He felt invisible.

Maybe invisible wasn't the right word… he felt like an observer. An outlier. A silent but by no means impartial witness to the scene that played out in front of him. After her whispered "hey", Lucy had said no more. Her stare remained fixed on her boyfriend, a wordless exchange in which Tim had no place. Cam, for his part, had paused in the doorway, coming no farther than a few feet into the room with the open door at his back.

Being stationary meant that Tim could appraise him better, and as the seconds passed he quietly compared this flesh and blood version to the one he'd seen in photographs. The other man had seemed tall in pictures. In real life, Tim guessed he cleared Cam by two inches, if not more, and couldn't help feeling really fucking smug over the fact as he stood to his feet and walked towards the doorway with one hand extended.

"You must be Lucy's boyfriend. I'm Tim, her TO." He was tempted to say her soulmate, but that felt like a brag, and an unnecessarily dramatic one at that. Besides, he bet Lucy's boyfriend knew who he was already.

Cam hesitated only a second before gripping Tim's hand firmly with his. He perceived a flex beneath his too-tight t-shirt, pecs and biceps rippling slightly as his clasp tightened around Tim's palm.

"Cam Wellings. I've heard a lot about you, Tim."

Somehow he managed to make that sound almost like an insult. Tim replied sharply, "That's weird. Lucy's normally so tight-lipped. I've heard almost nothing about you." No, that wasn't entirely true, but it was too late to take it back. Besides, he saw the other man's confidence (and muscles) literally deflate before his eyes, so he couldn't say he regretted it.

"Bradford."

There was a hint of warning in the way Lucy said his name. Tim turned, casting her a sidelong glance. "I'm starving," she continued. "Do you mind going to that diner and grabbing me a veggie burger? Extra pickles?"

"The one on Melrose?"

"Ew, really? No. The other one. The good one."

"You're going to make me drive thirty minutes for a veggie burger?" Her eyes pleaded, and he relented almost immediately.

"Fine," Tim replied, with a huff, then turned to Cam one more time before walking toward the door. "Uh, nice to meet you," he said with a curt, almost imperceptible nod. He wondered if her boyfriend could tell he didn't mean it all that much.

Tim glanced back briefly and only once as he walked out. The image he saw as the door closed was quick, a glimpse; a snapshot that stayed at the front of his mind's eye as he headed down the hospital corridor, eyes focused on the linoleum floor. He winced remembering the tenderness, the fucking fondness in Lucy's face when she saw Cam. Her boyfriend walked through the door and she lit up like a Christmas tree.

So… that was Cam Wellings. Tim didn't outright dislike the guy, but he couldn't say he was neutral on him either. At best, he wasn't thrilled with his arrival, and who would blame him for feeling just a little jealous? Once he joined them in the room, Tim became the outsider; Bradford, as Lucy called him, was reduced to the role of third wheel. As for Cam himself, whatever he felt for Lucy was so prevalent and strong, it filled two simple syllables -"hey, babe"- to the point of bursting with endearment. Even Tim, despite how much he would have liked to deny it, acknowledged there was affection there. He'd seen it with his own eyes, heard it with his own ears. Cam's greeting and the gaze that accompanied it had love all over and through it.

Love, Tim thought, the sudden sinking sensation in his heart leaving him briefly breathless. Of course, Cam loved Lucy, and he couldn't say he was surprised. Who in their right mind wouldn't love her? Who, once they experienced her kindness and compassion firsthand, after witnessing her intelligence and drive… hell, who, after simply seeing Lucy face to face, wouldn't fall hard and hopelessly fast?

He had no choice but to brace for the loving displays Cam's presence all but guaranteed, fortifying himself against cringing and cynicism in the hour or so it took him to pick up the burger and drive back to the hospital, only to find the hospital room dark when he returned. The lights had been turned off, and except for its main occupant, the room was empty. The chair remained at the bedside, but it was now vacant; Cam had left while he was out, and sometime after that, Lucy had fallen asleep. She lay on her side beneath a thin white hospital blanket. Her left arm was curled beneath her head, and the right laid across her body with her palm resting on the mattress. Her chest rose and fell according to her deep, easy breaths.

"Damn it, Lucy," Tim said with a chuckle before placing her dinner on the table beside her bed.

