Lucy's always enjoyed true crime documentaries.

She started watching them in college - her parents never allowing her before.

It's probably partially why she decided on a whim to join the academy.

After she became a police officer, she actually grew to enjoy them even more – because now she understands the procedures and the protocol, the investigation techniques. She thinks about what she would do if she were the one to arrive at the scene, what evidence she would look for. Sometimes she recalls cases that she's worked, scenes that she's been on and relates them to the crime on screen as it provides her insight through her experiences.

After her day of death came and went, it was hard for her to watch the documentaries for a little while, when the trauma was still new – but she eventually eased herself back into her hobby, because the way the stories are told is so factual and neutral, the documentaries don't play up the fear of the crime in a way that would cause her to recall her own horrible memories.

Her job, sometimes, can bring back memories but for the most part, it's different. When she sees something horrific or devastating on duty, she's there to help. She's there to stop it, or get justice. She's the person coming to save someone, to arrest the person who was trying to inflect the pain. If she feels a flash of a reminder, she remembers she's on duty and she has to be focused on what's in front of her, objective. Her training officer always taught her, after all, to keep her head in the game.

Horror movies, however, are entirely different.

It's never been a genre that she goes for often, but she's always enjoyed it here and there – on a foggy and gloomy evening, on Halloween, a theme good for a late-night movie marathon.

After, she doesn't enjoy them as much anymore.

It's something about the way horror films are produced, with the intention to make you feel all the fear, anxiety, and terror. To put the viewer into the situation, scare them as if it's happening to them. Build up the suspense so you don't know what's going to happen when, scare you when it does, make you jump at every turn. She knows those feelings all too well. She knows the rapid heartbeat when you try and run and the adrenaline when you think you might get away with it, the terror when you don't. She knows the feeling of turning around and realizing someone is behind you. The fear of realizing that you're not in a safe situation. The hopelessness that there may not be a way out.

(She knows more than that. She knows how it feels to feel the physical pain, too. The sting of a needle on her skin, brandishing her with a tattoo. The pain of a hard kick when she's down. The jostle and a rumble of a dark barrel falling into a hole. The raw skin on your wrists.)

She doesn't really care to experience all of that again.

Still, she does watch from time to time because she's never wanted to let what happened to her take anything away from her. So, when Tamara begs for her to watch a scary movie with her the first October they live together, she does. When she sees one of her favorites at the top of the streaming app, she watches (lights on and in the middle of the afternoon if she's alone, but still).

But that's the thing with trauma. You never know when it's going to hit.

She doesn't know how any given thing – even soemthign so innocent – could trigger a memory and, from there, spiral into something more.

For the most part, the techniques she learned in therapy work and even when something she hears or watches or smells pulls those feelings out of her, she's able to stop it before she's thrown over the edge.

For the most part.

It's their first Halloween together – as a couple, anyway – and Lucy has been enjoying figuring out just how much Halloween spirit she can pull out of Tim. He agrees to wear a simple costume to Nolan and Bailey's Halloween party, but refuses to dress up for trick-or-treaters - but does agree to sit on the stoop of Lucy's building with her to pass out candy to kids on the sidewalk. She's surprised to find he's actually into her minimal Halloween décor – he fusses with the few fake spider webs she and Tamara throw up, adjusts the purple and orange lights they hang over the doorway. When he pops up one night with an animatronic ghost they can hang in their window, she knows he's got the penchant for Halloween fun in him.

(Her mind dreams of the future; she and Tim decorating for Halloween with their children, Tim bringing home some decoration he deems cool "for the kids," taking their kids trick-or-treating, carving pumpkins while he complains the whole time about the gooey mess.)

The Saturday night before Halloween they don't have big plans – they go out for an early dinner and end up getting pizza at their favorite pizza place and take a walk after, enjoying one of the last few weekends before there's less daylight hours. When they get back to her apartment, she idly flips through the streaming apps as they look for something to watch.

She's surprised when he suggests a horror movie – a classic, of course (the new ones are just a bunch of gore and CGI, and they don't even have a storyline he complains) - and it makes sense because he does have a love of classic movies. She agrees easily, happy to see him engage in a bit of Halloween spirit with her of his own accord.

They watch two, then on a whim decide to go for one more. It's late, now, but it's Saturday night and she can see them sleeping in and ordering in breakfast tomorrow that they'll eat in her bed, a nice luxurious Sunday morning. It feels safe. She's with Tim, and everything feels safe with Tim. He makes fun of all the plot holes, of the characters who are idiots for opening doors or going into the basement when the power's cut off and she laughs at his annoyance. With his commentary, the movies become more amusing than scary, and she doesn't even feel an ounce of the anxiety that sometimes she does.

