He should've kept his mouth shut. Never the most vocal to begin with, for once, Tim had stumbled upon the rare moment where he definitely could (and should) have said less. Angela did not require much reason or prodding to get nosy, and simply acknowledging that something had occurred was enough to make her curious. She probed him and poked at him, but Tim immediately clammed up, attributing his statement to misspeaking. It was a lie and they both knew it, and it was really fucking lucky that she did not press him over it. There was only so much he could definitively share on what changed; just a few minutes from the event himself, Tim still barely understood it and had not yet had the benefit of time to get scope on the situation.

Fortunately, Lopez's questions, while enthusiastic, were easily derailed once he again directed the conversation toward her newly-discovered lawyer soulmate. She was then only too happy to reveal all she'd gleaned from their spontaneous evening out while Tim listened with half an ear. He interjected when appropriate and responded when she asked a question, but the majority of his mind was otherwise occupied. Thoughts of that evening -of Lucy- filled every vacant space. His hands on her hips, her curves giving slightly as his grip tightened. Her eyes widening as she looked up into his, expression both expectant and hesitant…

… And the word Cam leaving her mouth, bringing him back to reality with a crash.

She'd changed everything again, hadn't she? Disrupted the finely tuned mechanics of his home life, upending the not-comfortable-but-familiarsilence with a smile and kind gesture, ignorant to the long-lasting effect of either.

His dinner got cold on the kitchen counter and still, Tim had no appetite. With just a single touch, his stomach had been left in knots. The sensation did not fade for the remainder of the night, the roiling persisting clear through to the next morning when he saw her first in the roll call. Lucy did not notice how he stared (pure inattention on her part as he wasn't exactly secretive about it), and again he felt gnawing, nervous unease as he remembered the way she'd felt warm beneath his hands. A delicate flush had slowly swept over her face and neck, and her soft breasts yielded when his fingers pressed into her skin, holding her firmly against his chest. At the mere fucking memory, he sensed a rush of heat sink into the center of his body, pooling in his groin with an ache.

Dammit, Tim thought, fingers clenching into white-knuckled fists beneath the table as he leaned back in his chair. How the fuck was he supposed to work like this? He wasn't sure, and later felt a combination of confusion and relief when Lucy did not bring up the events of the night before. He perceived in her a notable shift, though; she stood (and later in the shop, sat) at rigid, almost awkward attention. She said next to nothing, but her lips stayed pressed together in a constant purse like she was biting down on the inner corner of her mouth. He was left to guess at her feelings and concluded she was experiencing either embarrassment or regret. Hell, it very well could've been both.

Following that first, tense day with her stiff posture and even stiffer demeanor, the awkwardness faded, although that may have been more through her effort than his. Lucy seemed content to leave the moment (whatever it was) in the past, and it was an instance where Tim gladly took her cues and followed her lead. Soon several days went by without mention of it, and they resumed their working relationship without further hiccups. Through sheer force he suppressed the feeling of her body underneath his palms, successfully holding the memory at bay until almost two weeks later during dinner with Angela.

It was a day that began with Angela announcing she wanted him to meet her soulmate. It was important to her that her boyfriend met her best friend. She had planned dinner at her house that night and relayed in a serious tone that she expected him to arrive no later than 8 o'clock, sharp. He was tempted to give her a hard time for assuming he had a free evening, but Tim caught an edge to her announcement. Angela was noticeably, visibly nervous about the event, so he said nothing except, "I'll be there."

Out of the guests, Tim was the last to arrive, walking into Angela's home and being immediately introduced to his friend's soulmate. Wesley Evers was around his age; maybe a little younger, he thought at second glance, but not by much. He was a few inches shorter than Tim himself and wore a practiced smile that had probably charmed a judge or two. After Lopez settled both men on the couch with two bottles of Dos Equis, he attempted conversation, asking Wesley, "You a Rams fan?"

Wesley answered, "I don't watch much football."

"Lakers?"

"That's basketball, right?"

"… Dodgers?"

Finally, Wesley smiled that courtroom smile and nodded once. "Yeah. Dodgers."

"Nice," Tim replied, and that was that. With something like common ground established, they moved on with the evening. The chatter between the two men was pleasant, if not a little guarded, and what awkward pauses arose were easily glossed over by Lopez's presence. Only when Wesley asked whether Tim's soulmate was joining them did the conversation come to a grinding halt.

"My… what?" Tim asked.