He was not mad to find her asleep, no matter the exasperation in his tone. After the day she'd had, she'd certainly earned her rest. If anything, he was relieved to see her face appeared peaceful while sleeping; she'd spent most of the afternoon with an understandably tense expression. Fortunately, no sign of that concern showed on her features now. Gone, too, was the tight style she wore on shift, the low bun that kept her long brown hair at the back of her neck during work. Now, most of her hair fanned out behind her. A few loose strands lay near her cheek, and Lucy's eyelashes fluttered slightly as a single lock across her lips was stirred by her breath.

His hand moved on its own, coasting through her hair as he brushed the strand back into place. Tim's body hummed as his fingertips skimmed the skin of her neck, a vibration like electricity running through his veins; it was a muted echo of that now-distant night when his arms first wrapped around her waist. On the day he met Lucy, he had thought her hair looked and probably felt like silk. It was a thought too easily dismissed at the time. Something he could (and did) write off as being the fault of sentimentality, adrenaline, or plain old stupidity. Now, as Tim's fingers coursed down the length of her waves, the strands glided against his skin.

Exactly as soft as he'd imagined.

The next day managed to be less fraught than the day before. Given that Lucy was still recovering, Tim was permitted to ride alone. That in and of itself felt like a break, although he noticed he didn't relish the silence in the shop as much as might once have. Midway through the morning, Dennis called. He had an evening free that night, he said, and would happily take a look at Lucy's car then if she was available. Tim agreed to check with her that afternoon (he had planned to reach out anyway, just to see how she was feeling), but not a full hour before he took lunch, he saw her across the bullpen.

She was making her way to the locker room, and at first concern overwhelmed every other one of his senses. She wore her uniform, but her hair was down like it had been the night before; surely she wasn't trying to work already, he thought as he approached. No, she said when he asked, explaining that she'd left her belongings and car at the station yesterday. When he wondered aloud how she'd gotten back, she informed him she'd been dropped off by an Uber driver.

"You could've called me you know," Tim said, frowning.

"I knew that you were working today," she replied with a shrug, "and honestly, you did enough for me yesterday."

That comment made him pause. What could she possibly mean by that? Had she mistaken his favors for something else, viewing them as debts owed? Tim wanted to lean on the issue but figured the station was neither the time nor place for such a conversation. "Whatever," he grumbled, and let the topic drop for the present. Instead, he informed her of Dennis' availability, explaining that he could see to the car that night if she was free. When she seemed uncertain to start, he teased, "Would you rather it stay broken?"

"No, no," she said, then nodded. "Tonight is great."

They made plans to meet at his house an hour after his shift ended. Fifteen minutes before she was due to arrive, Tim pulled into the driveway and sped through cleaning up. He typically kept the house pretty neat anyway, but a quick once-through made sure all was in order. A glance in the fridge showed he had little readily available for an easy dinner; poor planning on his part, even if this whole evening was pretty spur of the moment. Tim supposed they could order in if either of them felt hungry, and tried not to dwell on any supposed implications to taking a meal together. She was coming over for a reason, not to hang out, he justified silently as he closed the fridge.

Dennis knocked on the door shortly before six. Tim greeted the older gentleman before directing him out onto the driveway where they waited for Lucy.

"So, let me hear it, son," Dennis began. "Give me the rundown."

"Like I said, it's an older Datsun. Not sure the year. Orange, if that makes a difference. Ummm… runs like shit, but I think she's attached to it. And I'll cover whatever the repairs cost, so bill me, okay?"

Dennis let him complete the list before laughing. "I wasn't talking about the car, Tim. Tell me about her."

"About Lucy?" Tim asked. "You're meeting her in like two minutes."

"Yeah, and I've been waiting since October. Franny will let me have it if I come back empty-handed."

"Well, we can't let that happen, huh?" He chuckled before sighing, then resigned himself to offering up small, surface-level details. "Her name is Lucille. She goes by Lucy."

"Lucy." Dennis smiled around the name. "Always loved the name Lucy." Then he asked, "Is she pretty?"

"Dennis."

"What? I'm curious."

