WhIP Chapter 213, a +anima fanfic

Beneath Your Beautiful

Cfr749

Summary:

As she gets closer, Tim is immediately drawn to her wide brown eyes; they are broadcasting her emotional state for everyone to see — some combination of eager and excited and nervous. The polar opposite of the cool and guarded expression he is careful to keep on his own face.

Angela turns to look at him, clearly trying to gauge his reaction before she whacks him with her bouquet and hisses, "That is your soon-to-be wife, Tim, not your new boot, so maybe chill out with the death glare. You shouldn't be trying to intimidate her."

Tim ignores her; he begs to differ. This woman is supposed to be his wife. Chosen by supposed experts to be his life partner, his perfect other half. He is sure as hell going to be assessing whether she measures up to his standards. The fact that he already knows all of this is bullshit honestly just makes him that much more inclined to prove it.

When she reaches the end of the aisle, she stops in front of him and tilts her head to smile up at him in this sweet, hopeful way that he simultaneously finds incredibly endearing and incredibly irritating — like he holds her fate in his hands, and she is counting on him not to f*ck it up.

Notes:

(See the end of the work fornotes.)

Chapter Text

Prologue: Matchmaker, Matchmaker

"You don't initiate anything. You just do basic Caucasian sex. And it's just like 'bam, bam done.' That's it."

"Oh my god," Lucy blurts, pausing with a piece of sushi halfway to her mouth, her eyes glued to the red-haired woman on the television screen that is absolutely ripping her husband a new one for being selfish in bed. "Did she just say he —"

Jackson slaps the couch with his hand as he rocks forward with laughter. "Look at hisface.'Basic Caucasian sex'. I'm dead. That's gonna be epic on the reunion as a playback."

"Are you tired of being single, but stuck in the endless cycle of swiping and dating that never seems to go anywhere? Are you ready to settle down in a committed relationship and start the rest of your life? Then come join the social experiment that's been making successful matches for over 15 years with an astounding success rate of over 70%.OMG! I Married a Strangeris casting now in LA."

Lucy freezes, overwhelmed by a sudden and completely unexpected wave of excitement.What the hell?

"Jackson?" she finally manages.

"Huh?" Jackson responds around a mouthful of edamame.

"I think — what if I applied?"

"Applied for what?"

"The show."

"What show?"

Lucy whacks him with a throw pillow, and Jackson protests as a stray edamame arcs through the air before landing on their rug a few feet away.

"Thisshow."

"What?! Are you crazy?"

Lucy just stares back at him.

"Youarecrazy."

"I know… I know… it's trash reality tv and I can only imagine what a nightmare actually having to film it would be, but… This whole matchmaking process they use — I've read about it before. It's actually based on a whole lot of legitimate psychology on compatibility. The success rate speaks for itself. And there's no argument — arranged marriages are empirically more successful. There have been multiple studies —"

"Lucy," Jackson interjects. "I don't need to hear about the studies. Are you actually serious? This is something you'd really want to do?"

"I mean… I'm not getting any younger. My mom actually set an appointment for me to get my eggs frozen without even talking to me about it the other day."

"Your parents wouldhateit," Jackson points out.

"That's just a bonus," Lucy laughs. "Anyway, all of my friends have basically settled down. You and Sterling are practically engaged. And you know how crazy my work can get —"

"I know how crazy you let it get," Jackson corrects.

"Takes one to know one," Lucy retorts, sticking her tongue out before continuing. The laughter slips out of her tone, "And I just… dating has been really hard for me since…"

Jackson's face softens, and he places his hand over Lucy's to give it a comforting squeeze.

"I don't want to be alone forever," she finishes quietly.

"Oh Lucy," Jackson tugs her into his side for a hug. "You won't. You are too incredible for that to happen. I won't let it. Worst case, after the wedding and a lengthy honeymoon in Europe, we'll move you into Sterling's pool house."

Lucy snorts, "How gracious of you."

"It's actually a very nice pool house…" Jackson's smile fades as he meets her eyes, "Are yousurethis is something you'd want to do? With everything that happ —" he cuts himself off when he sees the look on her face. "I just mean — you've seen the show. You're literally marrying a stranger. Going on a honeymoon with a stranger. Moving in with a stranger. You'd be alone with a man you've never met. A lot of the time."

"A man that is theoretically perfect for me. But yes, I hear you," her eyes look momentarily troubled, "... but production and the experts and the other couples would be there a lot of the time, too. And whoever it is will be much more thoroughly vetted than any random I meet up with from Tinder or Bumble."

"I told you I am more than happy to misuse police resources and run background checks for you anytime, Lucy."

Lucy laughs and lets her head drop onto Jackson's shoulder for a moment. "And you are the absolute best for that. The absolute best for everything you've done for me."

"What are best friends for?" He lets out a deep exhale. "Lucy, if you're serious. If you really want to do this, I'll support you."

Lucy pauses thoughtfully. She's been busy trying to convince Jackson of all the reasons she should do this, but is this really something she wants to do?

But goodness, there's something inside of her, deep in her gut that is screaming at her to take this leap. And, with one notable exception, her instincts have always served her well, personally and professionally.

She meets Jackson's eyes, "I think I do."

He grins at her, "I cannot believe I might be listening to you accuse some guy of only doing basic Caucasian sex on this very TV in just a matter of months.Thisis going to be epic. Let's get this process started — why don't you pull up the application? I'll give Sterling a call and see if he doesn't have a connection or two in casting that might be able to get you a bit of a leg up with this whole selection process."

It's a perfect night. His godson and his nephews are running around creating all sorts of chaos on the plaza in front of their table. A live band is set up on just the other side of the patio. The breeze is just enough to offset the first glimmers of summer heat in LA, making an appearance despite the fact that it's stilltechnicallyspring.

Perfect, if it wasn't for the fact that his own sister and supposed best friend hadn't just ambushed him once again with a blind date. It's become a maddeningly regular occurrence. He shows up to spend an afternoon with his godson and one of Angela's college roommates happens to stop by. He brings the cake and a gazillion balloons to his nephew's birthday party only to be introduced to Genny's new co-worker that just moved here from Buffalo. Backyard barbecues. School plays. Their bi-weekly dinner, which happens to be their current weapon of choice.

The pretty petite blonde stands up, grabbing her purse and popping the strap over her shoulder. Their entrees haven't even arrived yet. "You know — I just realized that I completely forgot… I have somewhere I need to be. Angela, I'll see you and Jack at drop off tomorrow." She gives an awkward wave and then hurries away from the table.

Angela is practically breathing fire. "Seriously, Tim? Did you really have to be so damn rude to Jack's preschool teacher? She is lovely. What iswrongwith you?"

"What is wrong withyou? I told you that I'm not interested in being set up, and yet, you two —" he shifts his glare back and forth between Genny and Angela, "don't seem to give a damn about what I actually want!"

Angela sighs, "Of course we care what you want, Tim. I just — I wish you'd at least try. I think you might have really liked her."

He snorts derisively.

"Tim, we care about you," Genny begins before pausing, seemingly debating her next words. "You've been so… different since everything with Isabel. You're so angry —"

"I'm not angry," Tim spits angrily. "And I don't want to keep having this conversation."

Angela arches an eyebrow, "Fine, if you don't want to be angry, how about bitter?"

Tim glowers at her and is about to tell Angela just exactly what she can do with her helpful suggestion when he sees Genny's face. Her eyes are filling with tears.Dammit.

She wipes at her cheek. "You're my big brother, Tim. And I don't want this for you. I want to see you happy again."

Tim sighs. He hates this. He hates seeing his friends so concerned, hates seeing Genny so sad. She's not a crier, so he knows that she is truly upset, truly worried about him.

But god… why can't they just leave him alone? Why can't they believe him when he says he's doing just fine?

Genny's and Angela's eyes meet across the table.

Genny sniffs and clears her throat, straightening in her seat. "Okay, if you don't want us to set you up anymore, then we won't —"

"Hallelujah," Tim deadpans.

Angela's husband, Wes, chuckles and shoots Tim an empathetic half smile across the table.

Genny rolls her eyes. "I wasn't finished, Tim. I have another proposition for you."

"No."

This time it's Genny's husband Mark that lets a laugh slip out, earning himself a steely glare.

"Ugh.Tim. You don't even know what it is yet."

"I don't need to know. If it involves you two conspiring together, then I already know I'm going to hate it."

"Fine then, I guess we'll see how things go next week." She turns to Angela, "Is that friend of yours from yogalates still single?"

"Mandy? The vegan? She is, actually, and, you know, I think she just got back from a mindfulness retreat in South America. I'm sure she'll have some amazing stories."

Tim turns his eyes up to the sky in search of divine intervention. When none arrives, he groans out loud. "Fine. What?"

Genny feigns confusion, "Hmm?"

"What's the proposition?"

Her face lights up.

"I haven't said yes yet, Genny. Calm down."

"Okay — do you remember that post I made about you on my Instagram? The one with you holding Nate?"

"Ohgoodlord," Tim buries his head in his hands. The post in question had beenhumiliating —Genny practically begging for someone to date her poor, lonely, recently divorced brother.See how good he is with children?He hadn't spoken to her for a solid month after he'd had the post shoved in his face during roll call one morning. The entire room rolling with laughter at the idea that hard-ass Sergeant Bradford couldn't get a date. There had been multiple write-ups for insubordination that day.

"Okay, so you do remember. Well, I got an interesting DM the other day. Now, Tim, you have to promise you'll hear me out."

Oh god, this is going to be really bad. He can just feel it.

"I got a message from a casting agent —"

"No. Nope. Not happening. I'm not going on The Bachelor."

Angela scoffs, "You arewaytoo old for the Bachelor."

Tim sends a searing look in her direction.

"What?" she shrugs. "It's true." Her gaze shifts to something over Tim's shoulder. "Jack! NO! Don't eat that! Mommy says put that down!" She arches a disbelieving eyebrow in Wes' direction. "Are you seriously going to sit there and do nothing while your firstborn eats whatever the hell that thing is?"

Wes lumbers to his feet, "Of course not,darling."

"Anyway." Genny tries to bring the focus back to the topic at hand. "It's not for The Bachelor. It's for —"

"I don't care what it's for, Genny. I'm not going on reality TV. I can't believe you even thought I'd consider that."

"Tim, can you please get your head out of your ass and listen to what your sister has to say for like two minutes?"

Tim crosses his arms over his chest and sighs heavily, arching an eyebrow at Genny as an indication that he's "listening".

"So it's actually for a different type of show. It's more of a… social experiment than a reality tv dating show actually. There are these experts — they go through rigorous evaluations and interviews and testing — it's all very science-based."

"Uh huh. And who exactly are these experts?"

Genny and Angela share a glance. "Well, let's see… there's a psychologist. Apastorandasexologist," she finishes quickly.

"A what?"

Genny sighs, "A pastor and a sexologist."

Tim makes a disdainful sound. He is not impressed.

"Whatever — that's just who's on screen. There are tons of actual scientists involved in the process behind the scenes."

"So you go through this process, which soundsterribleby the way, and then what?"

"Then they see if they find someone who they think is a perfect match for you."

"And then?"

"And then you get married at first sight!" Genny smiles widely, making a happy spirit fingers gesture with her hands. "Ta da!"

Tim stares at her incredulously. "Have you lost your damn mind?"

"They actually have a really amazing success rate, Tim," Angela interjects. "It's 70%. That's crazy, right? Better than the success rate for regular marriages."

Tim scoffs, "That has to be bullshit. I'm sure these couples break up as soon as filming is over."

"No, Tim. They've been doing this for 15 years. That rate is for couples who are still together."

He frowns, momentarily caught off guard.

Genny, who seems to sense an opening, dives back in. "Anddd, it's only eight weeks, Tim. Eight weeks and you could meet the love of your life. What's the worst that could happen? It doesn't work out. You do some paperwork and move on. And Angela and I will never, ever attempt to set you up again. We promise."

"Do some paperwork? As in get adivorce?! This may shock you, but I actually don't have any interest in getting divorced twice before I'm forty, Genny. Not to mention — I already found the love of my life. And it didn't work out. In the worst possible way. They're not going to ever be able to find me anyone that could measure up to —" Tim's voice breaks, and he stops abruptly, shocked at the massive lump of emotion that's formed in his throat.

Genny and Angela are both staring at him now, and they just look so damn sad. Tim swallows and turns his head to stare out toward the plaza where his nephews are shrieking as they roll down a hill.Why are his goddamn eyes burning?

"It's been over two years, Tim," Angela says softly.

"It's only been six months," he retorts sharply.

"Six months since the divorce was final. But Tim, you and Isabel were over long before that. It's time to move on." It's Genny this time. Grinding her heel into his heart.

Tim sighs, pressing his palms against his eyes. Hehasmoved on. Hasn't he? It's not like he hasn't seen or been with anyone since Isabel. Things just … didn't work out. It's not like falling in love just automatically happens. It's not a switch he can flip.

Seventy percent. Could this actually work? No. No way. This whole thing has to be complete bullshit. Getting married at first sight based on what some supposed "experts" think is insane.

There's a small pull of something that feels oddly like anticipation in his stomach. Which makes no sense. Because he has no interest in being married again or meeting his supposed "perfect match".Does he?He shakes himself.

"If I agree to this, it would only be to prove to you guys that it's bullshit. A farce. And if I'm right, which I absolutely will be, then all of this is done. I'm not just talking about the setups and the ambushes — I'm talking about all of it. No conversations about Isabel or the divorce or whether I'm happy or sad or bitter or angry. You let me live my life the way I see fit."

At this point, eight weeks to put an end to all of this judgment and meddling and hovering over his life seems like a small price to pay.

Angela and Genny stare at him in shock, and then they turn to look at each other. A weird high-pitched squealing noise erupts from their side of the table before they say in unison, "Deal!"

Fuck. The wave of regret sweeping through his body is swift. What the hell has he just agreed to?

Summary:

Tim and Lucy get married at first sight.

Chapter Text

The Wedding

Wedding Day - Day Zero: Saturday

Hehatesbeing wrong. It's the first thought that crosses his mind when he sees her at the end of the aisle. Well, the second thought afterholy shit.

He had all but convinced himself there was no way these supposed experts would get anything right about what he would want in a partner.

But apparently, they've managed to get at least one thing disturbingly correct.

She isbeautiful. If someone had asked him to describe on paper what he found physically attractive in a mate (which is, technically, exactly what the "experts" had made him do), he never would have even been able to dream her up. Dark waves tumbling down over her shoulders, full pouty lips curved into a shy smile, large expressive brown eyes practically twinkling as she moves down the aisle toward him. And she is so much better than anything he could have imagined. She is perfect.

"Wow," Angela breathes from her spot flanking his side. "You are one lucky dog, Tim."

Her words pull Tim from his reverie. He blinks.

Yeah, sure, sheispretty. Beyond pretty even. But this is LA. And a reality TV show. It's not a shocker that she's attractive.

And there areplentyof attractive women in this city. Plenty of women he personally finds attractive. But that hardly means he's ready to marry one of them. Physical attraction is only one part of a very complex equation.

Tim continues to observe his bride-to-be as she walks down the aisle, setting aside the intensity of his initial physical response to her to more critically evaluate the rest.

She seems…young.Or maybe it's just that her energy is youthful. Maybe late 20s or early 30s, if he had to guess. And though a decade, give or take a few years, isn't a completely ridiculous age gap, it's large enough to give him pause. Large enough to guarantee that they are at very different points in their lives.

She's likely a few years out of grad school and he's a few years out of a decade-long marriage. It feels like an almost insurmountable distance already.

Angela turns to look at him, clearly trying to gauge his reaction before she whacks him with her bouquet and hisses, "That is your soon-to-be wife, Tim,notyour new Boot, so maybe chill out with the death glare. You shouldn't betryingto intimidate her."

Tim ignores her; he begs to differ. This woman is supposed to be hiswife. Chosen by supposed experts to be his life partner, his perfect other half. He is sure as hell going to be assessing whether she measures up to his standards. The fact that he already knows all of this is bullshit honestly just makes him that much more inclined to prove it.

When she reaches the end of the aisle, she stops in front of him and tilts her head to smile up at him in this sweet, hopeful kind of way that he simultaneously finds incredibly endearing and incredibly irritating. She's looking at him like he holds her fate in his hands, and she is counting on him not to fuck it up. And it makes him feel… something.

Mostly, averse to the idea that she already has expectations of him, already seems to think that he owes her something. But there's also something else — less intense, but still present — an inexplicable pulling sensation surging up through his core — a ridiculous urge to avoid disappointing this literal stranger.

Her smile falters briefly under the intensity of his gaze, but she forges onward. "Hi, I'm Lucy," she offers with a bouncy little wave.

She's so…bubbly.

He frowns and nods. "Tim," he offers simply before turning his attention to the officiant that is trying to get the ceremony underway.

When it comes time for them to recite their vows, her hands are trembling so badly that she's having difficulty unfolding the piece of paper she is holding. She laughs softly, her cheeks flushing and eyes dropping as she tries to secure her grip. He feels a strange compulsion to reach out and close his hands over hers, to steady her. He doesn't.

She stops fumbling with the paper and ultimately decides to shove it… somewhere… he's not entirely sure where… but it disappears amidst the folds of her dress. And when she looks back up at him, he has to swallow becausedamnshe is pretty.

"I'm sorry. I'm just a little nervous. This is really crazy." She pauses as if wondering if he might say something, and, at odds with almost every single instinct in his body, a small part of him wants to reassure her. He doesn't.

He stares back at her, simply forcing a stiff nod so she'll move on and they can get this whole dumb charade over with. Her face falls for a fraction of a second, but it's enough for him to notice. Enough for him to feel a twinge in his gut. And that only serves to increase his aggravation. Since when does he give a damn if he's made someone feel the teensiest bit uncomfortable?

"Okay, then," she draws the 'okay' out in a way that indicates she isn't particularly impressed. He has to stop himself from smirking in response to the glimmer of sass. But good. She shouldn't be impressed. He's nottryingto impress her. Not after knowing her for all of thirty seconds.

Besides, he's always found that it's best to set expectations right from the beginning. He isn't going to fawn all over her and bend over backward to comfort her just because her pretty brown eyes seem to be pleading for exactly that. And he certainly isn't going to be all lovey-dovey and gooey-eyed toward a woman he's never met purely based on a panel of dumb reality TV hacks suggesting they belong together. And if that's what she's expecting… well, best to get the disappointment out of the way then.

She may not actually be one of his boots, but, in a way, is this really that different? Like them, she's going to have to prove to him that she is worth his time and energy.

She clasps her hands together and takes a deep breath before lifting her eyes to his. "I know I don't know you, and that this — all of this — is really freaking weird. But I want you to know that you — the idea of you — a partner to share my life with is something that I've thought a lot about…"

Oh good lord.She is really going for it. She rambles on about hope, and friendship, and the things that had led them here to take this crazy leap together. Something about being here for this journey, however it turns out. And he honestly has to force himself to tune out so he doesn't roll his eyes or vocally scoff to express his derision. He had been hoping to keep this part short and sweet.

He feels Angela digging her elbow into his side and he suddenly realizes that all eyes are on him. It must be his turn to recite his vows. He glances toward the girl — Lucy? Was that her name? And he's momentarily struck again by how expressive her large brown eyes are. Can see the unmistakable glimmer of hurt and disappointment in them before she blinks it away.

And even that flicker is enough for him to know that he really doesn't like seeing her look at him like that. Doesn't like the way it makes him feel at all.

Great. Just great.Just one more annoying thing — apparently he's going to feel like he's kicked a goddamn puppy every time her feelings get hurt.

Of course he would end up paired with possibly the most earnest woman on earth. Why couldn't she just be here for the opportunity to shill more shit on Instagram or ClopTik or whatever the hell else the youth are on these days like every other 20-something that comes on this show?

He forces out a few sentences that he vaguely hopes pass muster, but the disbelieving look on his bride's face and the aggravated sigh from Angela are likely good indicators that they don't. Genny doesn't look any happier in the first row.

Whatever.He'd randomly thrown in some of the same words — hope, journey, future. Blah, blah, blah. Was he really expected to deliver some heartfelt speech to this random woman as part of this sacrilegious farce?Come on.

The officiant moves forward with the ceremony and…shit.He hadn't even thought about this part. Hell, if he'd given much thought to any of this at all — the actual tactics of wedding a stranger, he never would have made it this far.

Is he actually supposed to kiss her? This total and complete stranger that seems to be channeling actual emojis for her facial expressions — a journey from heart eyes to sad eyes that he honestly could have done without.

And at the moment it's definitely the one with the furrowed angry eyebrows. She's somehow even cuter when she's pissed, but that's neither here nor there.

It's more than clear that she doesn't want him anywhere near her. This is so damn weird. He feels like he's assaulting her or something. But the officiant has said the words, and everyone is staring at them, and her cheeks are starting to color as she waits without meeting his eyes.

And there is no way he can kiss her if she's not at least looking at him. This is the absolute worst.

He takes a deep breath and then lifts his hand to tilt her chin up so that he can see her eyes. It's then that he realizes why she had stopped looking at him.

Fuck.She's crying. Not in a super obvious way. Just a few gigantic tears catching in her lashes like she's some kind of Disney princess (or one of the sad crying emojis) before they roll down her cheeks.

Tim sighs; it doesn't feel great — seeing how upset she is. But it's not like he's over here having the time of his life either. And in a way, isn't it better that it happens now? She's going to have to accept that this process is nonsense reality TV garbage at some point.

And, even if, by some ridiculous and unlikely turn of events, they do manage to forge some kind of connection, she needs to know who he is — needs to know that he has no interest in riding in on a white horse for anyone. Not anymore.

And yet… his thumb seems to be moving over her cheek of its own accord, collecting her tears and surprising them both. It's gotta be those damn eyes of hers. Sucking him in. Begging him to take care of her.

But for whatever he thinks her eyes may be begging him to do, the rest of her is most certainly not on board. He dips his head to brush his lips against hers, intending to keep it simple and brief. But apparently, she's decided it couldn't possibly be brief enough, turning her face so that he barely even catches the corner of her mouth.

Thankfully, it's at an angle where most of the room (and hopefully the cameras) will just see an awkward first kiss that ends a little abruptly.

But for Tim and those gathered around the altar, it's absolutely clear what it is. A flat-out rejection. The officiant laughs uncomfortably.

And Tim has to admit, it stings a little bit. It's not like he was super keen on kissing her either, but he had at least expected that, like him, she would go along just to get it done. But it also kind of makes him want to laugh out loud.

Apparently, it has the same effect on Angela because he hears her snort with laughter behind him. "She isnotbuying what you're selling, Bradford."

Their blissful union is announced to the room and then Tim watches as his lovely new wife storms back down the aisle, her Man of Honor in tow. Apparently, she's decided the recessional is optional, too. He shrugs; at least it'll make for good TV.

Lucy makes a beeline for her dressing room after the ceremony. She needs space. And she needs her best friend.

She'd gotten used to being followed by the camera crew during the filming of the match process and pre-wedding prep, but it still really weirds her out. She tries to block it out. Reality TV or not, this is her actual life. And she really did just get married.

And suddenly it's achingly clear that all of the people that had warned her not to do this had been completely right. Herparentshad been completely right. Ugh.

When she had initially seen him at the end of the aisle, she had dug her fingers into Jackson's arm in disbelief, her heart had leapt into her throat, and her entire body had begun to tingle with excitement and anticipation.

He wasbeautiful. Absolutely one of the most attractive men she had ever seen. So good-looking she had to wonder if he might be an actor slash model looking to revive his career. A very real possibility given she had chosen to put her fate into the hands of the reality TV gods.

But the tingles gave way to a cold wave of discomfort when the intensity of his stare hadn't relented as she progressed down the aisle; he wasgloweringat her like she was some kind of enemy combatant.

There was no shy or welcoming smile waiting for her. No kind eyes.

He'd been so…cold.

Jackson had stiffened, hissing into her ear, "I think I mightknowhim. From work."

And she had thrown him a panicked look, needing to know more, wanting to know if she should turn on her heel and run back down the aisle. But halfway down the aisle was hardly the time or place for a conversation.

But now she is absolutely wishing she had just bolted.

He hadn't evenlistenedto the vows she had spent literal hours working to perfect. Words were her livelihood, her love language, her chosen medium for expressing her most authentic self.

So of course she had wanted to craft the perfect message for someone that she didn't know yet, but could very well change the trajectory of the rest of her life. She had shared parts of herself and her dreams and hopes for the future, and at one point she could swear that he had actually rolled his eyes.

He'd been so…dickish.

This may very well be one of the biggest mistakes of her life, and that is saying something because she is no stranger to making mistakes.

God, why had she stupidly and naively let herself float away with the romantic fantasy of finally meeting who she was supposed to spend the rest of her life with?

Maybe if she'd kept herself a bit more grounded, the realization that he is a complete and total jerk wouldn't sting so much.

But she had never even expected to make it into the selection process at all, even with Sterling's connections paving her way. And then when she'd gone through the matchmaking process, she had still kept her expectations on the floor. What was the chance they would actually end up finding a match for her out of the hundreds of other people that had made it that far?

But when she'd gotten the call — been told they had found a perfect partner for her — it was then that she had started to really hope.

Seven out of ten couples made it out of this thing to their happily ever after. Whyshouldn'tshe have been excited and eager to meet the man they had selected for her?

Only now… she is overwhelmed by the certainty that this can't be right. There's no way anyone could have thought that this man could possibly be the right partner for her.

She flops onto the couch in her dressing room.

"He's anasshole. I married an asshole," she declares miserably to the ceiling.

And, sure, it's a little dramatic, but it's true, and theyaremaking a TV show — may as well milk her misery for somebody's benefit.

Tamara and Jackson exchange looks. Tamara speaks first, "Well… you know… sometimes first impressions can be wrong. I mean — look at me and you. Did you really think we'd end up here after I stole your car?"

Lucy sighs and props herself up on her elbow so she can meet Tamara's eyes.

"That's completely different. Besides, aren't you one of themanypeople that told me this was a stupid idea? I should have listened to you."

Tamara nods, "Well, yeah… you should have, but it seems like the wrong time to say 'I told you so'."

Lucy rolls her eyes.

"But… on the bright side," Tamara continues, "at least he's hot. I mean — a total Zaddy. If I were your age, I would totally —"

"Tamara!" Lucy and Jackson snap in horrified unison.

Tamara laughs.

"A totalwhat?" Lucy mutters, glancing toward Jackson who just shrugs.

"Lucy," he offers softly. "I'm so sorry. I know that didn't go how you were hoping it would."

She arches an eyebrow as if to say 'no shit' and he laughs.

"Okay, I know that objectively kind of sucked, and he does, indeed, appear to be kind of an asshole."

He reaches over to squeeze her arm, "But… let me do some digging at work and see what I can find out about him for you. And Tamara's right."

Jackson sighs, looking conflicted, "Look, Lucy, on one hand, you're in this and I think it probably is worth keeping an open mind for a little bit longer. This whole thing is pretty extreme and weird; maybe it'll be different when you guys spend some time together one-on-one. And maybe you can get something positive out of this experience, even if it's not the love of your life.

"On the other hand, I know you. I know you always see the good in people, and this guy is clearly capable of being a massive dick. So maybe just keep your guard up for a while. I don't want to see you get hurt."

Lucy nods just as someone knocks on the door. A production assistant informs Lucy that as much as they've enjoyed this theatrical detour, it is time for her to go where she was supposed to go after the ceremony — to film a private toast with her new husband in their hotel room.

Lucy feels her stomach drop — obviously, the film crew will be in attendance for their "private" toast, but she's not loving the idea of having to spend the night alone with this man after the reception.

She steels herself. Jackson's right; she can't turn back time so she may as well attempt to keep an open mind. And she's a lot of things, but she is most definitely not a quitter.

Tim gazes out over the city from the balcony of the honeymoon suite he is theoretically supposed to be sharing with his new bride. He can't help but think if she had run off just a little sooner, this whole debacle could be over for them both.

Angela and Genny had been none too happy with him after the ceremony.

He had tried to be antagonistic, shrugging and asking what they had expected after they had practically forced him into this. But, of course, he had been called on his bullshit. Neither one of them could quite believe he was idiotic or stubborn enough to go this far just to prove them wrong, instead insisting that some part of him had to believe there was a possibility this could work. That maybe even a small part of him wanted it to work.

And then they had piled on the guilt —what about that poor girl? She put her life on hold for this experience, hoping to fall in love.How could he possibly be so selfish?

Why did it seem like everyone kept doing that — why was he suddenly responsible for this girl's emotional well-being? He can't do anything about what she had hoped for. It's nothisfault she had unrealistic expectations and ended up disappointed. He sighs, trying to block out the image of her sad eyes in his head. Those damn eyes.

He shakes himself. Besides, she's gorgeous and young and he has no doubt she'll have no problem meeting someone on her own if (or, more likely, when) this whole thing doesn't work out.

"Isn't it better that she's disappointed now rather than me faking it for eight weeks only to dump her at the end?" he had tried.

"No, Tim. It would be better if you would get your head out of your ass and actually give this a real try," Angela had insisted.

"She's not some random gir— woman, Tim." Genny had corrected pointedly, clearly attempting to shift how Tim was viewing her. "She was selected specifically for you via a process that has been proven to work. Aren't you even the slightest bit curious as to why?"

And though he hadn't been willing to admit it, yes, of course, he's a little bit curious. Who wouldn't be?

He feels muddled.

The further into the ceremony they had gotten, the more the bad taste in his mouth around this whole thing had grown. Going through the motions of a ritual and traditions that are supposed to mean something — rituals and traditions thathadmeant something to him felt even more wrong than he had anticipated it would. Like he was disrespecting the very real love and commitment that had existed when he and Isabel had gotten married. The whole thing was actually kind of disgusting when he really thought about it.

But then there was his bride — unquestionably there for the right reasons. Looking up at him with a genuine hopefulness and excitement that, while maybe a little (or a lot) naive, could not have been further from disrespectful or disgusting. He's not entirely sure how he should be feeling about any of this. He thinks again how much easier this would have been if he had just been paired up with a damn influencer.

The door to the hotel room slams shut and Tim turns so he can see into the room. A PA who appears to be in his early 30s is trailing Lucy into the suite, and Tim almost laughs out loud at just how obviously enamored with her the man is. Not that he can blame him. She says something and starts to laugh and Tim blinks, realizing that the PA is not the only one looking at her like she's the prettiest thing he's ever seen.

The PA, whose name is apparently Brad, gives Lucy the same spiel Tim had gotten about the stationary cameras and markings on the floor indicating where they need to be to stay in frame. The crew won't be there for their toast; they want things to be more "organic" for their first post-ceremony interaction. But, of course, there's also a sheet of prompts affixed to the cocktail table, should they be unclear on what they are expected to talk about.

Brad holds up a mic pack, says something Tim can't hear, and then circles around her to attach it low on Lucy's hips, his hands brushing over the curve of her ass as he adjusts its placement.

He clenches his jaw, eyes narrowing. His PA had let him put his mic pack on himself, though, to be fair, it was easier to clip it onto the back of his pants under his jacket than to do the weird loopy belt thing they are having to do to attach it around Lucy's dress. And Lucy doesn't appear to be bothered. This guy has likely been her PA for a few weeks now, through the match process and pre-wedding stuff. He relaxes. It's probably fine. And she's a big girl. She can handle herself.

But he continues to watch them closely. The PA walks around to her front with the actual mic in his hand and he moves to clip it onto the front of her dress.

Lucy seems surprised when he reaches toward her chest, a tiny yelp of protest escaping her as she steps back out of his reach, and her reflexes arefast,arm coming up to deflect his advance midway through the air.

She laughs, but this time it's more uncomfortable than genuine and she's still smiling, but it's a little tighter now. She holds out her palm, "I think I can do that part myself." Her demeanor is still pleasant, but her tone is firm and her eyes are steely.

Huh,Tim thinks.Maybe she can handle herself.

Tim steps into the room and clears his throat when Brad doesn't immediately drop the mic into Lucy's waiting palm. They both startle, swiveling to look at him.

"Everything okay?" He stares directly at the PA, and it seems to jar him into motion.

He places the mic into Lucy's palm and nods at Tim. "Everything's great. Just gotta test the mic, and I'll leave you to it."

Lucy turns away from them both as she works to attach the mic to the neckline of her dress.

When Brad finally leaves the room, Tim turns to Lucy, "I think you should request a new PA."

Her eyes look momentarily troubled, but then she simply nods.

"Think I can request a new husband, too?" she deadpans.

He arches an eyebrow. "Be my guest," he sweeps his arm in a grand gesture toward the door. Though, if he's honest, he's not hating the small glimpses of fire he's getting amidst the sweet hair twirling and giant tears.

She sighs, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't — that was rude." She takes a deep breath and flashes him a big smile, holding her hand out to him. "Maybe we should just start over? Hi! I'm Lucy."

Anddd she's back.

The rest of the evening passes about as awkwardly as one would expect. And though he's hardly being warm and fuzzy, Lucy is grateful that Tim appears to be making an effort to be less of an asshole.

They take their wedding photos, and Lucy's heart just about hammers out of her chest every time he touches her. When he is instructed to place a hand on her hip. When his fingers press gently against her lower back to guide her closer. Or even anytime they are forced to gaze lovingly into each other's eyes. It is pretty much impossible for either of them to relax enough to take any photos that aren't completely stiff and obviously staged. And she is mortified that there is no possibility he isn't noticing the way her breath catches or her skin prickles every time he gets close to her.

It's infuriating, really. She doesn't even actuallylikehim. But her body, apparently, has decided otherwise.

During the reception, she chats with Tim's family and friends and they honestly all seem quite lovely — it kind of makes her wonder what they must see in Tim.

And to his credit, she does see Tim with Jackson and her Aunt Amy and a few other friends from grad school and work, so at least he seems to be making some effort.

The first dance is pretty much as painful as the photo shoot, if not a little worse because of the audience. He's a decent dancer, but they aren't quite in sync with each other. Probably because they've started to make avoiding direct eye contact an art form. They unabashedly scramble back from each other as soon as the song is over.

But, for some reason, by the time they are cutting the cake, Tim is flat-out scowling. He breaks for the terrace the minute they set the knife down, clearly ready to film their required nightcap so they can finally bring the night to an end. And she doesn't disagree — she's tired and feeling a bit on edge too, but she's not entirely sure why he seems so angry and tense again.

She gives grateful (and slightly desperate) hugs goodbye to Jackson and Tamara and her Aunt before heading to the bar to grab a glass of champagne.

She finds Tim standing at the railing of the terrace of the reception hall with a glass of whiskey. He eyes her wearily as the crew sets up to film their final conversation of the night, but joins her on the terrace swing when directed. They make meaningless small talk and then have a generally pleasant, but boring conversation about where they grew up, what parts of LA they live in, where they went to school, and so on.

When the crew finally packs up, they both heave sighs of relief and take long swigs of their drinks. At least the made-for-TV part of their day is finally finished.

For whatever reason, neither makes a move to leave the swing after the crew departs. They sit quietly together staring out at the view and sipping their drinks, both attempting to process the reality of what had happened earlier that day.

Tim's eyes lazily drift over her. He'd been so mesmerized byherearlier, that he hadn't paid much attention to her dress. A simplicity that suits her, that doesn't do anything to pull attention away from the woman that is actually wearing the gown. A slit that has been pulling his eye to her shapely leg all night. A cut that isn't particularly revealing but leaves no doubt that she has curves in all of the right places. His gaze lingers probably just a moment too long at the neckline, where the tempting glimpse of the swell of her breasts makes it difficult for him to look away.

When his eyes finally meet hers and she flushes, he realizes he's been pretty unabashed in his perusal of her body.Oh well. He lifts the glass of whiskey to his lips, not breaking eye contact as he takes a long, slow sip. He's admittedly curious to see how she'll respond — if she feels the physical chemistry between them as much as he does. And, for a moment, when she steadily holds his gaze and her own eyes darken just the slightest bit to reflect her own interest, there's a spark.

But then, just as quickly, she shyly drops her eyes and begins fidgeting in her seat as she switches positions. His eyes widen when the slit of the dress follows her movement and exposes practically the entire length of her perfect leg, and Tim is sucked right back in.Fuck.

"Shit," Lucy gasps, moving to shift herself and the fabric of the dress back into a less indecent position. She giggles nervously, "Sorry. I — uh, I haven't worn this dress before." Her eyes are sparkling with her laughter when she looks up at him expectantly, as if she is waiting for him to join her.

A crease forms on Tim's forehead and he stares at her for a moment like he's trying to puzzle something out. But then he just shakes his head and sighs, turning his gaze away from her and out toward the skyline. He's been back and forth all night on whether she is the sexiest woman he's ever seen or whether she is just far too sweet and silly and all around Little Miss Sunshine for his taste, regardless of the level of physical attraction he feels toward her. He's starting to get a pretty solid gut feeling about where the pendulum is going to end up.

"You live with ateenager?" he asks incredulously.

Lucy frowns, "Livedwith, and it's a little more complicated than that, but yes."

For a little bit, Tim had been looking at her in a way that had made her think this night may finally be taking a turn in a different direction. But now, as she watches him nod slowly, she can practically see him filing the judgment away for later.What a pompous, arrogant…She doesn't even feel compelled to try and correct the misunderstanding.

Tim gets up from the swing and moves to stand at the balustrade, again lifting the glass of whiskey to his lips as he looks out over the city. And for a moment, Lucy is transfixed by his profile, eyes following the perfect cut of his jawline.

And he's also a massive dick, she reminds herself. She's trying to keep an open mind and give him the benefit of the doubt. There has to be some reason they were paired together, some reason someone thought he was right for her. But the superior way he keeps looking at her — like he's somehow evaluating her and has already decided that she can't possibly be good enough — it's really making it hard to suppress her urge to punch him in the nose and instead keep a sweet smile plastered to her face.

He turns to face her, leaning back against the railing. And even his posture is cocky.

"So what made you want to do this?"

It's blunt. To the point. And a question that Lucy absolutely knew she would have to answer. They'd even had a bland version of this conversation earlier on camera where neither had been particularly forthcoming. And though she had never intended to reveal her real reasons on camera, she had thought that maybe it would be something she might share with her partner one-on-one. At least some of it. But she isn't ready. She doesn't actually know this man, and the little she does know has done nothing to make her want to open up. It's done the complete opposite.

She shrugs, looking away from him out toward the city before she responds. "Just got tired of trying to date in LA, I guess; I had a pretty terrible date that kind of put me off of dating for a bit and realized I might have to take some drastic measures if I didn't want to be alone forever." She forces a laugh.

There — it's not a total lie. Not the total truth either, but it's good enough for now.

Unsurprisingly, he doesn't look particularly impressed with her answer. "What'd you say you do again? A reporter?"

And maybe if he'd asked a little less snidely, Lucy would feel hopeful that he's actually asking her questions in an attempt to get to know her. Instead, she is pretty certain he's just attempting to validate his assessment that she couldn't possibly be right for him. And it hurts a little more than she's willing to admit.

She exhales an annoyed sigh. "No. I'm ajournalist —an investigative journalist," she corrects tersely.

He looks skeptical, as if questioning whether there's actually a difference. "Have you worked on anything I'd know?"

And she has to dig her nails into her palm as she forms a fist to resist smacking the smug superiority right off of his face. How on earth had she been paired with this asshat?

"Well… that depends… do you read?" She tilts her head and smiles so sweetly at him it's practically saccharine. Maybe Pollyanna does have a bit of bite to her, after all.

He gives her a forced sarcastic smile back, "Only when I have to."

Her lips twitch the slightest bit, and his eyes are drawn to her perfect pout. He'd overheard Nyla and Angela gushing about how they would kill for her lips during the reception and had promptly rolled his eyes and tuned it out. But now he's thinking that maybe they had a point.

"I worked on a piece a few years ago that got a bit of attention; an investigation into one of the cartels responsible for a lot of the drug trade here in LA."

Tim stiffens. "You're the reporter that went undercover in the Solanga cartel?"

Lucy nods. "So you know it then?"

Oh, he knows it, all right. The article in question had generated a public outcry that rained a shitstorm of upheaval on the department. How exactly had a 20-something woman from the Times single-handedly done more to curb the drug trade in LA in eight weeks than the LAPD and DEA had done jointly over years and at the expense of millions in funding? The people had a right to know apparently.

If that wasn't bad enough, her takedown may have been great for flashy headlines and some pointless medals and plaques, but it had also destabilized the entire underbelly of the drug trade in LA, giving rise to a violent drug war that had cost countless lives and had almost gotten his best friend and soon-to-be godson killed.

And sure, maybe she wasn'ttechnicallyto blame for everything that happened in the aftermath. And maybe there wassomevalidity to the cry for accountability and results that had finally forced the brass to cut through the bureaucratic bullshit that had stalled the progress of the joint LAPD DEA task force.

But she had still been the lead domino. It was her story that had put into motion the perfect storm that had led to one of the worst periods in his life.

The destabilization of the cartels had put many of the LAPD's undercover operations at risk. And though he's not entirely sure when Isabel started using, he has to believe that the stress had only done more to push her over the edge. Their relationship had begun to crumble. And even though Tim has mostly accepted that the path he and Isabel ended up on was probably inevitable, he'd be lying if he said there hasn't always been a vague whisper in the back of his head that has questioned whether things could have turned out differently. If maybe just one of those things had lined up differently. If Isabel hadn't been put under so much additional strain. If he hadn't been so fucking wrapped up with the political upheaval at work, the drug war, and then, ultimately, the search for Angela after her abduction, maybe he would have been able to be there for his wife when she needed him.

Absolutely fucking perfect.

He grits his teeth. "Yeah. You could say that."

Confusion fills her eyes, and Tim can't help but think again about how he can read every damn emotion she's feeling with just a glance.

And, at the moment, it's infuriating. He doesn't want to be concerned about whether she's confused or whether her feelings are hurt right now. He wants to be fucking angry. Angry that she wrote that stupid article when she did probably just so she could win some stupid award and bask in the spotlight and glory of her success. Angry that he's here at all and not living the life he had dreamed of for himself and Isabel. And angry that he'd somehow ended up married tothiswoman, of all people.

"Do you always have to fucking do that?" he snaps, eyes boring into hers, willing her to just stop looking at him like that.

Lucy swallows and now she looks a little scared, too. "Do what?"

Dammit. He turns and strides across the terrace and sucks in a breath of fresh air. He needs to not be looking at her for a second. His shoulders tense when he hears her approaching from behind him. She pauses a few feet away.

"I'm confused. Did I say or do something that made you angry?" her voice is uncertain.

He swipes his hand over his face and takes another deep inhale before turning to face her, eyes blazing with his fury. "That article had some pretty serious repercussions for people that I care about."

"Oh." It's all she says for a moment, and she looks away. And when she meets his eyes again, she looks genuinely sad. "I'm sorry."

And it is maybe the last thing he had expected her to say. Because who even does that? Just apologizes without any questions or defense or qualification? Seems to be actually sad for people and reasons she doesn't know anything about. This girl is something else.

He watches as she turns away from him and walks back into the ballroom.

He turns to look out at the skyline, his anger already beginning to fade. On some level, he knows she was just doing her job. That it's actually absurd to blame her for any of what had happened between him and Isabel. But it doesn't make him feel any less resentful in this moment.

And on some other level, he's also a bit stunned — he had pretty much written this woman off as someone whose biggest problem was getting a brunch reservation. And now he's trying to reconcile the tiny, bubbly woman he had just married to a woman that had spent months successfully infiltrating and taking down a violent cartel. Clearly, there's more to her than meets the eye.

He's less angry but still frustrated by the time they both ultimately end up back in the suite. She hasn't said a word to him and is clearly attempting to keep her distance (or at least as much distance as she can, given this ridiculous situation), and for that, at least, he is grateful.

She wanders out of the bathroom a few minutes later, still fully dressed and chewing on her bottom lip, her uncertainty evident in her eyes.

Tim feels yet another flare of annoyance rise up, hating that her mannerisms suddenly seem so meek and insecure to him.

He waits, his irritation only growing as she hovers awkwardly for a few more moments. He rolls his eyes, "Do you need something?"

Her gaze drops, and Tim immediately feels regret; he thinks back to what had happened with the PA that afternoon. She's clearly uncomfortable around him and in this situation, and he's doing the absolute least to put her at ease.

He presses his eyes closed and takes a deep breath, reminding himself that it's notherfault he's here. And that it can't be easy for any woman to step into a situation like this without some level of apprehension. He's a literal stranger, and she's alone in this hotel room with him.

He tries again, voice a little softer this time, "Are you okay?"

She nods, lifting her eyes to his again. "Sorry — I'm not trying to be weird. This is all just —" She swallows and, for a minute, Tim thinks she might cry.For the love of god.

But she doesn't, instead sucking in a breath and standing up a little bit straighter. "I can't undo the back of this dress by myself — could you help me, please?"

Tim's eyes widen briefly, but he nods, "Uh yeah. Yes. Of course."

He crosses over to her, and she turns so her back is to him, pulling her hair to one side over her shoulder. His eyes are automatically drawn to the ink on her neck. He's never gotten a tattoo, has never found them particularly appealing. But somehow on her…

His fingers brush against the skin of her back as he begins to undo the top button, and he swears that she shivers in response to the touch, goosebumps prickling up over her skin.

And there must be a million buttons all the way down to the curve of her ass.

But he works diligently, trying to ignore the sensation that there is suddenly less oxygen in the room with every additional inch of bare skin that he exposes.

The dress starts to fold open the further down he goes and his eyes flit to another tattoo on her side when it is revealed. This one is different from the ones on her neck and wrist, not artistic or beautiful, but instead very basic, even maybe a little ugly. He can't see it all, but as far as he can tell, it seems to be some random combination of letters and numbers.

He turns his attention back to the task at hand, eyes following the curve of her lower back until he finally reaches the last button. His fingers linger against her skin for maybe just a fraction of a second longer than necessary before he pulls back.

"All done," he croaks, face flushing at the unexpected crack in his voice.

She releases her hair, hands shifting to clutch the front of her dress in place as she glances over her shoulder at him. "Thank you," she says softly, gazing up at him through her lashes as she turns to face him. And this time when she bites her lip, he isn't thinking about how childish or awkward it makes her seem, he's thinking about how unbelievably sexy this woman is and how soft her lips might feel against his own.