But that's the thing with trauma. You never know when it's going to hit.

It's nearly 2am when they finish the last movie, and they fall into bed immediately, exhausted.

But despite the fact that her eyelids are so heavy and she's so tired, fragments of the movies catch in her mind, random lines of dialogue play over and over (why is it always the most random things that stick in your head and keep you from sleeping?), various scenes pop into her head, she dreams of the characters they'd just met.

She thinks that she's dreaming but she's not sure – she doesn't see images but she feels hot, she feels the tightness in her chest, she feels the fear course through her veins.

If it's a dream or if she's awake, either way she feels like she's back in the barrel, she feels herself flailing as if she's banging to get out, calling for help, for Caleb to let her out, kicking and fighting as if she'll be able to free herself.

"Lucy."

She suddenly startles and feels like she's been in a deep sleep, but so confused and disoriented as if she just woke from a coma. But she's in her bed, in her bedroom, in her apartment. Tim is there. The light is on – he must have turned it on when he woke up – and she feels sweaty and clammy, her heart is beating out of her chest, and Tim is looking at her with wide, worried eyes.

Damn.

The nightmares and panic attacks are few and far between now, have been for years, but they happen from time to time and, unfortunately, she knows they probably always will. But she's somehow miraculously avoided this particular scenario - Tim seeing her like this - until just now.

"Hey. It's okay. You're okay." She nods, realizing he understands what's going on and she's not sure if that makes it better or worse. "I'm right here. It's me. Just breathe. Relax."

She nods again and takes a deep breath, closing her eyes and focusing on the things she can feel. The soft blanket. Tim's hand on her back. The soft blow of air from the AC, because yes, it's almost November but it's Los Angeles and somehow October is hotter than the summer half the time.

She finally opens her eyes and he's still looking at her, that look of love and concern. "You okay?"

She nods, slowly, as she regains her bearings. "Mmhmm. Yeah. I… I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" Tim asks, confused. "You don't have to be sorry." She expects him to say something more, but he doesn't say anything and she realizes he's being careful not to push her, trying to figure out how to approach this entire scenario. "What do you need?" he finally asks. "What can I do?"

She studies him for a moment, blinks at him as she processes. "I…" she doesn't know the answer, because she's never had someone ask her this, never thought of what someone else could do to help her through because it's never been a possibility. In the beginning, Jackson had been there. But Jackson was her best friend and had a different way of helping her through. Jackson would turn on the lights if he could hear her having a nightmare, call her name to pull her back to reality, check in on her after. She has no idea what she needs from a partner who is right there with her in the moment. "I don't know."

He accepts that, looks like he wants to reach out to touch her but then hesitates. She's trying to process why, when he asks, "Do you need space?" and gestures between them seemingly understanding that maybe a physical touch isn't the right thing at this moment.

She shakes her head, instantly sure about this answer because his presence has brought nothing but comfort to her, his presence has always grounded her instantly. "No."

He nods as she lies back down under the rumpled comforter and he gathers her into his arms, pulls her close to him against his chest and strokes her arm softly in a gentle pattern and she finds herself feeling at ease instantly.

"That… helps," she admits, a sense of safety and security returning to her, and turns to roll over in his embrace so that she's facing him. "I'm sorry, I don't know I've never… gone though that with anyone here before."

He nods, kisses her on the forehead. "I love you."

She marvels at how, somehow, he knows the exact right thing to say and do.

"Was it the movies?" he asks gently, and she's momentarily surprised before she realizes she shouldn't be, because this man knows her inside and out.

She's not sure, but she thinks it probably was, the endless hours of horror films, feeling the emotions on repeat, probably threw her into a nightmare. "Maybe. Probably. Sometimes movies can bring those feelings up again, feeling the anxiety and fear… just reminds me how I felt that day."

He kisses her forehead, brushes away a strand of hair dampened from sweat. "Lucy. You could have said something. We didn't have to watch," he says simply. "We don't ever have to watch."

"I know – but I wanted to," she says with a sigh. "I don't want to give up things because of what happened to me. Maybe I'm too stubborn about it, I don't know. But…" she bites her lip. "Usually, it's fine. Maybe we watched too many."