Tim smirked, but skirted the question, thinking Very to himself while declining to answer aloud. Before he could say more, he heard a sound from not too far away; the telltale screech of her car's ancient motor as it came chugging down the lane. "You're about to see for yourself," Tim said as she eased the Datsun into the drive. Both men waved hello as she parked, and after getting out, Lucy introduced herself to his neighbor. Tim could tell by the way Dennis spoke to her that he was cataloging her attributes -her smile, her friendly nature- to report back to Francesca, but he did not engage her in conversation for very long.

"Going to need to see what's broken before I know how to fix it." He shooed them both towards the door. "You kids go on ahead inside and relax. I'll holler if I need anything."

Tim let Lucy lead the way, following behind with just a little space between them. "Make yourself at home," he said, and she did just that, removing her shoes and placing them beside the welcome mat before putting her purse on the window seat with an ease that seemed practiced, a familiarity that appeared well-worn. At some point after going home that afternoon she'd showered and changed. Now she wore jeans and the green sweater he recognized from sometime before Christmas. The color, a deep emerald shade, was very flattering on her, he thought, and as she ran one hand through her hair, he caught the scent of her perfume mingling with her shampoo. It brought to mind the memory of how he'd brushed lightly through the length of her waves the night before, a recollection that was interrupted as she walked towards the shelf that held his DVDs and Blu-Rays.

"Wanna watch a movie?" she asked before pulling one from the row. "Ooo, 'The Princess Bride'! It's been years since I've seen this one."

He liked the movie well enough, but replied, "Maybe. I think we can do better than that, though."

"Better than 'The Princess Bride'? But it's a classic!"

"We'll keep it in mind." Tim took a turn then, drawing a DVD out of the lineup. "What about this one," he asked, holding up a case with Harrison Ford on the cover. "Everyone loves Harrison Ford, right?"

Lucy's nose wrinkled as she shook her head. "'The Fugitive'? The point is to relax."

"I think there's a lull in the middle. We can relax there."

At least that made her laugh before she rejected his choice. "Veto, man. Veto."

So it went for a ridiculously long time; for most of the night, actually. He'd pull out a movie and she'd shoot it down, then vice versa. When they'd gone through his collection, they moved on to his Netflix account. For every suggestion he made, Lucy countered. To In the Cut she responded with Just Like Heaven. To Speed, The Lakehouse.

"I feel like this one is a good compromise," she said as she clicked on a preview for a movie called Mr. Right. "It's got action for you, which apparently is all you watch."

"It is not all I watch," he retorted. "It's what I like to watch."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

"Not really."

"Whatever," Lucy waved dismissively and continued. "Action, gunfights, blah blah blah, for you. And for me," her lips spread into a grin that was almost goofy before she finished in a sing-song voice, "It's got Sam Rockwell."

"Because that would be relaxing?" he scoffed. "Having to hear you swoon over some actor all night?"

"I'm not going to swoon over him. He's not even my type," she replied, but giggled after a second, cocking one eyebrow as she commented slyly, "He sure can dance, though."

Tim shook his head, an emphatic no. "Nope. Veto. Instant veto."

"Well, damn it. If only there was a movie you said to keep in mind." The grin stayed on her face as she held out a Blu Ray towards him. She nudged his arm twice with the case that held The Princess Bride. "Come on, Tim. Please?"

"… Fine." Tim picked up the case and walked toward the Blu-Ray player, putting the disc in before casting a look over his shoulder, feigning resignation until he saw just how damn happy this win had made Lucy. Her hands were clasped together beneath her chin, her smile widening as the movie menu began to play. The melody line of "Storybook Love" came through the sound bar. As he joined her on the couch, she brought her legs up beneath her, curling into a comfortable position before pulling out her phone.

"Hey, Bradford." He looked over to see Lucy's arm extended away from her face. She held her phone aloft in the air, and their mirrored image appeared on the screen. "Smile."

He waited until she'd taken the picture to ask, "What are you doing?"

"Commemorating a moment."

"You commemorate most movie nights?"

"I just got Tim Bradford to give me my way," Lucy replied with obvious satisfaction as she set her phone aside. "That's nothing short of historical."

It was late in the evening on February 13th when an unexpected call came to Tim's phone. He did not recognize the number, but answered anyway, greeting the caller with "Hi, it's Bradford."

"Tim," the voice said, "It's me."