Her eyes are still locked on his, and they both know it's been too long. Too long for them to both be standing here like this staring at each other without any words.

Tim shakes himself, swallowing before offering, "Uh — let me know if you need anything else."

She nods and then turns away from him to head back into the bathroom.

He tears his gaze from her, knowing that seeing any more of her as she moves is only going to make him want things that would make this situation even more complicated than it already is. It is absolutely not an option.

He flops back onto the bed. No matter how complicated his feelings toward her are right now, he can't deny that there is some kind of pull between them. Whether he likes it or not. He heaves a deep sigh, wondering again just what the fuck he has gotten himself into.

Summary:

The morning after the wedding; a croissant-shaped olive branch; a trip to paradise

Notes:

Footnotes included for anyone who is interested in seeing pictures along the way - just click the link on the superscript!

(See the end of the chapter formore notes.)

Chapter Text

Just Married

Week 1, Day 1: Sunday

When Tim wakes the next morning, it takes a few seconds for him to place where he is, and as all of the events of the prior day come flooding back he squeezes his eyes shut again.Why couldn't it have all just been a terrible dream?

But he is a creature of routine, and they have a flight to Mexico in a few hours, so if he has any hope of squeezing in a quick workout, he needs to get his ass into gear.

He turns onto his side to check on the woman that is, crazily enough, technically his wife, and… yup… turns out he is still crazy attracted to her, even without all the glam and frill from the wedding. Lucy is in pretty much the same position she had been in the night prior — curled into a tiny ball so close to the edge of the bed that Tim had honestly thought she'd eventually end up on the floor. The only difference is that she's now facing in toward him instead of facing the wall.

He'd briefly considered offering to take the floor, but ultimately realized there was no way he could do that every night, so he figured they may as well rip that band-aid off, too.

He slowly exhales as he gazes at her sleeping form, a strange mix of emotion swirling in his gut — the weight of remorse tinged with apprehension commingling with an unexpected wave of something other than complete apathy toward her. Not quite fondness, but also definitely not the deep-seated aggravation he'd been feeling toward her and, well, really everything the day before.

It certainly doesn't mean he wants to be married to her, but, obviously, that train has left the station. Setting aside her involvement with that cursed article, objectively, he can't entirely discount the fact that he's been paired with someone who, at least on the surface, appears to be a decent, intelligent, and mildly entertaining human being.

He certainly could have done worse. And given his behavior yesterday, he probably deserved worse.

Tim is still wary that the expectations she had coming into this are going to be problematic for them both, but perhaps there's a middle ground between being a complete asshole and proclaiming his undying love to a complete stranger to explore.

Tim isn't in the room when Lucy wakes, and for that, she is deeply grateful. Shockingly, she isn't actually looking forward to spending more time with a man that has been perpetually irritated with her since the moment they met.

Her disappointment is still weighing on her. She had come into this with the best of intentions and admittedly high hopes. But less than twenty-four hours with this man has violently catapulted her right back into reality.

She's never been someone with a long list of criteria she expects in a partner. Never entirely understood the allure of the bad boy or the jerk (though, admittedly, some of the looks Tim had sent her way yesterday were certainly putting that notion to the test). But, ultimately, she's only ever had two non-negotiables — her significant other has to be someone with a kind heart and someone that treats her well.

And the version of himself that Tim had shown her yesterday is far from checking the box on either.

But even despite the mounting evidence that this process isn't going to work for her, that she isn't going to be a part of the 70% that finds their happily ever after, hope has always been something Lucy has had difficulty giving up.

Some (including, apparently, her new husband) may see it as being naive or childish or starry-eyed, but it's a fundamental part of who she is. It has gotten her through her very worst times, and it's not something she will ever apologize for. If her perfect match can't stand or appreciate that part of her, then maybe he's not so perfect for her after all.

Lucy is on the floor attempting to get her overstuffed suitcase closed when Tim returns to the room. He's still sweaty from his workout, and for a moment Lucy can't see or process anything other than his arms in that muscle tee. Forcing her gaze to his eyes, she has to immediately remind herself that, again, no amount of hotness compensates for being an asshole.

She's confused when he strides toward her, fully having expected they would continue on with their unspoken pact to ignore each other until forced to do otherwise. Her eyes widen in surprise when he shoves a cup of coffee and two small paper bags in her direction.

He's gruff and to the point when he finally speaks, "I didn't know how you like it or whether you were a breakfast person, so just toss it or whatever if you don't want it."

Lucy is speechless for a second — touched, but also floored, by the unexpected thoughtfulness. Maybe this is his version of an olive branch?

She accepts the offering and peers into each of the paper bags. Tim had clearly raided the coffee station for her — there's a whole array of sweetener and creamer options for her to choose from. The second bag contains a warm croissant that smells so good her stomach actually rumbles. Well, that's a little embarrassing.

Her cheeks are tinged pink when she finally looks back up to thank him, but he's already halfway into the bathroom.

"Thanks," she says to his back, figuring now is not the best time to let him know she is more of a tea person. She can certainly use the caffeine after yesterday, regardless.

He pauses, and when he turns back, his eyes have that glimmer of irritation that is beginning to feel like a trademark of his, at least it seems to be his default expression for her, anyway.

He sighs, and again, Lucy is caught off guard when he quickly closes the distance between them and drops onto the floor beside her. He places his hands on the top of the suitcase, forcing it down, and it's not until he arches an eyebrow and jerks his head toward the suitcase in a 'what are you waiting for' gesture that Lucy realizes he's expecting her to zip it shut.

And she should probably be grossed out — he's literally still sweating from his workout, but somehow the mingling scent of his soap and deodorant and exertion could not be more intoxicating to her. She can literally feel the heat radiating from his skin as she maneuvers around him, and her proximity to him in this state has her thinking all sorts of thoughts about his sweaty skin pressed up against hers in a very different context.

He's back on his feet as soon as Lucy has completed her journey around the bag and when he extends a hand out to help her to her feet, she realizes her dick of a husband is apparently capable of being kind of a gentleman.

And that may actually fluster her more than imagining what it would be like to be underneath his perspiring body. She is certain she must be a tomato by the time she is on her feet and meeting his gaze, but if he notices, he doesn't let on.

As usual, his expression is cool and guarded, whereas she is almost positive he must know she is thinking dirty, dirty thoughts about him. He has this way of looking at her that makes her feel like he can see exactly what she is thinking or feeling at any given moment. It's disconcerting, to say the least.

The flight to Mexico is pretty uneventful. Tim continues to exist somewhere on the spectrum between not rude and almost pleasant, but they pretty much keep to themselves — him with his headphones on and eyes closed as he tips his head back against the seat and Lucy finally breaking into a political thriller that had been sitting untouched on her coffee table since she bought it six months ago.

When she moves to retrieve her luggage from the overhead bin after they land, Tim places a hand on her waist to stop her, and good lord, when his fingers unexpectedly graze the bare skin that's been exposed by her reach, Lucy momentarily forgets how to breathe.

"I've got it," he says as he reaches up around her to retrieve the bag with significantly less effort. And even though she scrambles to get out of his way, his chest still presses against her back as he retrieves both of their bags. And nope. That is most certainly not her thighs that are involuntarily clenching as she feels every firm muscle of his upper body moving against her. It most certainly is not.

What is this man doing to her? She's flushing so hard she can't even meet his eyes when she mumbles a hurried 'thank you' before moving the hell away from him so she can remember how to behave like a normal person.

Lucy keeps her gaze fixed out the window to take in the scenery on the shuttle ride to their resort in Riviera Maya and Tim takes the opportunity to study her. While she hasn't actually done anything concrete to indicate it, he has the sense that she doesn't much like him. Which, after yesterday, is hardly surprising.

But she's also been acting a little strangely all morning since he handed her that coffee — flushing and avoiding his eyes and tensing anytime he gets near her. It's actually kind of adorable, and he is starting to suspect she might have a bit of a crush on him or something.

Which, in itself, is even a little endearing. God knows the physical attraction isn't lacking on his end. But ultimately, it makes him feel wary. Maybe if she had come into this with lesser expectations and he was capable of being a little more open, they actually could have had a pretty damn good time together over the next eight weeks.

But she is here for a husband, not a fling. And he can't in good conscience carry the weight of that expectation when he already has such a strong sense of how this will turn out. Contrary to what his behavior may have conveyed the day prior, he doesn't actually want to hurt her at the end of this.

He may have agreed to this solely (okay, mostly) to prove a point, but he hadn't actually come into it with the intention of hurting anyone in the process. He had never even imagined they would find a partner for him given the disdain he'd expressed throughout all of the matchmaking nonsense.

And even when they told him they had found a match, it hadn't really hit home that he would suddenly be so responsible for another person's feelings — that his choices had actually already taken something away from his perfect match — until he had come face to face with her yesterday.

When they arrive at the resort1and spot the overwater bungalow that will be their home for the next five days, Lucy is practically bursting with excitement. And though his response is not nearly as evident, he has to admit he hadn't imagined their "honeymoon" would land them somewhere so incredible.

They make their way down the dock to their assigned bungalow, lugging their bags behind them. Once inside Lucy makes an immediate beeline for their private deck, only pausing momentarily to gasp in delight at the panel of glass bottom floor as she races over it.

"Oh my god!" she exclaims with unadulterated glee, running back into the room to grab Tim by the forearm in an attempt to drag him outside. "You have to see this, Tim! It is incredible — ooh, wait! We should film our reaction on the couples cam and —"

Lucy stops short as soon as she realizes what she is doing. She releases her hold on his arm immediately and takes a step back from him. "I'm sorry — I — it's just really amazing and I wanted you to see it," she explains more soberly, looking suddenly embarrassed.

He watches her for a moment, wondering what it must be like to see the world through her eyes, before allowing the side of his mouth to quirk upward in a half smile. "Are you getting the camera or what?" he prods gently.

And when she returns the smile with a small one of her own before nodding and turning to dig the camera out of her bag, he realizes that amusement seems to have taken the place of his aggravation from the day prior.

Theyarein a literal paradise for the next six days; maybe it's not the worst idea to try and get some enjoyment out of this part of their journey.

The couples cam is one of the methods they are using to capture footage of their experience. It's intended to fill in gaps when the film crew isn't around — on days when the crew is occupied shooting with other couples, before going to bed, first thing in the morning, or any of a number of situations that might arise between a newlywed pair that would benefit from the privacy or intimacy that being followed around and directed by an assortment of strangers lugging around heavy equipment would never allow for.

They are contractually obligated to turn over a minimum amount of footage each week — some of which is dictated by production (e.g., before heading to the airport, they each had to film their own 'on the fly' interview to sum up their first impressions and whether anything might havehappenedbetween them on their wedding night) and some of which is left up to their discretion.

And Tim has to admit filming their impressions of the accommodations is a painless enough option for burning through some of their required time.

Camera in hand, Lucy positions herself on the deck so she can capture Tim's response.

"Holy shit," Tim breathes when he steps out onto the platform, trying not to laugh out loud at how enthused Lucy is to see his reaction. And though it is more muted than hers, he is not any less amazed. This may just be worth a week of reality TV nonsense… or even eight.

Their "deck" is actually a fully furnished outdoor living area, an outdoor shower clearly intended for couples, and their very own infinity pool jacuzzi combination all overlooking an unbelievable, uninterrupted ocean view that is like nothing Tim has ever seen.

They film a mini tour of their temporary home and their absolute shock that this is all theirs over the next six days (well, mostly it's Tim filming Lucy after he tires of being the one in front of the camera, and it's clear Lucy has far more to say than he does). Once they've completed their rounds, Tim moves toward the railing of the deck and gestures for Lucy to follow, so they can get a shot together with the view of the ocean behind them.

They huddle together until they are both in frame, and when he sees Lucy's delight reflected back at him through the screen, he impulsively wraps an arm around her to pull her closer into his side. Her joy is infectious, and at the moment it's making him happier than he's been in a very long time.

She's still practically vibrating with energy after they've settled in and unpacked, but Tim can tell she's making an effort to keep it reigned in for his benefit. She walks over to where he's sprawled on one of their deck lounge chairs and hovers uncomfortably for a few seconds, chewing on her bottom lip before venturing, "We have a few hours before we need to be ready for filming and the group dinner. And I was thinking — well, I read about this really amazing trail that's not far from here… I — uh, would you want to come check it out with me?"

She pauses, seemingly trying to read his reaction before quickly adding, "Or I could totally go on my own; we obviously don't have to do stuff together when we're not filming. Which… yeah. I should probably just go on my own. Never mind."

She's already turning on her heel to head back inside when he finally responds. "Lucy?"

She turns back to face him from the doorway leading back into their room.

"I would be interested in coming — but I'm not entirely sure if I'm still invited."

She laughs softly and nods, shooting him a shy smile that sets something light and fluttery into motion in his stomach.What the actual hell?

Maybe Lucy's not the only one with a bit of a crush.

That night is their first group event — cocktails and tapas on the beach with the five other couples going on this insane journey along with them. One of the good things about this season (if you ask Tim, anyway) is that they matched two more couples than a typical season, which means less time filming overall for each individual couple. But it also is apparently going to make for a decent amount of chaos at group events, if tonight is any indication of how future events will go.

Tim already knows the men from all of the pre-wedding events like the bachelor party, and there are a few with similar military backgrounds or interests (football) that he's even really connected with, which makes being amidst the ruckus of the broader group a bit more bearable. He's surprisingly curious to hear how everyone's marriages (truly, it sounds absurd even to think!) have been going so far.

"She's a great girl, but she's not really my type… physically. So, yeah. I don't know. I feel really bad because she's trying really hard, but it's just one of those make-or-break factors for me, you know? Sorry babe, it's not going to happen," one of the men, Chad, says as he updates the group on how things have been going with his match, Elyse.

Tim frowns, acutely aware of what a complete and total dick Chad sounds like, and a little uncomfortable that, though his concerns about Lucy are different, maybe the way he's handling the situation isn't.

"It's been good. Megan and I have a lot in common, but we're taking it slow. It's weird — being thrown together like this," Alejandro shares.

Malcolm dishes about his experience thus far next. "Oh man, we were all over each other as soon as we got back to the room. I've never had this kind of physical chemistry right off the bat with anyone. Camila is easily the hottest woman I've ever been with. I feel like I won the lottery."

"I don't know. Gianna's been pretty standoffish. Not entirely sure what I'm supposed to do. She's not really doing a great job of hiding that she's not thrilled that I'm her match. And like — sure, fine, that's her prerogative. We all knew that was a possibility coming into this. But, it's pretty shitty, you know? We're here, away from our family and friends and exposing ourselves to potential humiliation on national TV, and the one person you have to go through this with decides they aren't even going to try. I'm not gonna lie — it really, really sucks. And it's very, very lonely," Michael concludes.

Tim swallows, the slick of discomfort again climbing up the back of his throat. He glances over to where Lucy is catching up with the other women and wonders briefly what she would say about him and their experience so far.

"Well, clearly, we can see how things are going for Bradford so far," Alejandro ribs. "He can't seem to take his eyes off of her, not that anyone could blame him."

Tim turns his attention back to the group and can feel the heat of embarrassment at being caught out rising to his face. They are waiting for his update.

He raises a hand to rub the back of his neck. "Uh — yeah. She's — yeah, she's pretty. Obviously," he offers dumbly.

"But?" Malcolm prods.

"But, yeah. I don't know yet. It's only been a day, but I have a pretty good gut instinct about people, and I think that we're probably just too different to make anything work long-term." He leaves out the part about how he also hadn't really come here with the intention of making anything work long-term.

"Well, no reason to kick her out of bed while you figure it out. Am I right?" Chad offers crudely.

Tim frowns but doesn't bother to dignify his suggestion with a response, turning his attention to Arjun as he describes the reaction he had when he realized he already knew his new wife, Sonia, through mutual friends.

They mingle for most of the night, floating between tables and catching up or meeting the spouses they haven't yet had the opportunity to connect with. And by the time he's a few drinks in, Tim doesn't even entirely hate the experience.

And though he knows some of the men quite a bit better than he does his new wife at this point, it's Lucy that he finds himself regularly gravitating back to, her that he wants to be around more than anyone else here.

She's a talker; he'd already suspected that, but it's more than confirmed when he sees her interact with the rest of the group. But during the lulls when it's just the two of them standing side by side sipping their drinks, she doesn't force conversation with him. She's not withdrawn or closed off, just quiet in a way that he finds incredibly easy to be around, her happy golden energy buzzing around him in a way that he had not expected to be so appeasing.

The comfortable silence between them holds as they follow the path along the beach back to their bungalow, and even as they ready themselves for sleep. And when they settle into bed for their second night together, she still turns away from him to face the wall, but this time she's not quite so close to the edge.

Notes:

Why is there so much luggage-related sexual tension in this chapter? These are the questions that need answers. Unfortunately, I have none.

But leave me kudos and comments anyway. ️

Oh and for anyone who cares, the inspo for their accommodations was El Dorado Maroma!
1. resortreturn to text

Summary:

The honeymoon continues: Lucy really hates volleyball; Tim really hates crumbs; a whole lot of shit for Tim; a spicy dinner and a long walk home

Notes:

Footnotes included for anyone who is interested in seeing pictures along the way - just click the link on the superscript!

(See the end of the chapter formore notes.)

Chapter Text

Happy Honeymoon

Week 1, Day 2: Monday

They have an early call time the next morning, which pairs delightfully with the unlimited cocktails from the night prior. But they are due at the beach for the first of two excursions they'll be filming that day. So they drag themselves out of bed, wordlessly navigating around each other as they get ready.

Lucy doesn't know much about what's on the docket, only that it will involve the beach and that they have been instructed to wear clothing that will be comfortable for physical activity. She dons one of her sportier swimsuits underneath a pair of running shorts and a tank top. She exits the bathroom as soon as she's done changing, trying to be considerate in case Tim is waiting to use it. She pauses in front of the full-length mirror to pull her waves back into a high ponytail. She can see Tim bent over his suitcase behind her in the reflection. He straightens once he locates whatever he had been looking for, and Lucy has to stop herself from snorting out loud when he immediately and shamelessly checks out her ass.

It doesn't take him long to realize the geometry of it all, and when he meets Lucy's eyes in the mirror, he is most definitely tingeing a little pink. She purses her lips together to hold back her laughter and teasingly wiggles her eyebrows at him through the reflection. He rolls his eyes, shaking his head even as he continues to redden, before making a beeline into the bathroom to escape his embarrassment and her self-satisfied gaze.

They grab a quick breakfast, and Lucy is getting pretty excited about their first excursion. Before arriving, they'd been given a long list of absolutely amazing daytime activities to choose from and had been asked to rank the options in order of preference.

Unfortunately, her enthusiasm disappears when they arrive at the beach. Lucy takes in the setup; looks like they are in for an afternoon of beach volleyball.Fantastic.She had ranked the beach volleyball tournament dead last on her list, her dislike for the sport so intense that it had even edged spelunking into the penultimate position.

She should have known better. These reality TV assholes.Unless…

Lucy turns accusing eyes toward Tim. "Where did you rank volleyball on your list?"

Tim shrugs, arching an eyebrow to indicate he is none too pleased with her tone. "I don't know… second or third maybe?"

Her jaw drops. "You rankedvolleyballsecond or third on a list of things that included kayaking and jet skiing and whale watching and stand-up paddle boarding and parasailing and actual sailing and an afternoon on ayachtand a picnic on a private island and goat yoga —" She pauses to suck in a breath and Tim holds up a hand to stop her tirade before she continues. There were like fifty things on that list.

"First of all, goat yoga sounds awful. Second, I'm not a fan of the ocean. Third, I happen to like volleyball. Sue me."

Lucy stares at him like he has spontaneously sprouted a few extra heads. "You're not afanof one of nature's greatest gifts?" she asks in disbelief. She holds up a hand to stop him before he responds. "More importantly, you actuallylikevolleyball?"

Being vertically challenged certainly isn't an advantage in this particular sport. But Tim has to admit she plays with a lot of heart. And something about watching her dive face first into the sand over and over again, only to completely miss the ball every time makes him respect her a little more.

It also makes him laugh. A lot. On her first few attempts, he'd at least attempted to swallow back his guffawing, but, at this point, he's given up entirely and has cracked up more in this one morning than he probably has in the last few months combined.

Lucy glowers and huffs and grumbles in response to his ridicule, but she doesn't once quit on him. And that's not nothing.

It's a long morning that extends well into the afternoon. Even despite his partner's limited skill, Tim is far too competitive to not play to win against the other couples, who [shockingly] are not nearly as invested in the outcome of the tournament. And so they continue, round after round of Tim securing the high of a victory and Lucy securing a face full of sand.

They are in the final round when she takes another failed dive. Tim gracefully hops over her body to return the ball in what ultimately turns out to be the game-winning point.

Lucy flops over onto her back and stares up at the sky. He waits for her to hop up with that seemingly endless supply of pep that has somehow been present all morning, despite her intense dislike for the sport.

He stares curiously down at her. She continues to gaze wordlessly up at the clouds. He nudges her side with his toe. She frowns.

"You are really not good at this," he observes helpfully.

And for a moment when she doesn't react, Tim wonders if she might be in some kind of concussed state that can only result from repeated nosedives into the sand.

But then she lets out a miserable laugh. "Iknow. I told you. I swear to god — I am good at a lot of things. Volleyball just isn't one of them."

"Uh huh," he looks at her skeptically. "I bet. How humble of you."

He extends his hand down to help her up, and she huffs an exaggerated sigh before accepting it. She's apparently not prepared for the ease and swiftness with which Tim pulls her upright because she immediately stumbles forward into him.

Tim chuckles. "Is standing upright not one of the things you're good at either?" he teases as he steadies her against his chest.

And maybe he doesn't entirely hate the way she feels pressed up against him… How is she so soft in all of the right places? And how the hell does she still smell so good after hours of volleyball under the blazing sun?

She rolls her eyes as she steps back, but her smile is wide and her eyes are shining with laughter. And what is it about her happiness that always seems like an invitation?

Lucy begins the arduous process of brushing sand off of every single extremity while Tim crosses the court to grab them some refreshments.

He extends a sports drink out to her and then stares awkwardly down at her for a few moments as he debates his next words.

"What?" Lucy asks after she's chugged a good quarter of the bottle.

"Uh…" Tim claps her awkwardly on her upper arm, "I just wanted to say, good work today. Well, not at the volleyball, obviously, but you know — for being a good sport or whatever…"

Lucy stares up at him in wide-eyed surprise. Her lips begin to twitch and her shoulders begin to shake as she attempts (and fails) to hold back the laughter threatening to burst out of her.

Tim glowers, "Fine. Whatever. I wastryingto be nice."

"Right, right… sorry — okay. Well, thanks, Coach!" Lucy attempts to salute, even as she is doubling over as another wave of giggles overtakes her.

Karma comes calling for Tim when they arrive at their second activity for the day.

He glares at Lucy, "Tell me you didn't rank this in your top 10."

Lucy laughs nervously, shrugging noncommittally.

"Lucy," Tim warns.

"Um, you know. I'm not sure. I can't really remember." She lifts her hands in what she hopes is a convincing gesture of her cluelessness.

He nails her with his most intimidating TO 'miss me with your bullshit' stare. "How high?" he demands.

"Well… maybe… it might have been…" Lucy turns her head and covers her mouth with a hand before finally mumbling, "...first."

Tim's eyes bug out, "What?! Are youkiddingme?"

"What? I happen to love yoga. And goats. Sue me," she imitates mockingly.

He shakes his head. "I cannotbelieveyou. We could be on ayachtright now."

Lucy places her hands on her hips and glares back at him, "Right. This is definitely allmyfault, Mr. 'Volleyball is Life.' I hope your little trophy was worth missing out on a once in a lifetime opportunity to — to —" she pauses, scrunching her face in a way that is so damn adorable Tim isalmosttempted to forgive her for this atrocity. "Uh…" she lifts a finger in the air in an almost cartoonish Eureka gesture, "To snorkel with turtles… yeah!"

He's already opening his mouth to respond but stops short once he processes her words. "A once in a lifetime opportunity towhat?" he finally somehow manages with a straight face.

"Ugh —whatever. Shut up, Tim. You know what I mean. You took yacht, okay? And I happen to like turtles. Thank you very much."

"Uh huh," Tim says, before simply shaking his head with perplexed amusement. She is really damn cute when she's all feisty and indignant like this.

Goat yoga is somehow even worse than Tim possibly could have imagined. Not even the much-appreciated view of Lucy's back end (sans traitorous mirror) as she practices in front of him is enough to make up for how awful it is.

He learns that, apparently, his new wife is some kind of goat whisperer, because the animals seem to be taking turns approaching her, each waiting for their opportunity to gently butt up against her and receive a few loving pets as she coos ridiculous things at them between positions.

At one point she drops down on her knees to dote on a baby goat. "You're so freaking cute! I think I'm going to call you Gerald1." Which, okay, even Tim has to admit the little guy is pretty damn cute. But is she — he strains to hear — and yes, she is, in fact, making quiet, adoring goat noises to the little guy.

And — as if whatever the hell kind of strange Disney princess talking to animals thing that is going on in front of him isn't enough — every time, without fail, once the goat has had its fill of adoration from Princess Lucy, it ventures back to eye Tim with open and unadulterated hostility before dropping a pile of steaming shit on or near his mat.

And when even the tiny ball of fluff follows suit, Tim gazes down at him with wounded eyes. "Et tu, Gerald?"

He's about as skilled at yoga as Lucy is at volleyball, so when he manages to fall out of some ridiculous position that has something to do with a tree and stumble right into a still-warm pile of excrement — well, he's had just about enough, uttering a string of curse words as he stalks off to deal with his shit-covered foot. It's all very, very zen.

That night is their first "private" dinner that of course is only as private as a meal filmed for a TV audience can be. A romantic, candlelit dinner for two plus crew on the beach. Tim is obviously ecstatic about getting sand in his food and having to make forced heart eyes and pointless conversation all night.

At least when they're filming the excursions and activities they have something to do. He's quickly figuring out that these one-on-one romantic setups are his least favorite thing to film. Tonight there will be nothing to do other than eat… and talk. Sigh.

But when Lucy emerges from the bathroom in a green off-the-shoulder wrap dress2that skims the floor — well, it seems like the heart eyes are going to take care of themselves.

His gaze travels up the length of her exposed leg as she wiggles her foot into one of her heels, too dumbfounded to even point out how impractical her footwear is for walking on the beach.

She manages to get her other shoe on and then lifts her eyes to Tim's, tilting her head in a way that sends her waves tumbling over her shoulder. And for the millionth time, he can't get over how beautiful she is.

"Ready?"

He nods, clearing his throat, "As ready as I can be."

Apparently, she has a thing for forearms. Lucy discovers this on their walk to dinner. Given her precarious choice in footwear, she keeps her gaze downward for most of the walk to ensure she doesn't trip on one of the many, many loose planks or gaps in the path along the way. How had she never noticed how rickety this damn beach path was before?

He's cuffed the sleeves of his button-down almost up to his elbows, and Lucy's eyes seem to have a mind of their own, continuously wandering from the path to the exposed skin of his tanned forearm and then back again. Definitely not imagining that very forearm straining to pin her hips to the bed as he —Nope.No. Definitely not.

Dinner is awkward at first. They both focus on their food (and wine), stealing glances at one another but quickly looking away when caught in the act.

By the time they are halfway through their scheduled time to film their date, production has clearly had their fill of filming their silent meal. A PA walks over with a fish bowl full of small folded sheets of paper. "Take turns asking each other questions," she instructs.

Lucy can't help but smile, and Tim laughs uncomfortably as their eyes finally meet.

Tim gestures to the bowl, even as he is shaking his head and rolling his eyes. "Ladies first."

"Okay," Lucy takes a sip of her wine before reaching in for a slip of paper, "Let's see what we've got…" She glances back up at Tim once she has it unfolded, "What's your biggest pet peeve?"

Tim groans, and Lucy just raises her eyebrows tauntingly as she waits. He frowns, and somehow Lucy just knows that this man has an inordinate number of pet peeves to choose from.

"Eating in bed — well, really eating anywhere that's not the kitchen or dining room. In general, I'm just big on things being where they belong. And crumbs don't belong in the bed," Tim asserts.

"Got it," Lucy nods. "I will leave all future crumbs in the kitchen for you going forward."

Tim narrows his eyes in a mock glare. She's maybe starting to have a little too much fun trying to push his buttons.

"Your turn," he declares, ready to get out of the hot seat.

He pulls a piece of paper from the container. "Tell me about the first time you were in love."

Ohcome on— Tim gets a question about pet peeves, and she gets stuck withthis. There is no justice in this world.

Lucy frowns, trying to think of the best way to answer that. Tim is studying her, and the longer she waits to respond, the more his gaze is starting to look like the harshly critical one from their wedding night. Like he's already decided her answer isn't going to be good enough.

Well, may as well just be honest then.

"I haven't — been in love, I mean," she says simply. His brow furrows slightly, and he waits a few beats to see if she'll expand. She doesn't.

"You have been in a serious relationship before, though,right? You've never even thought you were in love?"

Lucy's surprised by the question. Because despite the judgy expression on his face, he seems to genuinely want to know.

"Um — I mean, I've been in long-term relationships before, but if I'm being honest then… yeah, no — none that were ever actually that serious. So the answer is still no."

Something flickers in his gaze and for a moment Lucy thinks he looks almost disappointed.

And it bothers her. She hates being made to feel like she doesn't measure up. Especially on something like this. It's not like she didn'twantto fall in love; she showed up here, did she not? She feels compelled to defend herself.

"I mean — it's not like I didn't deeply care about the people I was with. But they were mostly relationships that made sense at the time — college, grad school, my internship. And when those things ended, I guess they just stopped making sense." Lucy shrugs.

Tim arches a brow.

"What?"

"You know what they say about getting involved with someone you work with, right?"

"I can guess, but why don't you enlighten me."

"Don't shit where you eat," Tim states crudely.

Lucy rolls her eyes. "You're one to talk — wasn't your wife a cop?"

And the minute the words are out of her mouth, she regrets them. She knows very little about Tim's previous marriage beyond a few tidbits she had picked up on their wedding night. Just that it ended (Tim) and that it ended badly (Genny) and that she was a cop (Angela). But she has the overwhelming sense that it's a topic that's off-limits.

And what the heck is she even supposed to call her? First wife? Ex-wife? She doesn't even know her actual name. She was not properly prepared on the etiquette required here. She makes a mental note to google 'marrying a divorced man you've never met and what to call his previous wife' later.

Surprisingly, Tim just shrugs. "Doesn't count. She was in a different division. What's next?"

Lucy draws another prompt, "Why do you think we were matched?"

Tim takes a sip of wine as he mulls the question over.

"Probably because somebody thought I needed your sunshine to level out my grumpy."

Lucy laughs, assuming that's all she's going to get.

But then Tim meets her eyes and continues, "Being around you — it, uh, I don't hate it. Sometimes it even kind of — it makes me happy."

And it's maybe the absolute last thing she had expected him to say. And for a minute she feels like the Grinch, her heart (at least the very small part reserved for this man) growing three sizes. Her eyes even get a little misty.

Tim groans, "Lucy, I swear to god, if you cry, I'm never going to say anything nice to you ever again. And don't let it get to your head. The fact that we're in paradise doesn't hurt either."

"Uh-huh," she teases. She laughs and shakes her head as Tim lifts his wine glass to his lips and reaches to pull the next question.

His eyes go wide and he chokes on his wine as he scans the small slip of paper. He coughs and clears his throat a few times before meeting Lucy's bemused gaze.

And this time, there's something a little less flustered and a little more predatory in his eyes. It sends an unexpected shiver down her spine. She takes a long swig of her wine; she has a feeling she's going to need it.

"How important is it to you to have an emotional connection before having sex?"

Lucy arches an eyebrow but considers the question briefly. She looks Tim straight in the eye, her gaze unwavering when she responds. "It's nice, but uh — it's not strictly required."

Their eyes stay locked on each other's, and neither of them is seriously considering the possibility of seven and a half weeks of no strings attached sex. They definitely are not.

Tim finally nods, tugging at his collar, "Fair enough."

She grabs the next slip of paper.

And this time it's Lucy's turn to choke — on literally nothing other than her own spit. But holy shit. Her cheeks flush as she meets Tim's curious gaze and reads the question aloud. "If I wanted to turn you on, what would I have to do? What would I have to wear?"

Tim sucks in a breath, his eyebrows shooting upward as he processes the question. His eyes flick over to the camera before he leans across the table toward her. His voice is low and throaty and his gaze is searing. "I think you've already got that covered, Lucy."

And it's like her entire body is tingling all at once, and then like that entire sensation concentrates in her core before swooshing down to settle between her legs.

A cocky half smile appears on his face as he settles back into his chair. "I did like those little shorts you were wearing today, though."

They decide to skip dessert.

Cognizant of her footwear and the fact that it's now nearly pitch black outside, Tim reaches back to guide her when they approach the first dip on the path back to their bungalow. She slides her hand into his with a grateful smile, fully expecting he'll pull away as soon as she's cleared the obstacle. But he doesn't. Instead, he closes his hand around hers in a way that creates a blooming warmth in her core.

They wordlessly allow their fingers to twine together as they walk, and, good lord, since when was hand holding so damn sexy? But it is. Everything about it.

The way his long, capable fingers feel wrapped around her own. The way he automatically adjusts his stride so she can keep pace. The way he steps ahead to make sure she doesn't trip over an uneven part of the path or get her heel caught between planks. The way he locks his arm to keep her safely behind him until he can guide her through the hazard.

It's so dark that she inevitably runs into him every time he reaches back to stop her and the way the muscles of his upper arm feel pressed against her chest… she has to remind herself to keep breathing.

And when her free hand comes forward and grips his forearm to steady herself, so what if she lets it linger a little longer each time? So what if she lazily trails her fingers up the inside of his arm before finally releasing him — simply because she loves the way his skin prickles in response to her touch, the way his muscles tense just enough for her to know that he feels it, too. The relentless pull between them intensifying until she can practically hear it begging for release.

So what if by the time they make it back to the bungalow she's stopped letting go all together, unapologetically claiming his whole damn arm for herself? Doesn't let go even as he chuckles, trying to dig the key to their room out of his pocket? Doesn't let go until he turns the tables, sliding the arm she's taken hostage easily around her waist and pulling her around in front of him until she is trapped between him and the door.

She tilts her head back to look up at him, and she knows it must be written all over her face. How much she wants him to kiss her.

There's a flash of uncontrolled heat in his eyes, and his gaze shifts to her lips. And there is practically no space left between them as he leans into her. She sucks in a breath, tipping her head back the slightest bit further as her eyes flutter closed, certain that he is going to —

Take a gigantic step backward and leave her hanging out to dry. Of course he would.

Her eyes fly open to see that Tim has already made it to the deck balcony, his back to her as he gazes out over the blackness that is the ocean.

A mix of aggravation and frustration rises in her throat; she has never met a man who runs as hot and cold as he does. It doesn't take much to know this isn't going to be a ride that ends well for her, so why does she even want this jerk to kiss her?

Maybe because there had been more than just sexual tension building between them on their walk back. He'd been so attentive and protective toward her, had made her feel so taken care of and safe. And yes, of course, she could have made the walk home just fine on her own. And of course, she didn't come here looking for some man to rescue or protect her.

But it's a side of him she hadn't seen. A side of him that filled her with a sensation of warmth and security so perfect she could absolutely see herself craving it for the rest of her damn life.

Too bad it's suddenly so cold out here.

Notes:

Assorted Tim Bradford:
GIF Credit: chenfordsource on Tumblr

GIF Credit: lorybest-aka-frizzza on Tumblr

I don't hate it. Sometimes it even kind of — it makes me happy.
Does this sum up how you feel about my top tier GIF curation? And the 4k of nonsense above?
If so, then you know how to let me know :-)

1. Geraldreturn to text

2. off-the-shoulder wrap dressreturn to text

Summary:

It'shotin Mexico, okay?

Cuddling, showers, and adventure, oh my!

Notes:

Footnotes included for anyone who is interested in seeing pictures along the way - just click the link on the superscript!

(See the end of the chapter formore notes.)

Chapter Text

Honeymoon Heat

Week 1, Day 3: Tuesday

The first thing he notices when he wakes the next morning is the sweet smell of her shampoo.What the hell?

He can feel the weight of her head resting on his chest, the warmth of her small frame wrapped in his arms. She's sound asleep — one of her arms slung across his torso and one of her legs thrown across his hips — her thigh strategically placed right over his morning wood. God, she feels good.

Mindlessly he lets his opposite hand wander down her side, over the curve of her hip, and then slowly, appreciatively down the smooth length of her thigh. She cuddles in closer to him as he trails his hand back up from her knee, allowing it to settle just underneath the curve of her ass.

She had already been in bed by the time he had made it back into the bungalow last night. And, for that, he had been grateful; it certainly made things less awkward.

Because god knows he had wanted to kiss her. Had wanted to do a whole lot more than kiss her after that dinner conversation and the way she had held onto him during their walk back. The way she had been running the tips of her fingers over the inside of his arm had driven him absolutely wild — had gotten him imagining what her touch would feel like on other parts of his body.

The signals were clear, and the conversation at dinner had paved a path for them to explore their physical attraction.

But something in him just hadn't felt right about it — had still felt compelled to pull away and keep things from escalating the way he knew they would as soon as his lips found hers.

This whole thing — everything about this entire situation feels too damn complicated. In the real world, flirting with Lucy could just be flirting. Kissing Lucy could just be kissing. And sex with Lucy could just be sex.

But this isn't the real world, and no matter what may have been implied over dinner, he can't stop seeing her sweet brown eyes gazing up at him with so much hopefulness on their wedding day.

But now with her in his space — the feel of her warm, perfect curves pressed against his body — the urge he had to pull away and create more distance between them, well, it's not nearly so strong.

Hell, the magnetism between them had apparently kicked in when they were only semi-conscious, considering their current position.

Unsurprisingly, crawling into bed next to a woman that he wanted to physically explore in every possible way, while not actually being able to act on any of those impulses, hadn't been optimal for a night of restful sleep. So he had slept fitfully — so fitfully that he'd woken Lucy in the middle of the night.

She had softly whispered his name as her cool fingers had closed around his bicep, "Tim? Are you okay?"

Thinking back on it, he's a bit surprised he hadn't jerked awake and knocked her off of him — years of military and law enforcement training meant he never let his guard down, not even when he was sleeping. He must be getting used to her presence by his side because, instead, he had sleepily rolled over to face her and closed his grip around her wrist as she attempted to pull back.

"Uh — sorry. I didn't mean to — you were just tossing and turning so much that I couldn't…" she had tried to explain.

He had shaken his head tiredly and automatically flipped his hold on her wrist so that he could draw her into him.

"Come here," he had instructed, his voice gravelly from sleep. And she hadn't resisted, easily allowing him to pull her toward him until she was settled on his chest.

The feel of her body anchoring his to the bed was exactly what he needed to get some actual sleep. She had gradually relaxed into his arms until the last thing Tim heard before he drifted off again was a tiny sigh of contentment as she melted completely into him.

Now, she shifts sleepily in his arms. He moves his hand back to her hip, his thumb playing over the strip of exposed skin between the hem of her T-shirt and the waistband of her sleep shorts.

She mumbles something incoherent and turns to nuzzle her face into his chest. For a moment, Tim thinks that he could get very, very used to this.

And then she's awake, slowly pulling back from him in a daze and tilting her head back so she can see him.

"Hi?" she asks groggily, confusion mixing with her sleepy expression in the cutest possible way.

He laughs, giving her hip a final squeeze as he moves to get out of the bed. "Morning, Lucy," he tosses over his shoulder before disappearing into the bathroom.

They both take advantage of the later start they have for filming that day. Tim, of course, decides to go for a run, while Lucy declares it's the perfect morning for a swim. They have their very own pool, after all. Why not take advantage of it?

He ends up cutting his run a tiny bit (okay, a lot) short, but certainly not because a vision of his gorgeous bride breaking in their private pool is playing on a continuous loop in his head.

When he returns, as tempted as he is to swing by the pool, he knows it's a bad idea to continue playing with fire. Just being around her is hard enough on its own; he doesn't need to tempt fate. So he walks around to enter through the front instead of crossing through their deck.

He pulls his shirt over his head, intending to head directly into the shower, but his gaze keeps traveling to the door leading out to the deck. Maybe he should just let her know he's back… he wouldn't want her to freak out thinking someone had broken in [to use their shower, obviously]. Yeah. That seems like a logical reason…

He makes his way outside to find her and … well, he finds her all right. But not in the pool.

She's standing with her back to him under the spray of their private outdoor shower (aptly called Aguas de Amor1) wearing nothing but a bikini — Tim's throat goes dry as he spots the strings of her colorful top dangling from the shower handle. Okay. Correction — apparently wearing nothing but her bikini bottoms.

He's frozen for a moment, jaw agape and wholly unprepared for what one missing article of clothing is doing to his ability to function.

And then, even as he is realizing the only right choice for him here is to get his ass back inside, Lucy begins to turn toward him. Tim lets out a mangled sound that's a cross between loudly clearing his throat and a yelp for her to stop.

Lucy shrieks in surprise, whirling to face him with her hands cupping her breasts, and good god, Tim has to force his eyes up to hers even as all he can see are images of his hands replacing hers.

"Oh my god… I —" She awkwardly shifts one of her forearms in an attempt to keep herself covered while she uses her other hand to reach back and turn off the spray, and lord, she is not making this easy on him. His throat goes completely dry as he watches droplets of water trickle down every ridiculous curve of her body.

"I — uh — obviously, I didn't know you were here," she finally finishes.

Tim clears his throat, "And I — uh — obviously, I didn't know what you were doing out here. I just wanted to let you know I was back…" he finishes lamely, knowing that it in no way explains why he'd stayed to ogle her instead of immediately heading back inside.

"I'm just — uh — I'm going to grab a shower." He presses his eyes closed for a moment, "Erm — the shower in there — the indoor one, I mean. Not out here."What the actual hell is happening to him?

Her eyes are sparkling with her laughter by the time he finally shuts up and finds the courage to make eye contact again, and Tim can tell she is absolutely eating up how flustered he is.

She tilts her head flirtatiously and uses her free arm to make a sweeping gesture around the shower. "Are you sure? There's plenty of room for one more in here…"

Okay, now she's just doing it on purpose — basking in his embarrassment. He narrows his eyes.That little…

He closes the distance between them in less than three steps. Her eyes go wide and a surprised yelp escapes her as he slings an arm around her waist and pulls her firmly against his chest.

And for a moment she just looks up at him in stunned silence. He smirks. Well, that sure shut her up.

But then she gets that gleam in her eyes that he is very quickly beginning to recognize means she is not going down without a fight.

She works her arm out from where it is awkwardly sandwiched between them and then slides her hand slowly up along his bicep and shoulder until she allows it to settle around his neck.

And it takes Tim every bit of his self-control to keep his gaze focused on hers. She arches her back even as she is pulling herself more tightly against him and…fuck. He is not at all prepared for the feel of her soft, full breasts pressed against his bare chest. Not at all prepared to be in this kind of proximity to his nearly nude wife. He is well past half hard.

His breathing quickens and so does hers, their eyes locked in an unblinking battle of wills.

He settles his hand at her lower back and lets his thumb follow the curve as it wanders over her bare, wet skin, even as the only thought he can comprehend is how hard her nipples feel against his chest.

His voice is gruff when he finally speaks, "If you're going to extend an invitation like that, Lucy, you better make sure you mean it." He lowers his mouth to her ear, "Next time, I might actually take you up on it." He doesn't miss the shiver that courses through her.

He releases her and she scrambles to cover herself, but he's already striding back into the bungalow for a much-needed and very cold shower.

Holy shit. She certainly had not been expecting that. She's not even sure what made her flirt so boldly with him to begin with; last time she checked he was still a dickhead that she didn't particularly like. Though, yes, she hadn't necessarily minded the unexpected cuddling last night. And, well, okay,partsof her seem to like him just fine, but that's another issue altogether.

But it had still been fun to see her broody, arrogant asshole of a husband so flustered and off kilter. And okay — maybe it got her a little hot to think thatshewas the reason he was so flustered and off kilter.

But he had certainly shown her.

And if the feel of his sweaty body still radiating heat from his run against her wasn't enough to have her throbbing with want — the way he had looked at her… it's not like she hasn't come to expect intensity from him, but this had been a whole different kind of intensity — hungry and primitive. A look that had her wishing he had pushed her back against the shower wall and fucked her right there.

What the actual hell is happening to her?

Needless to say, things are a bit awkward over brunch. They both focus on their food, apparently having reached a silent, but mutual, agreement that whatever it is that happened in that shower [and on their deck and in their bed] absolutely did not happen. And they are both relieved for the distraction when it is time to head out for their afternoon activities.

And this time neither has any complaints about the packed agenda for the rest of their day. They arrive at their first excursion — an ATV ride through the jungle. Tim fully expects Lucy will hop on the back of his ATV after their guide, Luis, explains that it can be difficult for smaller solo riders to avoid flipping their ATVs. He's definitely not picturing her clutching him tightly from behind as they speed through the jungle when Lucy walks past him without a second look to claim her own ATV. Well, then.

They go through a safety orientation and then a few guided laps before they are set free to explore on their own.

"I bet I can beat you to the finish," Lucy taunts as they gear up for their final round. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are bright, and Tim can't help but feel drawn to this fearless, adventurous side of her. Not exactly what he had expected after learning she had ranked goat yoga at the top of her list, but he's hardly complaining.

Tim scoffs, "Yeah, right. You're better than I thought you'd be — I'll give you that. But you're notthatgood."

Lucy rolls her eyes, "Put up or shut up, Bradford."

Tim arches an eyebrow; this girl may actually be even more competitive than he is. "What are the stakes?"

She tilts her head thoughtfully, "Hmmm… okay, let's make it easy. If I win, you have to do something I want you to do. And if you win, I have to do something you want me to do." She bites her lip as she waits for his reaction.

Tim narrows his eyes. There's something about the way she's looking at him when she says it that has his pulse speeding up. "Whatkindof thing?"

