The Mid-Wilshire holiday party's packed this year – or maybe it just seems that way to Lucy, because every single person in attendance seems to have something to say to her.
Advice ("advice").
Horror stories.
You'll understand soon stories.
The comment "sleep while you can!" is also extremely popular.
Maybe these things wouldn't be getting to her as much if she wasn't less than a month away from her due date and starting to get panicked herself, because they're going to be parents soon. Like, in theory it could actually happen any day now. They have car seats installed already, and hospital bags are packed.
Tim had asked her several times if she was sure she wanted to come to the party this year, but she'd been stubborn and steadfast in her insistence that this could be the last time they get to go out and have fun, just the two of them, for a long while.
Except she's not really having fun.
She's tired, her feet hurt despite the fact she's in flats. She feels uncomfortable even in her oversized sweater and the leggings she basically lives in these days. She can barely eat anything because everything gives her heartburn. She can't drink anything, except for the water from the bottle she has in her hand at all times, and she has to visit the bathroom repeatedly.
Well, at least she's not having morning sickness anymore.
"Oh, god, my labor was horrible," one of the detectives laughs. "I thought it would never end, over twenty-four hours and then I ended up with a c-section and had the worst recovery, I could barely hold the baby." A flash of something like realization crosses the woman's eyes and she pats Lucy on the arm softly. "I'm sure that won't be your case, though!" she says, but she doesn't sound as remorseful for the story as Lucy thinks she should.
"Hey, sorry, can I just…" Tim cuts in suddenly and guides Lucy away from the woman who nods at her.
"You're hovering," Lucy half accuses, half teases.
"No. I'm checking on you. I'm allowed to. And I'm getting you away from these ridiculous stories."
"That's like the fifth one of the night," Lucy laughs, placing a hand on her belly and sighing. "Did you know Jones almost died giving birth? She made sure to repeat that part like seventy-five times." Tim grumbles his annoyance. "I mean, I get it, I guess. It's like a rite of passage. I'll probably do it one day."
"You won't," Tim says instantly, as he looks for a place to guide Lucy so she can sit, hand to the small of her back. "Because you're more empathetic than that." He sees an open seat and gestures to it, but Lucy shakes her head.
"I'm going to hit the restroom," she says, and Tim nods in understanding.
"We can go, if you want? Home, I mean."
Lucy shrugs. "Soon. Maybe just a while longer."
He loses track of her after that, after Jan and Webb approach him and corner him in a conversation. It's only when Smitty arrives to join the trio in conversation and Tim thinks he wants to look for an excuse to leave when he realizes Lucy never came back from the restroom.
At least having a wife pregnant and almost due with his baby seems to be a good excuse to exit, and all three men nod at him in understanding.
He knows Lucy, knows all these people and their stories and their advice are overwhelming her. He's noticed she's getting nervous as her due date draws closer – he assumes that's normal, because what woman wouldn't be nervous about giving birth? But he's never done this before and he doesn't know what she needs from him, really. He has a hunch she's taken a break from the crowds so he takes a walk outside and his heart skips a beat when he sees he's right, sees her sitting outside in the cool December air, staring ahead at the trees swaying in the light wind.
"What are you doing out here?" Tim asks gently, carefully.
Lucy looks up at him, unsurprised to see him, and offers a soft, small smile. "I like it out here. It's peaceful."
"You okay?"
"Yeah."
"Can I sit?"
"Sure."
He sits down next to her, enjoys the view for a moment – or, at least, he pretends to enjoy the view while he tries to figure out what she's thinking, what to say.
"Hard to imagine next year we're going to have a baby here with us."
Lucy grins, but lets out a little chuckle. "Probably shouldn't bring her to the work holiday party."
Tim laughs genuinely. "See, you're already a good mom."
"Y'know, she won't be such a baby anymore, next year at this time. That's what's crazy. By this time next year, we'll have a baby, but one that's sitting and standing and… almost a year old. It's hard to imagine that. She's not even here yet and before we have Christmas again…" Tim listens to her, watches her face. "God, I have to give birth before we can have Christmas again."
Tim chuckles, reaches out to rub her thigh. "You're going to do great."
She quirks an eyebrow at him. "Easy for you to say. You don't have to do it."