At first, he did not recognize this "me", although the voice did strike him as familiar. There was a certain lilt to it, a tonal quality he recognized but could not immediately place. The voice on the other end clarified, "Isabel?"

"Isabel." Well fuck. Now he felt kind of shitty. "Hi." He was unsure why she was calling, so he asked, "Is everything okay?"

Her pause made him nervous until she said, "Yeah. Yeah, everything is fine. Can we talk? It won't take long, I promise."

"… Okay."

True to her word, she spoke quickly, getting right to the point of her call. "Could you come visit?"

"Me? Why me?"

If his second-guessing offended her, Isabel didn't let on. "It's part of the process, I guess. Making amends, or whatever. You're… well, you're kind of all I've got."

"Sure," he decided, "if that's what you want."

"It is," she replied, and there was palpable relief in her voice having secured his agreement. "Can you come tomorrow?"

At this, he hesitated. "Is this… Isabel, is this a Valentine's Day thing?"

Tim could hear the smile in her answer, ribbing that struck a familiar chord; a remnant of a time that felt far in the past. "Don't flatter yourself, Bradford. The date is just a coincidence." Then she asked, "So? You coming or not?"

For a second time, he agreed, and the remainder of the night was spent thinking about (and sort of dreading) the next day. He called Grey to ask for a personal day, and once work was handled, there was nothing left to do but anticipate. For reasons he could not comprehend, Tim was anxious, and that made him restless. He rose from bed the next morning having hardly slept a wink and dawdled through his morning routine. Classic avoidance, he said to himself, although the thought sounded like Lucy's voice in his brain instead of his own.

Having committed to putting off leaving for as long as he could, Tim savored his morning coffee and was midway through the mug when his phone buzzed with a text from Lucy.

Heard you're taking a personal day. Hope everything's all right.

So Grey had mentioned the nature of the time off to Lucy. Probably the sergeant's attempt to assuage any concerns his Boot might have. Checking on him though? That was a kindness all Lucy. He debated revealing his plans for the day, but only for a second, quickly deciding against it and shooting off a vague text in reply.

Everything's fine. Just something I gotta do. Have a good day, Chen.

You too, Bradford.

It was a moment Tim had dreamed of. A moment he had wished for.

Isabel looked amazing. With the absence of drugs in her system. years had disappeared from her face. She'd returned to a healthy weight; her cheeks were no longer sunken, her eyes no longer hollow and ringed by dark circles. Her blonde hair did not look so lank and thin as it had at the height of using, and although it would take some time to regain her former thickness, the shine had returned. So had the rosiness of her cheeks.

Isabel's lips stretched into a tight smile when she saw him. She stood from the bench where she'd been seated and held her hands out in front of her, a gesture that asked him to come closer, that welcomed him. Seeing her like this -healthy, happy, no longer a shadow of her true self- had been his deepest desire for so long. In the past, he'd envisioned love bubbling once again to the surface. Even now Tim expected the return of feelings long absent at the sight of his wife restored.

He waited. And waited.

The feelings never came.

What remained in his heart for Isabel was something like a deep love, but closer to familial than it was romantic. A connection that was formed, not by affection, but by shared experience. If anything, the overarching emotion was loyalty.

… But her hands remained outstretched, and Tim knew to deny her now would only hurt her. So, he walked towards his wife and placed his palms in hers, the first mutual physical affection they'd shown each other in years.

And still, he felt nothing.

There was no heat, no craving to this touch. Hell, there was scarcely the sensation of skin against skin. If the absence of feeling in his heart was not proof enough, this was.

Isabell broke the silence first. "Before you say anything, I have something I want to give you." From the pocket of her sweater, she withdrew a small, square cardboard box, which she pressed into his palm.

He looked at the box for a moment, then at her. "You got me a present?"

"Not really. Open it."

He did. Inside was a small, gold circle; his missing wedding band. A lump formed in his throat. "I thought-"

"-I know what you probably thought," Isabel interrupted with a sad chuckle. "I don't blame you for thinking it."

"Why now?" he wondered. "Why give me this now?"

"Come on, Tim. Isn't it obvious?" She pulled lightly on his hands, bringing him into the arms that at one time felt like home, but now struck him as unfamiliar and foreign. "It's over."