"Your… soulmate?" Wesley cast a glance at Angela, who smirked sheepishly.

"So, I may have mentioned Lucy…" her halting explanation was interrupted by a sigh from Tim that bordered on a groan. "What? I was talking about you and it just came out, okay?" She looked to the man on her left and patted his knee. "It's just the three of us tonight."

"Sorry," Wesley said to Tim, then asked, "I take it you're not on good terms?"

"I didn't say that." He did not elaborate beyond that, and once again was left questioning what could he safely reveal about Lucy. Tim knew Angela would jump on even the smallest indication of affection, and no offense to Wesley, but he still barely knew the guy. He hardly felt comfortable sharing anything much deeper than his thoughts about the Dodgers perennial front office issues. Peeling back layers, especially the delicate, particular ones surrounding Lucy, felt strange at their first-ever meeting. Besides, the promise he'd made to Captain Andersen was never far from his mind, especially lately.

It won't be a problem, ma'am.

It was a single, short memory that was quickly followed by another. As if to mock him, memories of that night at his house sprang to the surface of his mind in a snap, cresting over his conversation with Andersen in a wave-like rush. First, it was Lucy's laugh and smile, then her arms and her body. Each -all- were hazy at first but became clearer in an instant. It was like the memory itself had been brewing beneath the surface, just waiting for the right moment to pounce. Her curves were soft and hot as he remembered them, her pink lips parting with every anxious breath. Had Lucy's eyes darted to his mouth, or was that something his brain had added after the fact, clouding truth with wishful thinking; with hope?

With want?

Then just like a wave, the memory receded. Only a second or two had passed, and Lopez and Wesley were none the wiser.

It won't be a problem, ma'am. So he had said, and so far, it hadn't been. Tim unconsciously clutched his beer tighter before downing the remaining third in a single gulp.

So far.

Tim had worked on a few details like this throughout his career. Political visits were a somewhat common occurrence in LA. Common, yeah, but always inconvenient, and unfortunately a natural consequence of being in a city as densely populated and culturally significant as theirs. Alongside the regularly scheduled patrol, additional officers were called up to be on deck for crowd management. He and Lucy, as well as the other TO units, were included in the additional officers assigned for the day. Tim expected to hear some complaint from his boot over the lost rest day, but she had appeared thrilled at the prospect of overtime, and he learned why when he overheard her revealing her plan for the extra pay to West. Her car's AC was on the fritz again, she said, and although he was not the one she was addressing, Tim interjected.

"Air conditioning makes you soft," he said. "You gotta get comfortable with being uncomfortable. That's the job."

She didn't even turn to look at him before replying in a tone that teased but didn't wound, "Believe me, sir. I know something about being uncomfortable on the job."

The units were spread out across several assignments handed down by the Secret Service. West and Lopez were sent to speak to a set of tenants who had banded together to hang a vulgar sign of protest in their apartment windows, and Bishop and Nolan were held back for a special assignment. Along with a handful of other units, Tim and Lucy were given the job of clearing a small homeless encampment out of the path of the Vice President's convoy. He grumbled under his breath upon receiving the task, but orders were orders, and they departed the station a few minutes later.

They arrived at the scene to find a cluster of tents and several dozen unhoused citizens clogging the sidewalk. As the most senior officer present, Tim was the one to disseminate the order, overseeing as the other officers roused those who were sleeping and began helping them pack. It was the sound of a fight that caught his attention after the first few minutes had passed easily and without incident. Two of the women had come to blows, arguing over a belonging he could not identify from a distance. Being the nearest officer, Lucy intervened, and Tim had just opened his mouth to warn her to be careful when she got caught in the cross of a hit that sent her stumbling backward. He rushed toward the scuffle and had his hands on one of the women just as Lucy got the other to her feet and clapped handcuffs around her wrists.

Then he saw the needle, and horror made his voice feel and sound hollow.

"Lucy," he said, a quiet but firm warning. "Don't move."

She listened. Thank God, she actually fucking listened. Although she remained still, her eyes followed his gaze, trailing slowly downward until she, like he had, saw the needle protruding from her stomach. He watched as she turned pale, fear briefly settling over every last one of her features before going blank. Numb.

"Lucy," Tim said again. When she was silent, he repeated anxiously, "Lucy?"

Her initial response was muted; impossibly small, almost apologetic as she whispered, "I didn't see it."

