Alive, but barely.

Those were the words Bishop had said when Tim and Lopez arrived on the scene; a sentence that echoed in his brain with the reverb of a gunshot during the ambulance ride to the hospital. Words that came through, crisp and clear like they were freshly spoken, later as he stood at the foot of Isabel's hospital bed.

The room was dim when he entered. The air, just a little too cold. It was a thick darkness that not even the city lights outside the window seemed to rupture. A single bulb glowed above Isabel's bed, but it offered very little light, only serving to cast a shadow over her face that made every one of her bruises seem deeper, every bone more pronounced. In the poor light, it looked like a tangle of wires had sprouted out from her body. There was a tube in her nose and another in her mouth. Her slender chest rose and fell slowly while a machine at her side fed her oxygen, and as Tim walked towards the head of the bed, he reached for Isabel's hand. They'd had trouble finding a good vein, the ER doctor had warned him. Her pulse had been weak when they brought her in. Even good veins would have had trouble cooperating, he'd claimed, and hers were compromised by frequent intravenous drug use. The veins in her forearm were at the point of collapse; so too were the ones in her left hand. They managed to place an IV successfully in her right, so it was her left hand that Tim reached for, running his thumb gently across her bare ring finger. The heart monitor ruptured the silence every few seconds with its shrill rhythm, tracking her pulse and alerting for anomalies. At a glance, the sound was the only proof that she still lived. She was so still. So quiet, and cold to the touch.

The op had gone wrong from the start. Isabel was nervous, and the dealer -a man named Vance- was instantly suspicious. It took no time at all for him to make Isabel as a CI, and by the time the rescue detail had breached the door, Vance and his crew had vanished, taking Isabel with them. A single gunshot to the head, then they left her in the dumpster, discarding her unceremoniously and leaving her for dead. They would've succeeded if Wolfe and Vestri hadn't been relentless in their attempts to find her, more aggressive in their search than they had been in their efforts to keep her safe.

Alive, but barely. Even with her wound bandaged, even with the proof of her heartbeat ringing in his ears, Isabel looked a breath away from death.

Lopez had accompanied Tim to the hospital, following behind the ambulance that brought Isabel into the ER. Her ever-present hand between his shoulder blades had grounded him in the time that followed her transport, minutes that ticked by slowly with no updates until finally the attending physician approached and declared Isabel to be in stable but serious condition. An operation to remove the remains of the bullet and repair the damage had been tentatively scheduled to begin in the morning of the following day. If she made it through the night, he had said, she stood a chance, but it did not escape Tim's notice how heavily the doctor had leaned on the word if. Following his update, Lopez asked if they could see her, and she remained by Tim's side as they followed the doctor to the intensive care unit on the fifth floor.

Angela, good friend that she was, just wanted to support him. It wasn't her fault that Tim was making it impossible by failing to communicate a single need. She tried to console him first by hinting that justice might be forthcoming. Wolfe and Vestri had gone back to the station and leaned on Carson, she revealed as they sat on the bench a few feet away from Isabel's bed. He had some useful intel, she said, and an op was being planned for the next day. When this did not elicit a response from him, Lopez tried a different tack, asking if there was anyone he wanted her to call. Tim said nothing, shaking his head wordlessly. She pressed it, but still he gave no reply.

"Not even Chen?" she ventured cautiously. "Lucy would want to know, Bradford. She cares about you."

Once again, Tim shook his head. Against her will, Lucy had had her hands in his and Isabel's issues basically since the day they met. By refusing her presence, Tim was offering the only grace in his power to extend; he would not involve her further. Besides, if Lucy had wanted to be included, he was sure she would have asked by now. Since she hadn't… well, how was he supposed to take that as anything except a boundary? No, after all she had done for him and for Isabel, Tim couldn't in good conscience call on her now, and he couldn't say why to Lopez. He couldn't reveal how he'd disappointed Lucy, how he'd let her down by even contemplating helping Isabel (nor could he express his horror at where not helping Isabel had led, given how tied the two instances were). He couldn't explain the slow-burning anger that he'd sensed from Lucy throughout the days after Isabel's arrest, how long lasting it was, and how deserved. Separately but just as significantly, he couldn't tell Lopez how he'd finally come around to soulmates being real, that he knew with certainty that Lucy was his. That he didn't deserve her. No, there was too much to say, and none of it appropriate. Not when they were sitting five feet away from his wife's deathbed.