He doesn't disagree. "You know, your rookie year?" Lucy nods, gives him an expression indicating she could never forget. "I thought for sure they were going to give me West. I was all but set on it. I'd even heard rumblings around the station that West was coming up and… anyway, then they told me I'd get the so- called hotshot and… I knew nothing about you, really. Just what was in the file and the fact you arrested a guy on the way to work."
"I still don't think you ever gave me enough credit for that."
He ignores her, but shakes his head and bites back a grin. "That first day, I knew. I mean, I knew you had some training to go through before you'd be really confident, but I knew you'd be a good cop."
"Could've fooled me," she teases.
He rolls his eyes. "Anyway, I know. Right now. I know you're going to get through labor and delivery in a way that leaves me amazed by you – as usual – and I know you're going to be a fantastic mom. And I know you're nervous even if you're not telling me that. But everyone's nervous when they become a parent. Just like everyone's terrified when they're a rookie."
Her eyes glimmer with a hint of amusement. "You know what I'd love? Some rookie Tim stories."
He snorts. "No, no way. Some things are better left buried."
She raises her eyebrows knowingly. "We'll see. When I'm giving birth to your child, I think I can persuade you."
"Well, let's talk then."
"Guess you never thought the day you read my file we'd be here."
"No," he laughs. "Definitely did not." She hums her mutual amusement at the entire scenario that is their life. "I have something for you."
She looks up at him, surprised. "Oh?"
He hands her a small little satchel, velvet, with an attached drawstring holding it closed. She looks up at him in question and he shrugs. "It was going to be for Christmas, but I swiped it out of the mailbox on the way here so you wouldn't see it. I hid it in the truck, I just grabbed it because I don't know, I thought you might like it now."
She pulls it open carefully, unwraps the item from the thin sleeve of cellophane and tissue paper. She takes in a breath when she sees the personalized ornament commemorating the Christmas they're spending as expectant parents, one that matches the ornament she painstakingly teased him about that marked the year they married. She'd, of course, intended to buy an ornament similar to this herself, but this holiday season had proved to fly by in a blur and she was exhausted, and it had slipped her mind except for the thought she could always buy one later, even after the fact.
"Tim. This is… perfect," she says as she runs her fingers over the figures that are meant to represent them (and Kojo).
"I know how you love your sentimental ornaments," he says, trying his best to pretend to be indifferent, but she can tell he likes them, too. "I mean, did we really need three ornaments marking the year we got married?"
She crinkles her nose and drops her jaw in outrage. "Of course we did!" She'd been unable to decide which one to get – the one that was cute and fun and similar to this one, the sophisticated glass heart with the writing engraved on it, or the one used a real photo. They'd arrived one by one that Christmas, making him tease her relentlessly.
"Anyway. Next year we'll have someone else on the ornament with us."
She nods, smiles, then the pregnancy hormones – or maybe just the sentimentality of the whole situation – gets to her and she starts crying.
"Baby," he laughs as he pulls her into his side, kissing her on the head. "What kind of tears are these?"
He's seen them all the past eight and a half months – sad ones, happy ones, nervous ones, scared ones, angry ones.
"I don't know," she admits with a sniffle. "Definitely some 'I love you' ones."
"I love you, too. I'm going to be right there with you, okay? I can't go through labor for you but I'll be there the whole time. Yell at me, scream at me, whatever you want. Then when she comes, I'll be there with you trying to figure out how to be a parent, too. We'll mess up together, we'll be exhausted together, we'll probably cry together," she snorts a laugh at this. "I'm nervous, too. But with you… I feel like I can do it."
She gives him a loving smile as warmth fills her whole body. "I always feel like that with you."
"Then I think we can do this." He squeezes her hand. "Together."
She nods, looks at the ornament in her hand. "We'll also have to get a baby's first Christmas one."
"Here we go."
She shakes her head at him as she wipes at her eyes, brushing away the last of the tears. "I'm ready to go home."
"Night Bradford! Chen!" someone yells, and they look over to see Officer Rodriguez with her husband. "Sleep while you can! Not so many silent nights left!"
Lucy just looks at Tim and they share a laugh. "As if I haven't heard that one already."