pressed it. "Carson's your boyfriend?"

Isabel nodded slowly. "Sometimes."

Tim had had his suspicions, but it hurt more than he anticipated to hear her confirm that another man was in her life. It wasn't like he hadn't had had his own chances at moving on since she disappeared. He held on out of loyalty, had decided he wouldn't move an inch in the direction of dating until and unless things officially ended with them. That she hadn't extended the same courtesy wasn't shocking, but it still fucking stung.

"Are you selling?"

"Never." When it was clear she hadn't convinced him, Isabel doubled down. "Never, baby."

"Don't," he bit out through clenched teeth. "Don't call me that." Too much had transpired for him to tolerate words like that out of her . Sweetie. Pet names were just another lie when she said them.

Her eyes flashed angrily. "'Don't call me that'?" she echoed, her glare cruel, almost hostile as she looked first at him, then towards the door. "Oh. I see. It's because you've got her now, isn't it? Your hot little Boot?"

"Don't bring her into this."

"Why not?" Her tone was scornful as she revealed, "I know it's her. The one who made your timer go off? I know it's Chen."

Tim sighed. "How did you know?"

Isabel's anger quickly faded, becoming grief in a blink. She practically withered while he watched. "You're not even going to try to deny it?"

"I'm not the one in this marriage who lies."

His response made her wince. A pause followed it before she asked in a stammered whisper, "Chen said it's still me you want. Is that the truth?"

It made sense that Lucy would assume that, although Tim couldn't imagine she would have brought it up on her own. Most likely, it was an answer Isabel had dragged out of her during the booking process, with neither of them having any reason to think otherwise. Hadn't he shot Chen down from the start, citing his marriage one of several reasons why? And hadn't he acted the part of dutiful husband as he desperately tried to connect with Isabel, working against her own willpower in countless floundering attempts to get her clean? Unfortunately, neither woman had the full truth, just pieces. He did not want to see her hurt. He did not want to see her harmed. That was not the same as wanting her, but Tim was not so cruel as to say that her face. He only replied, "Why do you ask?"

"I need your help. They're going to get a warrant to search my apartment."

"What will they find?" She hesitated, her face turning red with embarrassment as she looked away. "Isabel? What will they find?"

"Carson stashes product in my apartment sometimes," she confessed at last, "in the heating unit."

Fuck. Was she really that far gone?

"I won't be able to plea out of this." Isabel lunged for him then, her fingers winding into the fabric of his uniform as she clung to him tightly. "If I go to jail, they'll find out I was a cop. I'll be dead. Baby, please. I need you. Please. I promise it'll be different if you do."

He knew better than to trust her promises. Knew better than to be swayed by her begging, by the way her pale hands gripped him urgently. He never would have guessed it would come to this. He never would have expected her to drag him down this fucking far.

But if he didn't help her, who would?

You're all I got, and that's enough for me.

Quietly, so quietly it was barely audible to his own ears, Tim asked, "What do you need me to do?"

A/N: Hey everyone! I've decided to go back to scheduled updates. I've realized I work better with a hard deadline. That said, I'll be posting every other Friday around 9am EST, so expect the next update the morning of 2/18. Thanks so much for your patience while I figure everything out this time around! :)