She glances up at him through her lashes and shrugs, "That's up to you."

And if he's immediately picturing her down on her knees licking her perfect full lips before she gets ready to blow him on their private deck later — well, it's hardly his fault.She'sthe one saying it all suggestively and looking up at him like she can't understand how he hasn't banged her already. All right, maybe that's not exactly how she's looking at him, but close enough.

He clears his throat, "Deal."

And he has to admit he has so much fun racing her that he's not even salty when she leaves him in the dust.

Yeah, no. That's a lie. He's really fucking salty. He's definitely going to demand a rematch.

Next up on their afternoon adventure is a zipline tour over the jungle. Lucy steps up enthusiastically to volunteer as tribute even as Tim trepidatiously eyes the harness and pulley contraption that is all that will be standing between them and certain death. He shakes his head. Who is this chick?

The adrenaline from flying full speed across the sky is still running high when they begin the next leg of their journey — a hiking and climbing tour through the challenging jungle terrain.

By now, Tim has zero reservations about Lucy's willingness or ability to keep up. He's still a gentleman (on occasion), though, and automatically reaches back to help her through the more treacherous parts of their trek. The sweet smiles she sends his way each time his hand tightens around hers are enough for him to know she isn't bothered by his chivalry, unnecessary as it may be.

Halfway through their hike, Luis offers them an option to take things up to the next level of difficulty. "If you're up for a challenge, we can scale the wall behind the waterfall instead of hiking around it."

Lucy and Tim barely have to glance at each other before they both reply with a very enthusiastic, "Hell yeah!"

Their guide helps them gear up and provides a quick climbing safety orientation and refresher on belaying since both have climbed before, but not together and never the wall behind a waterfall.

Tim belays for Luis as he lead climbs up to set up their anchor, and it's reassuring to see that the wall is actually pretty well suited for beginner to intermediate climbers, setting aside the slickness resulting from the spray of the waterfall.

Once the top rope is secure and Luis has lowered it back down, Lucy is up. They start with a few practice rounds, so they can get used to communicating and working together. It's not until Lucy is several feet up the wall in position for her first practice fall that Tim notices she seems unsure for the first time that day. It doesn't take a genius to realize she isn't super keen on putting her life into his hands, and he can't exactly blame her. He hasn't done much to earn her trust.

He's patient, though, and they work well together. "I've got you," he reassures as she hesitates.

She sucks in a breath and then slowly exhales it before nodding and releasing the wall. "Falling!"

Tim reacts quickly, using his body and the brake rope to easily halt her descent without the catch being too hard.

Lucy gets more comfortable the more they practice, her confidence growing when she sees that Tim is completely in sync with her movements and how much slack to give her as she climbs, and so they dive into the real thing.

She climbs the wall with agility that makes Tim glad they didn't make a bet this round. She's almost to the top when her foot slides on an algae-covered rock. "Falling!" she cries out to warn Tim as she slips.

Tim's heart jumps into his throat even as he is taking all the right steps to catch her. Though the method of climbing they are using is relatively safe, he knows how easy it can be to panic when falling from that height and how quickly panic can lead to serious injury.

But as she has done throughout the day, Lucy impresses him by staying calm and keeping good form until she is able to stabilize herself on the wall again.

"You okay?" Tim calls up to her.

"Yup," Lucy reassures and they exchange commands to confirm they both are ready for Lucy to continue her ascent.

Luis belays Tim from above, and, like Lucy, Tim's only hiccup is losing a few feet of progress due to a slick rock.

Once they've all reached the top, Tim and Lucy gawk at the view of the surrounding jungle and waterfalls2. Luis films their reactions on the couple's cam as they take it all in and enthusiastically relive the climb.

Their final stop is a private swim at a beautiful cenote3. "A cenote is a deep water-filled sink hole that forms when the roof of an underground cavern collapses," Luis explains. Lucy gasps as she takes it in — the water is an almost unearthly turquoise and exquisite crystal stalactites hang from the portions of the cavern roof that are still intact.

Luis sets out an assortment of gear for swimming, diving, and snorkeling before he leaves them to explore on their own.

Lucy eyes Tim as he pulls off his shirt, thinking that the morning chaos in the shower had not given her nearly the opportunity she deserved to appreciate his sculpted upper body.

He gives her a knowing smirk when their eyes meet, and Lucy's lips curve as she shrugs — it's not like he hasn't done his fair share of ogling.

Tim dives into the water and then turns to watch her as he treads.

Lucy stares at him. "I thought you hated the ocean."

Tim stares back at her with a look of superiority. "This is a cenote, Lucy, not the ocean. Did you listen to nothing Luis said?"

"I did, actually. And that's why I know this cenote is a mix of freshandsalt water. From the ocean."

Tim frowns as Lucy laughs at his disillusionment. He shakes his head. "Well, too late now. You coming in or what?"

"That depends. How cold is it?"

Tim snorts, "Oh come on — you've been a badass all day and now you're going to let a little cold water stop you in our last leg?"

Lucy arches her eyebrows and gives him a pleased little pout as she tilts her head. "You think I'm a badass?"

"Not if you don't get your ass in here," he clarifies.

She laughs, "Okay, okay."

Her cheeks flush as she undresses. Tim doesn't bother to hide his interest as she works her shorts down over her hips and then pulls her tank top over her head. But, god — the way he can get her so unbelievably hot and bothered with just a look. She's not sure she's ever had this strong of a physical connection with anyone.

She dives in, intentionally trying to make a big splash to douse Tim in his beloved ocean water. Tim grouses for a few moments, but then his eyes take on a competitive glean. "Bet I could get more air off of that rope swing than you," he challenges.

Lucy laughs, "I didn't realize you were such a fan of losing, Bradford."

They take turns on the rope swing laughing and shouting like overexcited children as they find ways to turn literally everything into a competition as they move on to cliff jumping and free diving and snorkeling.

They are still snorkeling when the film crew finally packs up, leaving them alone together for the first time all afternoon. Lucy lifts her face from the water and tugs at Tim's arm so that he'll surface, too.

He removes his mouthpiece and looks at her expectantly and Lucy has to wonder if she looks like as much of a dork as he does in those goggles.

"There areturtlesdown there!" Lucy informs him, her expression dead serious.

Tim just stares at her for a few moments before he cracks up. "Well, then I guess you owe me for making sure you didn't miss out on this 'once in a lifetime opportunity,' don't you?" he teases sarcastically.

"Whatever. Shut up and just admit they are amazing and you love them."

"They're all right, I guess," Tim acquiesces.

They both veer toward shallower water as they tire, and suddenly it's all too apparent that they are completely alone in what is basically a world of their own. Their eyes meet and then they both look away; Lucy feels a nervous flutter in her stomach.

Tim boosts himself up onto a stone ledge and then reaches down to help Lucy out of the water. She's a little too short to make the reach on her own, so he reaches down to grip her waist, quickly realizing his grip isn't secure against her slick skin and so improvises by securing one of his arms under her ass.

Tim pulls her up and into him, and Lucy laughs in surprise when they both topple back onto the ledge. He's flat on his back and she's sprawled on top of him. He hasn't bothered to remove his hand from her ass. And she doesn't exactly roll right off of him either.

She presses herself up from his chest and for a moment loses herself in the perfect blue of his eyes, possibly an even prettier shade than the water below them. He's let his stubble grow in since they arrived in Mexico and Lucy has to fight her urge to reach up and run her fingers over it.

"Did you choose this ledge just so you could cop a feel?" she accuses, intending it to sound teasingly indignant, but it comes out a bit tight under the weight of being this physically close to him.

He reaches the hand that isn't still plastered to her butt up to brush the wet strands of hair back from her face. "Would that be a problem?"

And the husk in his voice has Lucy's breath catching in her throat as she tries to read what he is thinking, feeling like she never has any idea what this guy is going to do.

His hand slips around to the back of her neck, and then he does the one thing that Lucy has been aching for him to do for far longer than she's willing to admit — since even before she had rejected his first attempt at the altar.

His lips are soft and warm and undemanding at first. He moves to pull back when Lucy doesn't immediately respond, but then she is dipping her head to chase his lips, and it is like every bit of sexual tension they have been dancing around since the moment they met is crackling in the air around them.

Tim cushions her with his arm as he rolls them onto their sides and then shifts her onto her back so he can take control of their kiss, deepening his exploration of her mouth even as he lets his hands begin to wander over her skin.

The concerns that had stopped him from kissing her the night prior have been dismissed and exiled to a far corner of his mind. Today has solidified for him that there is no possible way he can make it through the remainder of their eight weeks without getting to have her like this.

Yes, the situationiscomplicated, but they are two consenting adults, are they not? He hasn't made her any promises (at least not since that one large marital one), and he hasn't done anything to make her believe this is anything other than physical. And, setting aside a few hopeful looks, neither has she. So when it's more than clear that she wants it as bad as he does, who is he to decide for her? Whycan'tsex just be sex?

Tim groans into her mouth when she hooks one of her legs around his hips, allowing her a final hungry kiss before he shifts down to finally run his tongue along that tattoo of hers that's been taunting him for days. He can taste the salt on her skin.

She moans as he continues to kiss and suck and nibble his way down her neck, over her collarbone, and then down along the neck of her bikini top. He feels her clench her leg more tightly around him and hears her suck in a breath as his lips make contact with the exposed curve of her breast. She arches her back, and god it is getting close to impossible to stop — Tim has no doubt that he could lose himself completely in this woman.

He abruptly lifts his head and a small whine escapes her throat as her eyes fly open in protest.

His lips curve in a cocky half-smile. "If you wanted to go topless again right about now, I wouldn't mind," he offers chivalrously.

Lucy stares up at him, her chest still heaving as she works to get her breath under control. "I'm sure you wouldn't," she laughs as she distractingly runs her tongue over her lips. Her eyes darken as she pulls her lip between her teeth. "It's too bad you didn't win our little bet, or maybe… that's exactly what I'd be doing right now."

Tim swallows — the confirmation that the stakes of the bet were just as suggestive as he thought they might be leaving him a little speechless.

He drops his head to press a hot open-mouthed kiss to the spot just above where the front of her top connects between her breasts, and she giggles softly as his stubble tickles her skin. He lifts his head to meet her eyes. "So then youwerebluffing with that little invitation of yours in the shower this morning?" he challenges.

She narrows her eyes at him, clearly not appreciating the call out. She pushes him back and then pushes herself up into a seated position. "Well… when you put it that way… can't have you thinking I don't mean what I say…"

She shifts so that she is kneeling in front of him and reaches back to tug on the strings of her top.

Tim's eyes go wide and his mouth drops open in a combination of surprise and eager anticipation.

Lucy laughs, "You wish, Bradford." And then promptly gives him a firm shove off of the edge of the shelf back into the water.

Tim teasingly suggests they put their outdoor shower to use when they make it back to the resort and have to get a move on to get ready for a night of dinner and dancing with the rest of the group.

Lucy rolls her eyes, "I'm pretty sure that would be the opposite of efficient, but you're welcome to it," she offers graciously as she pushes past him into the bathroom with a sweet, "Ladies, first," tossed over her shoulder.

"I don't know if I feel comfortable getting naked on the deck — you never know who might wander over," he mocks through the door.

He barely hears her answering, "You're such an idiot," over the sound of her turning on the water.

Lucy does her make-up and hair out in the room while Tim showers, and, after forcing herself to stop staring when he emerges in nothing but a towel, she changes places with him again so she can swap her robe for her dress.

When she emerges a few minutes later, Tim's jaw drops open as his eyes immediately zero in on her chest.

"What?" Lucy asks defensively.

"Uh — nothing. Are you — uh — are you sure you're all strapped in there?" he forces his eyes back up to hers.

Lucy glares, "What is that supposed to mean?" She glances down, and, well, yeah, the dress4does have a pretty low cut — some might even say, plunging — neckline. She worries her bottom lip between her teeth; she'd fallen in love with the almost completely backless red floral print maxi dress online and bought it especially for the honeymoon trip, but she's realizing that perhaps the model online hadn't been quite as well endowed. Still — she turns to check herself out in the mirror — she looks pretty damn good.

She brushes her hair confidently back over her shoulder and turns back to stare at Tim, waiting for his response.

He shakes his head, "It means you look incredible. And also that you are very, very cruel."

She laughs, "Mission accomplished, then."

Lucy gets a chance to catch up with the other women over cocktails once they arrive at the lounge. They take turns sharing their updates.

"Lucy, I don't know how your panties aren't just spontaneously combusting around that man," Gianna gushes, eyes flitting toward where Tim is standing and laughing at the bar with the other men.

Lucy almost chokes on her drink. She follows Gianna's gaze and feels her lips curve into a soft smile once she's recovered, because — yes, he's gorgeous, to Gianna's point —but she also really loves seeing him laugh — the way his eyes crinkle up at the corners and he throws his head back like there's not a single thing weighing him down in the world. She hasn't seen nearly enough of that laugh.

Tim catches her looking over at him and he holds her gaze in a way that somehow has her feeling warm and fuzzy at the same time as she feels a jolt of heat spreading low in her belly. Spontaneously combusting panties, indeed.

She turns her attention back to the conversation. "Uh. Yeah. He is ridiculously hot. No argument here."

"And?" Sonia prompts curiously.

"And… I don't know. Sometimes I really like him, and sometimes I feel like dropping him into the ocean in a defective shark cage." Lucy shrugs. "He's so guarded and hard to read; I never really know where I stand. I feel like he's the complete opposite of me in that sense — I wear all my emotions on my sleeve and I think that kind of annoys him or something.

"But I don't know … today was really, really good. Maybe he's just one of those people that needs time to warm up? It's hard to believe this is only day four."

The ladies nod their agreement.

"Well, I, for one, am kind of jealous of all of the mystery," Sonia chimes in. "Don't get me wrong," she rushes to clarify, "Arjun is great. There's no doubt he's a good guy. It's just… when I signed up for this, I didn't really picture ending up with the boy who basically really does live next door. We have so many of the same friends and we're obviously from the same cultural background and religious community — it's like we may as well have already been married for thirty years. I think I was just hoping for more of an adventure or something…"

"Ugh — I would kill for a nice guy, Sonia. Count your blessings you didn't end up with a Chad, okay?" Elyse suggests.

Sonia laughs sympathetically, "Good point, I'll be shutting up now."

"I just cannot believe I ended up with such a jerk. Like I get that you're not into me, dude. I don't need you to remind me every five seconds. It's like he assumes if I make even the slightest bit of effort to get to know him or get anything out of this experience, that I must just be obsessed with him, and he doubles down on being as cruel as possible to push me away." Elyse's eyes fill and Lucy places her hand over hers, heart aching for the woman.

Tim is far from Prince Charming and has already shown he has the capacity to be a jerk, if not outright cruel, but she could not be more grateful that she ended up with him instead of someone like Chad. At least with Tim, she's pretty sure that deep down — sometimeswaydeep down — his heart is in the right place. She's not sure she can say the same for Chad.

"Well — I mean, I know he's been a jerk and there are better ways to go about it, but maybe he also just doesn't want to give you the wrong idea?" Gianna interjects. "Michael's a good guy; I know that. It's not his fault the physical attraction just isn't there for me. But I really do feel like every time I give an inch, he tries to take a mile. Like I asked about his family just to be nice over dinner yesterday, and he somehow took that as an invitation to start discussing our hypothetical future family and how many kids we should have and where we should raise them. And that makes me feel like I can't be nice if I don't want him to misunderstand my intentions, you know?"

"Speaking of kids…" Camila cuts in, "Malcolm and I were so into each other right out of the gate — I mean, god, we literally had sex in every possible location in our bungalow the day we got here. But now that we're getting to know each other, I'm starting to think maybe we're not that compatible. I told the matchmakers I wasn't sure if I wanted kids; I thought they'd match me with someone that would be open to that. But Malcolm is dead set on having children — to the point that he isn't even willing to discuss it. I thought we had a shot and such a great connection, but I don't think I can be with someone who's so rigid and set on what they want on that front."

Lucy shoots Camila a sympathetic smile before turning to look at Megan. "You've been quiet. How are things with you and Alejandro?"

Megan looks chagrined. "Ugh I feel bad — I don't want to be the one that's like 'this is amazing!' when everyone else is having such a hard time, but yeah. It's going really well. I'm so happy — like I know there's going to be bumps in the road and that this is crazy and we have so much to work through, but the way that he communicates and the way that he treats me — I couldn't have dreamt up a better husband."

Lucy smiles, genuinely happy for Megan, even as she feels slightly unsettled about where things stand with Tim. He may be ridiculously hot and they may have fun together, but does he communicate or treat her the way she'd want or expect from her husband? She shoves the question to the back of her mind as she signals the waitress for another drink.

A little while later, Lucy decides it's time to collect on their bet. The lounge is quickly transitioning into a night club and the dance floor is rapidly filling up.

She makes her way over to where Tim is standing at the bar, waiting until he downs a shot with Alejandro before stepping up behind him and slipping her hand into his. He turns to look down at her, lifting her hand to his lips before releasing it so he can slide his arm around her waist and pull her around until she is standing in front of him with her back to the bar. "There you are," he says.

Lucy smiles up at him, her stomach doing a little somersault at how happy he looks to see her. She loops her arms around his neck and arches up on her toes so that she can reach his ear. "I'm here to collect on our bet."

Lucy shivers when he pulls back, his eyes darkening as he rubs his thumb over the exposed skin of her back. "Is that so?" Lucy sucks in a breath as he slides his hand lower, fingers slipping into the low waist of the dress at her lower back. "What can I do for you, Lucy?" he asks huskily.

And the way he's looking at her, Lucy has to wonder just exactly what he thinks she might ask him to do. She tugs on the front of his Henley, tipping her head back sweetly. "You can dance with me."

And just like that, the fire is gone as he groans, stepping back from her. "Seriously? Come on… "

She doesn't release her hold on his shirt and pouts. "A bet's a bet, Tim," she complains.

He glances over at the dance floor far too full of sweaty bumping and grinding humans. "I'm too old for this, Lucy," he groans. "Choose something else."

She deflates and releases his shirt, trying to reel in her disappointment, knowing that it will only annoy him.

Chad leans into the gap Tim has created between them, his eyes barely flicking toward hers before settling further south. "I'll dance with you, Lucy," he offers helpfully, if not a little skeevily.

Lucy crosses her arms over her chest and opens her mouth to let him know that won't be necessary, but Tim beats her to it. He grabs her hand and tugs her to his side away from Chad as he glares at the younger man. "Thanks, Chad," he says in a tone that is anything but grateful, "But I think I've got it covered." And then he is pulling her toward the dance floor.

They make it through about half a song of their bodies pressed together on the dance floor moving to the rhythmic beat of the music before Tim decides he can't take another minute of her rubbing against him in a way that has him uncomfortably hard in embarrassingly little time.

"Can I please get you out of here?" he growls in her ear.

Lucy nods and agrees after giving him a hard time about not fulfilling his end of the bet, but a bet is about the last thing on his mind as she toys with his fingers on the shuttle ride back to their bungalow.

Once back in their room, they both pause to stare at each other uncertainly from their positions standing a few feet apart.

Tim breaks first, eyes full of lust when he hurriedly asks, "Are you on —?"

"Yes!" Lucy responds immediately. They'd been tested before coming on the show, but he's hardly looking to conceive a honeymoon baby.

And then it's not entirely clear who moves first but they are crashing into each other. Tim's mouth moves eagerly against hers as they stumble backward further into the room.

And they kiss like that — practically devouring each other — hands in hair and arms tugging each other closer and tongues unabashedly exploring for a surprisingly long time. When they finally break apart, it's only because they are running out of oxygen.

They are both still gasping for breath when Tim allows his gaze to flick down to her chest and he freezes. The wardrobe malfunction that has been begging to happen all night has made its official appearance.

Lucy glances down in response to his gaze and flushes when she notices that her right breast has all but popped out thanks to their heavy petting knocking the fabric askew.

She bites her lip as she raises her gaze back to his. "Oops," she says softly, making no move to fix her dress. She shrugs, which only causes her strap to fall further down her shoulder and Tim groans out loud. "I've never worn this dress before," she says coyly.

And how he had ever thought anything about her wasn't the sexiest fucking thing on earth is completely beyond him.

He yanks her back to him for a rough kiss, before turning his focus to the left strap of her dress. His fingers graze her shoulder as he guides it down. And she is so fucking perfect.

He shakes his head as he just gazes at her.

She laughs, fisting her hand in his shirt to pull him back toward her and then reaches up to pull him down for another kiss. She keeps her hold on him as he begins to pull back, eager to continue enjoying the view.

She twines the fingers of her free hand through his, "You can touch them, you know."

She releases his hand and reaches up to drag her finger slowly down over his lips, pausing with the tip of her finger pressed against his bottom lip, "Or other things…"

He captures her fingertip in his mouth sucking gently before nipping at it as Lucy nods approvingly.

Finally, she pulls her finger from his mouth and slides her hand all the way down his chest and abdomen before landing on the buckle of his belt, "Or other, other things…"

And he is going to lose it; already so hard he is painfully straining against his jeans. He crushes her into him and she squeals as he lifts her, her legs automatically wrapping around his waist as he carries her over to the desk, skillfully rucking up the skirt of her dress even as he is setting her down on the surface.

Her eyes are wide with a combination of heat and surprise, as he runs his hands down the length of her thighs until they are settled on her knees.

He pushes them apart even as he is dropping down into the desk chair and Lucy is beginning to pant with anticipation. Good god, this is so fucking hot.

He slides his hands back up, hooking his fingers into the waistband of her panties, and then abruptly stops short.

"What the hell?" Tim asks, staring at her in confusion as he gets to his feet.

Lucy flushes, glancing down only to realize exactly what panties she had pulled out of her suitcase that evening. A pair that had come out of a set of gag gifts she had received for her bachelorette party. They say 'happy meal' with a smile reflective of the McDonald's brand aesthetic.

In her defense, the gag underwear had also turned out to be possibly the most breathable and comfortable underwear she'd ever worn. It'shotin Mexico, okay?

"Oh come on, Tim. It's not like I knew we were going to be doing…thistonight."

"Oh, Lucy," he says softly, shaking his head like he's disappointed. He leans all the way into her, his lips finding her ear. "Did you really think I wasn't going to try and fuck you the minute I saw you come out of the bathroom in that dress tonight?"

Holy shit.His words send an immediate jolt of arousal through her until it settles achingly between her legs.

He brushes his thumb over her lips, before continuing, "Did you really think getting you naked isn't the only thing I've been thinking about all day since your little tease in the shower this morning?"

She moans softly, his words making her impossibly wetter.

"Did you really think that I haven't been thinking about how much I want to be inside you since the moment I met you?"

She is panting with her want; couldn't respond to his words even if she wanted to. She looks up at him pleading, begging for him to —

"Fuck, Lucy. You can't look at me like that."

And then he is practically ripping the ridiculous panties off of her. He grips her by the hips and drags her to the edge of the desk as he drops back into the chair.

He dips his head and, "Oh. My. God." She is seeing fireworks. This is not a slow, sensual, exploratory touch. This is a man on a mission.

"Ahhh," Lucy gasps as he builds her faster than she thought was humanly possible, throwing one hand back to brace herself as she arches back toward the wall.

Holyyy shit. Her whole body rocks with her release and she is gasping for air, unable to see straight. "What. The. Fuck."

Tim laughs as he pulls back to look up at her, licking his lips and wiping his hand over the lower half of his face — looking so fucking smug that Lucy might be tempted to deflate his ego if she wasn't still reeling from her pleasure.

"I told you not to look at me like that," he says simply.

"Oh. My. God." she repeats.

She watches him in a daze as he moves back toward the bed, kicking off his shoes before undoing his belt and his jeans. He slides his pants and boxer briefs down until they drop and he can step out of them. He takes himself into his hand and begins stroking up and down, eyes still glued on her perfect body as he settles himself on the edge of the bed.

And that's all it takes to spur Lucy into motion. She kicks off her own shoes and then pulls the dress that has effectively been turned into a belt over her head and tosses it to the floor before she pushes herself off the desk and closes the distance between them.

There's not an ounce of hesitation as she climbs over him, straddling him with her knees on either side of his thighs, her hand replacing his on his cock as she lifts herself and aligns his tip to her entrance. They both groan with pleasure as she eases herself down until she's taken all of him.

And fuck, the same exact traits he had mentally derided her for just a few days prior are now so unbelievably sexy to him he can barely see straight. She's so open, so willing, so responsive — it's enough to drive him absolutely wild.

"Well?" she asks.

Tim's eyes are barely able to focus on her, she feels so fucking good all around him. "Huh?" he finally manages, words suddenly not forming cohesive sentences in his head.

Lucy smiles sweetly as she begins to slide back up and Tim has to resist the urge not to take hold of her hips and take control, to thrust up into her at a more rapid pace.

"Is it as good as you imagined?"

He gazes up at her cluelessly, and she laughs out loud.

Tim presses his eyes closed when she slips back down, faster this time — the bottoms of her thighs slapping the tops of his before she is in motion again.

"Is it as good as you thought it would be being inside of me?" she expands.

He lets her do the work, lets her control the pace and the angle in the ways that work best for her, simply relishing in the pleasure of every aspect of her body taking over every single one of his senses. Every single thing about her turns him on impossibly more — the rate of her breath, the tiny little grunts of exertion that escape her with each movement, the feel of her fingers working rapidly near where their bodies are joined, the sheen of sweat that begins to form on her skin.

He lets her keep going even as her thighs begin to tremble, his hands shifting to her hips to support her movement.

She drops her head to his shoulder, and he can feel the deliciousness of her body tightening. He thrusts upward until she is gasping and contracting around him.

He pulls her securely against him as she falls apart and flips them so she is on her back and he can begin to chase his own climax, piling into her as she wraps her arms and legs around him.

He collapses on top of her when he finishes and stays there until he can muster the strength to roll off of her.

He shifts further up the bed and then pulls her up and into his arms. Neither speaks as they work to catch their breath, until Lucy finally complains, "You never answered my question."

Tim laughs, running his hand down her back until he lets it settle on her ass. "Yeah — it's hard to say. I think I'll need a few more trial runs before I can definitively answer that."

Lucy shoves at him, "You're such a dick."

He squeezes her ass and then tightens his hold on her before rolling them so that she's on her back and he's on his side looking down at her. He bends to kiss the pout off of her face, not stopping until she is moaning against his mouth and absolutely on board with the necessity of a few more trial runs.

Notes:

Do y'all like the pictures included better along the way or as part of the end notes?

And also, obvi lmk what you thought of the [extremely long] chapter!

1. Aguas de Amorreturn to text

4. dressreturn to text

Summary:

The morning after...

Notes:

GIF Credit - hangman-page on Tumblr

(See the end of the chapter formore notes.)

Chapter Text

Week 1, Day 4: Wednesday

"Mmm," Lucy snuggles closer into his warmth as she wakes the next morning, memories of the night before flickering through her mind before her eyes have even opened. His chest is warm and solid underneath her cheek, and she wants to just linger here, savor this… his warmth, his scent, the feeling of his arms around her…

Except… his armsaren'taround her. He's not actually touching her at all. It's her touching him — she's snuggled into and half wrapped around him. And she's realizing now how tense his body feels under hers.

And then she is completely awake — pulling away and attempting to shift further back from him and sit up at the same time, but they are tangled in the sheets and she is still completely naked, so she settles for sitting up and clutching the sheet protectively to her chest before she finally raises her eyes to his, hoping, hoping so badly that she's misreading his body language and this isn't — an icy sensation slices through her core as she meets his eyes. They are cold and closed off, nothing like they had been yesterday when he had laughed with her or kissed her or made love — fucked, it's quickly becoming clear now that he had definitely just fucked her multiple times. One look is more than enough for her to know Tim feels differently about last night than she does.

"Tim? Is — is something wrong?" she asks. And suddenly she feels so, so small. She feels faint, and there's a whooshing sound in her ears like she can actually hear the blood rushing to her head. Her cheeks are starting to burn, and her hands are suddenly clammy — the combination of the heat rushing to her cheeks and the wave of ice cold shock colliding in a way that makes her feel nauseous. She almost wants to beg him not to say the words, not to ruin —

"Last night was a mistake."

Lucy inhales sharply.

"I shouldn't have let it go as far as it did. I'm sorry, but I don't want to lead you on. I still — I just don't see this working between us long term. I already know I'm just… I'm not going to get there. I do like you — a lot, and I'm obviously very physically attracted to you, but I don't see you being my wife. And it was wrong of me to not make that clear before we…"

He trails off, and for the first time since he started speaking, he's looking at her like he's actually seeing her, seeing the impact he is having on her.

And she can barely think, barely process how infuriating his words are —heshouldn't have let things go so far, like they weren't both two adults with agency — because every awful emotion she could ever imagine is flooding her body. She feels humiliated and rejected and used and so incredibly stupid for not having taken what he'd shown her of himself that first day at face value.

She let her hope — her stupid relentless optimism — that this whole thing might work blind her. But it'll be okay. This isn't the first time her willingness to see the best in people and the world has burned her. And it's certainly not the worst.

She presses her eyes closed, willing the sob that is rising in her throat and the heat that is burning behind her eyes to just wait because she is absolutely not going to give him the satisfaction of getting to see her cry like a child in front of him.

She sucks in a shaky breath and opens her eyes to face him. And he's yet another version of himself — softer now, eyes apologetic. "I don't think I'm saying this right — that came out harsher than I meant —" he reaches for her.

She jerks back from him, and surprise flickers across his face. She feels so extremely vulnerable and exposed, both emotionally and physically.

"Thanks, but I think I understand just fine," she says tightly, and god, her voice is still thick with sleep because she hasn't even been awake for two minutes and this asshole decided it was an appropriate time to rip her heart out of her chest.

"Can you —" and dammit her voice cracks under the weight of the emotion she is working so hard to hold back, and she can feel the quiver of her bottom lip even as she sinks her teeth into it to stop the movement. She tastes blood. "Can you please just turn around?"

She hates this. Hates having to ask him for anything in this moment.

He swallows and looks like he's battling an urge to say more. His eyes are sad when he finally nods, but Lucy barely registers it, willing him to move so she can crawl out of this goddamn bed with whatever tiny amount of dignity she can muster.

"I'm sorry," he says remorsefully before getting up and walking out to the deck.

She jerks the sheet off of the bed and wraps it around herself once he's out of the room. She drags her entire suitcase with her instead of attempting to gather what she'll need to shower and dress, falling back against the bathroom door once she's closed and locked it, relieved that she has gotten away from him and has a moment to herself.

She steps in front of the mirror to stare at herself and something that feels a lot like panic begins to bubble up in her chest as she presses her palms flat to the cool marble of the countertop and fights to steady her increasingly rapid breathing.

It's just sex, she tells herself. It's not like she hasn't regretted sleeping with someone before.

And even though she knows it's different, it isn't like what happened before — she can't ignore how painfully familiar itfeels— having to accept that she has made such a colossal error in judgment, that she could have been so wrong about who this man really is — she feels like she's going to be sick.

She's trembling now, but it's going to be okay. She just needs to get a hold of herself. Get in the shower. And get as far as possible from that man.

Ultimately, it's her sudden need to get every single bit of him off of her skin that propels her into motion.

She lets herself cry — hard — under the spray of the shower, but it's all she allows herself. By the time she shuts the water off, her tears are gone and all she can feel is her fury.

6 hours earlier...

Lucy sighs when she feels Tim's lips brush over her shoulder. His thumb gently caresses her stomach, and how on earth is it that this man's hands can feel so damn good, so much better than anyone else's hands on her body?

She rolls over sleepily to face him. "Hi."

He smiles in that way that crinkles his eyes at the corners, and how has she gone her whole life without this smile? Impossible. She lifts her fingers to his lips and he kisses them.

He brushes her hair back over her shoulder and Lucy moans when she feels the warmth of his mouth on her neck.

And she's not sure how to describe what he's doing as he works his way down her body as anything other than worship. Her fingers dig into his back as he kisses down her chest and explores each of her breasts with his mouth — the feel of his tongue warm and perfect and tantalizing as it moves over her nipples.

He continues to work his way down her stomach until he is hovering just above the apex of her thighs and the feel of his warm breath sends a thrill of anticipation through Lucy's entire body. But he switches gears, using his hands and mouth to explore every inch of her — her arms, her legs, her sides, until he prods her to flip over and continues down the full length of her spine. He draws a quiet giggle from her when he gently bites into the plush skin of her ass. And it feels so damn good that Lucy can't even be disappointed about the detour.

He slides on top of her — his legs over hers and his chest pressed against her back — and brushes his lips over the nape of her neck before slowly easing himself into her.

"Oh my god," she whimpers, not prepared for how incredible it feels to have him inside of her at this angle. She slides her hand under her body as he begins to move — slowly, deliberately to maximize her pleasure.

And maybe, yes, their first time had been frenzied and hot and closer to simply fucking. But this is completely different — sensual and tender and soft. He is making love to her in a way that has her thinking about what her life might look like with this man in it.

4 hours earlier...

When Tim wakes in the middle of the night, he's surprised to find two things missing — Lucy and the bedsheet.

He stretches and rolls out of bed, tugging on his boxers before wandering out to the deck.

She is sprawled on a lounger in front of the railing. The chair is reclined back enough so that she can see the stars, the sheet from their bed wrapped around her.

Tim chuckles. "I see you had no qualms about stealing the sheet and leaving me to fend for myself," he admonishes as he lifts her out of the chair so he can take her place before settling her onto his lap.

She laughs at the unexpected intrusion, but curls into him and manages to work one of her arms free from the sheet to settle around his shoulders. "It was either that or put my clothes back on. I figured you'd prefer the former."

He grins his agreement and then nuzzles his face into her neck, dropping a sweet kiss on her soft skin. He teasingly pulls at the sheet so he'll have more of her to taste.

Lucy laughs, "Tim, seriously? On the deck?"

He arches an eyebrow, "It's not like you weren't naked out here earlier."

"In theshower. And I washalf-naked. Thank you very much."

He glances around as if to ask,who's going to see us?

Lucy fakes a belabored sigh before pulling herself out of his hold and getting to her feet.

She turns and crawls back onto him, settling herself in a straddle before allowing the sheet to drop away.

He groans, one hand sliding up her side while the other pulls her down for a kiss. "You are amazing. And so fucking hot."

Afterward, Lucy settles back into his arms and Tim dips his head to kiss her softly. "It was a really good day."

Her eyes meet his, and they are practically twinkling with happiness and affection. She traces her fingers over the stubble on his cheeks. "It was a perfect day."

And then her eyes drop as if she's almost embarrassed to have made such a silly proclamation, but Tim tips her chin up until her eyes are on his again. "It was a perfect day," he agrees.

She kisses him back and Tim feels a warm wave of fondness wash over him as he tightens his hold on her.

"This is so crazy," Lucy breathes. "I had hoped that maybe this could work, but I never… I never imagined it would be like this." She tilts her head back and there it is — that look full of so much hope and anticipatory expectation.

Tim stiffens, feeling something heavy and sludgy begin to roil in his stomach. So much for sex just being sex.

He's suddenly realizing just how far off the rails this has gotten. He's known this woman for less than four days. And, despite himself, he is actually starting tolikethis girl. But liking someone — enjoying being around them — does not a marriage make.

For every piece of her that has begun to grow on him — her infectious laughter, her expressive eyes, her sweet and easy nature that belies the fiery sass he now knows lingers underneath — his fundamental concerns about their longer-term compatibility haven't changed.

In fact, the few substantive conversations they've had have only confirmed for him how far apart they are in terms of life experience.

She's never been in love or even in a serious relationship, whereas he had a history of steady relationships even before he had met, married, and excruciatingly lost the love of his life.

By her age, he'd done two tours in Afghanistan and Iraq and had been the second in charge of a squad of ten soldiers. She'd shared a story about a rescue dog she had fostered and been unable to keep but still considered partially hers because a co-worker had stepped up to adopt him.

He had spent over a decade in the LAPD, steadily climbing the ranks to TO and then Sergeant. She had gone to college, attempted several different graduate programs before finally settling on journalism, and — though it's painfully clear to him that she has been successful in her work — there is no doubt she is still very early on in her career.

And even if he could set all of that aside, every minute he's spent with Lucy so far has only continued to solidify what he had basically known from first sight — they are very, very different people that see the world in very, very different ways.

And while that may be fun and games to explore while in paradise, especially when boosted by a surface level attraction so hot he can barely think straight, it doesn't change the reality of their situation.

Lucy had come here to meet the man she hoped would be her husband, and, at this point, he's not entirely sure what he came here for, but he feels pretty certain about two things. He will never be able to measure up to the ideas Lucy had in her head before she had even met him, and hell, he's still not even entirely sure he would want to. And he still has no intention of leaving here with a wife.

He gets to his feet without warning her and she clutches at him while giggling in surprise. "Sorry," he says distractedly as he sets her down and moves to head back into the room.

Lucy tugs at his hand and he turns to face her. "Hey — are you okay?"

And those damn eyes of hers — so full of genuine concern — pulling him back in like the idea of him having any free will when it comes to her is an absolute joke.

He swallows back the thick ooze of dread that is climbing up the back of his throat and shakes his head, pulling her into a hug. "I'm good. I think you just completely wore me out," he laughs. "Why don't we get some sleep?"

She pulls back and gazes at him for a few moments and Tim can see she's still not completely convinced. But she simply nods and offers him a sweet smile. "Okay," she agrees and allows him to lead her back to bed.

Tim gets dressed while Lucy is in the bathroom and then sinks down onto the bed, pressing his palms into his eyes. What the fuck did he just do?

He's not sure what he regrets more — how far he'd let things get last night without first making sure they were on the same page or how he'd let his need to regain control this morning drive him back to a coldly compartmentalized and detached version of himself to 'fix' the situation in the worst possible way.

He's not even sure why he had felt such an intense need to push her away; he had actually been almost angry with her.

And then it had been like he had suddenly woken up — saw her as Lucy, the affectionate and caring woman who had done nothing to hurt him, and not as some kind of threat. And it had felt like she was slamming her tiny little fist as deeply as possible into his gut with only her eyes. He's not sure he'll ever stop seeing it in his head — the intensity of her confusion and hurt and distress as she tried to process his words. He hadn't been prepared for how her reaction would make him feel. Hadn't given much thought toherfeelings at all when he'd chosen his words.

And it's not that he doesn't still have his concerns or doesn't think that his reasons for pumping the brakes are valid. He does. But there were probably about a million better ways he could have handled the situation. It's not her fault he can't see this process working for him, that he can't see her as the woman he will spend the rest of his life with.

He scrambles to his feet the minute Lucy emerges from the bathroom, desperate to clean up his mess, but she is already turning to leave, grabbing her phone, wallet, and a key to the room on her way out.

His stomach bottoms out when he sees that she has her suitcase with her, and suddenly the reality that he very well could never see her again if she decides to leave washes over him.

His heart doesn't leave his throat until he sees her shove the bag into the closet, and she's reaching for the door when he finally spurs himself into motion.

He strides across the room, "Lucy, can you please just let me —" And it's barely even a graze, his fingers brushing her elbow as he reaches to stop her, but as soon as he makes contact he realizes his mistake.

She whirls on him and he takes a step back. Her eyes are steely and he can feel the anger radiating from her. She crosses her arms and stares at him, and he realizes she's waiting for what he has to say.

He pauses, a little taken aback at seeing so much distrust in her gaze that, up until this point, had always been so open to him. He swallows, "Lucy, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt —"

She scoffs, "Are you kidding me right now? I think that'sexactlywhat you meant to do."

He stares at her in confusion; does she really think he had intended to hurt her? "No, that's not —" he stops short, realizing that arguing his intent isn't going to change the impact.

"I handled this badly. I know that. I just — I think a strong physical connection can sometimes distort —" His eyes soften, "I care about you, and I don't want to mislead you about where I'm at — emotionally." He rubs his hand over his face; he's getting this all wrong again. "Look — I don't think I'm explaining this well. I—"

Lucy holds up a hand to stop him, and the coldness in her voice seems to surprise them both, "I don't need you to explain it to me, Tim. I'm not an idiot. And I'm not a child. I don't need you to teach me the difference between physical and emotional intimacy. If you wanna be an asshole for the next seven weeks, you go ahead. But don't pretend like it's because you're thinking about my feelings. No one that actually cared about me would treat me the way that you have."

Tim flinches, but she continues, "Believe it or not, one night of sex with you did not cause me to fall hopelessly in love with you. "

He opens his mouth to protest but then stops because, as awful as it sounds in her words, it is a pretty accurate summary. Hadn't he been worried that their night together would lead to her having feelings that he didn't have any intention of reciprocating, that she'd begin to expect more from him in this experience than he was willing or able to give?

"And Tim?"

He meets her eyes so she knows that he's listening.

"If you touch me again, I'll punch you in the face."

His eyes widen as he quickly nods his understanding. And then the door is slamming shut behind her with a bang before Tim is fully able to process what just happened.

He doesn't see Lucy again after their confrontation, except for a quick glimpse of her chatting briefly with someone in production. It's Brad — the PA that had basically tried to grope her on their wedding day. Tim feels his whole body tense, hating that something he had done may have led to her going to him for a favor. Though he certainly can't blame her for finding a way to bail out on the casual afternoon of group activities on the beach.

He half-heartedly plays a few games of volleyball and listens to the others chattering away about their excursions from the day prior and how their relationships are going so far, and he can't help but realize how much he wishes she was here with him. Everything over the past few days has been better with her by his side.

He feels a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach at the realization that it's unlikely the rest of their time together is going to be anything other than misery for them both.

He bolts up to the room the first chance that he gets when they break for lunch but she's not there. He sighs, feeling more and more compelled to make sure she's okay with every hour that passes, but she is, of course, entitled to her space and doesn't even owe him a single conversation at this point if she doesn't want one.

He tries again later in the afternoon, this time attempting to text her, though he's pretty much expecting she will ignore him. "I'm sorry. I feel like I owe you a proper explanation. Can we talk?"

And later, "Can you at least just let me know you're okay?"

He sighs, dropping down onto the bed, realizing how much he hates this. And it doesn't even make sense. He didn't even know this woman a week ago. She is a grown-ass adult who was doing just fine before they'd met. She hardly needs him keeping tabs on her.

But he can't deny that on some level, he feels responsible for her, even oddly protective toward her. Clearly, an instinct that had gone missing this morning when he had stomped on her heart, but an instinct all the same. Stupid reality show or not, sheistechnically his wife, and not knowing that she's okay, where she is, or if she's even going to come back is striking a nerve that's a little too familiar for him in a very painful way.

His phone vibrates — she's responded with the middle finger emoji.

He laughs out loud. The response is far more than he deserves. But he's starting to realize that Lucy has more grace in her pinky finger than he does in his entire body.

"I'm sorry,what?" Angela asks, mouth dropping open in disbelief on the screen of his phone.

Tim stays silent, it's clear she's not done.

"Oh, Tim. You have got to be kidding me. Tell me you did not actually say that to her. You fucked her and then you dumped her? Did someone dunk you in a vat of stupid?"

Tim runs a hand over his face; he can always count on his best friend to give it to him straight.

He heaves a sigh. "I wastryingto be honest. Look, Angela, I know I fucked up. I don't need you to rub it in; I need you to tell me what to do."

She shakes her head, and Tim is surprised at the sadness in her eyes when she speaks again. "I just — the fact that she's still in Mexico at all says a lot about her character. She must have been crushed Tim; I know I would have been."

His throat tightens; he doesn't like having to sit with the idea of that.

"I don't understand why you're pushing her away to begin with. You're clearly attracted to her. You seem to even like spending time with her on occasion, which is saying something for you. And it sounds like you had a great day and an even better evening and then you just decided to blow it all up. Why are you so scared of just giving this a chance? Seeing where things go?"

"I'm not scared," Tim snaps defensively. "Besides, what's the point? How much of a dick would I be if I led her on for eight weeks when I already know this isn't going to work out?"

"How could you possibly know that?"

Tim sighs with frustration, "I just do, Angela. She's just so…good."

Angela stares back at him, "You realize you sound like a lunatic, right?"

"She's justtoo—"

"Toowhat?"

Tim runs a hand back through his hair in frustration. "I don't know… too happy?"

Angela snorts with derision, "She sounds awful."

Tim glares at her before continuing, "I don't know how I know, Angela, but I just do — she's justtoodifferent from me in too many ways. She's young and she's sweet and she's all wide-eyed, and she looks at the world like it is all sunshine and rainbows.

"And you know what? You're right. Thoseareall good things. Idolike her. Idolike being around her because sheisgreat — amazing, even — and I can already tell she is a way better person than I'll ever be. But she can be all of those things and still not be the right person for me. Angela, you know the life I've led… can you really see me with someone like that?"

"What do you actually know about the life she's led, Tim? Didn't you say she was the reporter that went undercover in the cartel?"

"She was," Tim frowns, realizing that he, too, is having trouble reconciling that with the woman he's been describing to Angela.

"And honestly who cares if she's a little younger and she doesn't have all the same battle wounds you have? You're not supposed to end up with someone who is exactly like you, Tim. You need someone who complements you. Maybe you'd benefit from some sunshine and rainbows. Get back to who you were before —"

She stops, and Tim shakes his head, the hurt evident in his voice. "That's not fair, Angela."

"I know," she says softly. "I just want to see you happy again. That's all Genny wants too. I just think that — and I know this is crazy — but… maybe instead of assuming you already know all you need to know, maybe you should try actually getting to know her andthenmake up your mind."

Tim groans; she just doesn't get it. Even if she is making some valid points, they still don't change what he already knows in his gut. He shakes his head. "What would even be the point now? I'm pretty sure that ship has sailed."

"Now that, I don't disagree with you on." She shakes her head, "I still can't believe you did that. Poor Lucy."

Tim frowns, not entirely appreciating the reminder.

Angela starts to laugh, "Did she really threaten to punch you in the face?"

Tim chuckles, rolling his eyes as he nods.

"Good for her!" The humor fades from her expression, "I'm so sorry, Tim."

"Why areyousorry?"

"Maybe — maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Maybe we shouldn't have pushed you so hard to do this. What happened with Lucy — clearly, you weren't ready to dive into something this extreme."