"It's okay," Tim replied, projecting the illusion of calm as his heart began to race. "But I'm going to need to pull the needle out. Stay still." Within seconds, he was gloved and kneeling in front of her, pausing to examine the entrance point in order to determine the best way to remove the needle. The last thing he wanted was to potentially cause more trauma, even if the point was thin and narrow. It appeared to have gone straight in, not at an angle, and with any luck had not bent, curved, or broken as she fell on it; the chamber -a dirty, dingy brown- stuck out parallel to the ground. For a moment Tim felt a flicker of hope, thinking perhaps the tip had been stopped by the bulky wool fabric of her uniform. Then, he grasped the barrel between his thumb and forefinger and gently pulled.

Lucy's sharp inhale was confirmation of his worst fears. That, and the presence of blood on the pointed tip.

"Shit."

Tim knew the statistics of blood-borne illnesses. Understood, maybe better than most, the danger a hypodermic needle posed. When it became clear that Isabel was using intravenously, he had made the choice to submit himself for testing. Waiting for the results had been tense and terrifying. It had been nightmarish, and shame prevented him from seeking support from any of his friends. He'd been dizzy with gratitude when, after a waiting period that felt like eternity, his results came back with no signs of illness.

Kneeling in front of Lucy —knowing what he knew, and seeing her blood on the edge of a filthy sharp—was a fresh version of that same terror. He turned to look up at her, her face clear in his vision for only a second before it blurred. As she was now, she was full of vitality, healthy, and strong. He struggled to imagine her otherwise, even if his cruel fucking brain was more than happy to lead him down a nightmare path of horrifying outcomes in only the second or two where he continued to crouch in front of her.

A tiny pinprick. That had been all, and in a worst-case scenario, it wouldn't take more than that… but now that he was certain she'd been exposed, Tim knew he could not to let any of his concerns show. He buried every worry and every last fear, willing each away as he stood to his full height and spoke.

"What's the procedure when an officer is exposed on duty?" Tim asked. She did not answer quickly, so he urged, "Focus. What do we need to do now?"

Her lips trembled a little as she spoke. "Collect the evidence. Bring the officer and item to the nearest hospital to test for infection and diseases that may have been transmitted." Her response was thorough but distant, like she was reading directly from the handbook.

The nearest hospital -Shaw Memorial- was roughly two miles away, but thanks to the traffic tangle that the VP and his entourage had caused throughout the city, it took nearly twenty minutes to get there. A handful of times, Tim was tempted to flick on the sirens and lights, but as it wasn't an emergency in the truest sense, he refrained. Finally, after much tense maneuvering, they made it to the hospital. He waited until Lucy was settled in a triage room before announcing that he was going to go let Sergeant Grey know where they were.

"Will that take us off the clock?" she wondered.

"Well, we aren't working, so…"

Lucy nodded her head once. "Yeah. Yeah, no. You're right," she replied, but looked weary as she said it.

Tim knew why she mentioned it. Hadn't he just overheard this morning that she was counting on the extra pay today to fix that dinky little RC vehicle she called a car? He understood, but his pity couldn't override protocol; his hands were tied in that regard. Tim drummed his thumb against the doorknob as he looked at her, thinking how he could help. Fixing the car himself was well outside his area of expertise, but that didn't mean he was entirely without options. He thought of his neighbor Dennis, who had worked in the LAPD's motor pool for years before retiring. He'd helped Tim out with his truck on a few occasions, charging a modest fee. It would be less expensive by far than taking it to a shop, and given that her ability to fix the car hinged on that overtime pay, would likely be an easy enough cost for him to handle himself, for her sake.

"I'll be right back," he said, then excused himself to the hallway.

His first call was to Sergeant Grey. By then, another unit that had been on-site with them had already checked in. Grey was understanding of their predicament, asking of Lucy, "Is Chen holding up okay?"

"Yes, sir. Chen is tough," Tim replied, practically automatically.

"And you? You're holding up?"

"I'm not the one who fell on a needle, sir."

"Still."

Honestly? "… I'll feel better once I know what she's facing."

"Yeah. I get that." There was the sound of a deep breath before Grey continued. "Well. Keep us posted. Don't worry about rushing back. You just make sure she's taken care of, okay, Bradford?"

"Yes, sir," Tim replied. After the call ended, he dialed another number. Two rings, then Dennis answered. After a polite greeting, Tim made his request and explained the situation to the best of his ability. His rookie drove an older car. A Datsun, if he remembered correctly, and the air conditioning had failed. With warmer weather not too far away, she was looking to get it fixed fast. "Can you do me a solid?" Tim asked, and for a moment, Dennis did not reply.