Lopez again opened her mouth to speak, falling silent when the phone in her palm buzzed. "Shit," she said, glancing at the screen. "I'll be right back." She answered, but all he heard her say before the door closed behind her was, "It's okay. Is everything all right?"

Left alone, Tim leaned forward, pressing his palms against his eyes as tears began to well, burning in the corners. He heard his father's voice in his head, scolding him over crying, and that was the trigger that opened the floodgates. He recalled the sensation of his mother's hands under his, cold and frail at the end of her life. A gold bland slipping onto Isabel's finger. A cacophony of memories had been released, and he struggled to remain upright as he was buffeted by the surge.

Man up, son.

You can be brave, Tim.

Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?

Baby, please. I need you. Please. I promise it'll be different if you do.

"Tim?"

One voice silenced all the others, and she didn't speak so much as breathed his name, a single syllable that overwhelmed him.

He looked up to see Lucy standing in the doorway. Her brow was creased with concern, her eyes widened and glassy as she gazed at him from the entrance. Tim could tell by her clothing that she'd rushed to get here; her t-shirt was baggy on her frame, the sweatshirt over it hung off her body, sleeves loose and long all the way down to her fingertips. The clothing was borrowed, no doubt. Her hair hung freely past her shoulders, a little mussed, clearly uncombed. A sight for sore eyes, so the cliche went, but that did not capture all her sudden appearance meant to him. Only when she was there in front of him did Tim realize how much he'd wanted her to be there; how much he'd craved her presence, finding it instantly soothing just to be held in her gaze. Then, he remembered how true that was of their first meeting, of the very first time he'd laid eyes on Lucy. She, the one he hadn't thought to miss let alone need, showed when he needed her most. When he deserved her the least, and on the heels of that revelation came another, so sudden and strong that Tim did not have the chance or wherewithal to dismiss it as wrong in the moment.

He could love her. Not that he did already, or that he would for certain, but that he could, and without much effort on his part. Loving Lucy, Tim knew without quite understanding why, would happen easily. As easily as falling asleep, as breathing. Loving her, if ever he did, would come like second nature. An instinct. A reflex. If she continued to show up for him… if she continued to lend Tim her strength when he was weak, to put aside her justified anger in order to comfort him?

Who on earth would be strong enough to fight a love like that? A love that was simple and also ran deep? Not him, that was for fucking sure.

"Hey," Tim whispered, and that single word of acknowledgment was enough to make her move.

Lucy walked quickly; not quite at a run, but close to it, until the gap between them was gone. She stood in front of him, her eyes remaining trained on his face as Tim rose to his feet. Her stare searched his face silently, earnestly as he thumbed away the few strays tears that had slipped down his cheeks. She was close enough that he felt the warmth that radiated off her body, could smell the faded scent of perfume that still lingered on her skin. For a moment, he was tempted to embrace her in a combination of gratitude and seeking connection, but seeing her hands remained firmly at her sides, so did his.

"How did you know?" he asked.

"Angela called me," she replied, a little sheepish as she added, "She and Talia watched out for you while I took care of Nolan."

Well, no wonder Lopez had brought Lucy up in conversation; obviously she'd mentioned his soulmate because she was already on her way. The second half of her explanation caught his attention then, and despite how overcome by emotions he'd been already, Tim somehow found the space on top of everything else to feel a little fucking envious.

Lucy had been with Nolan. Had been taking care of Nolan, whatever the hell that meant. It explained the poorly fitted t-shirt, the hoodie that was too large for her body. She was wearing Nolan's clothes, and although Tim wouldn't go so far as to assume something unseemly had occurred (she had a boyfriend, after all), jealousy over their closeness set his teeth on edge. Through a small, tense smile, he replied, "I guess expecting Lopez to mind her business is too big an ask," and his envy made the answer sharp.

"Would you have called if it was left up to you?"

"I wasn't sure you'd want to know."

He hadn't meant to sound dismissive, but intentional or not, that was how it landed. Hurt registered on Lucy's face, her lips thinning as she bit down on them before her eyes narrowed in a wince. The expression was subtle, lasting only for a second, and unless he'd taken great care to hold her gaze in his own, Tim probably wouldn't have noticed it at all. She shook the reaction off quickly, saying to him, "I'm glad she called," and managing to sound sincere despite his insult. Then, she motioned towards the bench behind him. Tim took his seat, and Lucy occupied the space to his right. "Is there anything I can do?" she asked.