And even despite the fact that he's pretty much ruined any chance of having her in his life after this in any capacity, his mind immediately rejects the idea. Because the idea of not having met her, not having known Lucy at all, feels so completely wrong.

It's not something he really knows how to process or make sense of in the moment, but he feels pretty certain about it.

"Tim — one last thing. I know you, and I know that deep down you have a really good heart. I still can't quite connect the dots on how you were dumb enough to do what you did this morning, but I know that in that weird Tim way of yours you think you're somehow protecting her by stopping this thing before it can start. But if you ask me… the only person you're protecting is yourself."

Tim opens his mouth to protest but Angela raises her hand to stop him, "I already know you vehemently disagree. Just promise me you'll think about it, okay?"

Tim grudgingly nods, though he has very little intention of actually thinking about it. Her words are making him more uncomfortable than he's willing to admit.

"Hey! How's the honeymoon?"

And the minute she sees Jackson's face, his kind smile through the screen, Lucy's eyes begin to well.

"Lucy, what's wrong?"

She wipes at her eyes, swallowing, "Do you remember that thing you told me at the wedding?"

Jackson shakes his head.

"To keep my guard up, so I didn't get hurt — well… apparently, I should have taken your advice."

"What happened?"

"Wow." It's all Jackson says when she finishes. "This guy is — " he shakes his head, jaw clenching as he processes his anger. "I think you should come home."

"You know I can't, Jackson. I signed a contract. Besides, I feel like if I leave I'd be quitting or letting him win or something and Ihatethat."

Jackson shakes his head, "You didn't sign up for this; you signed up for a lot, but it almost sounds like he's gaslighting you or something."

Lucy is quiet for a few moments and then shakes her head. "He's not gaslighting me — he's not lying to me or trying to manipulate me to some self-serving end. And, look, I'm not arguing that he hasn't been a jerk or that he hasn't treated me badly, because he absolutely has but it's like he just… I don't know. I think he's actually just being honest and is just really, really bad at human interaction. Iamstarting to question whether he might have multiple personalities though."

Her eyes fill again, "God, things were so good yesterday, Jackson. But I just — I'm so angry. He either came here with no intention of making it work, which is such a dick move because he robbed me of my experience, or he somehow already knows in less than five days that there is no way I could possibly be good enough for him."

"Lucy. Stop. First of all, with everything you told me, it seems like whatever it is that happened this morning with him was a whole hell of a lot more about him than it was about you. And even if he's a complete moron and decided that you aren't the right partner for him without even giving it a legitimate shot, then one, yes, he's a massive dick; two, you dodged a bullet; and three, not being right for someone doesnotmean you aren't good enough for someone. It seems like this guy couldn't be nearly good enough foryou."

Lucy nods, and wipes at the tears trickling down her cheeks, "How do you always figure out how to say exactly what I need to hear?"

"What are best friends for?"

Lucy gives him a grateful smile before continuing. "And, okay, even if he legitimately didn't want to lead me on, he couldn't have had the decency to not do it when I was still fucking naked in bed right next to him? It was so humiliating."

Jackson nods, "Yeah, that was a shitty thing to do." He hesitates before continuing, "I actually did some digging for you — not sure if you care to hear it at this point?"

Lucy shrugs, a little annoyed with herself that she does, in fact, want to hear it.

"It sounds like he's a good cop, well-respected, but he does have a reputation for being a bit of a prick and a real hard-ass with the rookies he trains. It's kind of a TO thing — a lot of bluster and being standoffish and keeping people at arm's length."

She nods, "I can definitely see that. But I'mnotone of his rookies. God, I was kind of hoping you'd find out he was a terrible person."

Jackson laughs, "I don't know, Lucy, and, trust me, I am not advocating for you giving this guy another chance because if I had it my way, you'd be done with this whole thing. But just looking at it objectively — it does sound like things started to move kind of fast, do you think it's possible he maybe got a little in his head and freaked out a bit? Did you talk at all before…?"

Lucy shakes her head, an icky feeling of uncertainty beginning to form in her gut. "Not really. Well — kind of, I guess. The other night at dinner, we talked about being physically intimate without an emotional connection."

Jackson frowns. "Was that what it was? Just physical?"

Lucy swallows, feeling suddenly very confused. "I guess — I mean. I don't know." She isn't really liking the direction the conversation is going.

Jackson's voice is gentle. "Lucy, you have every right to be upset; whatever it was, this guy treated you like crap, but…"

"What?"

"You seem pretty upset about it if it really was just sex."

Lucy drops her gaze to the ground, trying to process his words.

"Haveyou emotionally connected?"

"I — I don't know. We've had a few conversations. Nothing super deep, but —"

"You're married," Jackson fills in. "Look, Lucy, I'm not saying you're wrong because I think it's absolutely valid that you came into this thing expecting to find a husband. That was the whole point. But I wonder if… do you think maybe you're more emotionally connected to the idea of him than you actually are to him? And maybe that's why you're so upset?"

"I'm upset because he's a dick, Jackson," she snaps defensively.

But even as she's saying the words, she's remembering Gianna's words from yesterday,I really do feel like every time I give an inch, he tries to take a mile…And that makes me feel like I can't be nice if I don't want him to misunderstand my intentions, you know?

And later, her own words to Tim,I had hoped that maybe this could work, but I never… I never imagined it would be like this.And then the way he had stiffened and pulled away.

She swallows. Is Jackson right? Had she projected her expectations about coming here to meet her perfect match and what she wanted to be happening between them onto what was actually happening? Worse yet, had Tim been right to worry shewouldread too much into what had happened between them last night?

She deflates because she already knows the answer — she had started to develop feelings even though he hadn't given her any reason to think he was invested in anything other than a physical connection with her. Sure, they had had fun together. And the attraction between them was undeniable. But ultimately, they hadn't had more than a handful of conversations that even scratched beneath the surface. They hadn't opened up to each other in any significant way. So why — beyond just being angry at the way he had treated her — was she so heartbroken over this?

Jackson shakes his head and raises his hands in surrender, "No argument here. You just seemed really happy yesterday when you texted and it sounded like you guys were maybe actually starting to connect. I'm sorry, Lucy. I really wanted this to go differently for you."

Lucy nods, swallowing back the bubble of emotion building in her throat. "I did, too."

"I'll come to Mexico and kick his ass for you if you want."

Lucy laughs, "You know I'm perfectly capable of kicking ass all on my own."

"That I do know. You know I have to ask, though…"

"What?"

"How was it? Basic and caucasian or …"

Lucy's out on the deck when Tim gets back to the room after dinner. She's curled up on one of the chairs, arms wrapped around her knees, looking out at the sun setting over the ocean.

And she is just so… "Beautiful."

He doesn't even realize he's said it aloud until she startles, swiveling to glance back at him before returning her attention to the view.

And he has to force his hands to remain still at his sides because the urge to reach out and touch her, to pull her into his arms, is so strong.

"Lucy, can we talk?"

She turns to look back at him, "I don't really want to be around you right now."

And it's all she says. And maybe it cuts even deeper because she doesn't say it with anger. She's just being honest.

"Yeah. I get that. I just — can I just say one thing? And then I promise, I'll leave you alone."

She sighs and shrugs, not bothering to look at him, and, truthfully, he's grateful. He can't stomach seeing those wounded brown eyes staring up at him again. He settles into the chair next to her, taking a deep breath to steel himself.

He's feeling more than a little uncomfortable about having to talk about the wild sex they'd had the night before with a woman he's only known a few days, but knows he needs to set things straight. He raises his eyes to hers, wanting her to know that he means the next words that come out of his mouth.

"I — uh. Look, I know I hurt you, and I'm not just talking about this morning. I've been an asshole since the moment we met, and you've been nothing but good to me. And I get that nothing I say is going to fix what I did, but I feel like I owe you — I just need you to know that you didn't do anything wrong —"

"I know I didn't," she snaps. Her anger is back again, and it's actually a relief. Because anger is something Tim knows intimately, an emotion he is comfortable with.

He takes a deep breath, "I know we don't know each other that well, and I'm not trying to make an excuse for my behavior because there isn't one. But there's some stuff in my past — I just don't do very well when I feel like I'm not in control, and last night…"

"It was kind of unhinged," she laughs wryly, but he can still hear the hurt in her voice.

"It was incredible.Youwere incredible, but I — this whole thing has put me so far out of my comfort zone, and I'm realizing that I have a lot of stuff to work on and work through, but I'm really going to try to stop making you collateral damage, Lucy. You deserve better from me, and I know that."

She turns back to him after a few more moments of silence between them. "Okay," she says simply. "To be clear, I am never having sex with you again after that, but at least the next seven weeks will be a little less uncomfortable."

Tim chuckles mirthlessly, knowing that despite the wry humor in her tone, she's not joking. Whatever his intention, there's no question that he's hurt her deeply and he's going to have to do a lot more than just apologize to get them back to a place where she would even consider being that vulnerable with him again, physically or otherwise.

And considering that he still has his mind made up about how this is going to turn out come decision day, he's surprised by how heavily he feels the weight of the realization in his stomach.

Her decision to come into this with so much openness and vulnerability, such a willingness to try with him wasn't youthful naïvete or eagerness — he's starting to see that it was incredibly brave and actually quite beautiful — it had been a gift, one that he hadn't even realized he'd been given until it was gone.

Notes:

Welp, you should probably always look a premature smut gift horse in the mouth...

runs and hides, whispering, "please don't hate me"*

Like Tim, I, too, can be a gigantic asshole, but I promise you I am so very excited for the story that lies ahead for these two, so hope you'll forgive me and stick around to see how things continue to unfold

Side note: Brad… and Chad… and Bradford - I'm about as good with names as the show is. You are so welcome

Summary:

The aftermath...

Notes:

Footnotes included for anyone who is interested in seeing pictures along the way - just click the link on the superscript!

(See the end of the chapter formore notes.)

Chapter Text

Dark Side of the Honeymoon

Week 1, Day 4: Wednesday

Lucy spends most of the rest of the evening out on the deck, seemingly doing nothing other than listening to the ocean and gazing up at the stars. Tim is tempted to ask her what she finds so mesmerizing — if she's into something like astronomy and the tides or if there's some other reason. But he'd promised he would leave her alone after their conversation and he does.

When he walks out of the bathroom later that evening after his shower, he finds that Lucy has made her way back inside and gotten ready for bed. She's splayed diagonally across their bed, flipping through a magazine. Her hair is piled up on the top of her head in a high bun, and she's wearing a tiny robe that immediately draws his eyes to her ass. Because it's not actually covering her ass. It's rucked up just enough to reveal a pair of boyshort panties with some sort of text splashed across her bottom. He squints,Bite Me.

Must be a sibling ofHappy Meal.

Cute.

It's certainly not making him think about just exactly how much he wants another opportunity to do exactly that.

She is staring right at him when he finally turns his gaze back to her face, and if he wasn't damn sure that she had specifically intended the message for him, he might be a little embarrassed to be caught gawking at her ass after everything that had happened earlier today. But he has a feeling she isn't going to be shy about reminding him he is the stupidest man on earth for fucking up his chance with her every opportunity she gets. It is probably — definitely — what he deserves. But that certainly doesn't mean it's going to be any less painful.

She reaches back to grab something, and when he hears the crinkle of a bag of chips, his eyes narrow. And yup, she rips the bag open so violently that a few of the chips scatter over the comforter. She glances up at him again as if daring him to say something to her. She noisily chomps on a few chips before popping a finger into her mouth to lick off the residue. He clenches his jaw.That little… For a moment he's distracted by the movement of her lips around her finger. And damn he wants to set her straight in a very specific and explicit way for all of the crap she's pulling.

He instead clears his throat to protest about the crumbs she is getting ontheirbed when he realizes that his pillow isn't actuallyonthe bed. She has deposited it and a blanket unceremoniously in a haphazard pile on the floor.

She smiles sweetly when he glances back at her, and he is tempted to say something. But ultimately he just shakes his head and rolls his eyes. It's not like he's really in a position to kickherout of bed.

And he's not an idiot. He knows he's the asshole, and that Lucy is very likely going to be hurt and pissed off at him for some time to come.

So, if playing these little games makes her feel better? That's fine with him. As long as she realizes that two can play.

He makes his way back to his suitcase, bending down to retrieve his clothing before he chances a quick glance back at her. This time it's her eyes that are locked on him, and she's not looking at his face. She actually does have the decency to look embarrassed when she realizes she's been caught out.

Her eyes widen when his hands move to where the towel is secured around his waist, and he begins to loosen the wrap, allowing the towel to slide a few inches further south around his hips. Her mouth is slightly agape and he has to admit that he's enjoying this. "I'd turn around unless you want a show, Lucy," and he has to resist laughing out loud when it looks like she is seriously contemplating her choice.

He tugs the towel loose and hears a small "eep" escape her as she scrambles to face away from him.

He tugs on a pair of pajama pants and decides to forego his shirt. If he's going to be on the floor, he may as well try and be as comfortable as he can be in other ways. There's definitely no other reason. Lucy watches him with narrowed eyes as he crosses over to his new "bed". He stops to look at her, "What?"

"What exactly do you have against shirts, Tim?"

His lips twitch. "What exactly do you have against pants, Lucy?"

These are the burning questions that need answers. They stare at each other unblinking.

"Whatever," Lucy finally huffs and crawls to the edge of the bed so she can walk to the bathroom, again reminding Tim that he can 'bite her' and that she has possibly the most perfect ass he's ever seen. It's going to be a long seven weeks.

Week 1, Day 5: Thursday

They oversleep the next morning. Tim, who is typically the early riser, has such a miserable night on the floor that he sleeps well past his normal wake-up time. And Lucy, who has come to rely on Tim being up and about as her own alarm clock, also ends up sleeping in, only waking when her cell phone begins to go off repeatedly.

"Hello?" she answers tiredly. And then, "Shit!Sorry — we'll be right there."

She none too gently nudges Tim with her foot as she scrambles out of the bed. "Tim, get up! We have to be downstairs in ten minutes."

He groans, "What?" And then, after glancing at the time on his phone, he jolts upright."Shit!"

They end up on top of each other in the bathroom. Tim quickly gets irritated by Lucy bobbing and weaving around him to collect what she needs from a variety of drawers — her hairbrush, her toothbrush, a ponytail holder, her moisturizer, her sunscreen, and so on — and he's about to grouse at her for not being more organized when he realizes it.

The military had given him structure and routine, but it had also made him rigid and set in his ways. He hadn't even thought twice about claiming the spaces he habitually did — the top and central drawers — organized optimally for his morning and evening routines.

And Lucy hadn't said a word, quietly making do with the lower drawers on opposite sides of the vanity without a single complaint. And he's realizing now that she had been that way about a lot of things — always waiting for him to finish in the bathroom in the mornings before she started to get ready for the day, settling for coffee instead of tea when it was clear the PAs were not capable of dealing with complicated orders, the way she had slept on the right side of the bed when she'd had it to herself last night instead of the left when she had been sharing it with him.

She had been adapting and filling in around him this entire time, without him even realizing she was doing it. Both the exact opposite to him and a perfect complement.

Their excursion for the day is spelunking — a tour through the underground river system1. Tim is relieved to have the distraction, but he notices Lucy seems tense. That's probably to be expected, given everything that happened yesterday. He wouldn't want to spend the day with himself either after that.

Things are cordial, if not still a bit cool between them. She's not unkind to him or anyone else around them, and, had he not been privy to how she was before he'd blown everything up, he's not sure he'd even have noticed that something is off.

But he had been, and it's hard not to notice the change in her demeanor. She's quieter — more withdrawn and guarded — and the girl that had made such an effort to get to know him is long gone. She mostly keeps to herself, and Tim would be lying if he didn't admit to feeling a dull ache every time she finds an excuse to put more distance between them — setting her things beside her on the shuttle so it's clear he should sit somewhere else; heading off on her own to gear up in the provided wetsuit, wet shoes, and helmet; and drifting away from his side and closer to the front during the orientation.

He's also starting to recognize that maybe the sunshine and rainbows thing is something shechoosesto project to the world. Something she is capable of switching off. And for as much as he probably would have been happy for her to flip the switch on their wedding day, it makes him sad to see her so dimmed now. He didn't realize how much he'd come to appreciate her sweet optimism in just a few days.

He'd felt hopeful that their conversation last night and the light teasing between them before bed had been an indication that they were already on their way to finding their footing again, but now it's clear that he is the one that's being naive. Even if there isn't outright hostility between them, and even if they are able to share a few lighter moments here and there, things are never going to go back to the way they were between them, and that hurts him deeply.

Lucy, again, makes a point of distancing herself away from him during the tour — much to production's chagrin, given how difficult it is for them to capture shots of the group moving through the watery caves. The tour is a combination of walking and swimming, and as they move through the maze of tunnels and caverns, the space only continues to become darker and tighter until they reach a point where filming is no longer viable. The crew packs up the limited equipment they had been able to bring in, given the watery climate, and one of the guides peels off of the group to guide them through the rest of the route sans commentary so they can exit.

They are about 40 minutes and a half mile into the two-hour tour when Tim hears a commotion in front of him and their guide yelling for someone to stop. "Miss, stop — you can't go that way. You have to exit this way. Miss!"

And it's not even a second later that someone is pushing past him. And less than a fraction of a second after that, that he realizes it's Lucy.What the hell?

His first instinct is to grab her, but he idiotically hesitates — the way she had reacted to his touch yesterday is still so fresh in his mind. And then she is past the group and literally sprinting back the way they had come — through the slippery and treacherous terrain. The guide is pushing through the group, screaming at her to stop. And there is no mistaking the panic in his voice as he utters a string of curse words in Spanish and radios in what is clearly an emergency call.

Tim's legs tense, preparing to sprint after her, but he grabs the guide by the arm, "Why can't she go back that way?"

All he remembers from the orientation was a strict instruction to never leave the group without a guide and that traffic is only allowed to move in one direction through the caves. He had thought that was just to avoid tour groups running into each other, but he now has a sinking feeling that there is another reason.

The guide is obviously distressed, shaking his head as he looks back toward the group and then toward where Lucy has disappeared, and then back again. Tim assumes he is willing the second guide to reappear.

He tightens his grip, his own panic starting to rise in his chest. "Why can't she go that way?" he demands more firmly this time, his teeth gritted.

The guide looks at him, and the fear in his eyes is so intense that Tim is already moving even before he's answered the question.

"Sir — you can't!" the guide screams behind him. "The tides — you'll get trapped!"

And it takes very little time for Tim to realize what the guide had been so terrified about — they had entered the caves at the lowest point, and the tour had gradually been taking them further and further up in altitude. It's unmistakably clear the water is rising — portions of the river that had been only a few inches deep when they'd initially come through are now up to his knees, water that had been up to his knees is now up to his waist, and it is only getting worse as he continues to make his way back toward the entrance.

What the fuck is happening? Why the hell wouldn't she have stopped when she saw this? Why the hell would she have taken off like that to begin with?

Eventually, he has no choice but to swim, and the rushing current that had been swirling around his legs as he walked is even more difficult to swim through. And he is suddenly unsure if he is going to catch up to her at all — he has no idea how good of a swimmer she is, but even an extremely strong swimmer would struggle against this current.Heis struggling against the current, rapidly becoming scared for his own life and realizing his only choice may be to stop fighting the current and turn back. He has to believe that she would have turned back in the face of this, but she hasn't. And that means she is either still trying to get back to the entrance or that she just didn't make it.

And no.No.That isn't an option. Turning back isn't an option. He is going to find her, even if that means staying in this cave until the tide has passed and they can recover her body. It's a morbid thought, but she isn't Lucy to him anymore. She is a life he is trying to save, and he has to be rational and realistic about the possibilities in order to assess the situation.

Though, to be honest, if he was truly being rational and realistic, he wouldn't have gone after her at all, and instead let the professional emergency response team with the proper equipment and knowledge of these caves and the tides do their jobs. But he hadn't. Because no part of him had even considered not going after her, considered not trying to help her the moment he knew she was in danger. And now there's a very real possibility that they'll be recovering two bodies.

It takes him far too long to catch up to her, but when he sees her, the resulting burst of adrenaline is probably what saves his life. They are in the final cavern, which has filled with more than ten feet of water that is continuing to rise. Lucy has somehow miraculously made it to the wall with the rope ladder they had used to descend into the caves, and she is desperately trying to grasp it, but he can see her exhaustion each time the current knocks her back, not allowing her to get purchase against the wall and grab the ladder.

Tim fights his way to her, using every last bit of energy he has to grasp the ladder with one hand and Lucy's waist with the other. Her eyes are wide with fear and panic, but she does everything right, immediately grabbing the ladder when Tim yanks her toward it. She pulls herself up to safety above the tide marker as Tim gets slammed back into the wall by the current. The wind is knocked out of him, and he is paralyzed. He can't do it — doesn't have an ounce of energy left to fight his way back to the ladder.

No— Lucy is turning back, screaming his name, and climbing back down into the danger zone. And all Tim can feel is relief when he sees that a rescue diver attached to a guideline anchor reel is descending the ladder and grabbing hold of her to drag her back up toward the exit. It's the last thing he sees.

Everything hurts. It's the first thought Tim has when he opens his eyes. Worse than if he had been hit at full speed a hundred times over and over by the biggest linebacker he'd ever seen without any protective equipment.

But the football field is almost immediately wiped from his mind's eye as he returns to the present. He jolts upright even as the hands of a surprised EMT attempt to hold him down. There's something confining on his face, and he rips the oxygen mask off, eyes frantically searching.

Where is she?

And when he spots her standing a few feet away, the feeling of every bit of tension leaving his body is immense but far too short-lived. He ignores the protest of the EMT as he scrambles to his feet and storms toward her.

"What the fuck was that? What the hell were you thinking, Lucy? You could have — you almostdied." The weight of his distress causes his voice to break.

And he is so angry, absolutely furious with her. Not solely because she had put both of their lives in very real danger, but because of the realization that this woman — who he's known for less than a week and who he's already decided couldn't possibly be for him — the idea that she could be so reckless and impulsive with her own life has him feeling a kind of terror he hasn't felt since Isabel had spiraled into her addiction.

And she's not even fucking looking at him, her head tilted back up toward the sky. Her wetsuit is folded down around her waist, and it takes Tim a few seconds too long to process that the rise and fall of her chest is far too rapid. She is sucking in air like there isn't possibly enough left for her.

Shit."Lucy, it's okay. You're okay. Just breathe." Is that what this was? Some kind of insane panic attack?

He cautiously reaches out his fingers to touch her arm, and she finally looks at him, her hands scrabbling to grip his forearms. The tears streaming down her cheeks are intermingling with the drops of water that are dripping down her face from her hair.

"T-Tim," she finally gets out something that's a cross between a gasp and a sob.

He establishes a firm grip on her arms and keeps his eyes locked on hers, repeating, "Lucy, it's okay. Just breathe for me, okay?"

She nods, and then, just like that, it's over. She focuses on taking deep, slow breaths, but they are controlled, and she's no longer crying.

They hang on to each other for a few more moments and then allow the EMTs to complete checking them out. And then as quickly as it had all begun, it is over. It's just the two of them standing in the clearing outside of the entrance to the underground river. The shuttle isn't due to pick them up for another hour on the opposite side of the route, and they had left their phones on it to avoid water damage from the swim. The EMTs had offered them a ride to either the hospital or the resort, but they both declined. It's less than a mile back to the hotel, and, for as sore and exhausted as they both are, the fresh air is a salve after what they endured in that cavern.

They walk silently until they reach the beach. Tim stops short, and Lucy turns to look at him, her eyes wary.

His throat is thick when he speaks, "Why would you do that?" He needs to know, and it can't wait any longer.

"I wasn't trying to — I just — I really needed to get out of there. I'm sorry."

And it's not nearly good enough.

Tim shakes his head in disbelief, "Did you have a panic attack? Are you claustrophobic or something?"

He needs this to make some kind of sense, though the idea that she might be claustrophobic and didn't bother to say anything before they entered the caves is nothing short of enraging.

"No — I mean — I don't know," her eyes fill. "This hasn't happened in a really long time. I thought I would be fine, but I think the stress of all of this just — I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. I didn't know that would happen, or I never would have gone in there to begin with, Tim."

And the way she's looking up at him — her hair still wet, her hands anxiously wringing, her eyes sad and pleading — she looks so damn vulnerable it makes him ache. And the fact that there is no doubt his actions — being so callous and careless with her heart — only increased the stress of this entire situation for her — it's almost unbearable to think that he could somehow have been responsible for this.

He finally nods, his voice breaking when he eventually finds a way to get the words out, "I'm sorry, too, Lucy."

And suddenly the weight of all of it is hitting him at once — every single thing that's happened between the two of them since the day they met; every single thing that's happened since the life he had dreamed of for himself and Isabel had been so cruelly ripped away.

Agony. There's no other word for it.

For the first time since she's met him, his carefully constructed guard is down and she can see it — how much pain he is in, all of the time.

She can seehim— the man who had pushed her away as hard as he possibly could the moment things had started to get real between them, because he couldn't tolerate even the possibility of bearing an ounce more.

This man is broken. And everything inside of her is hurting for him and wants to help him fix it, despite everything he has put her through. But she feels like she is falling apart, and what could she possibly have to offer him when she isn't even sure how to piece herself back together?

She presses her eyes closed and feels the tears roll down her cheeks as she faces the enormity of what she had done and the consequences that were so narrowly avoided.

She turns her gaze to the ocean, not wanting to see him watch her as she cries. How could a place so beautiful — a place that had been so close to the start of something beautiful — have become the backdrop for so much heartbreak?

She sniffles and wipes her eyes before turning back to him. "I'm going to keep walking for a bit. I think I just need some space."

He simply nods, his eyes red and watery with his own tears.

She turns and begins to walk away, before pausing to look back at him. "Tim?" She waits until he meets her gaze, "Thank you."

"For what?" he asks, confused.

"You saved my life."

Notes:

1.
2. For anyone who's interested, the location inspiration for this chapter was Rio Secreto, though I absolutely made up all of the shit about the tides and altitudes and whatnot, so definitely don't let that deter you from a visit - it's apparently quite safe and family friendly LOL
3. Don't get used to this update cadence - LOL; I had some time off this week and this story can't seem to get on paper fast enough, but for those that like to know what to expect, will be shifting back to a weekly cadence from here (likely Sundays or Mondays).
3. I promised there would be angst... SO MUCH angst, but I also promise it will get better - let me know if you're still hanging in there with me. I'm behind on responding on comments, but just know they mean the world to me and just get me even more excited to share this story.

1. underground river systemreturn to text

Summary:

The end of the honeymoon; moving in; Lucy has a scare at work

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter fornotes.)

Chapter Text

Goodbye Paradise… Hello Reality

Week 1, Day 5: Thursday

Thankfully, their near-death experience earns them a break from filming for the rest of the day — as long as they recount in harrowing detail everything that had happened on their couples cam, of course.

They go their separate ways — well, Lucy goes, and Tim stays. After the night on the floor and the beating his body had taken in the cavern, he is in an incredible amount of pain.

So after a combination of hot showers and a brief stint in the jacuzzi, he doesn't bother with lunch and instead simply collapses into bed, hoping that a few hours of solid rest will alleviate some of his misery.

When he finally wakes, it's almost dark, and, normally, he'd be aggravated at the idea of so completely disrupting his sleep schedule. But he's still so physically and mentally exhausted that he actually feels like he could go right back to bed and sleep through the night.

He reaches to flip on the bedside lamp, andshit.

Lucy is curled up on the floor in his makeshift bed, and it's clear the light has disturbed her because she's shifting sleepily and rubbing her eyes.

A wave of guilt washes over him; he had taken the bed without even considering that she would be exhausted and likely pretty sore herself.

His eyes fall on an assortment of things she's placed on the nightstand for him — a bag of takeout from one of the resort cafes, a heating pad, a variety of OTC painkillers, and a giant tube of IcyHot.

He's honestly not even surprised. Because it's just soher. He had disappointed her in the worst possible way, and, yet, somehow, here she is, going out of her way to take care of him. He remembers telling Angela how he could tell right from the start just howgoodshe was — and he was absolutely right — but, at the moment, he's struggling to remember how he could have possibly thought that was anything other than a positive.

Lucy sits up. "Hi," she mumbles sleepily.

He smiles tiredly down at her, "Hey."

She climbs to her knees and reaches onto the nightstand to grab a disposable coffee cup. She holds it up to him, "I got you some tea." She frowns, "It's probably cold, but it has turmeric and cinnamon and valerian and chamomile and, oh, also white willow bark which is great for…"

He takes the cup from her as she continues to talk about the different ingredients and their anti-inflammatory and healing properties, gradually getting more animated with every word. To be honest, he's still barely awake and not entirely following most of what she's saying, and he's not really thinking much of anything other than,god, she is really fucking adorable.

He realizes she has stopped talking and is looking up at him, her eyes bright with anticipation as she waits for him to take a sip.

And it's possibly the most disgusting thing he has ever tasted, but he just smiles at her and forces himself to down every last drop because, though it hasn't even been two whole days since he fucked everything up, he has missed this version of her for every minute of it — sunshine and rainbows included.

He's not willing to be the reason this version of her disappears again. Even if it does mean drinking some questionable tea.

She gets to her feet, yawning and stretching along the way. "I'm going to go catch the end of the sunset," she tosses over her shoulder as she heads toward the deck.

"Lucy?" he calls after her.

She pauses to look back at him, "Hmm?"

"You know you're pretty amazing, right?"

She laughs, "OhIdefinitely know that."

It's dark by the time he joins her out on the deck, after he eats the food she had been thoughtful enough to bring back to the room for him. She's reclaimed what seems to be one of her favorite positions — reclined back on one of the loungers.

"What is it that has you so mesmerized up there?" he finally asks.

She turns her head to glance at him, seemingly surprised by the question. He realizes it's probably because he hasn't bothered to ask her much of anything that wasn't written on a prompt sheet provided by production since their wedding night.

"Nothing specific really… I just like the feeling it gives me," she finally answers, her gaze turned back toward the sky.

He studies the profile of her face in the moonlight and is struck by the fact that she is maybe even more beautiful to him now than she had been that first night. In that way knowing what kind of person someone is changes the way you see them. It makes him wonder what she sees when she looks at him now.

"What feeling is that?" he asks, once it's clear she isn't going to continue.

There's a long silence as he waits for her to respond, and it occurs to him that maybe she doesn't want to answer him.

"Uh, sorry — you don't have to answer that if you don't want to. I'll just leave you to it."

He's halfway back into the bungalow when he finally hears her response, her eyes never once leaving the stars. "Hope."

He pauses. It's a simple answer. One that, if he's honest, he'd probably be tempted to toss in with the rainbows and sunshine, but there's something in the way she says it that indicates there is nothing simple about what that feeling means for her.

He gazes at her for a few more moments, before clearing his throat. "Good night, Lucy."

And this time she does turn to look at him, a soft smile on her lips as she meets his eyes. "Good night, Tim."

He is almost certain his heart skips a beat.

Week 1, Day 6: Friday

When they get back to LA the next day, they are dropped at the joint apartment they will be living in together for the rest of their experience.

The first major decision is an easy one for them — they opt to stay in separate rooms, and are both more than happy to bid adieux to nights on the floor. Production, of course, prods them to lean into the drama around their reasons, but Lucy hesitates. She's not sure what Tim has or hasn't shared, but if she were to bet on it, she'd put her money onnot much.

And while her pettier, more vindictive inclinations wouldn't be opposed to making Tim look like the gigantic asshole he is on national TV, she's not overly keen on revealing to the whole world that he'd summarily rejected her the morning after she'd slept with him. And maybe, despite her better judgment, a small part of her is starting to feel the tiniest bit protective toward the man who had risked everything to save her life in that cave.

So she settles on something vaguer that still affords her a tiny, but satisfying bit of pettiness, wholeheartedly blaming Tim for their separation because he is having difficulty being open to the process. She's proud of her restraint, given a more apt description would be that he'd made up his mind about her, and any possibility of a future for them together, less than a week into their journey. She's surprised at how much the truth of that observation still stings, but she quickly turns her focus away from the dull ache that forms in her center at the thought.

The apartment is simple, but nice — located centrally enough that they both end up with a reasonable commute (reasonable for LA, anyway) — two bedrooms, two baths, and a kitchen that opens up to a large living and dining space. There's a large balcony off of the living area and a second smaller one off of the primary bedroom with a beautiful view of the city. It's an easy decision for Tim to let her have the better room when her eyes light up as soon as they step outside to take it all in.

The apartment is fully furnished, but they'll be swinging by each of their places so that they can gather what they'll need for the remainder of the experiment, and so that they can explore (and judge) each other's living situations on camera.

They stop by Lucy's place first, and, as soon as Tim steps into the apartment, he can immediately feel her energy all around him. The space is vibrant and colorful and welcoming. Everything he'd imagined her home would be.

Jackson greets Lucy with a massive hug, and it's impossible not to see how close the two of them are, how deeply they care about one another.

The warmth is gone, though, when Jackson's eyes land on Tim, and he gives him a brisk nod before turning his focus back to Lucy as she details their adventures in Mexico.

"We had our own pool, Jackson; it was insane. I can't wait to show you the pictures!"

And though he knows he's more than earned the cold shoulder, it still bugs him a little. He's not one to care a whole lot about whether people like him; there's no shortage of people he's unapologetically rubbed the wrong way. But he'd be lying if he didn't admit it bugs him a little that Lucy's closest friend despises him.

He trails them into her bedroom, and of course she'd have a giant four-poster canopy bed fit for a princess. She glances back over her shoulder as if anticipating his reaction and narrows her eyes, "Shut up, Tim."

He chuckles and raises his hands in a gesture of innocence. "I didn't say a thing."

"Uh huh. Tell that to your face."

Even Jackson joins in on their laughter, muttering something that sounds like, "Itiskind of ridiculous," under his breath.

But amidst the gentle teasing, Tim's mind is already contemplating how hot it would be to lay her back on that bed with the curtains drawn around them, as he takes his sweet time exploring every inch of her naked body.

He shakes himself; that ship hasn't just sailed — he personally went through the trouble of converting it to a high-speed motorboat before shoving it out to sea.

Jackson and Lucy disappear into her closet, continuing to chatter away as Lucy begins to pack her things. One of the crew encourages Tim to explore because apparently watching him awkwardly hover in the middle of the room does not make for enthralling television. He sighs and begins to wander around — her room is well kept and orderly even though there's no shortage of stuff to liven things up and make the space uniquely Lucy's.

His lips curve upward as he studies various photos of her with friends and family; he recognizes Jackson, her Aunt Amy, and the teenager — Tamara — from their wedding, as well as a few of her colleagues in various photos. Lucy's smile is contagious even when captured in a picture.

His smile fades though when his eyes fall on a photo of her being presented with a plaque; a screen behind her readsSouthern California Journalism Awards.He can guess what piece earned her that award.

He moves on quickly; his only goals at the moment are to make it through the next seven weeks with as little drama as possible and to make every effort to treat Lucy with the respect and care he should have treated her with from the start, regardless of his feelings about this process or the unsettling overlap in their past. Spiraling over what happened with Isabel is a surefire way to ensure he achieves neither.

He's so lost in thought that he's only half paying attention as a crew member nudges him toward her dresser and pulls open the top drawer before scuttling out of frame. His eyes widen when he realizes he's been set up to look like a run-of-the-mill pervert. It's her underwear drawer, and his hands are moving to slam it shut even as he idly observes that she does, in fact, own an assortment of sexy undergarments that don't solely exist to sass him, though they may exist to make his life very, very difficult in other ways.

Lucy pops up next to him (courtesy of a helpful PA, no doubt) andshit— he is pretty sure he turns fuschia as she closes her fingers around his wrist to stop him.

"Chill, Tim. It's just underwear." She gently hip-checks him to get him out of her way, before hissing under her breath, "Closest you'll ever be getting to my panties again, Bradford, so enjoy it."

He swallows back a groan, pressing his eyes closed as Lucy lifts a stack of pretty, lacy, colorful things from the drawer to pack into her suitcase.

On the ride over to Tim's, Lucy studies him closely because he's behaving in a way she hasn't seen once in the week that she's known him. He is almost gleeful with excitement.

"What time did you drop him off?" Tim asks into his phone. "Did he go out?"

"You brought back his cozy blanky, right? You know he won't sleep without it. And Wally Bear?" he continues to press. "He got his omelet this morning?"

Lucy can just barely make out the tinny sound of Angela's voice as she responds through the phone. "Of course, Tim. What else could I possibly have to do other than to make your dog a gourmet breakfast?"

"I'm not really sure whether that's a yes or a no, Angela."

Lucy bites her lip, barely holding in her laughter. Who knew grumpy, broody Tim Bradford had such a soft spot for his dog?

Kojo jumps up to greet Tim as soon as he opens the front door. Tim pauses for only a fraction of a second to disarm the security system before dropping to his knees to lavish the dog with his love.

"Oh my gosh!" Lucy squeals with adoration as she drops to her knees beside him. "How could you not tell me he was this precious?"

Kojo is immediately over the reunion, turning his focus to Lucy's outstretched hand. He sniffs her and then immediately presents himself for all of the pets and kisses as his tail happily thumps against the floor.

"I can't believe I get to live with you for seven whole weeks. You are just the cutest. Yes, you are!" Lucy coos.

Tim shakes his head in disbelief as he climbs back to his feet, clearly forsaken by his unfaithful fur child. He's never seen Kojo take to anyone like this. Sadly, given the years Kojo had spent in the shelter, Tim is still working through some of the dog's behavioral challenges. One of those issues is how territorial Kojo tends to be around strangers. But, apparently, Lucy's magic touch extends to more than just goats.

Tim grins as he watches them begin to play tug of war with a stray rope toy. It's a relief, actually. One of his biggest concerns was that his match would have an issue with Kojo, and he'd have to rehome his beloved pet for the duration of filming. Given Kojo's track record with women he'd dated in the past, it was a very real concern. He hadn't been left with the highest of hopes after hearing about Lucy's unsuccessful fostering experience, but, as with many of his initial impressions of her, he'd clearly been wrong.

Tim finally coaxes Kojo away from his impromptu playdate by offering him a treat. Lucy laughs as she climbs back to her feet. Tim grimaces when he notices that her black leggings and gray sweatshirt are covered in fur.

"Sorry — he doesn't shed as much when I'm around to brush him."

Lucy glances down briefly and then distractedly [and futilely] brushes at the hair clinging to her thighs as she shakes her head. "Oh gosh — seriously I don't care. He's so sweet, Tim!" Her eyes are bright with her excitement, and he feels a warmth bloom in his chest. He loves how much she loves Kojo already.

He gives Lucy a brief tour and can't help but feel a bit of pride when she gushes over his backyard. It's his favorite part of the house, too.

Tim pauses by the door once he's gathered and packed up everything he needs for himself and Kojo, leash in hand. "So you're sure you'll be fine if he comes back with us to the apartment?"

It's probably a dumb question, given she's back on the floor and his overgrown puppy is slobbering all over her face, but Tim feels he should ask nonetheless. Kojo has his challenges, and he's aware it's not a small thing he's asking her to accommodate.

"Are you kidding? Of course! I could not be more fine with Kojo coming back to the apartment. I'm ecstatic!" She bites her lip and gets what's quickly becoming an all too familiar glint in her eye, "But if there's an option to leaveyoubehind, I'm listening…"

Tim scowls briefly, but then just rolls his eyes and looks away as his lips begin to twitch. He probably had that coming.

Week 2, Day 3: Tuesday

They both go back to work that week, and Lucy is honestly grateful for the return to some level of normalcy. She's felt out of sorts since Mexico, especially after what happened in the underground river caves, and though being raised by two therapists means she is aware she is being avoidant, it doesn't mean she's ready to do anything about it. She's worked hard to heal from her past, and the idea that maybe she isn't as healed as she'd like to believe — it's not something she can process right now. She has enough on her plate.

Including, at the moment, some interviews at local shelters and encampments to support her investigation into the misuse and redirection of funds earmarked for programs to alleviate houselessness by the city and the county.

Her day turns out to be a nightmare of epic proportions. An unannounced visit by the Vice President creates gridlock across the entire city. She burns more than half her day sitting in traffic by the time she makes it to what should be the first of multiple locations, but ultimately turns out to be the only stop of the day.

As her [terrible] luck would have it, the LAPD shows up and begins ordering everyone to pack up just as she approaches a group of people camped out in an alley to try and get at least a few interviews done.

"All right, listen up. Until tomorrow at 3:00 p.m., the stretch of Vine between Melrose and Franklin will be off limits. Sanitation services will be arriving in 20 minutes. You'll have until then to pack up," one of the patrol officers bellows.

"You've got to be kidding me," Lucy curses under her breath as she watches the uniforms begin to rope off the block.

She quickly approaches two women in a final hail mary attempt to salvage anything of this day, but just as she's opening her mouth to ask if they'd be willing to answer a few questions, they break into a shoving match.

She gets jostled forward as an officer runs up behind her to break up the scuffle and somehow ends up tangled between all of them as the uniform attempts to wrestle one of the women to the ground.

Great. Just great.

Lucy rolls her eyes as she watches the two women get arrested from her position on the ground; what a fantastic use of city resources. She climbs to her feet and bends to brush off her knees, hissing at the stinging sensation as she realizes she's bleeding and has managed to rip one of her favorite pairs of slacks.

It's then that she notices the glint of metal in the sunlight. Her heart drops. A dirty hypodermic needle is sticking out of her side. She tries to remain calm as every worst-case scenario begins to run through her mind. Her hands are shaking almost uncontrollably as she pulls the needle out, and her eyes begin to swim as soon as she sees the droplet of red at the tip.

Blood. Her blood.

She sucks in a deep breath. How the hell did she get herself into this mess?

She attempts to keep a steady grip on the needle as she digs through her purse with her other hand, trying to find something to contain it.

She finally dumps her sunglasses out into her bag and places the needle into the protective case. It'll have to do.

It takes her over an hour to get to the nearest hospital. Over an hour of misery and thinking through the many, many ways this could end horribly for her.HIV. Hepatitis. Necrotizing fasciitis.

She's spiraling. She busies herself with making calls — first to her editor to report the incident, then to production to let them know she won't be making it to the happy hour location she had been slated to meet Jackson at after work to film a catch-up and debrief conversation on her "marriage" thus far, and then to Jackson himself.

He reassures her, "It's going to be okay, Lucy. I know it's easier said than done, but try not to worry until you get your results. Today's a shit show, but I'll make it over to Shaw Memorial to meet you as soon as I can after shift, and I'll wait with you, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks, Jackson."

If she thought the long trip to the hospital was painful, it's nothing compared to when she finally arrives, hopeful she'll finally be able to get tested but is instead left to wait for hours.

She curls up on the cold plastic waiting room chair, bringing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them before allowing her head to drop, trying to block out the fluorescent lights and ongoing sounds of emergency room chaos and just focus on her breath.

She's not sure how much time passes, or even whether she dozes off, when she hears his frantic voice.

"Lucy? Lucy! Are you okay?"

She feels the warmth of his hands sliding up her arms, and she wearily lifts her head. He's kneeling on the ground in front of her chair, eyes full of worry.

"Tim...? What are you doing here?" she asks, looking at him with a mixture of surprise and confusion. It's the first time she's seen him on duty in uniform, and it's a lot to take in — even a little intimidating.

His forehead is creased with concern. "Production called me; they said you were here because of something that happened at work?"

Lucy shakes her head, "I'm okay. I just —" she pauses and presses her eyes closed, all of the fear and panic she'd felt earlier rushing back without warning. Her voice is unsteady when she finally finishes, "I got stuck with a dirty hypodermic needle, and I don't know if… "

Tim sucks in a breath. "Okay. Did you bring the needle with you?"

Lucy nods.

"Okay. Good. That's good. How long have you been waiting? What time did this happen?"

She shrugs, biting her lip as she feels it begin to tremble under the weight of her exhaustion and the wave of unexpected relief she's feeling at having him here with her. "I don't know. It took me a while to get here, and I think I've been waiting for a few hours."

His eyes darken, and Lucy can tell immediately that he's angry. "Tim, they've just been really busy with all of the accidents — "

He's already shaking his head and getting to his feet. He gives her arm a final, reassuring squeeze. "I'll be right back."

He storms over to the intake desk, and Lucy's eyes widen as it becomes clear the nurse is getting a very intense earful. Tim gestures back in her direction and then says something else that results in the nurse jumping to his feet.

Tim makes his way back to her and extends his hand, "Come on, they've got a room for you."

Lucy stares up at him warily, "Tim, I don't want you using your badge to get special treatment for me."

Tim snorts, impatiently waving his hand to indicate for her to hurry up and take it. She slips her hand into his and is again overwhelmed with comfort when his fingers wrap securely around hers as she gets to her feet.

"I'm not using my badge to get special treatment for you; I'm using it to get special treatment forme."

Lucy looks at him questioningly as they follow the nurse down the corridor.

"It's against hospital protocol to allow an armed officer to sit with civilians. I simply informed them that I wouldn't be going anywhere until they got my wife set up in a room to see a doctor."

Lucy glances at him; it's the first time he's referred to her as his wife. And it's very, very strange.

Tim stays with Lucy in the exam room through the blood draws and the doctor's explanation of the next steps, and she's grateful. He teases her about looking like a child that's fallen off her bike when the nurse returns to take care of her scraped knee. She rolls her eyes but is grateful for the distraction.

After the nurse leaves and they are alone again, Tim gazes down at Lucy, who is still seated on the exam table, his eyes softening. "You okay?"

She blinks rapidly, unprepared for the emotion his concern evokes. "I'm scared," she finally admits. "While I was waiting, I read that HIV is three times more prevalent in the homeless community than it is in the general population. Hepatitis is five times more prevalent —"

He places his hand on her thigh and gently squeezes. "Lucy, falling down the WebMD rabbit hole isn't going to change your results. Neither is focusing on fear. Why don't we avoid hanging out in the worst-case scenario panic room until we have to?" he encourages.

She sniffles and nods, as she swipes at the tears that are threatening to spill over onto her cheeks. "I know. You're right. That's what Jackson said, too."

She takes a deep breath before hopping down from the table and then slips a finger underneath the too-tight sleeve of his uniform and tugs at the fabric over his bicep, desperate for a change of subject. "Sothisis what you look like in uniform running around LA, saving damsels in distress?"