When he did respond, it was preceded by a low chuckle. "This wouldn't happen to be the same boot that's your soulmate, now would it?"

Well, points to Dennis for remembering a fact that had only been mentioned once in his presence. "Yes, Den. It's… she's… well, they're one and the same."

"Does this mean Franny and I get to meet her?"

"Eh…" Tim hedged, pausing to consider it. Visions of Francesca firing off a dozen excited questions in as many seconds filled his head, with Lucy helpless and mute, unable to get a word in edgewise throughout the barrage. "You can. I'd rather not overwhelm her." Then he asked, "Does this mean you'll help?"

Another laugh rumbled through the phone, this one lighter. "I'll certainly try," Dennis agreed.

With both work and her car handled, Tim returned to Lucy's room. Shortly after, the phlebotomist entered, pushing a small cart. She greeted both him and Lucy with a curt nod, saying "Officers," before focusing her attention on Lucy. He tried not to hover as the phlebotomist got to work, standing an arm's length away until the blood draw was finished and the woman wheeled the cart out of the room. Only then did he take a step closer.

"Are you okay?" Lucy asked, and the question took him by surprise.

"You're… asking me?"

"I guess I am."

"… Not the way I thought the day would go," he replied. "How are you feeling?"

Her smile was forced and joyless as she answered glibly, "Gotta get uncomfortable being uncomfortable, right?"

It bothered Tim to hear his words used like that; he wouldn't begrudge her her coping mechanisms, but he saw this response for what it was: a mask. A shield. He knew she was afraid. So was he, for the record, but he was loath to let her feel like she had to hide her fears for anyone's sake, least of all his. "You don't have to do that with me."

"Do what?"

"Pretend."

That one word -itself a complete sentence- was all it took. Instantly, her eyes welled with tears, and two rolled down her cheeks as Lucy confessed, "I'm really scared." Then she swung her legs over the side of the bed and leaned forward into her hands, pressing her palms against her eyes.

Tim moved on instinct to console her, closing the space between them in moments. The last time he touched her, it had been heated. Loaded. It had also been an accident. This was intentional and weighty for different reasons. For one thing, the stakes were much higher; a playful fight over a photograph could not compare to what she (what they) faced now. The desire to embrace her -to wrap her in his arms again and hold on tight, motivated by nothing else but a duty of care- was strong. Even so, Tim feared coming off opportunistic when his only goal was to comfort. What might she mistake his tenderness for if he showed it now, in a low moment?

He placed his hands on her shoulders and hoped that simple touch was reassurance enough.

"It's going to be okay, Lucy," he whispered, and it was less the truth than his most desperate wish.

"What if it isn't?"

"If it isn't, then…" Tim hesitated. He didn't want to think like that. Like when he'd awaited his own results, he couldn't let himself fall down the hole of "what ifs". There was only despair there, and he knew the best thing was to not borrow worry when facing uncertainties… but, for her benefit, he answered, "If it isn't, we'll deal with it. No matter what. Okay?" He hoped she understood that the we in his sentence was a promise. Whatever the tests came back with, she would not have to face it alone.

She nodded before replying, "Okay."

After a moment, Tim lowered his hands, encouraging her to stand and splash some water on her face. Getting back to work would help keep both their minds off the pending results. As for what less overtime meant for her air conditioning, "I hope you don't mind," he offered awkwardly, "but after I called Sergeant Grey, I reached out to a buddy of mine. He's done work on my truck before. Said he can take care of your AC for cheap." Shock registered on Lucy's face as he shrugged. "Maybe the lost OT won't mean you can't get it fixed."

"You did that for me?"

"You seem surprised."

Her smile was watery but genuine as she replied, "Not surprised, just… yeah, okay. Surprised works."

"Tim, I need you."

There were very few sentences that could send him running at once. That one, spoken by Lucy, her anxiety crystal clear over the radio, had him booking it the second it came through. He located her quickly, finding her in a hospital room with her taser drawn. In her sights was a crying woman who held a needle against the neck of the comatose man who lay in the bed. Her brother, the woman said, explaining that life in a vegetative state wasn't what he wanted, and she intended to put him out of his misery. Tim drew his weapon and called out the door for nurses, warning them to prepare for a gunshot victim. His order made Lucy visibly bristle as she doubled her efforts to make the sister drop the needle, but every attempt at coercing her down failed. The second the tip entered his skin, Lucy fired her taser. The woman began convulsing and fell to the ground. While nurses swarmed to attend to her, Lucy went to the man in the bed.