"No."

"Do you want to go rest?" she offered. "I've slept a little tonight. I can stay here with Isabel if you want to go home."

"Not tired."

A pause followed, then she asked in a voice that bordered on timid, "Do you want me to leave?"

Did he? He knew he should. Tim knew he should have wanted her to leave. As a married man, it was wrong of him to take comfort in her presence. As her superior, the onus was on him to hold the line. Hell, all of this was wrong on multiple levels, but there was no denying that, as her soulmate, he wanted her there. Maybe he even needed her there. As selfish and terrible as that made him feel, having Lucy at his side.. well, it wasn't magical. It didn't heal, it didn't undo the harm. It didn't fix a damn thing, but it soothed. It calmed. Having Lucy here was a lone bright light in a dark valley.

"No," he answered. "No, stay. Please."

After that they sat in silence, and between the consistent rhythm of Isabel's heart monitor and the steady, soothing presence at his side, Tim soon found himself dozing off. Despite insisting that he was not tired, the events of the night -the stress, the panic, the graveness of Isabel's injury followed quickly by the high of seeing Lucy- all caught up to him. Fatigued, he meant to only close his eyes for a second, and startled awake to find himself being gently jostled as a pair of careful hands eased him backward towards a soft landing.

"Lucy," he muttered sleepily, and his eyes opened long enough to see her face above him. Her hair brushed against his cheek, an unexpected but welcome caress.

"Shhh," she hushed, the hint of a reassuring smile pulling at the corner of her lips. "It's okay. Go to sleep, Tim."

His sleep was not as troubled as it might have been, blissfully dreamless and without disruption until the morning. Tim awoke to the sensation of Lucy's hand on his shoulder, to the sound of his name on her lips. When his eyes opened, she was once more above him, just as she'd been before. In the light of the early morning, Tim could see that the long night had made her weary.

Weary, but no less beautiful.

Isabel's boyfriend had given Wolfe and Vestri half of an address and a name. Cesiah Olivo, Vance's girlfriend, had an apartment in the Bronson Estates. He had no details beyond that, no clue which apartment specifically, hell he couldn't even give them a floor number. Their team was left with no other option but to go door to door. Not ideal by any stretch, so Tim decided to prepare for battle. When Chen went to get the gear, he told her to ask for the Bradford special. As he showed her how to fortify her vest with a trauma plate, she eyed him warily.

"This part of the 'special'?"

"Just a little added protection," Tim replied. He'd almost lost one woman he cared about to a gunshot. He wasn't about to risk another.

The apartments covered three stories, so it made sense to split up in teams of three. Lopez and West took one floor, Tim and Lucy another, leaving Bishop to cover one level by herself. The operation had a singular goal; find the girlfriend, and use her as the key to getting Vance on the property. From there, they would corner and arrest him. On paper it was simple. In actuality? Anything but. No one had counted on Vance having eyes on the place (although, Tim thought after the fact, the detectives should have figured that the fuck out before they sent officers in to be sabotaged). No one had guessed Vance would scramble the radios, making contact between units impossible, and none of their intel had informed them that Vance's girlfriend was heavily pregnant, several days past due.

Tim and Lucy were the ones that found his girlfriend's apartment, sheerly by chance. Cesiah was young, looked to be in her early twenties, and as she and Lucy spoke, Tim kept watch. Before long, Vance and his cronies arrived. Words were exchanged, a whole lot of talk with neither side giving an inch. While Tim could've used his boot's help in fortifying the door, Lucy was busy; Cesiah's water had broken.

What followed was a fucked up tightrope walk of protecting Cesiah (and themselves) while also giving both her and her unborn child the emergency care they needed. Thank goodness Lucy was there and kept a cool head, allowing Tim to focus on maintaining their safety. The stress of the situation made Cesiah's labor progress rapidly, and gunshots in the distance had all three of them on edge.

Then suddenly there was the sound of a small, quiet cry; something sweet and precious and new in the middle of the insanity. Tim looked back just in time to see Lucy hand the bundled newborn to her mother.

"Good job, Boot," he said proudly, then returned his attention to watching the perimeter. One of the dealer's men had been standing guard outside the door, but in the time it took for Tim to look back at Lucy, he'd disappeared. "Shit," Tim mumbled, and not a full second later, a group of men barged into the living room from the back of the apartment, having somehow forced their way in. They spotted and beelined for the officers, two rushing Tim. Lucy, who had just discarded the gloves she'd worn during delivery, was fumbling for her weapon.