He smirks, "Come on… don't tell me you're some kind of badge bunny."

Her mouth drops open and she shoves at him playfully, "Tim, that term is hugely offensive."

He grabs hold of her hands to stop her assault, an arm sliding around her waist to hold her in place… or maybe to pull her closer. She isn't entirely sure. Lucy's laughter fades as his eyes meet hers and then briefly bounce down to her lips, her breath catching in her throat as the tension between them becomes suddenly palpable.

Tim clears his throat and abruptly breaks their gaze, loosening his hold to allow a bit more space between them, but not letting go entirely.

"I — I should probably get back. We're spread pretty thin with the VP in town. But I can try and find someone to cover for me if —"

Lucy shakes her head, "Of course. No — you should go. Do your job. I'll be fine."

And something about the way he's looking at her makes her feel like she hasn't entirely convinced him.

"I promise," she reiterates. "Jackson said he'd come by after his shift anyway."

He nods, surprising her when he lifts his hand to cradle her cheek, eyes again looking directly into hers as he soothingly brushes his thumb over her skin. "It's gonna be okay, Lucy. Whatever the result. We'll figure it out."

And she is caught off guard by the size of the lump forming in her throat, surprised at how reassuring it is to hear those words from this man that she didn't even know two weeks ago and has half convinced herself she despises. But for as much as he has had his cold, dickish moments, his unyielding steadiness is exactly what she needs right now. She blinks back tears and just nods, not trusting herself to speak.

Tim leans in to press his lips to her forehead and, despite the fact that it's completely chaste, it's so unexpected, so tender, that it sends a rush of light airy tingles and electricity through Lucy's stomach.

She walks with him just out into the hallway, their fingers intertwined. She wipes at her eyes with her free hand and sucks in a breath as he turns to face her. "Thank you… for coming… and for what you said," she finally manages.

He nods, and then his lips curve into a teasing smile. "Are you going to punch me if I give you a hug?"

Her eyes narrow, "Are you going to give me a reason to punch you?"

Tim laughs as he wraps his arms around her, squeezing her tightly against his chest. And Lucy is again floored at how he's managed to anticipate just exactly what she needs. She closes her eyes, relaxing into his hold as she breathes him in, and they stand like that at the end of the hallway for probably far too long until Tim's radio crackles to life. They break apart; the interruption causing them to remember themselves and where they are.

Tim gives her arm a final squeeze before turning to leave. He stops midway down the hallway and calls back to her, "Lucy?"

"Yeah?"

"I wantyouto be the one that calls me… if you want to, I mean. I — uh — I want you to feel like you can."

Thankfully, Jackson shows up not too long after Tim leaves and is by her side when the doctor delivers her results.

"So, your initial test came back negative for any viral infections, like HIV or hepatitis. But your blood work indicated the presence of a staph infection."

Lucy nods. "What does that mean?"

"We need to get you started on intravenous antibiotics immediately. Some strains of staph are drug-resistant, so we'll monitor the wound for any abscesses or cellulitis. Okay?"

Jackson stays by her side for the first round of her treatment, but once he's yawned three times in a row, Lucy nudges him with her hand. "Why don't you get out of here? I know you've had a really long day. I'll be fine."

He shakes his head tiredly, "I'm not going to leave you here alone."

"I won't be; Tim just texted to say he's going to bring by dinner."

Jackson nods, a frown marring his handsome features as he gets to his feet.

"What?" she asks.

"Nothing — I just — I'm glad he's coming; it's just hard to figure out, you know? Sometimes he seems like he really does care about you, but…" He reaches over to squeeze her hand, "Just be careful, okay? I don't want to see you get hurt again."

And this time it's Lucy's lips that are curving downward as the truth of his words weighs heavily on her heart.

When Tim shows up a bit later with a veggie burger and fries from her favorite takeout place, her jaw drops open. "How did you know?"

Tim smiles as he settles into the chair next to her bed. "Just abused police resources to find Jackson's number so I could ask him what your favorite meal was."

Lucy stares at him with disbelief, "You didn't have to do that, Tim. That place is all the way across town; I would have been fine with anything."

He shrugs, "I figured after the day you had, you earned it. How many more rounds of antibiotics do you have to go?"

"Just one more, and then one more hour of monitoring after that, and then I canfinallygo home." She stifles a yawn with her hand. "You don't have to wait, though, Tim. I know you had a crazy day, too. I have my car."

Tim shakes his head, "You're clearly exhausted; I'll drive you home. I'll have a pair of rookies drop your car by the apartment in the morning."

Lucy arches an eyebrow, "Did I tell you about the piece I'm working on right now? It's an investigation into the misuse of city resources."

Tim groans, "Early morning grunt work is character-building, Lucy." But then he just sighs, "Fine.I'llbring you back here to get your car tomorrow."

She laughs as Tim grumbles something about her being a "Pollyanna on his shoulder for the next 6 and a half weeks."

They dig into their food and watch a few episodes ofHouse Hunters Internationalat Lucy's request. Well, Tim watches while Lucy alternates between dozing off and asking confused questions when she wakes and they are in an entirely different country.

Lucy's eyes pop open just as Tim is settling a blanket over her. She sits up, eyes darting around as she tries to place her surroundings. "Tim?"

He takes a seat on the edge of the bed next to her and twists to face her. "Hey. We're back at the apartment. You fell asleep in the truck, so I brought you in," he says softly. As if it was the most obvious choice in the world.

"You could've woken me." For some reason, the statement sounds almost accusatory.

She is completely drained, and the day is catching up to her all at once. And she just doesn't have it in her to try and figure out what this man is playing at. She stares at him distrustfully. "What are you doing, Tim? Why are you being so nice? Why are you taking care of me?"

Tim tries teasing gently, "What? You're the only one allowed to be nice? The only one allowed to take care of anyone?"

And suddenly she is so angry at him. This man who had shown up for her and has been nothing but kind and caring to her all day. Because this is the same man who ripped her heart out of her chest without a second of hesitation and she just — she can't. Because the way he's been with her today — even more so than the man she'd had fun with and slept with in Mexico —thisis a man she can absolutely see herself falling in love with. And she can't — won't go there again.

The words are out of her mouth before she even realizes she is saying them, her hurt and frustration and confusion getting the best of her. "I wish I had never met you."

Tim's face falls for a fraction of a second, but he is quick to put his mask back in place. He just looks at her for a moment and then swallows before nodding, "I wish you had never met me, too, Lucy."

He gets up and leaves the room without another word.

Notes:

Some happy Lucy to offset sad Lucy...

GIF Credit: livelovecaliforniadreams on tumblr

What are your thoughts on how this is all progressing for our lovebirds and this strange fusion of awkwardly horny angst? Let me know!

Summary:

Lucy and Tim explore their compatibility and prepare to host a housewarming for their family and friends.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter fornotes.)

Chapter Text

Compatibility

Week 2, Day 4: Wednesday

Kojo trails Lucy as she walks out of her room into the living area the next morning. Much to Tim's dismay, Kojo had taken to sleeping with Lucy from the first night, and she couldn't say she minded it one bit. The fact that it got under Tim's skin and had him grumbling under his breath about his "traitorous dog" anytime Kojo gravitated toward Lucy was just an added bonus.

But this morning, Lucy feels a little bad about it. Feels pretty bad in general about how the night before had ended. But not bad enough to forget how they had gotten there.

Even after everything that had happened in Mexico, it's still too easy. Too easy to be around him. Too easy to feel pulled toward him. Too easy to fall into the trap of hoping like a masochistic idiot that maybe Tim will change his mind about her and this process. And god — why would she even want that? Clearly, it's also become far too easy to forget how badly he'd been able to hurt her after only a few days.

Tim is standing behind the island, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

He glances up at her, and it's one of those rare moments where he isn't attempting to hide what he feels. He looks uncertain.

"How are you feeling?" he finally asks when it's clear she isn't going to say anything.

Lucy nods, crossing the room to stand on the other side of the counter. "I'm okay, thanks." She takes a deep breath, not entirely sure what to do or say. It's a strange thing — feeling both remorseful for lashing out at him but also justified in her response. Everything about this man has a way of making her feel so off kilter.

Tim slides her a mug of tea, the same way he has every morning since they moved in. Lucy glances down at it and her heart begins to ache. "Thank you," she says softly, not meeting his eyes as she lifts the mug to her lips.

He's really been trying to make up for what happened in Mexico; she knows that. He'd promised her he would try to do better when he apologized and that's exactly what he's been doing. But allowing herself to read anything more into his actions would be a mistake that could cost her dearly. And she'd have no one to blame but herself — he's doing his best to make amends, but he's also been clear about how he feels about this process, and, more importantly, how he feels about her.

"I can take you to get your car whenever you're ready," he offers. He takes a sip of his coffee and glances back at her when she doesn't respond. Lucy can actually see his guard going back up as his features tighten into the all too familiar mask of indifference.

She sighs. "Tim, I — " She shakes her head when the words don't come. Since when do words not come for her? What is this man doing to her?

She finally allows herself to meet his gaze, and he's studying her carefully as he waits for her to continue. She shakes her head. "That's okay. I'm going to Uber to work, and Jackson said he'd take me to grab it afterward… but thank you, um — for everything yesterday," she finishes quickly.

He's still watching her, and for a moment she sees a flicker of that rare vulnerability when he begins to respond. But then it's him that's shaking his head.

He finally nods and shrugs. "Okay. I'm going to take Kojo out. I guess I'll see you later."

He doesn't wait for her to respond, turning to rinse out his coffee cup and load it into the dishwasher, before grabbing Kojo's leash and using it to coax him toward the door.

Lucy swallows; why is keeping him at arm's length so hard? How is she going to make it through the next six and a half weeks if she can barely stomach turning down a ride to work?

That evening after work they have homework — the first of a series of assignments around compatibility. The goal of the first exercise is to establish a baseline so they can identify any potential areas of conflict that may require compromise in their relationship.

The first part requires them to go to separate rooms and place a variety of colored rings on a set of pegs representing a Likert scale numbered one through five. The designated meanings for each of the pegs are as follows:

1 - Strongly Disagree

2 - Disagree

3 - Undecided or Neutral

4 - Agree

5 - Strongly Agree

They have a set of questions to answer across five critical compatibility categories that have been correlated with long-term marital success:

Financial Compatibility (Green)

I take time to budget and set financial goals for myself.

I prioritize paying off debt and saving over discretionary spending.

If I were to win $5,000, I'd be more likely to spend it on something fun than to save or invest it.

Lifestyle & Future Goals (Blue)

I would like to have children.

Having children is a near-term priority.

I struggle with work-life balance.

I lead an active lifestyle.

I have a low tolerance for clutter and disorder.

I consider myself easy-going and adaptable.

Sexual Compatibility (Red)

Ideally, I'd have sex multiple times a week or more in a relationship.

I consider sex a critical part of a relationship.

I am open to sexual experimentation.

Emotional Compatibility (Yellow)

I consider myself an extrovert.

I prioritize direct communication over conflict avoidance.

I consider myself an optimist.

Spiritual Compatibility (Orange)

I consider myself a deeply religious or spiritual person.

My partner must share the same religious or spiritual beliefs.

I've already decided on the religious or spiritual beliefs I'd like to instill in my children.

A compatibility score will be calculated based on the results; they'll receive points based on how far apart their answers are on each question. A lower score indicates higher compatibility — if they answer the same, they will receive zero points; if they answer within one rating of each other, they'll receive one point, and so on.

Tim's jaw drops when they meet back in the living room with their colorful peg sets, and he sees how closely aligned their rings are. When a PA provides their score1— 21, out of a possible 72, which lands them within the highly compatible range, he is even more surprised. Turns out, there are only two rings that are more than a single rating apart — one yellow and one blue.

It's not difficult for Tim to guess what they are:I consider myself an optimistandI consider myself easy-going and adaptable. They are pretty much the exact differences Tim had keyed in on from the beginning. But now, looking at the two divergent rings out of the set of eighteen, the differences don't feel nearly as insurmountable as they had when Tim had made his initial assessment.

He glances toward Lucy, curious to see if she's as surprised by the results as he is. She seems far less concerned with the outcome of the exercise and is instead focused on typing something into her phone.

He frowns for a moment, a little put off that she couldn't seem to care less about how ridiculously compatible they are, until it occurs to him that she has no reason to care. He'd asserted in no uncertain terms that he already knows how this will turn out.

His irritation fades as he continues to study her. He wryly wonders if she's responding to a work email, given where they both had fallen in terms of work-life balance. She worries her bottom lip between her teeth as she focuses intently on the screen, and Tim is struck by how much he loves seeing this side of her. He's only encountered it a few times when she's pulled her laptop out in the evening, but he loves the way her brow knits and her eyes narrow when she's trying to puzzle something out, loves how obviously passionate and thoughtful she is about her work.

After a few more moments of silence, one of the crew members prompts them to discuss their impressions of the results.

Lucy glances up from her phone to look at their distribution of rings.

"A strong disagree onI consider myself an optimist? I'm shocked." She sets her phone down and mockingly lifts her hands to her cheeks in a gesture of astonishment as she nods toward the divergent yellow ring.

Tim rolls his eyes and ignores her teasing. "You're not surprised at how aligned we are?" he asks curiously.

She shrugs, "Not really. I guess I assumed that a lot of these core things were taken into account when they matched us."

And yes, put that way, it is actually kind of silly that he's surprised; theywerepaired based on compatibility. But the intellectual idea that he and his perfect match should be compatible feels different from the realization that he is compatible with the kind, beautiful woman sitting in front of him right now, especially after seeing it illustrated in such an obvious way.

Lucy continues, meeting his eyes, "But, obviously… compatibility isn't everything."

There's nothing harsh in her tone when she says it, but it still cuts him a little. Yes, he may be the one who came into this all but decided it wouldn't work — the one who had decided to vocalize it in the worst possible way. But now, as he's starting to question his own stubborn and close-minded assessment, it's becoming unmistakably clear that Lucy no longer has any interest in seeing where this process could lead them. And even though he doesn't have a right to feel any type of way about that, it still stings.

Her words from that morning in Mexico replay in his head,Nobody that cares about me would ever treat me the way you have.

And he knows she meant what she said. But he also knows it's not true. Because he does care about her. Quite a bit more than he ever expected he would, actually.

He watches as she laughs and nods and gasps in response to one of the crew members sharing stories about the most blatant lies participants have told during the compatibility exercise to save face on TV, despite the extensive background the show has on each person.

"I mean, I really felt bad for her; this guy turned out to be a pathological liar. He actually faked a job offer to make it seem like he was making more money than her, and said he prioritized paying off debt when he was in it up to his ears. This guy was living so far out of his means — I don't think I've ever seen anyone more relieved about a prenup than his poor match."

She pushes a strand of hair back behind her ear, as her eyes flick over to Tim to gauge his reaction — that warm, inviting smile of hers filling him up and reminding him of what he'd told her when she asked him why he thought they had been matched —Being around you — it, uh … it makes me happy.

And suddenly the idea of spending the rest of his life with her doesn't seem that crazy. Or at least the idea of exploring whether it could be a possibility doesn't.

It's too late, he reminds himself as the heavy weight of regret settles at the bottom of his stomach. Why would she ever risk trusting him again?

Week 2, Day 5: Thursday

The next night, Tim and Lucy settle onto the floor in front of their coffee table to take on their next compatibility assignment — one that is focused on answering intimate compatibility questions as honestly as possible. They've armed themselves after having been warned by one of the experts that this particular assignment might get intense — Tim cracks open his second beer as Lucy slowly sips on a comically full glass of wine.

The only upside is that production decided to capture this exercise via the couples cam and a stationary camera in hopes of encouraging each pair to be more open.

She glances down at the questionnaire and then meets Tim's eyes before firing off the first question; the faster they get started, the faster they'll be done, right?

"Have you ever cheated or been cheated on? Could you ever come back from infidelity?"

Tim winces, briefly looking away before turning back to meet her gaze. He swallows, "Uh — I haven't. Cheated, I mean. But Isabel — I don't know if it really counts as cheating… she'd already been gone for months. But she moved on after she left me. Before we got divorced, so I don't know. I guess I've been cheated on, but I've never really thought about it that way."

Lucy stares at him, watching the complexity of emotion cross over his face — sadness and hurt and anger and betrayal and confusion. She feels something twist in her gut when she realizes it's the first time he's voluntarily chosen to put his guard down and be vulnerable with her. He easily could have provided a vague response and turned the question back to her, but he hadn't. And though she hasn't actually known him all that long, she knows him well enough to be certain that it wasn't easy for him.

It's not a ton of information, but it's the most he's shared with her about Isabel or his romantic past, in general. And it's enough to start her mind whirring as she attempts to connect the dots amongst the little she knows about his history — she'd left him and she'd been unfaithful while he had still been committed to their marriage for an extended period during her absence.

He continues, "As for whether I could ever come back from infidelity — well, if you asked me before my marriage collapsed, I would have said absolutely not."

He shakes his head and lets out a mirthless laugh, "Isabel said she hated how black and white I was about things, and my feelings on cheating — emotionally or physically — were no different."

"And now?" Lucy asks softly.

Tim shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut. Lucy watches his Adam's apple bob as he attempts to hold back his emotion.

His voice is thick when he finally responds. "I would have done anything — forgiven anything — if it meant we could get back what we had lost. But, apparently… it doesn't work that way."

Lucy feels something rise in her own throat as she studies him. She slides her hand over his, "I'm so sorry, Tim."

He nods briefly but keeps his gaze focused in front of him, clearly not wanting her to see the tears in his eyes as he attempts to blink them back.

She only allows her hand to linger over his for a few seconds. This is so much harder than she was prepared for — these questions — or, actually, Tim's vulnerability — slamming into her resolve to keep her guard up even harder than the current had slammed into her body in that cavern in Mexico.

Tim clears his throat and turns his attention back to her. "What about you?"

"I haven't cheated, but I've been cheated on. But it wasn't nearly as — it was just a dumb boyfriend I lived with in grad school. Honestly, the worst part was that he cheated with my best friend. I mean, the only reason I was even still with him was that I couldn't afford to move out and she knew that, but it still really, really sucked losing my boyfriend and best friend in one go. And it made me feel like I just didn't matter — that they didn't care about me or my feelings at all."

Tim nods, and though she's brushing it off, he can see the very real hurt in her eyes. "So what happened after that?"

Lucy shrugs, "I took on a second job, moved out, and never spoke to either of them again, though we still have some friends in common so I wasn't ever able to completely escape them."

She makes a small sound of derision. "They're actually still together. I don't know if that makes all of it better or worse. And can you believe I just got an invitation to their wedding? Why would they even do that? It's like they aretryingto humiliate me."

Tim chuckles and shakes his head. Despite his initial concern that she would be too young for him, he's come to realize she's far more mature than he'd given her credit for — more emotionally mature than him in some ways despite the decade spanning between them.

And oddly enough, this is one of the first conversations they've had where she's shared an emotional response that feels her age. And it's not putting him off at all — he's enjoying getting to see and getting to know more of who she is and how she thinks.

"Maybe they're trying to make amends?" he offers.

Lucy rolls her eyes, grumbling, "Right… amends. By making me starve myself for a month so I can fit into a drop-dead sexy dress and —"

Tim actually laughs out loud this time, and Lucy glares at him.

"Come on," he scoffs. "You can't possibly expect me to believe you don't know how hot you are. Besides, that guy was clearly an idiot and nowhere near good enough for you, so why do you even care what either of them thinks?"

Lucy flushes at the unexpected compliment, dropping her eyes briefly to collect herself before looking back up at him as her lips begin to twitch.

"I'm sorry — I don't think I caught that first part. Do you think you could say it again?" she preens.

Tim rolls his eyes, and his tongue darts out between his lips as he attempts to hold in his laughter.

"Moving on…" he says teasingly as he lifts the prompt sheet to read their next question. Lucy pouts, and he has to suppress his urge to wipe that expression off of her lips with his own.

"What makes you feel the most loved?"

Lucy's smile fades, and she shifts uncomfortably, and suddenly it's like the temporary bubble of laughter they'd found themselves in has burst, and they're both aware again of how uncomfortable it is to have to share such personal things about themselves with each other when they are both actively attempting to keep their distance.

She shrugs. "I don't know… I guess just being treated well — being treated like what I want and what I think and what I feel actually matters."

Tim frowns, hating how uncertain she sounds, as if she's not actually sure that those things do matter.

Her eyes are sad when they meet his, and, god, he wishes he could turn back time to a point before he'd managed to treat her in a way that is the exact opposite of what she is describing. Wishes he could pull her into his arms and tell her that shedoesmatter without the words sounding hollow because they are coming from him.

"I think I just want to feel like whoever I'm with actually seesmeand cares aboutme, not just who they want me to be or who they think I should be. You know?"

He waits, wondering if she'll continue since the feelings she's expressing are starting to get more specific.

She opens her mouth and then clamps it shut, shaking her head instead. "Sorry. I feel like I'm not answering this right…" She blinks and then groans, briefly covering her eyes with her hand in mortification, "Oh my god, I was probably just supposed to say 'Words of Affirmation' or something, right? What is wrong with me?"

"You answered it perfectly, Lucy," he reassures.

She rewards him with a small smile and then turns the question back to him. "What makes you feel loved, Tim?"

"Acts of service," he teases. "Also a fan of physical touch."

Lucy shoves at him playfully.

And even though he's had more time to mull on it, it's not any easier for him to answer the question. It's not something he's given much thought to, and even as he begins to talk, he's realizing just how much he may still have to unwind.

"I think — everything that happened with Isabel — the way it went down — it all kind of made me feel — I don't know. I guess maybe it brought up some stuff from my childhood, too…"

He shakes his head, feeling overwhelmed and confused. "NowI'mnot answering this question right. I think I want to feel like whoever I'm with is going to fight for what we have as hard as I will. That it wouldn't be easy to walk away. That I — what we have isn't so disposable."

Lucy sucks in an uneven breath, and Tim finally allows himself to look at her. Her eyes are filling with tears, and he feels suddenly embarrassed — like he's shared too much and made himself the object of her pity.

He can feel himself closing off as she scoots in next to him.

She nudges his side, "Are you going to punch me if I hug you?"

And it's so unexpected — so ridiculous — that he can't help but laugh as he shakes his head and lifts his arm to wrap around her as she moves to embrace him.

A barely audible, "You're not disposable, Tim," escapes her lips as she slides her arms around him, and just like that, his urge to pull away from her is gone. And he's back to wanting to be as close to her as possible.

They don't part for an embarrassingly long time — neither wanting to let go and face the frustration and confusion that seems to have become more the norm than the exception these days, when it comes to puzzling out what exactly is happening between them. Tim finally pulls back when Kojo lumbers sleepily up from his bed in the corner of the room and paws at the door, indicating he needs to go out.

He gets to his feet and extends a hand to Lucy to help her up. "Maybe we save the rest of this for another night?" he suggests.

Lucy nods her agreement, looking suddenly relieved. "I think that's a good idea."

Week 2, Day 7: Saturday

On Saturday morning, Tim and Lucy both carve out time to finish settling into their apartment and get ready for the pseudo housewarming they will be hosting for their friends and family later that evening.

Lucy sets to work putting together an array of snacks and appetizers, while Tim unpacks the few remaining boxes, hangs the pictures and art Lucy has set out in various locations to "spruce things up", and tidies the apartment.

Lucy prepares a variety of flavorful meat and vegetable fillings, before painstakingly assembling dozens of dumplings. Tim pauses to watch as her fingers move adeptly, folding each wrapper around the filling in a variety of intricate shapes.

He shakes his head, thinking that he'd never have the patience to craft something that required so much focus and attention to detail, but she seems to be genuinely enjoying herself. He's certainly not mad about getting to taste the result, though, if the dumplings taste anywhere near as good as they look.

It's late afternoon when Tim decides to tackle the daunting task of bathing Kojo in the bathtub, since their apartment has no yard. He knows he's in for a challenge, but he wants his pup to be presentable for their company.

While Tim drags Kojo and a random assortment of peanut butter and toys and treats and bath accessories into his bathroom, Lucy completes the final bits of preparation on the dumplings and other hors d'oeuvres — a variety of crostinis and bites and mini pies. She retrieves the tiered stack of trays she's tucked into the freezer to hold the dumplings until she's ready to steam them and realizes she'll need one more tier to hold the last batch.

She gets a step ladder from the hall closet and climbs up onto the very top step, attempting to reach the tray Tim has stashed on the uppermost shelf of one of their kitchen cabinets. And yes, technically she knows you're not actually supposed to stand on the top step, but sometimes these are just the kinds of risks you have to take when you don't have the same reach as your six-foot-one roommate. Her fingers are just grasping the edge of the platter when Kojo bursts from the bathroom like a soapy bat out of hell.

She's barely turned her head to look toward a shouting Tim as he sprints after the runaway animal when Kojo clambers through the kitchen, knocking into the side of the ladder with just enough force to send it teetering in the midst of his great escape.

Lucy shrieks, releasing the platter, and desperately attempts to grab hold of one of the shelves as the ladder precariously wobbles, but it's too late. Gravity has already decided it prefers a horizontal orientation for the ladder and for Lucy. She presses her eyes closed, silently praying she doesn't bust her head open on the edge of the island, and holds her breath as she awaits her sure-to-be painful meeting with the cold floor.

And while she does slam into something firm as the sound of metal clattering to the tile fills her ears, it's not cold and it's not the floor. She cracks an eye open to see Tim's concerned face staring down at her.

"Am I dead?" she asks in confusion, certain there's no possible way this man made it across the room in time to catch her in his arms like some ridiculous modern-day version of a knight in shining armor.

Tim shakes his head and chuckles as he moves to gently set her down, but she continues to cling to him, not entirely trusting herself to stand on her own two feet until her disorientation wanes.

He tightens his hold to steady her as he gazes apologetically down at her. "I'm so sorry; I wasn't expecting him to bolt like that. Are you okay?"

His gorgeous blue eyes are locked on hers and he's looking at her with that gentle concern that has a way of making her stomach somersault.

For a moment, she forgets that he's asked her a question. He really is beautiful.

He moves to brush her hair back from her face but pauses midway as uncertainty flickers through his eyes, instead allowing his hand to drop to his side.

"Lucy?" he prods gently. And something about the husk in his voice unsettles her.

She shakes herself. "I'm fine; it's fine."

But she's not fine. His other hand is still settled high on her waist, still up underneath the hem of her cropped T-shirt, where it had settled when he had caught her. His fingers are warm and soft against her side and suddenly all she can think about is his bare skin against hers — how completely insane it is that she actually wants to feel him, all of him, pressed against her again.

Her head tips back involuntarily, and she doesn't miss the way Tim's eyes darken or the way the pace of his breathing quickens. He leans in, and her lips part ever so slightly in anticipation.

What the hell is she doing?She scrambles back from him just as Kojo bulldozes through the small opening her withdrawal has created between them. He skitters to a stop and begins to scarf down the raw dumplings that are scattered across the floor.Herdumplings — the ones she had spent the entire day preparing, more than that if you count the time she spent preparing the wrappers the night before.

Lucy looks completely crestfallen as she glances back and forth between the floor and the island counter, where the tower of trayshadbeen sitting until Tim had unwittingly knocked the entire stack over in his rush to catch her.Fuck.

He grabs hold of Kojo by his collar and firmly guides the protesting dog back into the bathroom, certain he's going to be dealing with a pile of dumpling vomit in the very near future. He orders his now remorseful pet to sit and fixes him with his most disappointed look before closing the bathroom door behind him and returning to the kitchen where Lucy is working to clean up the mess, not even glancing at him as she deposits the fruits of her labor into the garbage.

"Lucy — I … I'm so sorry. This is all my fault. I should have had him on a leash or shut the bathroom door — I feel terrible."

She glances up at him and though her disappointment is still evident, she's already shaking her head. "Please don't. It was just an accident."

She turns away and reaches down to collect one of the trays. The tray wobbles when her hand shakes, betraying that she's more upset than she's letting on.

She sets the tray on the island and braces herself by grabbing hold of the edge before finally turning to face him again.

"Seriously, it's not a big deal."

Tim frowns, feeling like if someone had destroyed something he'd worked to create for hours and hours with the same loving attention Lucy had poured into the dumplings, it would be a pretty big deal.

"Anyway, we still have some food for the party," she nods toward the other appetizer trays. "I'll just run to the store to grab some veggies and stuff for a cheese board. Tamara's trying out being a vegetarian, so I just want to make sure she has enough to eat."

Tim sighs, "You worked so hard preparing everything today and yesterday… I really am sorry; I can't believe I wasn't more careful."

Lucy snorts as she crosses the kitchen to stand in front of him, her hand coming up to give his forearm a comforting squeeze. "Are you kidding me? I will take smashed dumplings over smashing my head in any day. I promise it's fine, Tim. It does suck that all of that went to waste, but it's not like I can't make more another day. Please don't beat yourself up about it. And definitely don't beat Kojo up about it, or I'll have to hurt you."

She nods her head toward the sounds of sad whining and clawing at the bathroom door. "How about I give you a hand this time?"

The second bathing attempt goes a little bit better, though Lucy and Tim somehow end up covered in more water and shampoo than Kojo. The dog's remorse is apparently too short-lived to prevent a return to his rambunctious ways as soon as Tim lifts him back in the tub.

Tim steals frequent glances at Lucy as he lathers soap into the dog's fur. She is on her knees in front of Kojo, attempting to keep him distracted with some well-placed head and ear scratches. Kojo is squinting at her, head angled toward her touch, his tongue lolling out of his mouth as he pants happily. He is undoubtedly loving every second of the attention, and Tim honestly can't blame him.

It's not the first time Kojo has been in some way responsible for creating friction in his relationships, and though most everyone has come around to love the big dopey creature as much as he does with some encouragement, coaching, and a shit ton of treats, he can't help but feel a bit relieved that none of that will be necessary with Lucy. If she's at all upset with him or Kojo, she certainly isn't showing it.

He had barely fought off his urge to pull her into his arms and thank her for being so damn wonderful after she'd been so incredibly forgiving and understanding about the dumpling debacle.

But he's trying to be cognizant of the fact that she is [understandably] trying to keep some distance between them. He'd overstepped that night after the hospital, and her signals have been more than clear on that front. At times, he has to admit, it can be hard not to mistake her kindness and empathy for something more, but he's not naive enough for any thoughts along those lines to last for long.

And yet, somehow, he had still been about to kiss her in the kitchen. And he absolutely would have if she hadn't been the one to pull away. He honestly hates himself a little for that — for not respecting her boundaries, even though he had promised he'd do better by her after Mexico.

With their powers combined, they somehow manage to keep Kojo confined to the tub until he is at least mostly toweled dry.

Tim glances at his watch. "It's getting late. Why don't you grab a shower and start getting ready? I'll get this guy brushed, and then I'll run to the store."

She begins to shake her head, but Tim continues before she can get a word in edgewise. "Seriously, Lucy — it's the least I can do."

Her lips turn upward and she nods, "Okay. Thanks. That would be great."

They climb to their feet, and Tim has to force his eyes away from where the once loose T-shirt Lucy is wearing is now clinging to her chest and leaving very little to the imagination. Her arms start to prickle with goosebumps as the chill of the AC settles over her damp skin. He reaches around her to pull a fluffy, oversized towel from the shelf. He shakes it out and wraps it around her, knowing that this is the right time to step back and allow her to leave the bathroom. But instead, he slides his hands up and down her arms in an attempt to warm her, even as he is continuing to drip water onto the floor.

She smiles sweetly up at him for a moment before pulling her bottom lip between her teeth and drawing the towel in tighter around herself. He struggles to remember the last time he wanted to kiss someone this much.

Oh.That's right.It was her. In the kitchen. Less than an hour ago. What was that about respecting her boundaries?

He briefly presses his eyes closed and then gives her arms a final squeeze before taking a step back from her.

Notes:

1. scorer

While the questions were based on actual research, the scoring and rating nonsense is completely made up, so ya know - don't actually take this quiz for anyone other than fictional characters or take it with a massive grain of salt! LOL

I was so far down this dumb rabbit hole that I did actually complete the quiz for them both, but I'd be so curious to hear if y'all had thoughts on how either one of them would answer on any of the questions!

Hope you enjoyed this chapter - I decided to give y'all a reprieve from an angsty end on this one since I left you hanging for a bit, but maybe don't get used to it … and hopefully, you still want to come back… lol!

Also a quick note on the story and Tim and Lucy's headspaces — I know this type of disconnect that feels like it's rooted in a misunderstanding and could be resolved if they would just talk to each other can be frustrating to read. I think, in this case, though, it's important to remember that this is a pretty extreme situation and they've known each other for less than two weeks. Tim has no reason to trust Lucy, and Lucy has a massive reason not to trust Tim. They're in a situation where everything is amplified in terms of feelings and commitment, so I think both would be understandably wary of pulling the trigger on a conversation about their feelings and their relationship when neither is entirely clear on how they feel or what they want just yet. Or at least that's what I'm trying to convey.

Normally, this isn't the type of thing I'd include in an author's note because I feel like it's kind of cheating, but I'd love to hear your thoughts on whether it's coming through on its own in the story, whether this is getting frustrating, etc.

I do promise they won't be stuck in this limbo forever and there are plenty of conversations to come, but I'm just trying to build things in a believable way despite the hugely unbelievable premise of this story… LOL

Next up is the housewarming where our favorite pair will be able to connect with each other's friends and families and learn a little more about each other!

Thanks so much for reading and being patient with me; and though I'm still doing a shit job of responding, please know that your kudos and comments make me ridiculously happy!

Lana

Summary:

A journey into the highly competitive world of Partners Pictionary followed by a lot of talking (aka important conversations with friends and family about the past, present, and future)

Also, Tim and Lucy can't seem to keep their hands off of each other.

Notes:

This chapter is really damn long, but it felt important to really capture the essence of Pictionary, ya know?

(See the end of the chapter formore notes.)

Chapter Text

Friends, Family, and Feelings, Oh My!

Week 2, Day 7: Saturday

Their guests are due to arrive for the unofficial housewarming around 6:30. Tim has just finished laying out the spread for their company when Lucy emerges from her room.

His gaze trails from her bare feet up along her shapely legs and then further up still. He swallows. This might be his new favorite outfit1on her. She's topped a pair of cut-off denim shorts with a loose-fitting off-the-shoulder sweater that looks as comfortable as it does sexy. Her natural waves tumble over her shoulders, and he feels an urge to sweep her hair back off of her exposed shoulder — to let his fingers linger there instead… and then maybe his mouth. A knowing smile is just barely curving her lips — their glossy pink sheen the most obvious indication of her barely-there make-up.

He loves that she's chosen an outfit that is as relaxed and welcoming and appealing as her smile for tonight.

"You look amazing," he says as she crosses the room, though he's not entirely sure the words are necessary given the self-satisfied sparkle in her eyes. But the pleased expression that lights up her face in response to the compliment makes it more than worth it.

She smiles and gestures across the island, "Thislooks amazing. Thank you for taking care of all of this, Tim."

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear as she takes in the spread before adding, "Oh, and so do you," as an apparent afterthought.

He snorts with laughter at the unconvincing addition. She pads around the island until she's in front of him and hooks her pointer finger under the hem of his maroon Henley. She gives it a playful tug.

"Seriously," her voice takes on just a tinge of a whine as she tilts her head back to look at him. "I love this color on you," she defends.

"Uh huh," he says.

Her lips form a pout, clearly annoyed that he's dismissed her compliment as inauthentic. And god she is sexy when she's like this.

He takes a step closer, unintentionally backing her into the counter, and she laughs with surprise even as she allows her hand to travel up his abdomen and fist into a more solid hold on the front of his shirt. He rests his hand on the counter so that his arm is flush against her side. She glances coyly up at him through her lashes, and he could swear there's a hint of challenge underneath the flirtation. Does she actuallywanthim to kiss her? It sure as hell feels like it.

The buzzer goes off, and they break apart from each other, neither making eye contact as they both simultaneously begin to move toward the intercom. Lucy stops short and does an awkward little whirl as she turns back toward the kitchen, "I — erm — I'll just… be over here." She points awkwardly as her cheeks flush and, lord, why does she have to be such a weirdo sometimes? What was she even doing blatantly coming on to him like that?

But even as she's questioning herself, she can see Tim's hungry, appreciative gaze in her mind's eye. The way he looks at her — it does things to her. Short circuits her brain and makes her forget that she doesn't want to flirt with him.Does she?

Their guests straggle in over the next half hour. Tamara shows up first, and Lucy can barely contain her excitement as she envelops the young girl in a huge hug, demanding details about her classes and her roommates and who she's dating and literally anything else that's happened in her life since she last saw her at the wedding.

Tim watches them curiously for a moment, seemingly trying to puzzle out their connection. But then the buzzer goes off again. Jackson and Angela come through the door talking and laughing like old friends.

Tim and Lucy look back and forth between them in confusion as Tim takes the bottle of wine Angela is extending to him. Jackson hands Lucy a gorgeous bouquet.

"Do you two know each other?" Tim asks.

"We met at the wedding and chatted a bit about work. I mentioned that serial burglary case I was working — the one with the crew of zombie ninjas. Well, can you believe the next week I got a call from Jackson saying he'd picked up a heavily intoxicated zombie ninja after he got reported for a dine and dash? I'd been working that case for months without a lead, and this guy managed to crack it right open for me."

Jackson shrugs but looks pretty pleased with the acknowledgment. "It was just good timing."

Angela claps Jackson heartily on the shoulder, "And humble, to boot! Anyway — he's great. Really good people, Lucy. A little weird about tasting the best crème brûlée in town, but other than that, I'm a big fan."

Jackson grins and elbows Angela, "That crème brûlée was evidence, okay. Look, I just like to follow the rules."

Lucy cracks up, "Now that's an understatement if I've ever heard one. This guy ended up getting an extra bag of chips from the hospital vending machine last week and spent 45 minutes trying to track someone down that could absolve him of his guilt."

Jackson groans, but his grumbling is interrupted by Wes' arrival. Angela's husband looks harried as he fixes her with a glare. "You couldn't have warned me the tank was on empty?" he accuses.

Angela grimaces, "Did I not mention that? I'm pretty sure I did. Oh yes, I remember now, it was during that one conversation. Remember? When you didn't give me the list of food allergies in Jack's class and I showed up with twenty-four anaphylaxis-inducing cupcakes?"

Angela and Wes continue to argue as they make their way further into the apartment. Jackson throws an arm around Tamara in greeting, and they fill their plates with snacks before settling in across the dueling duo. They swivel their heads like they're watching a tennis match as they gleefully observe their animated bickering, which has progressed into something about the locations of Jack's school, their respective jobs, and the dry cleaners.

The rest of their guests arrive in a steady stream — Lucy's Aunt Amy, Tim's friend Emmett, and Jackson's boyfriend Sterling. Genny is the last to arrive, apologizing profusely and sharing a graphic story about projectile vomit to explain why, sadly, her husband Mark wouldn't be in attendance tonight.

Between the party attendees and the film crew, their apartment is packed to the brim. They open up the balcony to circulate the air and extend the space.

To Lucy's surprise, Tim proves to be a pretty awesome bartender and mixologist, banging out a steady flow of frozen margaritas and cocktails for their guests. She had just planned to crack open a few bottles of wine, but Tim had brought back more than just some vegetarian snack options from the store, which turned out to be exponentially better. After everyone's had a chance to mingle and munch on some appetizers, the group settles down with drinks in hand for some friendly competition.

And thus begins a head-to-head partner's Pictionary tournament for the ages. Like Tim and Lucy, their friends and family don't lack in competitive spirit. Only Tamara seems a little unsure about the seriousness with which all of these grown-ass adults are taking the game, but once another round of margarita refills inspires some uninhibited shit-talking, she ends up as invested as the rest of the party.

"Are you kidding me? My pre-schooler could draw a better horse than that blindfolded in his sleep hanging upside down," Angela heckles.

"Good try, Tim," Genny mocks as he walks away from his lopsided blob of a drawing, "I can totally see how that was a dragon and not a very angry, very pregnant chipmunk."

"Shake it off," Lucy orders with a firm clap on the back. "We're still in this."

Angela throws her hands up in dismay when their time runs out, "What is wrong with you, Wes? It's obviously a chair. And the arrow is pointing to the edge of the seat. You're hopeless."

"What?!How is that a chair? It looks like a graph. The arrow is clearly pointing to an upward trend."

"This isn't Wall Street, Wes. It's Pictionary!"

Wes shrugs, "Then why did you draw a graph?"

After a few false starts, Tim and Lucy find their groove.

Tim draws a simple turtle on the page.

"Turtle! Tortoise! Ugh never mind - it's a phrase. The Tortoise and the Hare? Slow and Steady Wins the Race?"

Tim gestures for her to continue, quickly adding a stick figure with crazy spirals coming off its head and a gigantic smile that is clearly intended to be Lucy. He adds a heart to the canvas.

Lucy leaps to her feet screaming, "Once in a lifetime opportunity!"

"YES!" Tim yells back.

They exchange an overenthusiastic high-five to celebrate their victory.

"Little intense for Pictionary, don't you think?" Angela glowers with an eye roll.

Tim scoffs, "Didn't you just threaten to divorce your husband over that chart or whatever it was?"

"It. Was. A. Chair." Angela seethes.

"How on earth…?" Sterling questions, shaking his head as he stares at Tim's drawing in dismay.

Lucy picks a challenge card on her next turn, and frowns for a moment, seemingly stumped. She glances toward Tim and then draws a single star on the page, waiting uncertainly for him to guess.

"Star? Sky? Space? Wish? Shooting star?" Lucy's hopeful expression fades, and she turns back to the board to try something else.

"Hope?" Tim finally offers.

Lucy claps her hands together joyfully. "Yes!"

She beams at him, and instead of giving him the high five he is waiting for, snakes her arms around his waist for an impromptu hug.

"You remembered," she says, gazing up at him with a soft smile as she pulls back.

He returns the smile, with a gentle squeeze around her waist, "Of course I did."

"How on earth…?" Sterling repeats, tilting his head and squinting at Lucy's illustration.

But it's not all sunshine and rainbows, as Tim would say.

"Activity," Tim explains before turning to the board and leisurely drawing out his Lucy stick figure with the crazy hair and giant smile.

"Me! Lucy… wife… spouse… roommate…?" she throws out, surprised that she's getting used to those labels in reference to herself, strange as they may be.

He draws the stick figure again, but this time, instead of being upright, it's at a forty-five-degree angle. Lucy frowns, "Falling?"

The third iteration of the figure is horizontal.

"Falling down? Dying? Dead? Faceplant? Losing balance? Uncoordinated? Being a klutz? "

Tim cracks up.

She's starting to get a little offended by the graceless depiction of herself on the board.

They are just about out of time when Tim finally turns his focus to drawing two lines connected by a grid that Lucy assumes is supposed to be a net. He adds a small circle floating above it.

"Oh my god. You are such an idiot, Tim. Playing volleyball," she grits out through her clenched teeth, glaring as his smug ass makes his way back to his seat.

And that, of course, leads to the whole room getting a play-by-play of how Tim discovered Lucy's hidden talent, or lack thereof.

"You're not mad, are you?" He asks innocently, grinning over at her as she sulks with irritation. He reaches over to squeeze and tickle her side until she is smiling and laughing again as she squirms and pushes him away.

But it doesn't take long for her to get an opportunity for payback. "Category is people," Lucy tells Tim on her final time up at the board.

She draws Tim's crude stick picture depiction of herself and then creates a stick figure of him on the other side of the page with a giant frown. She draws two tall skinny rectangles on either edge of the page, intending them to be the doors to their rooms.

She then sets to work drawing an admittedly crappy version of a dog with an oval for its body, 4 small circles for its feet, a squiggle for its tail, and a bigger circle with two triangles attached for its head.

"Cat!" Tim guesses.

Lucy rolls her eyes. Since when do they have a cat?

"Dog!" he corrects quickly.

She motions for him to keep going.

"Kojo?" he asks, brow crinkling in confusion.

She nods and holds up a hand to indicate he should wait, before turning to add a pair of hearts for eyes to herself and Kojo. She draws an arrow from the dog to her stick figure. She moves back to the Tim figure and runs the marker back over his frown before adding eyes and an oversized teardrop to his face. She finally circles her depiction of Kojo.

Tim does not look amused when he finally guesses unenthusiastically, "Traitor."

"Could've been jealousy," Lucy snarks as she caps the marker. She returns to her spot on the couch next to a deeply frowning Tim (life imitating art and all that), a few too many margaritas deep to recognize how they've shifted closer to each other after every turn.

Her side presses into his as he grumbles something about "a complete and total lack of loyalty."

She calls Kojo over and leans down to lavish him with all of the pets. "Aw, that's okay, Kojo. We know you still love Tim. You just love me more. Isn't that right? Who's a good boy?"

Angela guffaws with laughter. "Are you telling me that damn dog that you spoil the absolute shit out of likes Lucy more than you? That is fantastic. You can't make this stuff up."

She turns to Genny, Jackson, and Emmett to fill them in on all of the absurd requests he'd had while the Lopez-Evers clan was pet-sitting for Kojo. "... a salmon omelet. And I'm not talking about the canned stuff, I'm talking about wild-caught…"

Tim rolls his eyes, unable to resist reaching over to give his beloved dog some love, before settling back against the couch and sliding an arm around Lucy.

"You're not mad, are you?" she teases sweetly.

He chuckles and shakes his head, squeezing her more tightly into his side.

She leans into him, folding her legs up onto the couch next to her and thinking just how damn comfortable she is by his side. He's settled his hand onto her hip, and a shiver courses through her when his fingers navigate between the hem-line of her sweater and the waistband of her shorts to find bare skin, brushing back and forth in a way that has her automatically clenching her thighs closer together.

"Action," Tim says as he reviews his final prompt; he rolls his shoulders back as if he's preparing for some kind of physical final showdown. His lips twitch as he looks up at his partner. "Now remember, this is it, Lucy. We win or we die."

She nods her agreement, setting aside her margarita. She braces her hands on her knees and leans forward to convey her seriousness.

He draws something that looks like a house with a handle and then draws a big smile across the front of the house.

Lucy's brow furrows.He wouldn't, would he?