"Did she push the plunger?" Tim asked, holding his breath until she shook her head. He sighed with relief as returned his gun to its holster, smiling slightly as he noted, "I can't leave you alone for a minute."

The grieving woman's attempt on her brother's life thwarted his plan to get back to work. Both he and Lucy had sympathy for her situation, but they were beholden to the law. Once she regained consciousness, Tim helped her to her feet and placed her under arrest. Lucy offered to accompany him to help with processing, but he declined.

"You stay here and wait for your results," he replied. "Call me if you need me, okay?"

Lucy nodded. "Okay."

His eyes narrowed as he added, "I'm serious. I don't want to hear from West or, God forbid, Nolan that you're in the ICU or something."

She fought a smirk at his statement. "If I need anyone," Lucy promised, "you'll be the first one I call."

"What happened? You said you'd call me." Tim tried to sound less worried than he felt, but that was no easy feat. Lucy had not been in the waiting room when he returned to the hospital, and after a few minutes of searching, he'd been left with no choice but to check in with an employee at the front desk. They informed him she'd been admitted but could not say why, only providing a room number. He had entered without knocking and found her upright in bed. She'd removed her uniform and now wore a blue and white, polka-dotted hospital gown. A nurse was affixing a needle to the top of her left hand.

The look she gave him before answering bordered on amused. "Yeah, if I needed you," she said. "Unless you can insert an IV, I think this is outside of your area of expertise." There was a lightness to her tone, something closer to teasing. The undercurrent of fear from earlier had evaporated. "It's just a staph infection. I should be okay."

"Should be?"

"I have to stay the night for observation."

To the nurse, he asked, "Is that standard?"

The nurse nodded, explaining, "It is for dirty needles, but she should only need to stay until sometime tomorrow." Then, after taping the IV in place, she left the room.

Once they were alone, Tim dragged a chair to Lucy's bedside, taking the space to her left. "I hate hospitals," he mumbled, more to himself than to her.

"I think everyone hates hospitals," she replied, adding, "but it does feel like we've seen a lot of them lately." A pensive look flickered over her face then, leaving Tim to wonder what she was thinking of. The day he'd been shot? The night they'd spent by Isabel's bed? He supposed there were multiple instances to choose from, and he hated that he couldn't tell by looking at her to which she was referring.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

Her gaze fell to the IV in her hand. "Well, I think I'm over needles for the day…" she looked up and met his eyes, "but my bloodwork came back clear of HIV and hepatitis, so all in all, I'm relieved."

Tim released a breath. Okay. So this was all, then. Just a staph infection was really just a staph infection. Still not ideal (ideal would have been avoiding this whole fucking thing) but not terrible, and well beneath the worst that could have happened. If her blood tests had only shown a staph infection, then she'd made it out relatively whole. He would take the win where he could get it.

"Yeah, That's…" he sighed in relief, "that's good."

Lucy smiled."I know you were worried."

"Of course I was worried."

"Yeah, but you didn't act it."

"So?"

"So?" Again, that smile, and those eyes that saw clear the fuck through him. "You don't have to do that with me. You know, pretend? Lie?"

"It wouldn't have done you any good for both of us to be scared. Someone had to stay calm."

"And that someone is you?"

"… Usually." It wasn't a new trait of his, trying to keep a cool head when the rest seemed to lose theirs; a carryover, not from the force, and not even from the military. He had been holding it together like that since he was a child, Be brave, Tim and Man up, son dual orders that informed his reactions any time difficulty arose. It spoke volumes of Lucy's attentiveness and understanding that she had picked up on it with ease. It revealed how well she knew him already that she was the first to see through his act.

Their conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door. Tim expected the nurse to have returned. The nurse, or maybe the doctor. It was close to dinner time, so there was a chance that it was meal services, too. To his surprise (and Lucy's as well if the way she bolted upright was any indication), the door opened to reveal a tall man with dark hair and brown eyes.

"Hey," she breathed, and the person Tim had only heard tell of -the handsome one he'd only seen in pictures, the owner of the single-syllable name that ignited a very particular kind of envy in his gut every time he heard it- held Lucy in his gaze.

Quietly, almost tenderly, Cam answered, "Hey, babe."