BANG

One shot, directly at her chest. Lucy was down. She landed with a thud in a sprawl, her eyes closed, and it was a second battle Tim fought. His priority in the moment was Cesiah and her child, the innocents in all of this, but half (too much) of his attention was on Lucy, willing her up as he fought against Vance's men. He landed blows blindly, wildly in an effort to get to her quicker, the whole time praying that the trauma plate held. He'd just managed to overtake one of the men when Lucy scrambled to her feet, quickly taking down the man who'd shot her. With both of them fighting, the men were overpowered. Rather than keep up the fight, Vance ran. Tim could have followed him. Hell, he probably should have (he was starting to acquire quite the collection of should haves, he thought). Instead, he stayed put as backup finally arrived and escorted the cuffed crew members out. The fight finished, Lucy's first action was to check on Cesiah, a decision that surprised him. She'd just been shot in the chest. Even though the plate had held, that would have hurt like shit. No one would blame her for pausing to catch her breath. Tim knew he sure as hell would have. There wasn't even a hitch in her step, not a moment of hesitation. Whatever injuries she had, Lucy paid them no mind. Her attention was not on her own needs, but another's. It wasn't the first time he'd seen her compassion in action, but something about this case in particular made it the most moving. Maybe it was the gentle and reassuring way she spoke to Cesiah, or how her hand glanced over the swaddle to help soothe the crying baby. Surrounding them was wreckage. The remnants and evidence of chaos were everywhere a person could look, but the picture the three of them made together, mother, child, and protector… it was something special. Something beautiful, and Lucy was maybe the loveliest part in all of it.

Tim cleared his throat and excused himself awkwardly. "Ambulance should be here by now. I'll lead them up."

He'd been given the go-ahead to clock out and head to the hospital, so after the scene was cleared and he dropped Lucy off at the station, Tim did just that. He'd received updates from the hospital via text message throughout Isabel's surgery, and as he took a seat in the ICU waiting room, his phone buzzed with a new alert. The surgery had gone smoothly, the message said, and the surgeons had begun the process of closing. Once the closing process had been completed, a doctor would be out to speak with him in person.

Tim's relief at this news was automatic, slumping in his seat as he let his head drop. Okay, he thought. She'd be okay.

It was another hour before the surgeon came out to speak with him. Isabel's prognosis was good. The damage had been repaired, although only time would tell whether or not she needed some degree of physical therapy; they'd know more when she woke up.

"Can I see her?" Tim asked.

"She's in recovery right now," the surgeon said. "Once she is moved into a room, a nurse will come to get you."

So, more waiting, then. He could handle that, now that he knew she pulled through. Tim thanked the surgeon and shook his hand, waiting until he'd left to pick up his phone and scroll through his contacts. He trusted Angela to spread the good news quickly.

Instead of greeting him upon answering, Lopez asked, "How is she?"

"She made it," he replied. "They think she might be okay. She's in recovery right now."

"That's such great news, Bradford. Want me to pass it on?"

"Yeah, sure," Tim said. "Bishop will probably want to know. Captain, Sarge…" he added last, " and could you tell Lucy, too?"

He heard the knowing smirk in Angela's voice as she replied, "Think Lucy already left for the day. Probably tired. She had quite the night last night."

Yeah, well, hadn't they all? Then he remembered how she had walked into Isabel's room wearing clothing that clearly belonged to Nolan, and that little twinge of envy flickered in his gut again. "Yeah. Guess I interrupted a get-together or something last night, didn't I?"

"Not exactly." Angela hesitated a second before saying, "Look. Don't freak out."

He tensed at her warning. "You better talk fast, then."

"There was a break-in at Nolan's place last night. The brother of the guy he shot. Chen was there."

"She was there?" He was floored. "She didn't say anything. Why? Why didn't she tell me?"

"She asked me and Bishop not to. Said you had enough on your plate." A beat followed, then Angela added quietly, "She was really worried about you, Tim."

Of course she was. He didn't need Lopez (or anyone, actually) to tell him that. It was obvious the second Lucy walked through the door. Even though he'd let her down, even though he'd disappointed and hurt her, she still made space in her heart to worry about him. She still had the capacity to give him compassion, to stay by his side, and to show concern for Isabel. Isabel, the woman who for years had occupied the space that the timers had promised would belong to Lucy alone.