She sighs with resignation. "Happy Meal?"

Tim grins from ear to ear, nodding and gesturing for her to continue guessing.

"McDonald's? Burger? Ronald McDonald?" she tries.

"Activity," Tim reminds.

"Hey — don't cheat! No reminders." Jackson interjects. "And stop it with all that gesturing and smiling." His eyes narrow as he splits two fingers to point at Tim and Lucy, "I'm watching you two."

He did.Lucy exhales a breath, her cheeks flushing crimson. "Eating out?" she finally manages through a forced smile.

"That's my girl!" Tim cheers, running his tongue quickly over his lips as their eyes meet.

"I am going to murder you in your sleep," she hisses when he returns to his spot next to her, foregoing the celebratory high five.

"Worth it," he laughs, giving her thigh a playful squeeze as she seethes. "Besides, did we win or did we win?"

When the game breaks up, people spread out across the living room, kitchen, and balcony catching up over a fresh round of drinks and hors d'oeuvres.

Lucy gasps when she spots the beautiful bouquet from Jackson still lying on the island; she'd completely forgotten to put the flowers into water.

She quickly opens each kitchen cabinet until she spots a vase. On the very top shelf, of course.

She disappears around the corner to retrieve the step ladder from the hall closet.

She jumps when Tim comes up behind her, so close she can feel the heat of his breath on the back of her neck.

"And just what do you think you're doing?" he asks, voice low.

And god, why is her heart beating so quickly? His hand grips her hip as he reaches around her to slide the ladder back into the closet, and Lucy finds herself automatically arching back against him in a way that makes absolutely no sense as a response to a man that is supposed to be nothing more than a roommate.

He pauses in reaction to her movement, before allowing his hand to slide around to her stomach, pulling her back even more tightly against his chest. His lips brush her ear as he leans down to continue, "Don't you think we've had more than enough step ladder-related excitement for one day? Besides, I'm pretty sure you're over the legal limit on margaritas for operating machinery."

She laughs, but it comes out a little squeakier than she intends. Her cheeks are burning. She lets out a shaky breath before finally responding, "Is that so?"

She inhales sharply as Tim dips his head further, the scratch of his stubble against her skin driving her absolutely wild.

"I was just going to get a vase down —"

He nuzzles his face into the exposed skin of her neck and shoulder. She reaches up behind her, scraping her nails over the peach fuzz on the back of his neck as she tugs him even closer. Some kind of cross between a sigh and a moan escapes her, "Mmm… for the flowers…"

And good lord they must be losing their minds, because they are standing in a hallway just barely out of sight of their family and friends and, oh yeah, a camera crew, and all she can think about is the tension building between her legs.

She has never in her life felt this level of sexual tension with someone. Felt so drawn to someone that she is actively trying to distance herself from. She is this close to yanking him into the microscopic closet and begging him to have his way with her when they hear Genny call from the kitchen, "Tim? We need a vase for these beautiful flowers. Where'd you go?"

He laughs softly. "All right, all right. You women and your vases. Why don't you let me take care of that for you?" he offers.

Lucy nods her agreement, swallowing before attempting to speak, "That was a little sexist, but yes. That would be great."

He chuckles and presses a quick kiss against her temple before releasing her and taking a step back. And it's only then that Lucy allows herself to exhale the breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding into a gigantic sigh of relief.

This entire situation is utterly insane — it's not like Lucy doesn't know that she's playing with fire. In the real world, she would have written Tim off as a regrettable decision and moved on. She's never been a "but maybe he'll change" believer, and, even if she was, it wouldn't matter.

The physical attraction between them has been a constant — the one thing that has been completely consistent from the start. The fact that it's only continuing to intensify? That doesn't mean anything else has shifted.

But knowing that she should steer clear is apparently not always enough to overcome the magnetic pull that forced proximity and intimacy is continuing to foster between her and Tim.

Tim glances across the island to where Tamara is seated on a bar stool as he finishes another batch of margaritas. She's engrossed in something on the screen of her phone as she bites into a ranch-covered carrot stick with an audible crunch.

"So — erm, how do you know Lucy?" he tries.

She doesn't respond, and Tim feels suddenly awkward. He isn't entirely sure how to speak teenage girl.

She glances up and seems to gather from the puzzled expression on Tim's face that he had asked her a question. She removes a wireless ear pod from one ear.

"Sorry — did you say something?"

"Uh, yeah. I was just wondering how you knew Lucy."

A smile spreads over the girl's features and it's immediately evident how fond of Lucy she is. "I stole her car."

Tim narrows his eyes, "You do know I'm a cop, right?"

"I borrowed her car," Tamara revises.

Tim chuckles.

"In my defense, it wasn't even locked. I — uh, I just needed a place to crash for a bit. But just my luck, the car belonged to an ace reporter with better investigative skills than the LAPD and connections all over the city. It didn't take her long to track me down."

Tim decides to let the little dig at the LAPD slide; mostly because she's probably right about Lucy's skill. His brow crinkles; this girl can't be more than eighteen or nineteen. "How long ago was this?"

Tamara shrugs, "Maybe two and a half… three years ago. I didn't know it at the time, but I guess it was right after — well, you know."

He doesn't know, but Tamara has moved on. "I kept getting my laptop stolen at the shelter, and I needed it for school."

"You were still in school?"

Tamara frowns. "Why does everyone always ask that? Is it that unbelievable? Yes, and I was trying really hard to get good grades so I could get a scholarship and maybe go to college. Or at least get a decent job that paid enough to put a roof over my head."

Tim just nods, intrigued by the young woman's story.

"Anyway, one day, I happened by a beat-up orange car — honestly I thought it had been abandoned. It wasn't in great shape, and it was unlocked so…"

"I'm still surprised you got that hunk of junk to start," Jackson says as he joins them, reaching across Tamara for a bite-sized pie.

Tamara laughs, "Right? It was a bit of a challenge but once I realized it was just a grimy solenoid—"

"Hey!" Lucy protests as she inserts herself into the conversation, "Don't you dare speak ill of my baby. That car was my one constant for over a decade, which is more than I can say for most of the people in my life during that time. I'm still a little salty you conned me into signing over the title after I gave it to youto live inand then you sold it."

She does, in fact, look a little salty.

Tim stares at Tamara, "Wait — she just gave you her car, and then you sold it?" He starts to laugh.

Lucy frowns at him, while Tamara's expression turns sheepish. "I needed the money," she explains with a helpless shrug.

Lucy sighs and shakes her head, "Anyway, doesn't matter. Outcome was that it brought one of my favorite people into my life, and I wouldn't have it any other way." She wraps an arm around Tamara and gives her an affectionate squeeze before she and Jackson move to return to their conversation with Amy, Sterling, and Wes.

Tamara turns back to Tim and there's something a little harder in her gaze. "I don't know where I would be if Lucy hadn't — a few months after she and Jackson let me move in with them, one of my best friends from when I was living on the street was murdered."

Tim frowns, "I'm sorry."

She simply nods. "Anyway, the point is that I was lucky to have her looking out for me. Andanyonewould be lucky to have Lucy in their life."

Her eyes stay locked on his and Tim has to give her credit — she is one tough kid. He nods his understanding. "I couldn't agree more."

The rest of the night is mostly drinks, snacks, music, and good conversation. The film crew sticks around for long enough to catch a few key exchanges between Tim, Lucy, and their guests. But it's after they finally pack up and leave that the real discussions begin to happen.

Jackson settles onto Lucy's bed next to her.

"I miss this so much," Lucy sighs as they both collapse back and stare up at the ceiling.

"Right? I mean, spending more time with Sterling has been great, but he doesn't have anywhere near the stamina for trash TV that we do. Can you believe he has a no bingeing rule? He won't watch more than one episode without taking a break to work out or do something active and productive around the house."

Lucy turns onto her side to face him, allowing her jaw to drop open. "That's insane. No human being can watch just one episode ofIs It Cake?You know how much I adore Sterling, Jackson, but he may not be the right guy for you."

Jackson snickers as he also turns to face his former roommate, propping himself up on one elbow.

"All right. Enough small talk — tell me how you're really feeling about all of this."

Lucy sighs, "I don't really know. Fine, I guess. I mean — there's not much to tell. At this point, I'm just trying to get through the rest of the eight weeks and get back to my real life, you know? Two down… six to go. Not that it's excruciating or anything — the filming is annoying, but we still get to do fun things and have good conversations. And Tim has actually been really wonderful since we've been back from Mexico. So it could be worse, you know?"

Jackson studies her carefully. "It seems like you two have gotten pretty close," he observes.

Lucy frowns, suddenly feeling a bit defensive, "I mean — it's kind of hard not to in this situation. We're spending so much time together and doing all these activities and exercises that just — that reminds me! Did I tell you about the wine and cheese pairing class we did the other night? It was amazing. There was this Manchego-tempranillo combo that was just—"

Jackson arches an eyebrow at the attempted diversion. "Lucy."

She flops onto her back and covers her face with her hands. She groans with frustration. "I don't know. Okay? It's really confusing. But nothing has changed. He was clear that he doesn't see a future with me. And even if, in some miraculous turn of events, he decided he could, I don't know that it would even matter. How could I be with someone who treated me like that? So what's the point of even talking about this?"

He doesn't push any further, and Lucy is grateful.

"I'm sorry," she says softly, "I didn't mean to get so upset. This is just — it's really hard. And I don't want to get hurt again."

Jackson nods, reaching over to give her hand a comforting squeeze. "I don't want that either, Lucy."

They sit quietly like that for a few moments, before Lucy returns to her side. "Enough about me. What else is going on with you? We haven't had a proper catch-up in forever. How are things with your new partner?"

Jackson looks momentarily troubled.

"What is it?" Lucy asks with concern.

He swallows, "I'm not positive, but… there have been a few incidents — profiling and questionable stops. I think he might be a racist."

Lucy jolts upright. "What?! Jackson. You have to report him."

Jackson sighs, shaking his head. "I told you. I'm not sure yet. And even if I was, it's not that simple. I'm not a rookie anymore, but he's still far more senior than I am in the department. Accusations like this — they never end well, especially for accusers in my position."

Lucy shakes her head vigorously, the distress evident in her voice, "In your position? You mean black?"

"That, and the fact that I have significantly less time on the force."

"I don't like this, Jackson. He's your partner. You have to be able to trust him or —" She swallows, unable to finish the thought. "This could be really dangerous for you if you don't say something."

"It could be really dangerous for me if I do," he counters.

She sighs, "What can I do to help? I could investigate — find another source. You wouldn't even have to be involved." Her mind is already lining up possibilities and next steps.

"No," Jackson says firmly.

Her face falls.

"Lucy, I know you're only trying to help, but a reporter getting involved in this would make things a million times worse. The LAPD is notorious for handling its dirty laundry in-house."

"Maybe that's part of the problem," she argues.

Jackson nods, "Look, let me think about it. But for now, I need you to promise you'll stay out of it, okay?"

"Okay. For now. But Jackson, please be careful. And I know how you feel about running to your dad for help at work, but this is serious. Please at least think about it."

"I really like her," Genny says before they've even settled into their chairs on the balcony.

Tim nods. "I do, too," he says simply.

Genny smiles and shakes her head, "I can't believe this actually worked. Who knew the secret to getting you to stop brooding was forcing you onto a reality TV show?"

Tim rolls his eyes, but chuckles. His smile fades as he meets Genny's eyes. "I think you're getting a little ahead of yourself. She's amazing. But you know what happened in Mexico. I think it's pretty obvious that ship has sailed."

Genny's brows knit together, and she leans forward in her chair toward Tim, "It doesn't seem obvious to me."

He looks at her questioningly.

"The way you guys are together — it's… well let's just say that didn't look like a girl who wants to punch you in the face to me. Well, I mean, there were a few times she looked like she wanted to punch you in the face, but it's you, so that's to be expected."

Tim can't help but laugh. "Not wanting to punch me in the face and wanting to be my wife are two very different things, Genny." Her eyebrows lift in surprise, and Tim hurries to clarify. "Not that I'm saying I want her to be my wife; I'm just making a point."

Genny's eyes narrow. "So then youdon'twant her to be your wife?"

Tim doesn't respond, and Genny smiles. "That's not a no."

He groans, "Genny, I've known this girl for two weeks."

"Exactly, you'veonlyknown this girl for two weeks, and you are like a completely different person, Tim. I haven't seen you like this with anyone in a really long time. You seemhappy. Imagine what the two of you could be at the end of this if you'd just stop assuming you know how it's going to turn out and give it a real chance. Do you really want me to say, 'I told you so?' You were wrong when you assumed there was no way this could work for you, and you're wrong now for assuming there's no way the two of you can get past what happened in Mexico."

Tim simply nods. She's right, and he knows it. He had been an idiot to write Lucy off without getting to know her. She's surprised him at every turn in the best possible ways.

And though he's hardly ready to declare his undying love, the idea of being open enough to see where things could go no longer seems so overwhelming. It seems enticing.

"I'm not saying it's not going to be hard, Tim. It is. You are really going to have to fight if this is something you want. You know as well as anyone how hard it is to trust and open up after you've been hurt by someone. But from everything I saw tonight, it seems far from impossible."

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. His eyes are sad when he looks back at Genny. "I don't know why I pushed her away so hard."

Genny's eyes fill with tears. "Because you have been really, really hurt, Tim. In far too many ways. By people who were supposed to take care of your heart. And this — what you're doing — being open to love — it's really freaking hard. Maybethehardest thing. Even for people that are carrying far less than you are."

She pauses, "And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry if I pushed you and didn't give you the time you needed to heal."

Tim shakes his head. "You know how much I hate all this shit? The filming and the drama and the reality TV nonsense?"

Genny nods apologetically.

"Well, I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'd do it all again if I had the chance. Hell, I wish I could go back and fix this, but…"

Genny closes her hand over his, "You don't have a time machine, Tim, but that doesn't mean you can't still fix it."

"It's obvious how much he cares about you."

It's quite the statement to open with. Lucy stares at Angela with her mouth partially agape, before her brain finally catches up and words start coming out. "Oh, I'm not — I mean — we're not —"

Angela laughs and holds up her hand, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been so direct, but well — that's me. Look — I know he fucked up in Mexico. Likereallyfucked up," she hurries to clarify when Lucy begins to protest.

"And if I were you, I can honestly say there wouldn't be any coming back from that," she continues. "But I'm not you. And I for sure wouldn't last half a second in a relationship with Tim without becoming the prime suspect in a homicide. But what I'm saying is… you're different, Lucy. You're good for him, even if he's too stupid to fully recognize that just yet."

Lucy shakes her head, "Angela, I appreciate what you're trying to do but —"

"He's worth it, Lucy."

Lucy stops, surprised enough by her words to keep listening.

Angela takes a deep breath, staring out at the view.

"The way Tim loves — it's hard to describe, but it's like he loves with his entire being. It's one of the reasons he's so prickly about letting people get close to him — as soon as he starts to care, it's like he can't turn it off. He may as well be handing you his heart on a platter while praying that, this time, you're someone who cares enough to protect it.

"I don't want to share too much, because it's Tim's story to tell, but I also know what a gigantic idiot he can be when his guard is still up, so I feel like it's only fair that you understand what you're up against.

"Especially since — well, we, Genny and I, pushed him pretty hard to do this, and I'm realizing now that pushing him before he'd really worked through everything that happened with Isabel — no matter how long it's been — probably wasn't the right call, and I think it's created a lot of hurt and pain for you both, and I'm truly sorry for that."

"How longhasit been?" Lucy asks.

Angela sighs. "That's honestly kind of difficult to answer. Did Tim tell you what kind of cop Isabel was?"

Lucy shakes her head.

"She was UC — undercover — in narcotics. And honestly, it wasn't like this one big thing happened. She was under for a long time, and that work — it can change you. And she and Tim were both under a lot of stress because of it. So I think things were slowly unraveling for a long time, but… I guess it really started to crumble around the time of that drug war here in LA a few years ago. Believe it or not — I actually wasn't around to see what happened between Tim and Isabel firsthand because I got kidnapped by a drug queenpin that wanted to steal my unborn child." Angela waves a hand, "But that's a story for another day."

"La Fiera?" Lucy asks, a heavy feeling forming in her stomach as she remembers Tim's words from their wedding night.That article had some pretty serious repercussions for people that I care about.

Angela smacks her forehead with her palm. "Oh my god — I'm such an idiot. Of course. You already know what I'm talking about. Tim told me you were the reporter that broke that story. I don't know what I was thinking. That was some truly badass, amazing work that you did."

The article and the investigation that led to it was, and still is, one of Lucy's proudest accomplishments. But she's not naive enough to be unaware that it came with a major cost.

She had still been relatively early in her career, and it had been one of the very first times she'd struggled with the ethics of her profession and what it really meant to act in service of the public and prioritize the greater good. She and her editor had agonized over the right way to make use of her intel and also minimize fallout. It was an almost impossible balance when she had gathered intelligence that could be used to take down major players across multiple cartels, but also had an extremely limited shelf life.

A drug war was coming either way; she knew that from all the unrest and infighting she had witnessed on the inside. Solanga was planning a move against La Fiera long before she'd hit publish on her article. She had a choice: she could let it happen on its own at what would undoubtedly be a significant cost to their community and without any progressive outcomes or justice. Or she could use her investigation as the catalyst by turning her intel over to the DA. She chose the latter — she broke the story as the busts were made and the cartels unraveled. Numerous high-profile criminals were brought to justice, crippling the distribution of drugs across the city.

She had painstakingly, almost obsessively, followed every bit of the aftermath of such a rapid and unexpected takedown — every person harmed, every life lost as collateral damage. And she could not have been more sorry for anyone who had been hurt in the crossfire. But, at the same time, she has never been sorry for doing her job and doing it well. She knows without a doubt that the greater good was ultimately served.

In fact, the resulting chaos had been direct evidence of the incompetence, ineffectiveness, and unpreparedness of the almost comically overfunded and resourced joint LAPD-DEA task force. It could not have been more clear that they had been woefully ill-prepared to actually have to do their jobs, andthatis ultimately what was responsible for much of the fallout, especially the impact to those that were out there fighting a good fight within their own ranks. UCs like Isabel, she now knows.

Angela continues, "Anyway, it was around then — maybe two years ago — that things really began to fall apart for them. It was pretty brutal — long and drug out and Tim held on to the bitter end, even when it was obvious there was nothing to salvage because he just couldn't let go. The divorce wasn't actually finalized until maybe seven months ago… so you can imagine what that period of time was like for him — it's not something I would wish on my worst enemy. "

Lucy can feel her eyes filling as she nods, thinking back on all the pain she'd seen on Tim's face the day he'd saved her life in the underground river.

"Look, Lucy — I'm sure you're more than ready to wash your hands of all of this. You've been through more than enough, and no one would blame you for that, myself included. But — and maybe I'm wrong — it seems like you genuinely care for him, so I just feel like you should know — the way he talks about you, the way he is around you… I mean, I was with him when production called and told him you'd been hurt and were at the hospital last week. We were assigned to an extremely high-priority detail for the Vice President, and he caught a lot of heat for it, but he dropped everything because he wanted to make sure you were okay.

"And I hope you know that I'm not trying to convince you or make excuses for him; it's on him to make things right with you after what he did. I just know how close to the vest he plays things and how hard he can be to read, so if it were me… I feel like I'd want to know? I hope I didn't overstep."

Lucy frowns as Angela's words tug at the tiny bit of hope she has desperately been trying to lock away into some dark corner of her heart. She shakes her head, "No. It's fine. It helps to — I don't know. Understand more about where he's coming from? And he's lucky to have a friend that cares about him as much as you obviously do. But… I just … I really don't know what to do with any of it until I hear it from him, you know?"

Angela nods, looking a little sad, "I know."

Her expression brightens, "Oh! I meant to ask you — you and Jackson should join us for our next dinner. I'm planning to host at our place. We all get together regularly — Genny and her family, Wes and Jack and Tim — usually bi-weekly, but we're trying to sort the next one around your filming schedule. We'd love to have you both."

Tim asks Jackson to join him at the bar while Lucy is talking with Angela out on the balcony. Jackson is understandably less than thrilled about the prospect of a one-on-one conversation, but he's cordial at the very least.

"It's great that you were able to help Angela with her case. I know she had been getting pretty desperate for a lead on that one," he tries.

Jackson nods and smiles, "She was really great — went out of her way to put in a good word for me with my Watch Commander after."

They stare at each other uncomfortably after their forced smiles fade. Under any other circumstance, Lucy having a best friend that's also a cop would have made it infinitely easier for Tim to connect with Jackson. But their shared occupation is clearly not enough to dig Tim out of the hole he's made for himself.

He sighs, deciding he might as well just get to the point. Jackson obviously wants this conversation to be over as much as he does.

Tim sucks in a breath. Damn. This is hard. He's not used to showing his cards in this way to very many people.

"Do you think she could ever get past what happened?" he finally manages via maybe one of the most earnest sentences he's ever uttered.

Jackson's eyes widen in surprise for a moment at the directness of his question, but just as quickly he is evaluating Tim with a shrewd, distrustful gaze. "Why are you asking?"

God. He is not going to make this easy on him.

He swallows back his discomfort. "I know I really hurt her. But I think — I think that maybe I was wrong about not being open and giving this thing a real shot. And I think I'd like to see where it could go, if Lucy would be open to it. But, if there's no way back, I don't want to make this process any more uncomfortable for her than it already is."

"Maybewrong? Youthinkyou'd like to see where it could go?" Jackson asks, raising an unimpressed eyebrow.

"Iwaswrong," Tim admits.

Jackson sighs, "Look — this is between you and Lucy. But here's what I will say. She has a gigantic heart. She sees the best in people even when she shouldn't — even when they've wronged or hurt her."

His eyes meet Tim's and he doesn't have to fill in the blanks — if anyone was capable of forgiving and moving past what he'd done… it's Lucy.

Tim nods, thinking back on his earlier conversation with Tamara and how drastically her relationship with Lucy had changed despite how they had met.

Jackson shifts uncomfortably, and Tim can see he's conflicted. Can see how protective he is of his best friend.

He stares at Tim warily. "Please don't take advantage of that. Lucy is — she doesn't need me out here saying any of this to you. She's perfectly capable of taking care of herself. But if you're not sure about what you want or how you feel, then… Look, I'm just going to leave it at this — she deserves far better than what you've given her and she certainly doesn't deserve to be jerked around anymore."

Tim nods his understanding. "I know I haven't given you much reason to believe this, but I do care about her, Jackson. And I really don't want to hurt her again."

Jackson stares at him for a few more moments, as if trying to determine if he's being truthful. He finally just says, "Okay," before turning to rejoin Sterling on the couch.

They aren't going to grab beers together after shift anytime soon, but Tim appreciates Jackson's candor and he's honestly glad that Lucy has someone like that in her corner. Someone who sees and values how amazing she is, but also recognizes the cruel world they live in for what it is, and what a dangerous combination those two things could end up being for her. It's impossible to do the job they do and not have that perspective.

"So how do you know Tim?" Lucy asks Emmett as she turns to face him on the couch.

Emmett gives her a warm smile revealing a mouth full of sparkling white teeth, and god, this guy is so hot she's almost afraid to make direct eye contact. She'd venture a guess that even his abs have abs. But his presence is also incredibly warm and welcoming — the complete opposite of how Tim's had been when they first met.

"Well, I work for the fire department, so we met through work. Eventually started to play a few pick-up games together."

"You're a firefighter?" Lucy asks, eyes lighting up with interest. Oh good lord, is it possible she's a fire bunny? Or is it just imagining this particular man saving kittens from trees that's doing it for her?

He smiles back, laughter twinkling in his eyes.

Lucy thinks about how much she had hoped to see eyes like his waiting for her at the end of the aisle — warm, kind, and full of good humor. How devastated she had been when the gaze that had been waiting for her was instead cold, critical, and unfeeling.

"I am. Tim said you're a reporter?"

"Journalist," Lucy corrects, feeling a mild urge to swap out her husband's toothpaste with shaving cream.

"That's really cool," Emmett nods enthusiastically. "But yeah, we didn't get close until he started dating my girlfriend's best friend. Made for some fun double-dates and game nights — that kind of thing."

Lucy is surprised at how much the sentence deflates her — she's not entirely sure if it's the idea of Emmett being unavailable or Tim dating someone else or maybe some strange combination of both. She needs another margarita.

"Sorry — ex-girlfriend, I mean. Still getting used to that. It's kind of recent," he corrects.

Hmmm.

"I'm so sorry," Lucy offers, and Emmett shakes his head sadly in agreement.

"We were together for a while. She's actually in the LAFD, too, which is how we met. She's a lifeguard. So is her friend, Ashley — the one that Tim dated." Emmett clarifies.

She feels like her eyebrows leap into her hair with her surprise, but she tries to force a sweet smile back onto her face, hoping the admittedly catty thoughts she's not particularly proud of aren't apparent through her expression.

But,come on. A lifeguard? Really? And Tim had a problem with Lucy being a reporter?Journalist, she mentally corrects, vowing to spend some time looking up pranks on YouTube later.

"Oh. A lifeguard? How nice," she says sweetly.

"How are things going with you and Tim?" Emmett inquires. And she feels like there's maybe a flicker of interest when he asks, but he's far too nice a guy to actually hit on his friend's wife, sham reality TV union or not.

Lucy flops exhaustedly onto the couch next to Tim once she's seen Jackson and Sterling to the door, marking the official end of their party.

She reaches over to retrieve her half-full margarita from the side table and then shifts so her back is leaning against the arm of the sofa. She swings her legs up onto Tim's lap and he laughs, his hand automatically sliding appreciatively up the smooth skin of her calf.

She sighs, leaning her head back against the corner of the couch and allowing her eyes to flutter momentarily shut as Tim begins to work his hands over one of her feet, "Mmm…"

Tim adds a bit more pressure, pushing on the sole of her foot with his thumbs.

She groans, "That feels so good. Your hands are so warm."

He smiles at her, shifting his focus to her other foot.

She straightens and lifts the margarita glass she's been protectively cradling against her stomach to her lips. "Mmm… this also feels so good."

He chuckles. "Guess I'm two for two then."

She nods her agreement. "Three for three if you don't make me do the dishes tonight."

She laughs as Tim cringes at the suggestion. "I know. I know. Tim Bradford wouldnever," she finishes with an exaggerated gasp.

He narrows his eyes. "I was actually going to offer to handle the clean-up so you could go to bed, but keep that up, Lucy. See where it gets you." He reaches up to give her thigh a quick but firm squeeze just above her knee, and she squirms in response. Apparently, she's ticklish there. Good to know.

She arches an eyebrow as she takes another sip, the oversized glass looking almost comical in her small hands. She traces her finger around the salted rim before popping it into her mouth.

And yep, that would be his dick that just jumped.

"Where would it get me?" she asks in a tone so sexy, he is certain she can feel what she is doing to him.

As if to confirm his suspicions, she bends one of her knees up and drags her arched foot over his lap, teasingly pausing over his possibly more than half-hard dick.Holy fuck.What is she trying to do to him?

He swallows and clears his throat, but his voice is still uneven when he finally responds, once she's stopped torturing him with her toes. "Nowhere good," he manages to croak out.

Her lips form a disappointed pout, but then she simply shrugs and takes another sip. Tim briefly wonders just how many of those things she's had? But given where things stand between them (wheredothey stand?), he knows even one would be too many for the things he is thinking about doing to her right here on this couch.

"You didn't tell me Tamara was your puppy?" he asks in an attempt to change the subject.

"Mywhat?!" Lucy asks with disbelief. "Did you seriously just refer to a teenage girl as a dog? You are so much dumber than you look sometimes."

Tim momentarily tries to puzzle out whether that's a compliment or an insult (seems to be a bit of both) before he shakes his head. "I'm not calling her a dog. Puppy's just a term we use when our rookies find someone they think they can save. Happens every time, without fail."

Lucy narrows her eyes, "Didyouhave a puppy?"

"That's… not relevant here," he deflects.

"Uh huh," Lucy teases but doesn't push any further, though he's certain he hasn't heard the last from her on that topic.

"Tonight was fun," she says, smiling.

Tim nods, "I had a really good time. Who knew we'd be such a dynamic Pictionary duo?"

Her eyes sparkle with laughter, but she holds her features in a scowl. "You better sleep with one eye open, Bradford. You thought you were so clever with thatHappy Mealbullshit."

He laughs out loud, "Are you seriously telling me you wouldn't have gone there if you drew that card?"

Lucy rolls her eyes.

Tim softens. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, though," he offers genuinely.

Lucy gazes at him for a few moments before allowing her twitching lips to form a smile. "I suppose you'll go on to live another day, Tim."

She takes the final sip of her drink and sets the glass on the coffee table.

She tilts her head to the side in that little flirty way of hers, and Tim braces himself for what she may throw at him next. But then her expression shifts slightly, and she looks suddenly shy.

"How come you didn't tell me you dated a lifeguard?"

Tim looks back at her in confusion, "Ashley?"

Lucy nods. And she's still being a little weird.

"Why do you ask?" he ventures carefully.

She shrugs, "No reason. Was it serious?"

Tim studies her carefully. Is that — is she jealous?

He shakes his head, "I don't know. Sort of, I guess. We dated for a few months."

"Why did you break up?"

"What's with the third degree, Lucy?"

She pauses, looking a bit taken aback by the question as if she herself isn't sure why she's asking so many questions about Ashley. Some mix of hurt and confusion flickers across her expression and she begins to pull her legs back from his lap.

He quickly moves to hold her in place. "We didn't want the same things long-term."

He slides his hand soothingly up her leg. "Sorry — you can ask me anything, Lucy," he offers contritely.

She smiles, seemingly appeased by his change in tone. "What does that mean?"

"She didn't want to get married or have kids," Tim answers directly.

Something changes in her expression again, but Tim can't quite place what it is.

Her voice is quiet when she asks, "If she had, do you think you could have seen yourself marrying her?"

Tim swallows, not really wanting to answer the question, but also not wanting to shut her down again. He shakes his head, "I don't know, Lucy. We never even really got there, but I guess, yeah, sure, on some level. I wouldn't have dated her for as long as I did if I didn't think it was going to go somewhere."

And for a split second, she looks completely shattered. She blinks rapidly like she might be about to cry and looks away from him.

He can feel his heart plummet into his stomach. He is completely lost as to why she's asking these questions and why she seems to care so much about a relationship he'd had before they'd even met and why she is reacting the way that she is.

"Lucy — I — that was before — it was completely different. It doesn't have anything to do with how I feel —" And he is on the brink of telling her right then and there how he feels — that he wants to give this a real try with her, but Jackson's warning about being sure is ringing in his head. And she deserves more than some kind of knee-jerk reaction in response to a drunken line of questioning that he doesn't even understand.

"It doesn't have anything to do with how I feel now," he finishes weakly.

When she finally looks back at him, she is smiling again — seemingly unaffected by whatever it was that just happened.

"So… um… your friend Emmett washot."

Tim stiffens, caught completely off guard. He carefully schools his face into a neutral expression, even as a pit of disappointment opens up in his stomach.

"Uh… can't say I've noticed. But yeah, he's a good guy."

His head begins to throb. How much hashehad to drink?

"Would you maybe consider setting me up with him? After this is over, obviously," she rushes to add.

And for maybe the first time since he's met her, Tim realizes he can't read her at all. He can't tell if she is trying to hurt him, or if this is some kind of a test, or if she is genuinely interested in being set up with Emmett.

He's starting to feel a little sick. He knows he has no right to be upset about this. He willingly gave up any claim he had to her. But if there was any remaining doubt about how he feels toward her, this has pretty much obliterated it. He isn't just uncomfortable with the idea of setting her up with his friend — or anyone else for that matter — he hates it.

"You can do better than Emmett," he finally answers.

Lucy's eyes crinkle with her laughter. "What doesthatmean?"

"He's a firefighter," Tim says, with obvious distaste.

"Exactly."

Tim sighs. "If, at the end of this, you want me to set you up with him, then yeah. I guess I can." The words all feel like they are shaped wrong as they come out of his mouth, but he means them.

Lucy deserves a great guy, and, despite his terrible career choices, Emmettisa great guy, though he certainly doesn't feel like the right guy for the woman at his side that unknowingly has a vice grip on his heart.

But if it would make her happy, it's truly the least he could do to make up for how he'd treated her.

He pats her feet and then lifts her legs so he can slide out from under them and stand up. "I've gotta take Kojo out, and then I'm going to get started on those dishes."

By the time he's finished enough of the clean-up to feel like he'll be able to sleep without nightmares of dirty dishes doing a little jig as they float around his head, Lucy is completely passed out on the couch. She's huddled into the same corner she'd been in when they were talking. He briefly debates carrying her to bed, but given how that turned out the last time, he instead opts for retrieving a blanket and pillow from the closet. He shifts her until she's lying on her side.

A curtain of hair settles over her face in response to the movement, and he gently pushes it back before brushing his thumb over her cheek and allowing it to linger for a few seconds too long.

Notes:

More to come on Lucy's headspace re: the Ashley interrogation (and Emmett) in the next part, Conflict and Resolution, I promise!

Did you enjoy this approximately 10k of nonsense? I *hope* you did. But I think you know what's even better than hope

(spoiler: it's comments and kudos )

1. outfitreturn to text

Summary:

A hangover and true crime; a crisis at work and a conflict of interest; Lucy struggles with her feelings

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter fornotes.)

Chapter Text

Conflict & Resolution

Week 3, Day 1: Sunday

Lucy groans when she wakes on the couch the next morning. She squeezes her eyes more tightly shut, unwilling to face reality just yet. Though the steadily intensifying throb in her head apparently has other ideas.

As does her mind when it decides it's time for her to relive a reverse play-by-play of the night before…

Was asking Tim to set her up with Emmett the most mature way to figure out where Tim's head was at after talking to Angela? Absolutely not.

But, was it effective? Absolutely not. She's not an iota more clear on how he feels. But at the time it had seemed like a well-architected (read: impulsive) approach to getting a pulse on a man harder to read than hieroglyphics. Truly, she felt like she had a much better idea of what he was thinking and feeling when he was being an asshole.

And then there was her little interrogation about the lifeguard.

And, nope.Nope.No, thank you. She would like to get off of this ride, please.

Why does it seem like drunken nights can only result in one of two things — remembering nothing or remembering everything in excruciatingly, cringeworthy detail?

Time to get up.

Tim has set some water, Pedialyte, and a bottle of Advil on the coffee table. Because of course he has.

She downs a dose of the pain reliever and then drags herself up and through her room into the bathroom. After brushing her teeth and washing her face, Lucy trades her shorts and sweater from the night before for an oversized T-shirt. And that's about all she can manage before feeling like she is either going to throw up or pass out. She trudges back out to the living room to reclaim her spot on the couch and to guzzle some of those sweet, sweet electrolytes.

During her short absence, Tim has popped up in the kitchen and is occupied cooking something on the stove. Lucy knows she needs to thank him and apologize for not helping with the clean-up after their party, but, at the moment, she needs to just be sitting with her eyes closed. Still is good. Still is so, so good.

She doesn't crack an eye open until Tim crosses right in front of her, setting a plate and a mug on the coffee table. This angel of a man has swapped her tea out for coffee, anticipating her every hungover need. She has to admit, penance looks pretty damn good on him.

She watches as Tim crosses back into the kitchen and carries the skillet over to Kojo's feeding area, scraping something that looks suspiciously like the contents of her plate into his bowl. The sweet boy chases his tail with excitement until Tim orders him to sit.

Lucy glances back and forth between Kojo's bowl and her plate as the pup begins to scarf down his meal. She finally rasps her first words of the day. "Did you… did you give me the same breakfast you just gave your dog?"

He grins over at her, shrugging. "You know I only give Kojo the best. Besides, salmon and eggs are good for a hangover."

Tim joins her on the couch after he's finished his own breakfast of — you guessed it — salmon and eggs. After swallowing the last of what she can stomach of the omelet, which actuallyisquite good — he really does spoil the shit out of that dog — Lucy switches the TV on and pulls the blanket Tim had covered her with the night before around her like a protective cocoon.

"Big plans for today?" he teases as Lucy begins flipping the channels. They aren't due to film again until that evening for dinner, followed by a Latin ballroom dance class — much to Lucy's delight and Tim's chagrin.

"All the true crime I can eat," she mumbles.

Tim audibly groans, "Seriously? Come on. I get enough of this at work. Don't you?"

"Nope. Can't ever get enough."

Despite his grumbling, Tim doesn't make a move, instead relaxing back to watch with her.

Four episodes later, they have cycled through just as many positions on the couch. Their current position has Tim lazing with his feet up on the ottoman and Lucy lying on her side with her head in his lap, eyes glued to the screen. He thinks about how it's actually absurd how comfortable they are with each other given their short and tumultuous history.

It's 90% Lucy. Tim isn't particularly good with ambiguity, especially in relationships — he's always had a tendency to be all in or all out. And he's never been one to be overly physically affectionate outside of a clearly romantic or sexual context. If Lucy were like him, he has no doubt they'd probably both be sitting stiffly upright on opposite ends of the couch, if in the same room together at all…

But Lucy isn't like him — her natural warmth and affinity for showing affection sucks him in and makes it impossible not to want to get that much closer.

The remaining 10% is the oddity of this circumstance — forcing him out of his comfort zone and keeping him in a perplexing situation where what he'd normally do in a situation as confusing and complicated and messy as this one (run for the hills), has very little relevance.

But sitting here with her now, his arm comfortably settled over the length of her side and hand resting easily on her hip, he's pretty sure there's nowhere else he'd rather be, crazy reality TV show contract or not.

Scratch that — he'd rather be here in this exact position watching the Dodgers instead.

Cold Case Filesbreaks for commercial and he yawns, stretching his arms over his head before returning his hand to her hip and squeezing gently.

She laughs and squirms. "Hey!" she protests good-naturedly. Apparently she's ticklish there, too. Good to know.

"Seriously — how do you watch so much of this garbage?"

And she must be feeling a little better because instead of ignoring him or giving him an irritated grumble of an answer, she shifts until she's facing him and props her head up on her hand, and it's Tim's turn to squirm when the placement of her elbow almost causes him some very real pain. He holds her carefully in place as he adjusts his position underneath her until they are out of the danger zone. She laughs softly, cheeks flushing slightly once she realizes her mistake.

"Sorry," she offers unconvincingly.

"Uh huh." He slides his hand leisurely back along her side toward her hip. The blanket has shifted in response to their movements, and his eyes wander over her delicious thighs up to where the hem of her shirt offers him a tempting glimpse of the curve of her ass.

She follows his gaze and her blush deepens, but she doesn't move to pull the blanket back into place.Fuck.

He leans over her and squints — it's still half-obscured by the length of her shirt, but he's pretty sure the bit of charming delightfulness scrawled across her ass today saysSqueeze Me. His throat goes dry. Hadn't he warned her about invitations she wasn't planning to back up?

"What was that you were saying? Something about garbage?" she asks sweetly. Her fingers casually twist in the fabric of her shirt; the motion exposing the slightest bit more of her perfect back end.

Tim forces his gaze back up to her face because, god help him, this woman is going to end him.

And she looks just self-satisfied enough to get a rise out of him. Well, another kind of rise, that is.

He narrows his eyes; challenge accepted. "Iaskedhow you could watch so much of thisgarbage."

Indignation twists her pretty features. "What do you mean? It's not garbage. It'sriveting! Like, come on, that last case — how did no one think to look into the mailman? It wasright there."

Tim scoffs, "No way — that was clearly a red herring. It was so obviously the husband. It's always the husband."

"No, it's not," Lucy insists.

"Yes, it is."

Lucy stares up at him in annoyance. "Anyway. You're just proving my point.Riveting.Besides, it's a proven fact that watching true crime sharpens your investigative skills," she asserts just haughtily enough that Tim knows she is completely full of shit.

He snorts scornfully, "Bullshit."

"Is not!" she insists.

"Is too!"

"Is not!" He half expects her to stick her tongue out like a spoiled child and is opening his mouth to tell her as much, but stops short when she reaches up to press a finger over his lips. "Shut up, Tim. It's back on."

His lips automatically part in response to her touch, and he resists the temptation to pull the tip of her finger into his mouth with his teeth and suck. And suddenly he's back in Mexico, gazing down at her perfect tits as she boldly invites him to do things he had thought he'd only ever get to do to her in his wet dreams. His breath catches;holy shit, she had been so fucking sexy.

And he knows she's right there with him because her eyes are locked on his and she hasn't moved — the rise and fall of her chest has quickened, and a flush is spreading up from her chest to her neck and her face.

Something flickers in her gaze, but he doesn't have a chance to actually read it because she is pushing herself up from his lap so suddenly she only narrowly avoids slamming her forehead into his jaw as she scrambles to return to the other corner of the couch.

What the hell?

"Lucy? Uh — are you —"

His concern for her is met with a throw pillow straight to the face.

He blinks away his shock before turning to stare at her in disbelief. She just shrugs, eyes wide — a picture of complete and total innocence.

"Itoldyou. It's back on," she says simply, pulling the blanket more tightly around herself.

Tim is still a little butthurt about the unwarranted pillow violence when his phone vibrates less than thirty minutes later.

He looks up from the screen and glances over toward Lucy, back in her cocoon. "I've gotta go in," he announces, getting to his feet.

Her brow crinkles in confusion. "Huh? I thought you were off today?"

They both are working reduced schedules, and Tim is temporarily working shifts that align with a typical Monday through Friday 9 to 5 so that there's enough overlap between them to accommodate filming.

"I am," he says distractedly, already moving toward his room to gather a change of clothes, his uniform, and the rest of what he'll need for shift. "Looks like something's come up."

He's on his way out the door less than five minutes later, when he hears her call after him.

"Tim?"

He stops short and glances back at her, his mind already halfway to the station.

She seems to sense that he's anxious to get moving. "Sorry — I just… I didn't get a chance to thank you — for cleaning up last night and taking care of me this morning."

He blinks, registering for the first time that she seems to be a bit disappointed that he's leaving.

He crosses the room toward her before he even really has time to think about what he's doing. He cups her cheek with his hand and bends to kiss the top of her head.

His thumb brushes over her soft skin as he pulls back, "I'll see you tonight for dinner?"

She nods sweetly, until her lips curve upward into a wicked smile. She wiggles her eyebrows. "And dancing!" she reminds him teasingly.

He groans as he turns away from her, tossing over his shoulder, "If I end up having to work overtime, just trust me when I say I definitely did not volunteer and it has nothing to do with the dance class, okay?"

Lucy is surprised when she sees Tim's name light up her phone less than an hour later.

"I swear to god if this is you already trying to bail on the dance class, I'll — "

"Lucy, stop. I don't have much time." His voice is tense, more serious than she's ever heard it.

She stiffens as tension courses up her spine. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I just need you to listen, okay? There's an active public health threat; I need you to stay home. I can't tell you any more than that. And listen — this is the most important part, you cannot tell anybody, okay?"

She freezes — it doesn't take a genius to figure out what he's not saying — an urgent and active public health threat that requires a response from law enforcement almost certainly means there's an act of bioterrorism already underway. Holy shit.

"Tim, I — thank you for telling me. I —" Her mind is whirring at a million miles per minute, trying to process what he's shared. And make sense of why this is how she's finding out about what is clearly a large-scale threat to the public.

"Just take care of yourself, okay? And please — I know you are going to want to tell the people you care about, but you can't. We can't risk a panic."

Lucy's stomach drops, and suddenly she is wishing she hadn't picked up the phone. "Oh, Tim..."

"Lucy, what's wrong? I only have a minute. I know this is scary, but you'll be fine if you just stay home. I have to get back out there and start running down some of these leads."

She swallows, as the reality of the situation washes over her. She knows about this because Tim, a cop — a public servant, chose to warn her. She presses her eyes closed, feeling deeply conflicted; it could not have been an easy decision for him to tell her — to trust her with this, not after knowing her for barely more than two weeks. Not after knowing what she does for a living.

"Tim. I — I'm a journalist. This is — I can't sit on this. I —"

His voice is ice cold when he responds, cutting her off. "Are you serious right now? Did you not just hear what I said? I can't believe I — this is myjob,Lucy. Are you really going to throw me under the bus just so you can get another big headline?"

And it's a punch to the gut. That he would think so little of her. Thinkthatwas her motivation. Why on earth hadn't they talked about this — the conflicts of interests their professions could create for them?

Then again, whywouldthey have talked about it? They are married in name only. And yet… he had still chosen to call her.

Her voice is barely a whisper when she responds, "No. I would never — this ismyjob. I have an obligation to the public."

She can hear the frustration and hurt and anger in his voice, "God, Lucy — I don't even know why I told you."

He hears her sharp inhale on the other side of the line and can feel his heart drop into his stomach. Fuck.Fuck.

How had they ended up here? Of course he knows why he called her. Because he cares about her. He wants her to be safe. He wants to know she's safe so he can focus on his job.

"Honestly, Tim, I wish you hadn't. Because believe it or not, I don't want to be in this position any more than you want to be."

Her voice is unsteady when she continues, betraying just exactly how upset she is. "But you have to know this isn't right — if there's really a public health threat, the government has a responsibility to protect the people in a systematic way — to prioritize the most at risk and vulnerable populations. They don't just get to protect their friends."

Tim squeezes his eyes shut. He absolutely cannot be dealing with this right now.

"I would never —" her voice breaks and her next words cut directly into his heart, "I would never intentionally hurt you.

"Tim, I would never want to put you in a bad position at work. But you're not the only one with a job to do. You're not the only one with an obligation to the public.

"Do you really think it's not an issue that when a crisis occurs the default plan is to save the loved ones of government employees and say fuck everyone else?"

And god. She is so pure and so principled and so idealistic. It's infuriating. On some level, he doesn't even really disagree with her. It is fucked up; this entire situation is fucked up. But this is the real world, and her virtuous grandstanding could cost a lot of very real people their lives.

He takes a deep breath, running a hand over his face before turning to signal his partner that he'll be right there. "It doesn't matter what I think, Lucy. I don't get the luxury of having an opinion right now because I need to get out there and do whatever it takes to stop this from getting worse than it already is. So that we can save as many people as possible. That isallI care about.

"And, yeah, maybe it is selfish and fucked up and all sorts of corrupt, but knowing that you're safe, knowing that Genny and my nephews are safe — that's going to help me do that."