"Well, maybe we don't watch horror movies right before bed," he adds as he thinks through the scenario. "We should relax a little after. Y'know, we can watch something funny afterwards. A comedy or one of those stupid reality shows you love-"

"You know you love them," she interjects with a smirk and a little snort.

He rolls his eyes at her insinuation, but doesn't deny it. "Something light. Take Kojo for a walk. Talk. Do other things. I could always take your mind off things." He playfully squeezes her hip. "Distract you."

She laughs, and his playful suggestiveness helps her to leave her panic behind and feel her heartbeat quicken for a more fun reason. She thinks of a future where suddenly, watching horror movies is some kind of known precursor to what will come after. How the suggestion of a scary movie could become some kind of secret innuendo, and she laughs to herself. Somehow she and Tim would be the ones to make scary movies sexy.

"I've gotten pretty good about managing the feelings when they hit," she explains to him. "I can usually keep it from turning into an attack. Unless… I guess, I'm asleep."

"You had one once before. At least. Since we've been together," Tim notes softly.

Lucy freezes. "I…" she starts to deny it and then realizes that there's no real reason to do that, "…thought I hid that from you."

She remembers when he woke up to find her side of the bed empty, to hear her puttering around in the bathroom. He'd called out to her, could hear her voice was strangled and when she came back to bed, he could hear her intentionally breathing slow and steady, could feel the cooling sweat on her pajama top.

She remembers feeling glad she'd caught it before it woke him. They were still early in their relationship, then, and she hadn't had a nightmare in a long time. The panic of realizing one was occurring again when she had him asleep next to her had startled her.

"Why did you hide it?" he asks, voice full of curiosity, but nothing more than that. She doesn't see any hurt that she's kept it from him, any offense, just straight curiosity as he tries to understand her thought process, her reasoning, where her mind was then and where it might be right now.

She shrugs. "I don't know, I…" She's not sure, really. It's a vulnerable moment, but she's vulnerable with him a lot of the time, more open with him than she has been with anyone else. She's able to talk to him about things on her mind freely and without worry of judgement. Physically, she's vulnerable with him all the time. She's never had an intimate relationship with anyone else where she can be so open and let go of all self-consciousness. She doesn't think twice about letting him see her fall apart in front of him. In bed they see all of each other, they communicate their needs and wants, they're open and vulnerable with each other.

But that's different. It's under the guise of fun and pleasure, both of them in it together. This is her allowing him to see her at her very lowest, most vulnerable point where she's the only one falling.

(Then again, hadn't he seen her that day, when he pulled her out of the barrel and she had burst into sobs in his arms? He's seen all of her.)

Maybe she doesn't want him to know there's still a part of her that's back there on the sand, doesn't want him to worry about her, doesn't want him to worry that she could break.

"I just… I feel weak, when it happens," she admits in a quiet whisper.

His response is instant. "You are the strongest person I know. The fact you got through it, how you manage this." She blinks at that, taken momentarily aback by his conviction and his lack of hesitation in his response, but she knows she shouldn't be, realizes of course he would think this. "But you don't always have to be strong, okay? I'm here."

She nods, understanding, thinking of the way she would want to support him if the roles were reversed.

It's still new to her, sometimes, to have someone like this who she can really trust will always be there for her.

"And it's… it's not very pretty," she adds, glancing up at him and then breaking eye contact to look down at his chest, nervous.

"Lucy," he says softly, tilting her chin up towards him. "Life isn't always pretty. I wasn't very pretty either, when you met me. And for some reason you just looked at me, a complete stranger, and decided that you were going to understand me and care about me."

She laughs a little. "I mean, it wasn't a split-second decision like that."

"You know what I mean. It's okay if it's not always pretty."

She nods, understanding. "Yeah.." She closes her eyes and takes comfort in the gentle stroke of his hand on her side. "But you were pretty."

"I was not pretty."

"You were. Are. And I have to admit I noticed it the very first day."

"Mmhmm," he laughs into her shoulder. "You want to stay up for a while? Or sleep?"

"Sleep," she says, suddenly feeling all the exhaustion from earlier and then ten times more. "Like this," she adds, indicating the way he's holding her close and he nods. "Can we keep the light on for a while? I know you hate that but just until-"

"Of course," he cuts her off. They're silent for a few moments until he adds, "Just let me help you, okay? I'm here for you. Always."

She nods, feeling safe in his embrace. "Yes," she agrees as she closes her eyes and feels sleep come to her, safe in his embrace. "Always."