… But to Angela, Tim mumbled, "Yeah, I know," and left it at that.

He kept his visit with Isabel brief. She was still groggy from a combination of anesthesia and painkillers. There would be plenty of time to talk later, he said when she first tried to speak. For the moment, it was enough to see her, but still she joked through a dry throat, "I didn't know rock bottom had a basement." He couldn't help but chuckle at at that. It was the first glimpse of the old Isabel he'd seen in ages.

By the time Tim left the hospital, the sun had set, and he was fucking spent. A surge of adrenaline and a few stolen hours of sleep could only go so far. He was looking forward to a quick dinner and an early bedtime, but froze beside his truck when movement a few feet away caught his eye.

She wasn't far away from him; even if she were, Tim would've recognized her by the sway of her hips, by the way she pulled his focus, becoming all he saw. "Lucy," he called, and he felt like a fucking teenager when a smile broke over her face as she walked towards him.

"Are you visiting Isabel?" she asked

He nodded. "Just did. Checking on Cesiah?"

"Yep." Her smile widened into a grin before announcing proudly, "Her and little Theresa Lucille."

So Lucy was a nickname, and her full first name was Lucille. He'd have to remember that for later. Tim teased, "Wow, a namesake. Big honor. Try not to let it go to your head."

"Oh, don't worry. I definitely will," Lucy answered with a laugh, then asked, "How is Isabel?"

"She pulled through surgery," he replied, and she exhaled with palpable relief at the information. "The doctors have high hopes she'll manage a normal life after this."

"That's great news," Lucy said, and though her smile began to fade, added, "I'm really, really happy for you, Tim."

"Yeah. Thanks."

Suddenly, a sound like pleading filled Lucy's voice. "I'm sorry about Isabel," Lucy started earnestly. "I'm so sorry. If I'd known that this would happen, I wouldn't have-"

He interrupted her immediately. "-Hey, shhh. Don't. Don't do that. What happened to Isabel isn't on you."

She gave a curt nod before saying quietly, "It's not on you either."

This he was less sure of. Isabel becoming a CI was a direct result of him leaving her no other choice. No, he hadn't put the drugs in her hands, hadn't put a needle in her veins, but Tim couldn't shake the feeling that he bore some responsibility. To Lucy, he said, "Yeah. I know."

She tilted her head slightly, pursing her lips before pressing him. "Do you?"

"Yes, Lucy. I do."

His insistence (weak as it was) satisfied her for the moment. "Okay. Good." Then, when no more was said, Lucy turned to go.

He only just stopped himself from reaching for her, allowing her to pass and walk a few feet farther before calling her name a second time. "Lucy. When were you going to tell me about the break-in at Nolan's?"

"… I'm guessing Lopez told you."

Tim snickered. "See? You can't trust her. She has it out for us."

"Seriously," she agreed, "but, to answer your question: eventually."

"Eventually?"

"You had enough going on with Isabel, and," she shrugged, eyes only just meeting his as she admitted, "I thought you were mad at me."

Now he was confused. "Wait, what? You thought I was mad at you?" Was that what had motivated her silence? Had he misinterpreted her cold shoulder entirely? "I thought you were mad at me."

"Me? That's ridiculous. Why would I be mad at you?"

"I don't know." She could take her pick of reasons. If she'd kept track, he'd probably amassed a list of shortcomings a mile long, with this catastrophe surrounding drugs and Isabel being the latest and the worst. "I guess I thought you felt like I let you down."

Her brows knit together, trying to make sense of his sentence. "You thought… I felt… like you let me down?"

Fuck. "I realize how dumb it sounds now."

"I didn't say that," she replied, clearly perplexed before saying, "I wish you would've talked to me sooner."

"Yeah, well. I wish you would've talked to me, too."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too," he replied. "And… thank you."

"For what?"

"For coming last night," Tim explained. "For staying. I didn't think… I wasn't expecting… I mean, you didn't have to do that."

She appreciated his gratitude. That, she made abundantly clear by the way she bounced a little on her feet at his stammered thanks. At that moment, Lucy was radiant, her face illuminated by the sunset at his back as she smiled up at him. Just for him. "I know I didn't," she replied blithely, "but I wanted to, sir."

A/N: Thank you for reading! Please review, it keeps me motivated!