"And now — I really have to go," he says abruptly, his tone clipped.

Lucy can feel a lump rising in her throat, realizing that he is going to be running directly into this thing no matter what, while she is busy worrying over who gets to run the other way first.

"Tim, please be careful," she begs. But it's too late. He's already gone.

Her first instinct is to call Jackson, but she quickly remembers with an overwhelming sense of relief that he and Sterling had left for a few days in Palm Springs that morning. And surely his father, Commissioner West, is already in the know.

Thankfully, Tamara is back at school, also outside of the city.

But what about her parents? Her aunt Amy? Her friends? Her colleagues? Fear for the people she loves grips her heart even as she knows that she can't. She absolutely cannot warn them.

What kind of hypocrite would that make her? Righteously reaming Tim out only to go on and do something far more self-serving.

But she can understand it now. How difficult it would be for anyone responding to this to focus on their jobs while in fear for the lives of their loved ones.

But the fact that she's human and just as emotionally fallible as anyone else? That doesn't change her ethical obligation. It doesn't suddenly make it okay that someone in leadership, who is supposed to be serving the public has decided it's okay for them to decide whose lives are worth saving and whose lives aren't on a whim.

She can absolutely understand the importance of not causing a panic. But that's why there are supposed to be plans to execute against in time of crisis — not people in power playing God — getting to choose who lives and dies, who deserves a chance and who doesn't.

It couldn't be more wrong. Couldn't be a better example of exactly the reason she chose her profession — holding power accountable in order to protect the people. How can she possibly look the other way on something like this?

Lucy has the article written in record time. It is unbelievably easy for her to find sources. She methodically contacts family members of government officials and civil servants at every level. She introduces herself as a journalist for the Times, vaguely says she is chronicling current events, and asks if they'd be willing to go on record for her story. Nine times out of ten they are sharing a play-by-play of their day and everything they know before she's finished — the result of some strange combination of hoping she'll share more information (she doesn't), a macabre fascination with being a part of this moment in history without actually having to be part of it, and having been made far more talkative by the fear of imminent death. It's truly a wonder the news hasn't broken already.

But she doesn't send the article to her editor. Part of her obligation to the public includes minimizing harm and serving the greater good. And as hard as it is to think of the masses — those unlucky enough not to be a part of the inner circle and in the know — out and about living their lives as usual, completely unaware of the very real danger they are in, she can't make an emotional or idealistic decision. Even if the sheer number of lives at risk is horrific to think about.

It's a sick game of probability — weighing the idea that many, many people could possibly die if she doesn't run the story against the idea that some people will very likely die in the resulting panic if she does.

She has to make a call, though, and without knowing more about where law enforcement is with their investigation and containment of the situation — the scenario with the lowest possible loss of life if they can prevent this from becoming a mass casualty event — she can't pull the trigger.

She watches the news and monitors online activity almost obsessively for the rest of the afternoon and well into the evening, looking for any mention that could possibly be related to the threat. She only breaks to take care of Kojo — and it is so incredibly eerie, walking the block with him on what appears to be a day like any other, knowing what she knows.

When she calls production to let them know Tim was called into work and they won't be able to make it to dinner or dance class, she tries not to think too much about all of the noise she hears in the background — all of the crew onsite at a crowded restaurant to film one of the other couples.

She doesn't answer when her mom calls that evening. She can't do it. She doesn't answer any of her texts or emails, unable to function in this state of limbo.

The hours tick by, and while she wasn'treallyexpecting to hear from Tim; she also hadn't expected he would be gone this long.

Week 3, Day 2: Monday

By midnight, she is sick with worry. She sends him a text, even as she is chastising herself for bothering him when she knows the stakes of what he is dealing with.

She buries her head into Kojo's fur when the same rotating story she's already seen 16 times is aired again on the local news channel.

She's still wide awake — anxiety at an all-time high — when she gets a call from an unknown number at 3 AM. She picks it up without hesitation.

"Lucy, it's Angela," she sounds extremely tired. "I can't talk for long and, frankly, I could get in very deep shit for calling you at all, but I wanted to make sure you knew — Tim's been exposed to the virus. All I know is that he's still in quarantine with the man that was infected, and they're trying to secure a vaccine for him."

Lucy covers her mouth. As much as she had known this was a very real possibility, she still hadn't actually been prepared for this call. Hadn't even been sure that anyone would bother to call her if something did happen.

"The man thatwasinfected?" she asks, not entirely sure she wants to hear the response.

"He didn't make it." Lucy nods, and though it's difficult to hear, she appreciates Angela's directness, that she's not bothering to speak in vagueries about the threat.

"Is — is he going to be okay?"

"I don't know, Lucy. I hope so."

She doesn't sleep at all that night. She paces the living room until Kojo is whining for her to stop; clearly unsettled by her state of distress.

She can't stand this, feeling like there is absolutely nothing she can do to help without making things worse.

So she stares at her silent phone willing it to ring and continues to compulsively check the news to see if anything has broken about the virus.

The sun rises and she takes Kojo out and makes him his gourmet breakfast, grateful for the distraction.

She cleans the apartment from top to bottom. Reorganizes her closet and drawers that she literally just organized when she'd unpacked not even a week ago.

Eventually, she drops onto the couch with exhaustion. It's 10 AM and there's still no word. And she's not entirely sure she's ever felt quite like this. Not sure how she's supposed to feel about the man who had chosen to keep her safe, only to end up with his own life on the line.

She is starting to feel foggy and disoriented from lack of sleep. Doesn't even process that it's Monday and she should be at work until her boss texts asking if she's out in the field working a story. She responds with a thumbs up, not having it in her to provide any other kind of response.

Why hasn't there been any kind of update? It's agonizing, but she knows Angela has to be busy doing her own job — that she is probably even more worried about Tim, and very likely has no idea how he is doing.

She forces herself into the shower when her vision blurs, hoping the spray will rejuvenate her enough to function.

She downs the rest of the Pedialyte still sitting on the coffee table afterward — it's the only thing she's consumed since the omelet Tim had made her yesterday.

At noon, her phone rings with another unidentified number and she picks it up so quickly the phone almost flies out of her hand.

It's Genny. She's sobbing.

Lucy's heart is in her throat as she drops onto the couch.

"Lucy? I'm sorry — it's Genny. I'm not sure if anyone has called you?"

She continues on before Lucy can respond.

"Tim was exposed to some kind of virus; they gave him the vaccine, but it was experimental and all I know is that he collapsed. I'm not sure where he is now — if they're taking him to the hospital or — someone's on the other line, Lucy, I have to go."

And then she's gone before Lucy can even thank her or express how sorry she is.

She feels numb.

It's 2 hours later when Angela sends a text.Complications with the vaccine but Tim is doing better. Running some tests at the hospital now and then they'll decide on a course of action from there. The threat has been handled.

She is completely exhausted and doesn't even know what hospital he's at, but that doesn't stop her from heading directly to her car. She heads to the medical center closest to the station first, dialing area hospitals all along the way — a miserable process of being put on hold after hold and being forgotten multiple times. Her next stop is Cedars, but no one seems to have any idea who she's looking for.

A call to Shaw Memorial confirms that there was, in fact, a patient named Tim Bradford there at some point, but they're not sure about his current status. She doesn't bother to wait on hold, making it there in record time only to learn that he's already been discharged. She can barely stop herself from dropping to her knees in relief. Instead, she finds her way back to her car in a daze.

With no idea if he's gone back to work or home or anywhere else, Lucy returns to the apartment. She's on the verge of tears but tells herself that it is more than enough to just know that he's okay. Darkness is falling outside when she finally falls asleep.

Tim gazes down at Lucy's sleeping form on the couch, and, for a moment, he just watches her, overwhelmed by feelings he is far too exhausted to identify or process.

He drops to his knees in front of the sofa and brushes her hair back from her face, allowing his fingers to trail through the silky strands, mesmerized by the motion.

She stirs, "Mmm, Tim?"

Her eyes fly open, and she flings her arms around him without warning. For a second he is worried he is going to crush her as his upper body collapses down on top of hers. But she is wrapping her entire body around him, only pulling him closer.

He laughs, still awkwardly tangled in her arms and her legs, but it's maybe one of the best hugs he's ever gotten and completely unexpected, at that. He pushes himself up just enough so that he can see her face.

She looks up at him, arms still locked around his neck, as the rest of her body relaxes back onto the couch. Her eyes slowly scan over his face as if she is trying to confirm that he really is there and he really is okay. She finally releases her hold, so she can shift one hand to his cheek; she uses the other to gingerly examine the wound that has begun to bruise near the right side of his hairline.

"Are you okay?" she asks softly. He nods, placing his hand comfortingly over hers on his cheek, turning his head to tenderly kiss the inside of her wrist.

She shifts to her side, propping herself up on her elbow, and he drops back onto his heels but continues to lean over the edge of the couch toward her — settling a hand onto her hip.

She slips her free hand back around his neck, and there's a tugging sensation in his chest, begging him to pull her closer, even though they are mere inches apart.

"You didn't write the article?" he finally manages.

"Oh, I wrote it," she laughs tiredly. "I just decided to wait on publishing it."

Tim nods; it's still going to bring a lot of heat, but he respects that she is doing her job. "That I can live with."

"Does that mean youwouldbe open to an interview?"

He narrows his eyes, giving her hip a gentle squeeze of warning. "Don't push it, Lucy."

Her fingertips gently graze the back of his neck as she gazes at him. It feels amazing.

"I tried to find you at the hospital, but they said you had already been discharged."

His eyes soften, and he brushes a thumb over her cheek, noticing the dark circles under her eyes. "How did you know which hospital?"

Genny had already laid into him once he'd gotten back to the station via a well-timed call to Angela (well-timed if you ignored the fact that she had probably been calling Angela every 5 minutes for the last 24 hours). She reamed him out for not finding a way to tell her where he was the moment he'd regained consciousness; he hadn't bothered to mention that he'd been busy jumping directly out of the ambulance into the middle of a shoot-out that ultimately led to the apprehension of the remaining terror suspects. He had a feeling she wouldn't quite appreciate the epic badassery of it all.

She shrugs, "Lucky guess?"

He doesn't believe her for a second. He stares at her for a few moments, hating that she had been so worried.

"I'm so sorry, Lucy. My phone broke when —" he decides to skip the part about getting his head bashed in by a desperate, dying man with a wooden chair. He presses his eyes closed, trying to just be grateful that it's over.

She's watching him closely, and he tries to force a reassuring smile, but it's clear she isn't buying what he is selling, as Angela would say.

He clears his throat, "Anyway, point being that I haven't had a phone since yesterday afternoon, but I should have tried to find a way to call you once I was out of quarantine. There was just still a lot going on. And by the time I got back to the station, I was on autopilot. I wasn't even thinking."

She shakes her head, "It's okay, Tim. I know you were dealing with a lot. Angela and Genny updated me. It was … you were just gone for a really long time and I wasn't sure —"

Her voice breaks, and Tim has to resist the urge to pull her down onto the floor and into his arms, instead settling for leaning in to press his lips to her forehead.

Her eyes fill as he pulls back. "I'm just really glad you're okay."

"Did you sleep at all last night?"

She shakes her head noncommittally and it's enough for him to know that she didn't.

"Me neither." He tips his forehead against hers, his exhaustion catching up to him now that he's made it home and seen that she's safe.

They are both quiet for a few moments, just breathing each other in.

Tim finally begins to pull away, certain he is going to pass out right there if he stays any longer, but Lucy resists, tightening her hold around his neck and pulling him back toward her. When her lips brush against his, he thinks he must have passed out, must be dreaming. Because there is no way she is kissing him, no way this can possibly feel as good as it does.

He melts into the sweet softness of her mouth. She pulls him with her as she collapses onto her back, his arms sliding under her so that he finally has a proper hold on her. And it is everything — the taste of her lips, the feel of her body under his, the comfort of her touch. She is everything.

He ends up half on top of her as they continue to kiss. She tightens her arms around him and manages to wrap her legs around his waist. And good lord, she is wearing another one of those oversized T-shirts, and the urge to run his hands over every inch of her creamy skin is impossible to ignore. Tim groans against her lips — he can't get close enough to every part of her in this position. She protests as he breaks away.

And suddenly sleep is the last thing he is thinking about. He gets to his feet and, with energy that was nowhere to be found mere moments ago, leans down and lifts her into his arms.

He carries her into his bedroom and lays her on the bed, only pausing to pull his shirt over his head before climbing on top of her and pressing his mouth over hers again. Her lips part for him and his tongue takes the opportunity to greedily explore. She grips his bicep in a way that drives him absolutely wild. How on earth has he been surviving without this?

They kiss until Tim can't bear it anymore, needs to have more of her — the parts of her he's been craving since he was idiotic enough to throw them away. Her fingers are already working at his belt buckle, and his hand slides up under her shirt until he is cupping her bare breast, not sure if he's ever been so turned on.

She moans his name into his mouth pulling him closer with the hand that isn't fumbling with the fly of his jeans. He lets his other hand slide down between her legs, and he can tell she is so, so wet from just the heat radiating from her center before his fingers even make contact with the damp cotton of her panties. He has wanted this so badly.

"Do you have any idea how fucking hot you get me?" he gasps against her mouth.

He feels her whole body tense beneath his and immediately knows he's said the wrong thing.

She's shifting — attempting to pull down her shirt and slide out from under him. He quickly rolls off of her. She doesn't even look at him as she scoots to the edge of the bed. She's on her feet and heading for the door before he can even process what is happening.

"Lucy, I —" He's not even sure what to say; all he knows is that he really, really does not want her to leave. Not like this.

She whirls to face him, her eyes flashing with anger and hurt. He knows right then and there that they are nowhere near past what happened in Mexico.

"What are we doing, Tim? What do you expect? Am I just supposed to be grateful that you at least think I'm hot enough to fuck and just forget about everything else?"

And it's a blow to his gut in that way only she can deliver. But she's not done.

"God, you know I almost talked myself into believing that what happened that morning — it was because you were still so messed up over Isabel."

Tim flinches.

"That you couldn't see yourself marryinganyoneafter what you went through. But that wasn't even it. Because —" her voice breaks and she presses the heels of her hands against her eyes and he can tell from the way she is trembling that she is fighting to hold back an avalanche of tears.

Thisis what all those questions about Ashley were about?

And he's not sure he's ever hated himself more. He feels like she is ripping his chest in two.

He crosses the room toward her and grips both of her arms.

"Lucy, look at me. Please." Her exhausted, sad eyes find his. "I need you to know that what I did that morning —"

She shakes her head and tries to pull out of his grip, "Tim, I can't — I don't —"

The anger is completely gone — it's just hurt and sadness and exhaustion now.

He can see the emotion rising in her throat — how much she is struggling under the weight of it. "I don't want to talk about this anymore," she begs.

And he hates the idea of not finishing this conversation; he needs her to know how wrong he was, how that morning was a reflection ofhisshortcomings, and how it says absolutely nothing about her — no matter what idiotic words he had chosen.

And she has to know that the dumbass opinion of a man that couldn't have been bothered to get to know her and who had his head too far up his ass to even actually look at what was in front of him is less than worthless.

And though he can kind of see how she's made the leap that she has after that strange interrogation and question about whether he could have seen himself married to someone else, she has to know that struggling with his past and dating or thinking about moving on are not mutually exclusive. And that his feelings on either of those things have nothing to do with her or her worth.

But he's no stranger to demons. He knows how tempting it can be to seek validation of your worst fears about yourself when you're hurting and angry and scared.

And he had played right into hers — making her feel like she wasn't worth getting to know, that she just didn't matter, and couldn't possibly be good enough for him to see her as his wife.

She has to know that she is beyond good enough for him — that he's the one that has to prove he is worthy of her forgiveness.

The problem is that he is pretty sure shedoes knowall of these things. She is too confident and smart and insightful not to. Hell, she'd told him as much in the aftermath.

But this isn't about what sheknows; it's about how he made herfeelthat morning, and that is something she is very obviously still battling.

He slides his arms around her, half expecting her to shove him away. But she doesn't fight him, instead gradually relaxing into his hold.

"When you're ready, I do want to talk about it, Lucy," he says softly into her hair.

And it couldn't be further from the truth — it is probably the last thing on this earth he wants to discuss because it's uncomfortable, and requires a vulnerability that he isn't always willing or able to give, and makes him feel like complete and total shit, but he would rehash every last detail, apologize and explain again a million times over, if it meant she would be even the slightest bit less hurt.

Tim presses his eyes closed. This isn't something that's just going to go away — it's going to linger and fester and feed until they deal with it; they are going to have to work through it if they have any chance of moving forward. And if he walked out of the last two days with anything, it's the certainty that he does want to try and move forward.

But forcing her to confront something when she obviously isn't ready isn't going to help anyone.

She doesn't respond, but she also doesn't pull away, so he counts that as progress.

A wave of exhaustion overtakes him, and he's back to feeling pretty much dead on his feet, but he's not going to let her walk out of here still questioning where he stands.

"Can we talk about something else?"

She nods yes against his chest.

He swallows. "When I was in that house, it was — uh, it was really rough. There was this guy — just an innocent bystander whose shit luck landed him with the wrong bag. And he got infected. And uh — it was brutal. He died one of the worst deaths I've ever seen. He was desperate for help and he knew he was dying. And I just kept lying to him that help was on the way." He pauses as his throat thickens.

Lucy pulls back and tilts her head to look up at him, her eyes soft with her concern. "That sounds — it sounds awful and really, really hard. You must have been so scared. I'm so sorry, Tim."

He nods as he gazes down at her, lifting his hand to cup her cheek. She leans into his touch and it fills him with warmth.

"Anyway, I thought for sure I was seeing my future, you know? That there was no way I was making it out of there. And when I was feeling particularly hopeless, I was just staring up at the ceiling and it kind of made me think you were onto something with all your stars and hope stuff."

Lucy laughs quietly at his ineloquent description.

"Because I was feeling pretty desperate to not be locked in a room with a dead man and the virus that killed him. And yeah, it would have been really fucking nice to breathe fresh air and be able to see the stars."

She blinks back tears, and she really does have to be one of the most caring people he has ever met. He pushes a strand of her hair back behind her ear.

"And then it just got me thinking about you. And I wondered what you were doing — if you were on your 15th episode ofCold Case Filesor making a voodoo doll of your jackass of a husband or writing the article that would end my career if I actually did manage to survive…"

Lucy frowns, "Tim…"

He pauses, "What I said on the phone about not knowing why I told you — it wasn't even a choice. I didn't even think about not telling you."

Her tears spill over and she buries her face into his chest, arms tightening around him.

"I'm so sorry," she says when she finally pulls back. "I was just so shocked and caught up in the moment, but I shouldn't have put all that stuff on you about reporting the story and how wrong it was. Not when you needed to be focused on your job and saving lives and keepingyourselfalive."

Tim chuckles, "Nah — it was good. Being pissed at you and your idealistic ways got me through a solid four — maybe six — hours of that quarantine."

Lucy laughs as she rolls her eyes, "It's theprinciple, okay... I'm notthatbad."

"Uh huh."

He softens as he continues to gaze down at her, "And yeah, eventually, when I was done being pissed, and done imagining stars, and done wondering what you were doing, all I could think about was how much I wanted to see you. How much I wanted to hold you."

He looks away as his cheeks heat, feeling a little embarrassed by the sappiness of his admission.

"And Lucy, I don't mean…" he hesitates, wary of reopening a wound, "I just mean it had nothing to do with anything physical between us and everything to do with you, and who you are, and how you make me feel. I just wanted you with me."

He takes a deep breath. Here goes nothing. "Lucy, I want… I want to do this. I want to try and see if this could work for us."

She stares up at him, and more emotions than he could count or identify flicker through her eyes — surprise and confusion and sadness and fear and maybe even a flicker of hopefulness amongst a dozen other things.

She drops her gaze and Tim holds his breath. He knows he's asking for far more than he deserves. And it's not a small ask. He knows this.

In the real world, it could mean just asking if she'd consider giving him another chance. But here — it's asking if she would consider actually trying to be his wife, trying to build the foundation for a life with him, seeing if they could make this marriage work. And it's absolutely terrifying.

When she meets his gaze again, he can see how hard she's trying not to break down and cry. "I — I don't know if I can," her voice is barely a whisper.

He nods his head, trying not to focus on the weight of the disappointment in his chest. It's not a no, and truly probably the best he could have hoped for.

"Of course. That's okay, Lucy. It's completely up to you."

He can't take back what he did. He can't undo how it made her feel. But he sure as hell plans to spend the next six weeks doing whatever he possibly can to make sure she knows how much he cares about her and how completely and totally wrong he was about the possibility of a future for them.

But, of course, it no longer matters what he thinks — it's entirely up to her to decide what, if anything, she wants from the rest of this experience and what she wants from him.

She steps back, "You should get some sleep; I can't imagine how exhausted you are."

And though he could collapse on the spot, he's still having trouble tearing his eyes from hers.

"Yeah. You too. Good night, Lucy," he finally manages.

She pauses in the doorway and turns to look back at him. "Tim?"

"Yeah?"

She bites her bottom lip and looks conflicted, as if she's not sure whether she should say what she's thinking. She swallows and meets his eyes.

"I just wanted you with me, too."

Notes:

Always love to hear your thoughts!

Next up: Tim learns more about Lucy in Part Eleven: The People Who Raised You

Summary:

Tim meets Lucy's parents.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter fornotes.)

Chapter Text

The People Who Raised You

Week 3, Day 3: Tuesday

I'm moving dad to hospice.He stares at the text that comes through from Genny early Tuesday morning.

He doesn't feel much of anything.

That's a lie. He feels aggravated — infuriated, even — that this couldn't wait even twenty-four hours after he'd almost died.

And then he immediately feels guilt.

He knows how much stress he'd put Genny through the last two days. The fact that she had also been having to deal with this? He truly can't understand how she does it.

But as much as he loves his little sister, there's a lot he can't understand about her. Especially when it comes to her relationship with their father.

And now he's back to being aggravated.

Because, if it were up to him, he doesn't owe that man a damn thing. It's Genny that feels compelled to have a relationship with him, to take care of him.

Those are her choices to make. And he's been more than clear about his own.

And yet, he somehow still feels the weight of her burden.

He flips the screen over on his bed and presses the heels of his hands against his eyes.

He can't deal with this right now.

Lucy stares up at her ceiling, feeling more exhausted this morning than she had felt when she had finally gotten to sleep last night. And it's no wonder — the last few days have been a whirlwind of highs and lows from the housewarming through to whatever it is that had happened between her and Tim last night.

She covers her face, thinking back on how emotional and upset she'd gotten. It makes her feel vulnerable and exposed and maybe even a little embarrassed.

There are certain moments that stick with you in the worst possible ways. The moments you return to repeatedly in spirals of self-doubt. Moments that cut in a very specific way — that hurt on a deeper level. A level where they nudge up against and embrace your darkest fears and insecurities.

No one is immune to these things. Lucy knows this.

As the child of two therapist parents, she likes to believe she has some level of self-awareness about her insecurities — what they are, where they come from, how she feels when they are rearing their ugly heads.

It's becoming undeniably clear that that morning in Mexico is going to be one of those moments for Lucy.

Because there were a lot of reasons Tim could have given her for why he thought their night together was a mistake — that he was confused about his feelings or that things were moving too fast or that he'd never actually intended to leave this experience with a wife.

But he hadn't said any of those things.

Instead he had brutally jerked on a long lingering thread of insecurity — a generous gift ingrained by her parents via a lifetime of being made to feel like nothing she did was ever good enough — thatshecould never be good enough.

And so of course she had chased the thread that had been pulled weeks ago; it was only a matter of time until she would follow it home.

She doesn't even really like to think too much about it — hates the way the memory of that morning makes her feel like a dark, sludgy ooze is climbing up inside of her threatening to take over.

As the child of two therapist parents, she also knows that ignoring or avoiding these things doesn't make them go away. It only ensures the exact opposite.

She rolls over, hugging her pillow tightly to her chest and pressing her eyes closed.

She can't deal with this right now.

Week 3, Day 4: Wednesday

As luck would have it, they are set to have dinner with Lucy's two therapist parents on Wednesday evening.

Things have been uneventful, if not cool and a little awkward between them since their emotional exchange on Monday night.

Tim is clearly trying to give her space, and even though a part of her aches to give him some validation — to not leave him hanging in limbo about where they stand, a larger part of her is focused only on self-preservation.

The pull between them is too strong, and she knows the minute she opens the floodgates, everything is going to get too confusing, too fast. And she's just not ready to take that on.

Tim glances at her over his coffee on Wednesday morning as they both prepare to head into work. "Anything I should know about your parents before tonight?"

Lucy opens her mouth to respond, but pauses as Tim's phone begins to vibrate on the counter. Genny's name flashes on the screen.

Tim quickly silences it.

"You can get that," Lucy offers, a little surprised. She's gotten the impression that Tim and Genny are pretty close, and she hasn't seen him not immediately respond to one of her calls or texts up until now.

Tim shakes his head, "It's fine. I'll call her back on the way to work. What were you going to say?"

"Oh, um, yeah. I mean, not really. They're both therapists, so sometimes I think they forget that how they interact with their patients and how they interact with people who are not their patients should be different," she laughs. "They can be a little… intense."

"But yeah — other than that, pretty normal. I'm an only child," she pauses thoughtfully, "unless you count the turtle they got me when I begged for a sibling."

Tim chuckles, "Why can I just picture the happy, chaotic ball of energy you were as a kid? I have no doubt that a sibling was probably exactly what you needed."

She laughs, "Yeah, the turtle wasn't the best at keeping up, so I started spending all my time at my best friend's house. Not sure my parents really thought that one through. But hey, at least I learned how to speak Tagalog."

Tim arches an impressed eyebrow.

"You're so lucky. I bet you and Genny caused all kinds of trouble when you were kids. I would have killed for a partner in crime. What was that like?"

His smile falters for a second, "Uh. Yeah, it was… fun. We had a lot of fun."

Lucy waits to see if he'll continue, but when it's clear he isn't going to, she goes on. "Anyway, back to my parents. I guess you should know — they are pretty liberal. They aren't huge fans of law enforcement. Especially given their professions and the impacts of incarceration on mental health. It's a touchy topic so probably just best to steer clear," she advises.

Tim nods slowly, his expression turning slightly wary.

"But,I'm sure it'll be fine," she rushes to reassure him. "I think it's more of a hate the system, not the individual cogs sort of thing, you know?"

Tim snorts with laughter, "So I'm a cog now?"

"Aren't we all? Don't even get me started on their views on the downfall of journalism and the loss of trust in media and my decision to dedicate my life to a dying, toxic profession."

Tim raises his eyebrows, "Sounds delightful."

"Honestly, I'm still kind of surprised they agreed to do this at all after they refused to come to the wedding. I don't even really know why I asked them. But I guess theyaremy parents, and itwouldbe nice to have their support," she shrugs, feeling a bit wistful.

He nods his understanding, and for a moment he's looking at her like he's puzzling something out. "Well, I promise to be on my very best behavior," he teases sweetly.

Well, dinner turns out to be even more awful than Lucy could have imagined.

Obviously, she'd been aware enough of her parent's feelings toward law enforcement to warn Tim. Hell, she's even inclined to wholeheartedly agree with their views in a lot of ways.

But both of her parents know and thankfully love Jackson, and she's never, ever heard them go at him the way they are going at Tim right now.

Apparently, they feel a lot more strongly about someone's profession and life choices when that someone is married to their daughter, however temporary it may be.

She can feel the stress radiating off of him at her side, as he attempts again to politely deflect an attack on his livelihood.

"I don't know how people can put that uniform on and still look themselves in the mirror in this day and age, knowing that they are serving such a broken system. You're basically a paid bully for the city," her dad asserts matter-of-factly. And as much as she knows his heart is in the right place, she really hates how righteous he can be on topics like this, unwilling to hear or consider other points of view.

Tim winces, but only offers a curt nod in response. He's trying so hard to be respectful and understanding, even though she knows it has to be hard for him to not stand up for himself, his choices, and his beliefs.

"Dad, how is a system going to change if there aren't good people in it, working to change it?"

Her father scoffs. "Right, sure, let's hear it then. What exactly are you doing to make change then, Sergeant Bradford? To fix a system that is rooted in corruption and discrimination? A system that is far more focused on punishment than rehabilitation?"

Oof, she'd walked Tim right into that one.

Tim swallows uncomfortably, "Sir, I don't disagree with you that there are major issues —"

"Bàba, please," Lucy quickly cuts in, hoping to spare him. "Can we please just talk about something else? Tim is our guest, and I'm sure you're making him uncomfortable," she says pointedly.

Her mom looks irritated at Lucy's chastisement. "Of course, let's talk about the elephant in the room, then."

She waves a hand around at the cameras and film crew. "How's this going for you, Lucy? Did all your dreams come true?"

Lucy flinches, and Tim bristles.

"Or can you finally see that your father and I are always looking out for your best interests? We love you, honey, but decisions like this one do little to instill confidence in us that you're focused on the right things."

Lucy looks on the brink of tears, as she just nods, clearly unable or unwilling to defend her choice to do the show.

Tim adds a millionth reason to the list of reasons he has for wishing he hadn't fucked this whole experience up for her. He thinks about how satisfying it would have been to show up here and show these people just how wrong they are about their daughter.

Mrs. Chen is still going. "As if dropping out of grad school wasn't enough, now this? Your reputation is all you have in this world, sweetie, and you've made yourself into a spectacle.

"At some point, we are going to have to have a conversation about your lack of direction and focus. Lucy, we just hate seeing you waste your potential. You could be doing something so much more meaningful with your life."

Lucy's eyes flash with indignation and frustration. "I love my job — it makes me happy and I'm good at it. And I don't understand why you can't just support me?"

If her mom hears Lucy's plea, she doesn't give any indication. "I mean, imagine if you had finished grad school, or better yet, gone to medical school — you used to love chemistry in high school, do you remember that? Think about the impact you could be having, all of the people you could be helping."

Tim shakes his head in confusion. Are they actually talking about Lucy? Intelligent, empathetic, ambitious Lucy?

He's shocked that they'd be so critical of their daughter, who is obviously highly accomplished in her field (and hell, even if she wasn't, she'd still be deserving of their support), but he's even more shocked that they don't seem to have any qualms about tearing her down in front of him, or in front of the cameras.

He looks over at Lucy and her entire energy has changed. She seems so much… smaller.

"Respectfully, I have to disagree," his voice is tight but civil, and all three Chens swivel their heads toward him as if they've entirely forgotten he was there.

Lucy's eyes are wide and she gives Tim an almost imperceptible shake of her head, but it's too late. He's already opened his mouth and solidified his spot on the Chens' shit list; may as well make it worth it.

"Your daughter single-handedly did more to dismantle the drug trade in this city than anyone else I know. Than entire agencies of people. I couldn't even begin to guess how many lives she's saved through the investigative work she did.

"And maybe it's just me, but I'm not sure how anyone who was in contention for a Pulitzer could possibly be wasting their potential."

Lucy glances toward Tim in surprise because that is definitely not something she had shared with him. Or anyone really.

And though she hadn't expected to walk away with the prize for her investigation into the cartels, it had been a huge honor to even be submitted for consideration.

Both of her parents look a bit shell-shocked.

"Huh… well — I guess I didn't realize that article you did was so impactful," her mom finally manages. "That's great, honey. We're so proud of you. Why didn't you tell us you were considered for a Pulitzer? "

The rest of dinner passes cordially enough, the topic of Lucy's wasted potential effectively tabled.

Lucy intertwines her fingers in Tim's as they walk out to the car. They are both quiet. And Tim is starting to wonder whether he has completely overstepped. It really hadn't been his place to insert himself, but truly he's still shaking his head at how absurd it is that her parents are anything but over the moon proud of their incredibly talented and successful daughter.

"Lucy, I — I'm sorry if I overstepped. I probably should have just kept my mouth shut."

She laughs, "If?You completely overstepped, Tim."

He frowns and moves to open the passenger door for her, but she stops him, tugging him back toward her. She lifts a hand to his cheek and gently brushes her thumb over his skin, warmth radiating from her as she raises her eyes to his.

He sucks in a breath, unsure of what to expect from her. She arches up on her toes and presses her lips softly against his.

And for as much as their last kiss had been passion-fueled in the heat of the moment, this one is the complete opposite.

It's short and sweet, but so very deliberate, and maybe one of the best kisses Tim has ever gotten for that very reason.

She squeezes his hand as she pulls back. "I know how you feel about that article, Tim. I know that couldn't have been easy… And you really didn't have to — but thank you."

His throat goes dry, and he rubs the back of his neck, feeling strangely — is he actually nervous? What is that strange fluttering in his stomach?

He swallows before admitting, "I — uh, I think I'm starting to realize I was wrong about a lot of things, Lucy."

"Is that so?" she asks softly, sliding her arms around his waist as she allows her cheek to settle against his chest. And he is certain he'll never get tired of this — the way she shows her affection. Never get tired of being the person she chooses to show it to.

"Uh huh." It's all he can manage as he presses his eyes closed and pulls her closer, suddenly feeling a lot more hopeful about what lies ahead.

"Tim?" Lucy ventures as she gradually pulls back, much to his disappointment.

Her eyes are flashing with amusement. "What other amazing things did you learn about me from Google?"

Notes:

Short chapter this week; go enjoy all of the amazingChenford Week content(includingmine) if you haven't already!

Summary:

Lucy worries as Jackson's situation at work evolves; Tim and Lucy continue to grow closer despite having to have a difficult conversation and hitting a few communication stumbling blocks; nobody wants to get naked on TV; Tim almost fails a Lucy Test

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter fornotes.)

Chapter Text

Communication

Week 3, Day 5: Thursday

Thursday morning, Lucy wakes to a troubling message from Jackson. He'd gotten back from Palm Springs on Tuesday and returned to work the day before.

Something really bad almost happened yesterday. I think Stanton's starting to suspect I may not be on board with his tactics. Talk after shift?

She quickly responds.Yes — of course. Sooner if you can. Please be careful, Jackson.

The situation continues to swirl in her mind as she showers and readies herself for work. She doesn't even register that Tim is talking to her in the kitchen until he reaches over to touch her elbow.

"Are you okay?" his eyes are filled with concern as he studies her.

She nods her head, "Yes." Then shakes it, "No." She huffs a frustrated sigh as she tries to focus on the conversation at hand. "Sorry.I'mfine. I just…" she trails off, knowing it's absolutely not her place to share Jackson's business with anyone else, especially not someone who also works for the LAPD.

But god, she is so worried about him. His text was just vague enough to send her to a worst-case scenario panic room, but the last thing she wants to do is put more on his plate by pestering him for more information.

It's not the first time she's considered talking to Tim about Jackson's situation at work. He's more senior in the department — he's been around almost a decade longer and may have connections or insights that could be helpful. At a minimum, he can offer a different and potentially more relevant perspective than Lucy can. But she's wavered, unsure if she can truly trust him with something like this.

Then she thinks about the trust he'd placed in her when he'd warned her about the virus, and the decision is easier for her to make.

She sucks in a breath and meets his eyes. "I'm worried about Jackson," she confesses.

His brows knit together in confusion, "Why? I thought you said he was in Palm Springs. Did something happen?"

She shakes her head. "He was, but he's back. It's not about that. It's about work. It's his partner."

Tim's expression changes and his shoulders tense, and Lucy suddenly feels like she is talking to Sergeant Bradford, seasoned veteran of the LAPD, and not Tim, her concerned made-for-TV husband. "Why is Jackson talking toyouabout an issue with his partner?"

Lucy bristles. "Whywouldn'the? I'm his best friend."

Tim sighs, softening a bit as he processes her aggravation. "Lucy, I know that. But you're not a cop. Worse than that — you're a reporter. These kinds of things… it's just better if they're dealt with in-house."

She feels a bit indignant, despite Jackson having said almost the exact same words to her. "He's not talking to me as a reporter, Tim. He's talking to me as his friend."

He immediately arches an eyebrow as if to say, "Remember that time I thought I was talking to you as my wife?" And though he doesn't actually say anything, she feels as if he's just forced her to eat her words.

She shakes her head, turning her gaze to the floor as she tries to sort through her confusion and frustration at where the conversation has ended up.

She frowns as Tim closes the distance between them. He gently takes hold of her upper arms, rubbing his hands up and down to comfort her. And despite her irritation, she does find the contact and his closeness reassuring.

"Lucy, I'm sorry. I should have just let you finish. What's going on?"

And if she's honest, she's feeling a bit sulky about his handling of the conversation so far and less inclined to open up to him at the moment. But in this particular case, it's not about her.

"He thinks his partner might be a racist," she says simply.

Tim's eyebrows shoot up almost into his hair, and a wariness again enters his expression that puts Lucy on guard.

"That is quite the accusation. Does he have proof?"

Lucy pulls out of his hold. "Are you being serious right now? Do you think we'd be having this conversation if he had proof? God… you really do see the world in black and white."

She immediately regrets the words as soon as she sees the wounded expression cross his face, hand flying up to her mouth as if the movement can somehow shove the words back in. She feels suddenly on the brink of tears.

Everything about this situation is so damn hard. Such a confusing mix of physical and emotional intimacy combined with the fact that they've only known each other for two and a half weeks all on top of the stress of their real lives and having to film a reality TV show. They're still learning to read each other, figuring out how to communicate and disagree when things get emotional or heated.

"Tim — I — I didn't mean that. I'm sorry," she explains, knowing that it's not nearly good enough to make up for how painful it must have been for him to hear her throw those specific words back in his face after what he'd shared.

He nods stiffly and turns away from her, heading to the sink to rinse his coffee cup and load it into the dishwasher.

He doesn't even have to say a word for her to feel the wall that he is rapidly assembling between them.

He pauses, hands gripping the edge of the sink before he turns to face her, "I should get going. But…" he swallows and Lucy can tell he's struggling with his next words — fighting himself and his expert wall-building army. "Uh — maybe we can try talking again tonight?"

And she feels as if her heart might be melting because it's the tiniest of olive branches, but she knows how hard it must be for him to reach instead of lash out when he's hurting.

She briskly crosses the kitchen toward him and throws her arms around his middle. It takes a few moments for him to relax enough to respond, but he eventually does return the hug, allowing his chin to rest on top of her head as he soothingly runs his hand up and down her back.

She pulls back just far enough to look at him, lifting a hand to his cheek, and meeting his eyes with her own. "I really am sorry, and I really didn't mean it."

He laughs softly. "I don't think I've ever met anyone as good or efficient at apologizing as you are," he teases.

She rolls her eyes, and he reaches up to affectionately tuck her hair back behind her ear.

"I'm sorry, too. I promise I'll try to actually shut up and listen tonight if you'll give me another chance?"

She nods her agreement, slipping her arms back around him for a final squeeze as he presses his lips to the top of her head.

Unfortunately, Lucy doesn't end up getting to see Tim at all that evening. She burns half the morning digging into Stanton's previous partners and his past at the LA County's Sheriff's Department. (Yes, even despite Jackson asking her to stay out of it; she has to dosomething.) After already having lost time to the needle incident last week and then the virus situation on top of that, she is left having to scramble to make the deadline on her story about the misuse of funds earmarked for houselessness.

She spends the bulk of the day out in the field on follow-ups and then works late into the evening getting the article written. She's so absorbed in her work that she doesn't even think to check her phone until after 8:30.

Shit.Jackson was supposed to have called her.

But it's not a missed call from Jackson that pops up via her notifications, but rather multiple texts from Tim. She feels an immediate wave of guilt; she hadn't even thought to give him a heads up that she'd be working late.

Shit.This just isn't something she's used to — being married and going home to someone. Sure, Jackson would have worried if she'd been out until the wee hours with no mention, but he wouldn't bat an eye if she made it home before midnight. And they are usually in such constant communication he already knows when she has work or social plans that may keep her out a bit later.

She immediately hits the call button, not bothering to read the rest of the messages after seeing the first.What do you think about tacos for dinner?

He answers immediately. "Lucy? Are you okay?"

She feels a warmth spreading through her core at the obvious concern in his voice, despite feeling like an asshole for making him worry.

"I'm fine. I'm so sorry. I'm still at work. I just got caught up with this story and lost track of time."

He's quiet for a few moments, and she can't help but wonder what he's thinking.

"That's okay," he finally says, and she wonders if it's as strange for him as it is for her — this married couple dynamic they've been forced into while not being entirely sure what they actually are to each other.

"Listen, I'm probably going to be here for at least a few more hours. Please don't wait up."

He's quiet again for a few more beats, and he sounds unsure when he finally ventures. "Is that safe Lucy? I can come get you whenever you're ready — if you want, I mean."

And it's almost just too much — this man can be a real asshole, but he can also be so incredibly sweet. It's obvious he's worried, but trying not to overstep or imply that she can't take care of herself. She's never been a fan of protectiveness stemming from possessiveness, but this — protectiveness rooted in genuine concern — makes her feel safe and valued. Safe and valued in a way that makes her wish she was home with him instead of here, trying to perfect an article that she's put months of [literal] blood, sweat, and tears into. She's not sure she's ever felt that way in any of her prior relationships — compelled to choose time with a partner over her passion.

"Oh, no — Tim, you don't have to do that. I'll have one of the night guards walk me to my car. Trust me, I do it all the time. I'll be fine, but thank you for offering."

And she says it so casually, so airily, there's no way he could ever know that she strategically chooses her parking spot every day so she'll never have far to go from the stairs or elevator in the garage. No way he could know she always has the exact route to her car mapped out in precise detail (and two backups as well), knows the names and shifts of every guard in the building, knows the position of every light and how it flickers, knows every damn shadow on the path back to her car. No way he could know that she can't walk to her car alone at night or even in a sparsely populated area during the day without her keys clutched in one hand, pepper spray key chain always at the ready. Or that she keeps her other hand in her bag settled on her taser. Or that the gun she keeps in her dash is always, always loaded. Because no one is more aware of her safety than she is.

He makes a "hmmph" sound that indicates that the idea that she does this all of the time does not actually make him feel any better.

"Okay. Well, call me if you change your mind. It doesn't matter how late. Otherwise, I guess I'll see you in the morning then?"

"Sounds good. Thank you, Tim."

"Good night, Lucy."

Week 3, Day 6: Friday

Lucy's excited to see Tim the next morning after having missed him the evening prior. She gets up extra early to maximize her time with him even though she'd barely gotten any sleep as it was.

Tim comes through the door with Kojo in tow just as Lucy is finishing up omelets for them both.

"You're up early," Tim observes.

Lucy glances up from the stove and her eyes go wide as she begins to cough, choking on her own spit.

"You okay?" There's just enough cockiness in the gleam in his eyes for Lucy to recognize that he knows exactly what's gotten into her.

She drinks him in — his shirtless chest glistening with sweat and the perfect V of his hips drawing her eyes down to the waistband of his basketball shorts. It should be illegal for a man to have an upper body that looks this good.

"I — uh — I didn't know you ran shirtless," she observes as heat begins to pool in her cheeks.

He shrugs nonchalantly. "Only in the summer. And only on the really hot days."

Really hot, indeed.

"Hmmph," she observes, not sure how she feels about all of LA getting this particular show. At the same time, she wonders if she should rethink her initial response of laughing in his face when he'd invited her to join him on his morning runs. She prefers sleep and hot yoga, thank you very much. But perhaps the occasional run wouldn't be theworstthing.

Lucy continues to shamelessly check him out as Tim focuses on hydrating himself and Kojo. He settles onto a bar stool to watch as she plates one of the omelets and pours him a cup of coffee.

"This is nice. What's the occasion?" he asks as she moves around the island to set his plate and mug in front of him.

She smiles and shrugs, as she steps closer to him. "Just felt like it, I guess."

She loops her arms around his neck and Tim laughs, trying to lean back from her. "Lucy, I'm going to get you all sweaty."

"I don't care," she says as she pulls him back toward her, and then further still until her lips are capturing his.

And apparently, that's all the convincing he needs because he slides his arms around her and pulls her even more tightly against his warm, perspiring body as he deepens the kiss.

She sighs with pleasure as they pull apart just enough to get an oxygen fix.

"This is nice. What's the occasion?" Tim teases again, voice a throaty whisper against her lips.

She smiles against his mouth as she kisses him again.

They make out just long enough for Tim's coffee and omelet to get cold.

There's a unanimous decision that it was worth it.

Lucy settles on the stool next to him with her [also cold] tea.

Tim glances over at her as he begins to eat. "We never got to finish that conversation about Jackson's partner."

Lucy nods, realizing she still hasn't heard from Jackson about the specifics of what happened.

"Yeah, I mean, I think we covered the gist of it. I don't have all the details — I just know his partner has made some calls that Jackson has found concerning. And I'm really worried about him. He needs to be able to count on his partner to have his back."

"Jackson's a P2? At North Hollywood?"

Lucy nods.

"How long has he been a P2?"

Lucy's brow crinkles as she works through some mental math… "Um maybe like a year and a half. He finished the FTO program toward the end of 2020."

Tim nods but doesn't say anything.

"Is that a problem? Jackson had made it seem like it might be."

Tim sighs deeply and shrugs, "I mean… it's good that he's not still probationary, but yeah — a big disparity in seniority isn't going to favor the more junior officer. And stuff like this — allegations of misconduct — it can get really complicated —"

"What is so complicated about it? He's a racist. With a badge and a gun. In 2022," Lucy interjects with frustration.

"Lucy —"

"I swear to god, Tim — if you Pollyanna me, I'll —"

Tim shakes his head, reaching over to give her thigh a comforting squeeze.

"I wasn't going to Pollyanna you."

Lucy narrows her eyes.

"Okay. Maybe just a little," he concedes. "All I'm saying is that this stuff can be almost impossible to prove, and even with proof, there are so many protections in place for cops. Combine that with the union, multiple opportunities for appeal, and a legal defense team that will rip apart every detail surrounding the allegation, including going after the accuser, and it's highly unlikely any meaningful disciplinary action will be the outcome.

"And you're right to be concerned — if Jackson is actively going after his partner, things could get very, very dangerous for him. He needs to lay low and tread very carefully, Lucy. Or Stanton will continue to get away with whatever he's doing with other cops unified behind him, and Jackson will pay — with his career or with something far worse."

A chill runs down Lucy's spine as she processes Tim's warning.

"This is so messed up. He's just trying to do the right thing, Tim. And you're saying that could what? Get him injured? Or even killed?"

Tim frowns, "Lucy, if I thought there was an easy answer in this situation, you know I'd give it to you. But it's —"

"Complicated," Lucy fills in. She sighs with resignation, "I know things aren't that simple, but I hate this. It's so wrong that he's in this awful position, and I'm really worried about him."

He studies her carefully for a few seconds. "I know you are, Lucy… Listen, I'll see what I can find out without drawing attention. Maybe there's some way I can help; let me think about the best course of action here, okay?"

Lucy feels her worry rise in her chest. Clearly, Tim is in a better position than Jackson, but it's more than clear no cop would want to touch this situation with a ten-foot-long pole. She shakes her head, "You don't have to do that, Tim. The last thing I want is for both of you to be caught up in this mess."

Tim gets to his feet and lifts a hand to cradle her cheek before pressing his lips to her forehead. He pulls back to look at her, "I want to. And you don't have to worry. I know what I'm doing, okay?"

She nods gratefully, feeling a warm wave of comfort and hopefulness wash over her.

That evening, Lucy and Tim film for a few hours, They attempt to cook dinner together, all the while mercilessly teasing and bickering over therightmethods, utensils, temperatures, and just about everything else. Lucy gets particularly annoyed when Tim suggests that maybe her entree would be a bit more…flavorfulif she just incorporated the patented Tim Bradford method of seasoning.

Her annoyance melts away, though, when he slides up behind her and nuzzles his face into her neck as he pulls her back against his chest. She's far too easy, she knows, but how is she supposed to hold a grudge when he smells so good and the scratch of his stubble against her skin makes her thighs automatically clench together?

They do a few silly communication exercises while they eat. One exercise requires them to maintain prolonged eye contact, which effectively devolves into a staring/laughing contest. Mature, highly over-competitive adults that they are, they spend the bulk of dinner silently making ridiculous, idiotic faces at each other in an attempt to claim victory. They both win the prize of looking extremely dumb (albeit adorably so) on national TV.

They settle in for a movie after dinner once the crew leaves and make it through about ten whole minutes before Lucy invites herself onto Tim's lap. She straddles him and slips her arms around his neck. He groans with pleasure when she hungrily kisses him.

It doesn't take a genius to realize that he's going to be a bit gun shy about being the physical aggressor after what happened when things heated up so rapidly between them on Monday night when Tim finally made it home. But Lucy doesn't mind; she's comfortable going after what she wants — for now, anyway.

Or at least she doesn't mind until they are over ten minutes into a heated make-out and his hands haven't strayed from where they've been chastely planted on her hips since they started. She had his shirt over his head by the two-minute mark — the image of his glistening naked torso from this morning still fresh on her mind. But even his damn thumb doesn't stray far enough to brush over the bit of exposed skin above the waistband of her jeans.

She contemplates moving one of his hands to her boob and the other to her ass herself, but then decides that moving at a pace that is comfortable for them both is probably more important than her need to feel his hands all over her body — for now, anyway.

She slides off of him after a few more minutes of making out that would at least make the tween version of herself blush.

The movie turns out to be pretty good once they rewind, and she has to admit that being wrapped tightly in his arms while they watch isn't the worst way to spend a Friday night.

Week 3, Day 7: Saturday

They get an email from production the next morning with information about the theme and activities for the next week. Lucy pulls it up on her phone as they finish up their lazy Saturday breakfast at the dining table.

She wiggles her eyebrows playfully at Tim as she reads aloud. "The Art of Seduction.You and your partner will each attend two classes this week that will teach you more about seductive techniques. Physical intimacy is a core pillar of a successful marriage, and the goal of this week will be to help couples that may be struggling in this area move forward.

"You and your partner will both have the opportunity to practice what you've learned in each of the two classes, but only one instance will be filmed. The roles will reverse for the next exercise.

"For the first exercise, you will each attend a class on Sunday,The Art of the Striptease. There will be two different versions of the class — one for the women and one for the men."

Lucy almost chokes on her own words as she processes the text. Tim can feel the heat rising to his own cheeks.Oh hell no.

"What's the second exercise?" Tim demands.

Lucy shrugs helplessly. "It doesn't say. So… um, I guess we need to decide which one of us gets to strip on camera?"

Tim's already shaking his head, "Oh no, that's all you."

She arches an eyebrow in disbelief, "Excuse me?"

He scoffs, "Come on, this is clearly meant for the girls. I'm sure next week will be something more masculine. I'll do whatever that is."

Her jaw drops open. "I'm sorry, what? Did you just say stripping is for girls? Do I need to introduce you to the Magic Mike franchise? Take you to see the Thunder Down Under? I had no idea you were such a sexist, Tim."

Tim frowns, realizing he should probably shut his mouth if he doesn't want to dig himself deeper.

"Maybe I don'twantto strip on national TV, Tim. Did you think about that?"

He frowns because he hadn't. Frankly, it seems a lot more up her alley than it does his. She loves dancing, is smoking hot, and is confident as hell. If he wasn't so worried about having to execute his own strip tease, he'd already be salivating in anticipation of hers. But at the moment, all he can focus on is how much he absolutely does not want to do this. He honestly hadn't been expecting her to push back like this.

And while, yes, the idea of anyone's eyes on her other than his own isn't particularly appealing, there is nothing he wants to do less in the world than an on-camera striptease. Hell, he'd even marryanotherstranger before agreeing to this. Maybe even several.

"Lucy, come on. Please. You could just stand there in a damn ski suit while some music plays if you wanted and still be the sexiest woman in LA; I'll look like a complete idiot. Think about if the guys at work saw this. It's bad enough I'm on reality TV at all. I'dneverhear the end of it."

Lucy glowers at him. "Ah, yes, because I guess I should just be grateful for the opportunity to go back to work and have the pervy intern leer at me?"

Tim's frown deepens as they stare at each other, clearly at an impasse.

Lucy switches tactics, walking around the table until she's standing behind his chair. She slides her hands down over his shoulders and chest and leans down until her lips are close enough to brush his ear.

"How about you do the on-camera one, andthen, when I do the off-camera one, I promise I will make it very, very worth your while?"

Tim's throat goes dry as his traitorous dick twitches in response to the visuals her sensual whisper is inspiring.

But no — just the idea of having to danceandstrip on camera is far too offensive to even consider.

He stubbornly shakes his head, "No deal."

He sighs at the loss of her soft warmth as she moves away from him in a huff, clearly offended by his almost immediate rejection of her offer.

She crosses her arms and glares at him. "You're seriously going to make me do this? Even when you know I don't want to? Thanks a lot, Tim."

"Come on, Lucy. I don't want to do it either, okay? And who knows — next week could be even worse. I'm willing to take that risk for us both."

"How generous of you," she deadpans.

Her lips form a pout until she eventually throws up her hands. "Fine. I guess it's on me. Guess we know how things will work if we ever need to compromise on something neither of us wants to do."

The bit of relief he feels from her agreeing to do it his way is extremely short-lived when she turns to leave the room grumbling something about him being a sexist asshole and chivalry not just being dead, but the victim of a brutal murder.

He presses his eyes closed, wondering if there's anything he's capable of refusing to do for this woman.

"Lucy…" he whines.

She turns back to face him, crossing her arms stiffly over her chest. She stares at him, not even a glimmer of her sweet smile on her face.

He groans. He cannot even believe he is saying this. "If you're gonna be likethatabout it, then fine,I'lldo it."

The smile that spreads across her face and the sparkle of joyful laughter that appears in her eyes leaves him suddenly feeling like he's been duped.

He narrows his eyes, "Were youtestingme?"

He's had it just about up to here with these little Lucy tests. He thought he was hard on his boots during training, but he's got nothing on his new bride — who apparently is quite capable of being a little asshole when she wants to be.

She shrugs coyly, crossing the room toward him. He gazes up at her suspiciously as she bends to loop her arms around his neck. Despite himself, his hands automatically move to her hips, tugging her even closer.

She presses a kiss to his forehead and then pulls back to meet his eyes. "Maybe next time you should just ask nicely, Tim, instead of being a presumptuous, stubborn, chauvinist idiot," she suggests helpfully.

She giggles and squirms as he sweeps her into his lap, arms circling her and crushing her into his chest

"You little—"

Her mouth pressing against his cuts him off, and… maybe just this once he doesn't mind being interrupted.

Jackson comes by later that morning. Lucy had demanded to see him in person for an actual conversation since they hadn't been able to properly catch up following his text on Thursday.

She calls him on his drive over to confess that she'd confided in Tim about his situation. The fact that he doesn't seem bothered in the least is all the indication Lucy needs to know that the situation is only continuing to get worse.

The greeting between Tim and Jackson isn't particularly warm, but the fact that it's not cold either is enough for Lucy to feel a pang of hope.

"Lucy told me about the situation with your partner. I'm sorry, man — that's a really difficult position to be in."

Jackson nods, "Tell me about it."

"I did a little discreet digging yesterday; I hear he's a solid cop."

Lucy internally cringes as Jackson stiffens.

Oh, Tim. You sweet, stupid man.He really does have a way with words sometimes.

Tim puts his hands up as if to ward off their objections. "I'm not sayingIthink he's a good cop. I'm just passing along what I heard."

Jackson nods, but Lucy doesn't miss the tension that remains in his shoulders.

"Look, I know you're not asking for my advice. But for whatever it's worth, know that this is what I would tell you if you were one of my former boots."

Jackson indicates he's listening with a shake of his head.

Worry creases Tim's forehead, "Listen, you know as well as I do how messy this stuff can get. I think you should just keep your head down for a little bit. Put in for a transfer once the things die down. I'll put in a good word for you at Mid-Wilshire. That should move things along pretty quickly."

Jackson's jaw tightens, "And then what? Just let Stanton keep terrorizing the community? Switch stations and get a new partner? Then just go on pretending I didn't just watch him almost get an entire family killed the other day because he decided walking down the sidewalk while wearing a hoodie and being black means you must be some kind of criminal?"

Confusion flickers in Tim's eyes as he opens his mouth to respond.

"Jackson," Lucy tries to soothe with a hand on his arm.

He jerks away from her touch. "Forget it, Lucy. This was a bad idea. It's always the same answer — keep your head down; look the other way. The entire reason guys like Stanton get a pass is because guys like him hand it to him on a silver platter."

Lucy presses her eyes closed briefly, and Jackson whirls to head into her room. Her heart aches for her friend; she hates seeing him this upset. Hates that he is feeling the weight of the entire broken system resting on his shoulders in this moment.

She glances back toward Tim. He looks stunned and more than a little hurt.

She knows he hadn't meant to be dismissive or ignorant. He was thinking about Jackson as an individual and his career. Trying to help him the very best way he knew how. But it's evidence of his privilege that he hadn't even thought about the broader ramification of his advice. Jackson's words couldn't have been easy for him to hear, but that also doesn't mean they aren't true.

She offers Tim a miserable, apologetic half-smile before quickly turning to hurry after Jackson. He's her friend and he's the one that needs her right now.

She joins Tim on the couch later that evening after Jackson leaves. There's a playoff game on that she knows he's been looking forward to, but the TV is muted. And though he is staring at the screen, he doesn't seem to be registering what's actually happening since the Lakers just hit a wild buzzer-beater from well outside the three-point line to end the first half and he doesn't react.

She shifts until she is flush with his side, fully expecting him to pull her closer. When he doesn't, Lucy takes matters into her own hands, lifting his arm up and around her shoulders so she can cuddle into his chest.

She wraps her arms around his waist and gives him a squeeze. "Are you okay?"

She doesn't really expect him to be. First her father, and now Jackson have forced him to confront some very real and uncomfortable truths about not only his profession, but also about his own potential complicity.

He doesn't respond at first.

"Tim?" she tries again.

She tries not to read into it when he pulls none too gently away from her. She knows he's upset. How could he not be?

He turns to face her, his eyes tired and red. "Is that what you think, too?"

Lucy shakes her head in confusion, "What do you mean? What I think about what?"

He huffs a frustrated sigh. "All of it — that I should be ashamed to look myself in the mirror when I put on my uniform? That I'm part of the problem? That I'm no better than Doug Stanton?"

"Tim," she says softly, trying to think through the right way to answer a very complicated set of questions.

She chooses the easiest one first. "Do you really think I'd be over here crawling all over you if I thought you were no better than Doug Stanton?"

She reaches for him again, hugging his arm into her chest, and this time he doesn't pull away, though he does roll his eyes and grumble her name in response to her deflection.

She idly laces the fingers of her free hand through his. "I think… I think when you're on the inside of a broken system, it can be more challenging to see its faults."

He begins to pull back again, the frustration evident in his voice. "Lucy, I'm not an idiot. I know the system doesn't always work the way it should, and that there are real problems, but —"

It's Lucy's turn to be frustrated. "Could you maybe let me finish, Tim?" she snaps.

He raises an eyebrow at her interruption, clearly irritated, but then just shrugs.

"Ialsothink… that if you're in a system that you know is broken in some very, very serious ways, and you aren't actively working to fix those things — and I mean more than just putting blinders on and making sure thatyou'redoing the job the right way, then yeah…" She meets his gaze, knowing he's not going to like hearing what she has to say. "There's a very real possibility that youarea part of the problem — especially if you're in a position of privilege in that system."

Tim stares at her for a few moments. She can see in his expression that he's completely closing off to her, that he's shutting down.

"Tim, I'm not trying to hurt you or make you mad. I just —"

He nods curtly, getting to his feet. "It's fine. I'm gonna call it a night."

Lucy stares at his back as he heads for his room, frustrated that walking away from her is the choice he's making right now. She's feeling more than a little hurt and angry herself.

Week 4, Day 1: Sunday

Lucy can still feel the weight of her sadness and disappointment when she wakes the next morning, dreading the idea of having to face more tension between the two of them. She really, really doesn't want it to be this way. Not when it felt like they were finally starting to find their footing.

She doesn't feel like she was wrong for what she said, but maybe there could have been a more delicate way to handle the situation. Or maybe they shouldn't have had the conversation at all so close on the heels of him still being so hurt by her father's and Jackson's comments. Of course he was feeling defensive and on guard.

Tim's already at the stove making what Lucy assumes to be his breakfast specialty of salmon and eggs, but when the sound and scent of sizzling butter draws her attention, her stomach rumbles loudly enough for Tim to hear from across the room.

He glances up at her, laughter shining in his eyes as she blushes. "Good morning, Sunshine."

And though she knows they still have a conversation to finish, Lucy feels immediately relieved that whatever had caused Tim to shut her out last night appears to be gone this morning.

She walks over to him and slides her arms around him from behind. "Are you still mad at me?"

Tim adjusts the stove and sets down the spatula before turning to face her.

When he dips his head down to capture her lips in a sweet kiss, Lucy feels a flight of happy butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

"I'm sorry. I know I wasn't — I didn't — " He sighs as he stumbles over his words, taking a breath before trying again. "I wasn't mad at you, Lucy. I was mad at myself. What you said last night, what Jackson said — it wasn't easy to hear, and it was hard for me to process in the moment, but I know I needed to hear it. And I appreciate that you took the time to help me understand. I'm really going to try — to learn more, to do better."

Her eyes well — this man never fails to surprise her, sometimes in the very best ways.

She's not entirely sure there's anything hotter in the world than a man who is willing to listen and reflect and learn.

She tugs him down toward her for another kiss, and suddenly the skillet is not the only thing getting heated.

He groans against her mouth as she nips and sucks on his bottom lip.

"Lucy, I really — shit," he pauses when her tongue slips into his mouth. "I really wanted to make you pancakes."

Her stomach rumbles again and this time Tim laughs out loud.

She pulls back, ready to admit defeat. "Apparently, I really want you to make me pancakes, too."

Lucy's eyes sparkle with mischief once they settle at the table for breakfast.

"So are you excited about learning about theArt of the Stripteasetoday?"

Tim rolls his eyes, apparently not willing to dignify that absurd question with a response.

"You should know beforehand — the effort you put into your striptease is exactly how much I plan to put into mine."

"What?What happened to 'I'll make it very, very worth your while, Tim'?" he finishes in a breathy, high-pitched whisper that is clearly intended to sound like Lucy attempting to seduce him.

Hilarious.

"Hmm… I believe your exact words were… 'No deal.'" Lucy shakes her head, "Should've taken me up on the offer when you had the chance. Now you'rereallygoing to have to earn it."

Tim grumbles something that sounds a lot like "brat" under his breath, but Lucy chooses to let it go. Sort of.

She leans toward him conspiratorially. "You know what would be really hot, though?" She sets her elbows on the tables and rests her chin on her interlocked hands, tilting her head with a dreamy sigh.

He stares at her wearily. "What?"

Her eyes flash with delight, "If you dressed up as a firefighter. Seriously. So hot.Thatwould definitely get you some bonus points.

"And, oh my god… if you grabbed your suspenders while you did that little body roll, hip thrusting thing…"

Tim doesn't speak to her for the rest of breakfast. Sometimes it's bestnotto communicate.

Notes:

Welp, what'd ya think? Let me know how it's going!

Kudos and comments are always so appreciated ️

Summary:

If you're here for the plot, you will be sorely disappointed.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter fornotes.)

Chapter Text

The Art of Seduction

Week 4, Day 5: Thursday

Tim tosses back another shot — he's so many deep he can't even feel the burn of the liquor as it slides down the back of his throat. He hasn't had a night of drinking like this since his twenties. Desperate times and all that…

Naive little reality TV novices that they are, Lucy and Tim learned at their respective classes on Sunday that they hadn't actually had achoicein the matter of who would be stripping for whom.

Production already had grand plans for a Magic Mike-esque1group routine for the men (minus the actual talent) and the women would have to wait until the weekend to learn their fates.

Theonlything Tim is grateful about in this entire debacle is that they didn't end up having to wear costumes. There will be no defiling of a cop or military uniform. And thank the lord he doesn't have to be a f*cking firefighter. Instead, they'll perform in jeans and tearaway shirts masquerading as button-downs.

So after hours of rehearsal (yes, rehearsal) — what the actual f*ck has his life become — here he is in an empty practice studio turned makeshift bar with five other men, bonded together by their shared misery. Thirty minutes until showtime.

A movement at the entrance of the studio catches his eye. And geez, this woman has some kind of power over him, because the instant he registers it's her, the rest of the room fades away for him. She has his full attention.

She's in a frilly little dress just the right side of sexy, which, like her, is somehow the perfect fusion of sweet and irresistible.

And heaven help him, despite the depth of his misery (very, very deep — like the ocean), just the sight of her sends a jolt of arousal through him, his eyes zeroing in on the smooth golden skin of her shapely legs as she approaches.

"Lucyyy," a drunken Chad slurs. "Come here. Have a shot with us."

She laughs, politely saying hello and then brushing him off as she quickly exchanges greetings and pleasantries with the rest of the men.

The way douchebag Chad's eyes follow her as she moves makes Tim want to smack him upside the head. The fact that maybe it's not all that different from the way Tim had been looking at her two seconds ago? It only makes him want to smack him harder. That happens to be hiswife(still weird), and no one else is allowed to have the same dirty, dirty thoughts. Especially not douchey Chad. Or that creepy PA Brad. And if there happens to be a pervy Thad —

Lucy turns her focus to him, thankfully interrupting his nonsensical drunken thought process. And why is he so damn eager to have her attention? He frowns, trying to figure out when exactly he'd turned into such an overexcited puppy. Hmm… must be the booze.

She lightly grazes her fingertips along the underside of his forearm in a way that causes the hairs on his arm to stand on end.

"Can I steal you for a sec?" There's a teasing glint in her eyes, and her lips are pursed as if she's trying to hold in laughter. She is eating this up — loving every moment of his discomfort.

And he should be irritated. Hell, heisirritated. But at the moment, his dick gives no f*cks about his irritation. He readily twines his fingers through hers and follows Lucy obediently out of the studio because he is, in fact, a very good boy.

She pulls him further down the hallway and then pauses, glancing in both directions before opening a door and pulling him into what appears to be an unoccupied administrative office.

Once the door is safely closed behind them, Lucy slips her arms around his neck, arching up on her toes just long enough to barely graze his bottom lip. Her lips are gone before he can even properly register the pleasure of her touch.

"Ugh, Lucy," he half groans, the other half of the sound possibly bordering on a whimper, if that was a sound he was capable of making. (It most certainly is not.) "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," she smiles coyly. "I just thought you might need some help getting your seductive juices going before you attempt to seduce me…"

He swallows, eyes darkening as she pulls him back down to her, this time graduating to a nip before cruelly abandoning him.

This entire week has been a recipe for blue balls — a battle of wills she most certainly has won, though he has hardly been an innocent bystander. A series of encounters following the exhaustion of excruciatingly long days of work and filming, each one pushing the envelope the teensiest bit further.

On Sunday, he'd given her a quick peck good night by the door, Kojo's leash in hand as he prepared to take him out for a final time that evening. "Is that it?" she had demanded, clearly unimpressed with his lackluster display of affection. She'd fisted her hand in the front of his shirt and pulled him back to her for a kiss that had left him in a daze for the duration of Kojo's walk and then some.

On Monday, he'd returned the favor, backing her into the wall in the hallway as they crossed paths just before bed, his mouth devouring hers as he relished in the feeling of her soft, perfect curves pinned beneath his body. He'd let his lips wander down her neck andjustfar enough south along the neckline of her flowery little robe that she'd refused to let go of him when he pulled back, her indignant pout indicating that she was not amused. He'd chuckled softly, leaving her with a chaste kiss on the forehead.

On Tuesday, she'd wandered out into the living room in nothing but a T-shirt. He eyed her warily over a file he was reviewing for an early meeting the next day for some new task force or another. She'd crossed the room until she was standing directly in front of him, bending practically in slow motion to collect her laptop.Come here, the taunting text on her ass entreatied. She wiggled her rear before straightening, and he'd had just about enough.

She had laughed and squirmed when he tossed his file aside and grabbed hold of her, one forearm wrapping around her front to hold her in place as he used his free hand to grab a generous handful of her sassy little ass. He'd playfully sunk his teeth into the plush curve of the other cheek before finally releasing her.

She'd whined and grumbled something about, "Was he trying to break her laptop?", but her eyes were still dancing with her laughter as she bent to kiss his cheek and say goodnight. He'd given her a final squeeze for good measure.

On Wednesday, things had gotten hot and heavy after dinner. She'd climbed into his lap, and he'd let his hands wander boldly over her curves. And when she wickedly ground down onto his dick and then left him hanging? Sheclaimedshe just didn't want to spoil him for later in the week. Tim's eyes had narrowed as she meandered back into her bedroom, tossing a sweet, "Good night, Tim," over her shoulder. He'd started to suspect the power was going to her head.

And thus, here they are, on Thursday evening, and all Tim can think about is how badly he wants her. He walks her backward until she brushes against the desk. He swiftly boosts her up onto the surface, hands parting her knees so he can stand between them. He covers her mouth with his own before she even has a chance to respond. The sound of her moan as he roguishly slides his hand [and her dress] up the length of her thigh is almost enough for him to forget why they're here.If only.

They are both breathing heavily when they finally pull apart.

"Whew," Lucy gasps, as she attempts to straighten her hair and her dress. Her cheeks are adorably flushed, and it takes all of his willpower not to finish what they've started. "Yup, all right, juices appear to be flowing just fine. I think my job here is done."

Her eyes meet his as they pause in front of the door and she lifts a hand to his cheek, "You're gonna do great."

And though he dismisses her with a gruff, "No doubt," that reeks of false bravado, a part of him is melting inside at just how good the sweet encouragement and vote of confidence from her makes him feel.

She rolls her eyes, clearly seeing right through his front, giving his hand a final squeeze before they go their separate ways. "I'll see you out there, Bradford," she promises, wiggling her eyebrows in a way that reminds him just how much she's loving every bit of his suffering.

The alcohol and Lucy's (cough) encouragement are enough to get him onto the "stage" — they are performing in a dance studio with plenty of space for the women, the film crew, production, and then some. The women are spread out around the room, each seated in their own chair. How else would they have enough space to enjoy the pleasures of their partner's targeted gyrations in front of an audience of twenty?

To literally no one's surprise, Tim decides to phone it in. Shouldn't it be enough that he's here at all? He certainly thinks so.

He hovers in the back barely bothering to move other than to stay in his spot in their absurd little formation while Chad hams it up front and center and the others are some muddle of best efforts and drunken resignation. For once in his life, Tim is glad for Chad's presence because the man is actually good enough at this to draw every eye in the room to his chiseled body as he flexes his biceps, thrusts his pelvis, and rolls his hips in tune to the music. He'd bet money that male stripper is a line on Chad's resume.

Alejandro's a close second, clearly comfortable in his own skin and easy-going enough to make the best of the situation.

Arjun and Malcolm are more awkward, but the combination of alcohol and knowing just enough of the choreography to get by drives them to at least attempt to power through.

Poor Michael is by far the worst, even worse than Tim who is barely bothering to move. But he performs with more heart than all of them combined. Surprisingly, ice queen Gianna is watching him with an unexpected softness in her eyes, eventually jumping to her feet to cheer him on.

His eyes gravitate to Lucy and though she's smiling widely and laughing at the antics of the other men, she doesn't have the same delighted twinkle in her eyes that the other women do as they watch their partners willingly humiliate themselves for their entertainment.

She smiles encouragingly at him when she notices his gaze on her, lifting her fingers to her mouth to emit a shrill whistle before vocally cheering him on despite his complete and total lack of effort.

And dammit. Looking at her is a mistake because it makes him want to suck it up and try. Makes him want to make sure she knows that she matters to him just as much as any of these women do to their partners. That she matters more than his pride and stubborn refusal to participate in something so ridiculous.

Fuck it.Eyes locked on hers, he sighs deeply and shakes his head as he catches the beat. Her eyes go wide as he rolls his hips, gyrating in time to the music2. Her mouth drops open when, eyes rolling practically to the back of his head, he lifts his shirt to offer her a glimpse of his abs. He's still shaking his head as holds his arm out in front of him and drops lower to perform some absurd motion called a cowboy hip thrust. Look, it's not that hecan'tdance; it's theprincipleof it all, okay?

Lucy's jaw is completely agape by the time he pulls his shirt open wide, taking slow intentional steps toward her as he works it down over his arms. He tosses it in her direction with a patented Tim Bradford smirk, and he could swear her cheeks are starting to tinge pink.

Her eyebrows shoot practically into her hair when he drops to his knees, sliding across the floor until he's on the ground in front of her chair, finishing off with a ridiculous thrusting motion in her direction. She begins to fan herself, tongue peeking out between her teeth as he executes a few one-handed push-ups, his stance wide before ending with a floor thrust that has her squealing his name as she almost falls out of her chair.

He fights back a smile as they enter the last mile, a sequence that involves a lot of ass shaking, hip thrusting, and body rolling as he straddles her chair and ends up basically in her lap. She presses her lips together, clearly attempting to keep a straight face as she grazes her fingertips over his torso, but by the end she is cry-laughing. The studio is filled with the sound of the women's howls, and though comic relief wasn't exactly what they were going for with their dead sexy moves, no one complains.

Lucy wipes at her eyes, grabbing for his hand and following as he gets to his feet, ready to begin the search for his dignity — assuming, of course, there's any left to be found.

She's still laughing almost uncontrollably as she throws her arms around his neck and presses her lips to his cheek. "Thank you; that was amazing!" she says as she pulls back to meet his eyes. And as he gazes down at her, taking in how damn happy she is, he finds himself feeling like it was worth it.

But then he remembers the part about this airing on national television and thinks that next time he wants to make her happy he'll buy her something pretty and take her swimming with turtles instead.

He will never,everbe able to live this down.

They all end up at a restaurant and bar near the studio where they grab dinner and the men celebrate making it through their performance. It's a rare opportunity for the group to cut loose and catch up sans camera crew.

Unsurprisingly, Alejandro and Megan are doing well — still completely enamored with one another. Every time Lucy glances their way, she notices they are touching or showing affection to one another in some way.

It compels her to reach for Tim's hand under the table, and she feels a wave of fondness toward him as he laces his fingers through hers and squeezes her hand without missing a beat in the heated debate he's having with Chad and Malcolm about the Rams rookie readiness heading into training camp.

"So Malcolm and I have decided we'll be going our separate ways," Camila announces after their entrees arrive, to everyone's surprise. "We just want different things long-term, but honestly we're still having such a good time with each other — we've decided to make the most out of the rest of this experience until Decision Day."

Arjun and Sonia seem content, though Sonia reveals during a trip to the bathroom that she's struggling with their sexual chemistry (or lack thereof). Lucy wonders what it would be like to have been paired with someone she doesn't think about getting naked with at all hours of the day.

Elyse reveals that she and Chad have already called it quits, both discreetly attempting to see other people while they go through the motions for the duration of their contracts with the show.

Gianna comes through with what is hands-down the most surprising reveal of the night as the women gather around the bar for a final shot to end the night. "I think — I think I might be falling for Michael," she confesses. Jaws drop open in disbelief — this is a woman who'd sworn up and down she would never be attracted to Michael.

"I know, I know, okay. It just sort of happened. All the time we have to spend together with this whole thing — he just — I don't know. I've never been with a man who really wants to get to know me, you know? He cares what I think and what I want. And he's patient and kind. And he just treats me really, really well. It just made me think about all my past relationships and the kind of men I've been attracted to, and yeah… he's really great," she finishes with a shrug and a sheepish expression.

Lucy muses aboutherpast relationships and how Tim stacks up — somehow both far betterandworse because he would be that infuriating. Stupid hot, adorable idiot that he is.

"So, how are you two doing?" Megan asks Lucy as they wait outside of the restaurant for their Ubers. Tim joins them just as she finishes the question, sliding his arms around Lucy's waist from behind. She's realizing that drunk Tim is also a more touchy, affectionate, and attentive Tim, and she kind of adores it.

When she doesn't answer after a few beats, Tim fills in for her. "We're good. Just still figuring things out, you know?"

There's a tightness in his voice though, and she knows he's wondering why she hadn't answered. Hell, she'd like to know the same.

He gives her a squeeze and presses a kiss to her temple, before releasing her and moving back toward where Alejandro, Sonia, and Arjun are speculating about the next "exercise" a few feet away.

Lucy bites her lip, feeling suddenly confused about why answering that question had felt like so much pressure.

Megan, oblivious to the brief flicker of tension between them, smiles at Lucy. "He's so sweet with you," she gushes.

And he really, truly is — when he's not being an idiot, that is.

Week 4, Day 6: Friday

The studio is dimly lit when Tim arrives the next night for Lucy's private show. The sound of lightly thumping bass filters through the speakers — the song is a strange fusion of upbeat and sultry. This studio is smaller than the one they were in yesterday. Three of the four walls are floor-to-ceiling mirrors, with a long, deep bench running along the back wall. Half a dozen poles are spaced out across the room, anchored between the floor and ceiling. And though his throat goes dry at even the thought of Lucy on one of those, he's honestly kind of wishing he didn't have to be here tonight.

It's been a long day, not at all helped by his excessive drinking the night prior. A string of unsolved kidnappings is starting to get a lot of attention from the press. Patrol units under his oversight had been the first to respond in two of the five cases, and he's feeling the weight of it more and more with every day that goes by without a break in the case. The fact that the bulk of the investigation is out of his hands at this point only makes it worse. It's his least favorite position to be in — one where he isn't in control.

Much like the situation he's in with Lucy — they are creeping up on two weeks since he'd told her he wants to give things a real try. Perhaps idiotically, he'd assumed she was on the same page — they've only grown closer since his close call with the virus; things seem to be progressing in the right direction. But her hesitation to answer Megan's question in front of him the night prior had left him unsettled. A reminder that he'd willingly put himself in a position of vulnerability when he'd left the ball in her court. It feels a lot like waiting to be shoved off of a ledge, with the building growing that much taller every day. A perfect scenario for his worst instincts to kick in — the instincts that had earned him this precarious position to begin with. But he's really trying to prove to her that he can be a different man. Trying to prove it to himself.

He settles down in the middle of the bench, allowing his head to fall back against the wall and his eyes to close while he waits. He's not entirely sure what he's expecting. Maybe that she'll come out in a hot little prisoner or cop outfit and taunt him with a pair of furry handcuffs. Or a firefighter with her very own hose if she's feeling extra sassy. Hell, he wouldn't be surprised if shedidcome out in a ski suit, do a couple of twirls, and call it a day just to teach him a lesson. She certainly does seem to enjoy putting him in his place. Both the most aggravating and most addictive woman he's ever been with. She would be that confounding.

The music shifts to a set of melodic guitar chords3, gradually increasing in volume until the sound fills the entire room. The lights change colors, bathing the studio in a reddish glow. He straightens, the anticipation of her entrance winning out over his exhaustion.

Lucy enters from the opposite side of the room. Her back is to him, but he can tell she's in a silky red robe. She reaches up to let her hair loose from where it is piled high on top of her head. It tumbles over her shoulders — a little bit curlier and wilder than her day-to-day waves.

Huh. This is already off to a pretty good start. He tries not to think too much about the things she could be doing as he tangles his hands in that hair.

She turns in his direction and even from across the room, his eyes are immediately attracted to the perfect deep red of her pout and the smoky shadow making her already beautiful eyes appear more mysterious and seductive.

He swallows when she raises her eyes to his. He's not feeling quite as much the eager puppy toward her today, but she certainly is still very, very capable of having an impact on him.

Her lips curve upward and she offers him a shrug as if to say,here we go.

He offers an arched eyebrow and a cocky half-smile as if to remind her just how worthwhile she'd promised to make this.

She begins to move, each of her strides timed perfectly with the music. She weaves in and out of the poles, moving fluidly as she occasionally grips one and swings halfway around, adding bits of momentum to her movement in a way that is somehow both playful and sexy. In a way that is completely her.

Considering that on any given day, merely existing in proximity to her is sufficient to turn him on,thisis something else entirely. And he's not entirely sure he's going to be able to survive it.

She stops when she reaches the pole in front of him.

She holds his gaze as she tugs on the tie of her robe. His eyes are completely glued on her as she allows it to slide over her shoulders and down her arms until it's fallen completely off. She balls the garment in her hands. She tosses it right in his face, as if to remind him that he'll get what she gives him and be happy about it.

She's lucky the fabric is soft and that it smells so damn good — just like her. So he's willing to forgive her for her completely unwarranted violence — just this once.

He tosses the robe aside so he can take her in — she's in a piece of red lacy lingerie4that he wouldn't know how to describe as anything other than the sexiest, tiniest dress he's ever seen. His eyes linger on where it's slit all the way up to her hip on both sides, held together by nothing more than a pair of flimsy laces. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he takes in the spots where the fabric is sheer, teasing glimpses of even more skin.

This is a good look for her. He swallows. Averygood look.

His eyes slowly trail up and down her body, and then back up to her face. And it's maybe the look in her eyes that has the biggest impact. Locked unapologetically on his. Conveying that she is fully aware of just how much he wants her, and that she is dead set on making him want her even more.

If he'd thought thatmaybethe power was going to her head earlier this week, he's absolutely certain of it now. This woman is going to make him get on his knees and beg.

And he's not sure he's ever been this ready to grovel.

His throat has gone completely dry. She takes hold of the pole with both hands. The vocals on the song5begin.

Did you really think I'd just forgive and forget?

Huh, well, that sounds promising.

Lucy swings her leg back before bringing it forward to hook around the pole, hanging on with one hand as she allows her body to arch back and around. She grips the pole with both hands behind her, unhooking her leg and allowing the momentum to pull her all the way around.

It's then that he realizes that the pretty lacy tiny piece of fabric she's wearing is even tinier than he'd realized — her entire back exposed, save for two thin straps crisscrossing her upper back.

Apparently, she doesn't just want him to beg, she wants him to die right here.

She continues to move, and damn he wishes he could slow it all down — take in every bit of her as she dances. She flips her hair as she bends at the waist. And how the hell is every single little thing she does so damn sexy?

She reaches both hands back up over her head to grip the pole and rolls her body in perfect time to the music, sliding down its length until she is falling forward onto her knees.

As the verse transitions to the chorus, she grips the pole with both hands, arching her back almost into a complete backbend as she pulls herself back into a standing position.

He shakes his head in disbelief, watching as she reaches her leg back behind her to hook around the pole, completely leaving the ground as she spins. Her body is the perfect combination of softness and strength as she maneuvers higher, continuing to rotate. This is not at all what he'd imagined — it's as beautiful and mesmerizing as she is.

By the time she's back on her feet, Tim finds himself questioning whether maybe he'd gotten a head injury at work and is just hallucinating all of this because that is exactly what this feels like — the hottest, sexiest, most absurd hallucination he's ever had. Everything about this is surreal, and he can't entirely wrap his head around the fact that this is all for him. Thatsheis for him.

As if she senses he's questioning reality as he knows it, she begins to hum along with the song as she makes her way over to him. When the chorus hits again, she joins in and Tim's mouth drops open. Becauseholy fucking shit.

This isn't singing along with the car radio singing along or singing in the shower singing along — her voice is clear and confident and so perfectly sultry that he has to actually remind himself to clamp his mouth shut. She can sing. Likereallysing. Like could probably win American [or, you know, Canadian] Idol sing.

How had he not known this about her? How had he failed to realize how ridiculously talented she is on top of everything else she excels at?

He has always been a fairly confident man when it comes to dating and women, despite not always being particularly suave when put on the spot as Angela loves to remind him. But he's never lacked for attention from women, and frankly, he's never been turned down when he has been interested enough to pursue.

But watching Lucy now, he is very seriously questioning just how far out of his league she might be.

He gets literal chills when she perfectly hits a pair of hauntingly drawn-out notes leading into the chorus.

I'll remember those words, when I come for your soul…your soul

You know that you…you dug your own grave…now lie in it

you're so cruel…but revenge is a dish best served cold

Everything about her is so beautiful that he isn't even bothered by the additional evidence that she is most definitely trying to murder him.

I see red, red, oh red

A gun to your head, head, to your head, oh

Executioner style, and there won't be no trial

Don't you know that you're better off dead

Yup — there's no doubt about it now. He is absolutely in some kind of fever dream. That explains all the red, at least.

All I see is red, red, oh red

Now all I see is…

She stops in front of him, bracing one hand on his shoulder as she lifts the other to his cheek and brushes her thumb over his stubble — her eyes dancing with the perfect combination of passion and laughter and sweetness as she leans down to brush her lips against his.

He can't stop himself from wrapping his arms around her and attempting to pull her closer.

She laughs, pushing him back and winking as she warns him to —

Sleep with one eye open tonight.

She loops one hand around his neck while shifting the other to playfully squeeze and rub along the length of his thigh.

"Hi," she breathes softly, eyes searching his, seemingly to gauge his reaction to all of this.

Unfortunately for her, he's forgotten the English language. He just shakes his head as he stares up at her in amazement, because who is this woman? And what the actual fuck has he ever done to deserve a single bit of this?

Despite not remembering words (any of them), his hands still work, so he slides one up the back of her thigh until he reaches her very bare ass tucked away under the lacy, flowy stuff. He gives her a squeeze to reassure her that she's doing just fine.

She playfully swats his hand away. "I'm not sure if you know how lap dances work, Tim, but you're supposed to look, not touch," she haughtily chastises.

He arches a surprised eyebrow. "And just how many lap dances have you given, Lucy?"

Lucy snorts as she grabs hold of his shoulders, shoving him back against the wall before climbing on top of him, straddling his lap with her knees.

"Apparently, more than you've received."

"Bold of you to assume I've never gone undercover in a strip club."

"Bold ofyouto assumeI'venever gone undercover in a strip club."

Touché.

She presses her chest against his as she leans closer to find his ear.

She bites his lobe none too gently, and his hand travels back to her ass to return the favor.

She experimentally rolls her hips in time to the music as a new song6begins.

Fuck.At least his death will be a happy one.

She finds her rhythm, grinding down in a way that has him certain he's going to come in his pants if she doesn't stop. He groans, possibly louder than he's ever groaned. Every single bit of this is too much. It feels too damn good.

Lucy laughs as she takes in his glazed expression, his eyes locked on her cleavage, which she's very conveniently positioned at eye level for him to enjoy.

She leans back slightly, easing up on her movements as she fingers the strings at the side of her chemise.

And that certainly wakes him up. He straightens, his grip on her hips tightening with anticipation.

He frowns as she plays with the strings but ultimately releases them. He toys with the abandoned ties and her eyes narrow. And he would honestly like to know — where is the gratitude? This unchecked power will destroy her. He is trying tosaveher.

She swats his hand away again, vindictively rolling her hips in a way that brings him so much pleasure he has to lift her off his lap halfway through the movement to prevent a premature end to the night.

She tips forward to press her nose to his. "You wish, Bradford," she taunts.

And he does. He really, really does.

He sighs as she laughs, allowing his head to fall back against the wall. "What's it gonna take to get you to stop torturing me like this and just get naked already, Lucy?"

She tilts her head to the side in consideration. "Hmm… what are my options?"

He digs his fingers into her ass and she yelps in surprise as he chuckles. She shakes her head but doesn't complain, instead wiggling herself more firmly into his grip.

"What did I tell you about asking nicely, Tim? Maybe try that," she offers with a self-satisfied smirk. "Preferably with a long list of all the things you adore about me."

He scoffs.

She shrugs, all wide-eyed innocence. Lies, damn lies.

"Fine, I'll ask nicely." He grins lazily up at her. "Lucy, will you please, for the love of god, show me your tits already?"

She apparently finds this less amusing than he does. She rolls her eyes. "Realnice. You're such an idiot, Tim."

He shrugs, "I saidplease."

She frowns, gripping his shoulders as she pushes herself up from his lap and gets to her feet. "Fine, whatever."

He keeps hold of her hand and pulls it to his lips. "Come here," he orders.

She narrows her eyes, and he decides for her, tugging her back to him and across his lap.

He cradles her cheek, guiding her mouth to his.

She sighs contentedly in response to the sweetness of the kiss.

He holds her in place, their foreheads pressed together. "Thank you, Lucy. This — tonight — it was incredible.You'reincredible."

She pulls back to look at him, her expression unreadable as she studies him.

She then proceeds to do possibly one of the cutest things amidst the sexiest experience he's ever had. She leans in to press a quick kiss to the tip of his nose, and he's not entirely sure how he can feel this level of adoration for her while simultaneously feeling an insatiable urge to fuck her senseless.

She pushes out of his lap again, but this time she doesn't turn away from him. She keeps her eyes trained on his, undoing one tie and then the next, before easily pulling what's left of the chemise over her head.

His jaw drops open — for all of their teasing and banter, he hadn't actually expected her to take things any further. She has given him more than enough tonight — more than he could have dreamed of.

He drinks her in, his entire body responding to the sight of her in nothing more than a tiny red thong.

Fuck.This might just go down as the perfect murder.

Lucy's seen Tim look at her with lustfulness before — hell, for a few days at the beginning there, lustfulness and irritation were the only expressions he seemed capable of wearing. But she's not sure she's ever seen him look at her with this much hunger.

She crosses back to him and lowers herself onto his lap, facing away from him. She immediately feels the evidence of his arousal.

His hands grip her hips as she begins to alternate rolling her body and grinding down into him. She arches her back, one hand reaching behind her to grip the back of his neck, her fingernails gently scraping over the short hairs.

He presses hot open-mouthed kisses down her neck and along her shoulder as she moves.

She uses her free hand to slide one of his hands up from her hip slowly over her stomach until it is settled over her breast.

His groan of pleasure is so deep it's practically a growl. And god, his hands on her and the friction of their bodies as she moves over him — she can feel herself getting lost in the moment.

She forces herself up from his lap, meeting his eyes as she switches positions. His gaze is searing as he follows her movements, and it sends goosebumps prickling up all over her body. She crawls back onto him, facing him as she straddles one of his legs.

And she has just barely begun moving against him when the chorus hits a crescendo and he is gripping the back of her neck, pulling her face down to his, their lips crashing together almost painfully, but both too caught up in each other to care.

His hands move to her ass, his grip firm as he surprises her by getting to his feet and taking her with him. She lets out a squeak of surprise, but doesn't break away from his lips. She wraps her legs tightly around his waist as he walks her back into the nearest wall, the glass of the mirrors cool against her back.

His mouth continues to work over hers almost feverishly, tongue unabashedly exploring as his fingers grip her ass. He leans her back against the mirror as he attempts to shift his grip, fingers straying toward her heat.

The final chords of the song fade away and it's like a spell has been broken. They are both panting as Tim gradually lets her down so she can find her feet. He tips his forehead down against hers.

"Shit. Sorry. I didn't mean to —"

She tugs him down to her for another passionate kiss as the next song7begins.

Lucy shakes her head when they finally come up for air, lacing her fingers through his and pulling him back toward the bench. She pushes him down into a seated position, dropping to her knees in front of him, situated between his legs.

"Lucy —" he weakly attempts to protest as she works to undo his belt, and then the zipper of his jeans.

She ignores him, instead choosing to join in with the vocals playing overhead. Something about the way his gaze darkens as the words escape her lips tells her she's made the right choice.

He doesn't put up a fight when she motions for him to lift his hips so she can pull his jeans and boxers down his thighs.

His cock springs free, more than ready for what she has planned.

She licks her lips, her eyes sparkling mischievously as Tim gazes down at her in utter disbelief. He presses his eyes closed, wondering just how badly he's going to embarrass himself when he comes as soon as she touches him.

Fuck.How is it even possible to be this turned on?

She presses a soft kiss to his tip, the tinge of her red lipstick staining his skin. A brand. A mark of territory. A sign of ownership. It doesn't matter which. She can have whatever she wants.

Her tongue flicks out to capture a tiny bit of pre-cum glistening on her lip before she leans down to collect what's left directly from the source.Fuck.

She works her tongue up along the underside of his shaft, pressing a bit harder as she approaches the head, in exactly the right spot.Fuck.

He collapses back against the wall. Stars. He's seeing stars.

And when she finally takes him into the welcoming warmth of her mouth, he is completely gone. Lost in pleasure and how strongly he feels compelled to give her everything. Anything she could ever want. Because there is no possible way he'll ever be able to catch up. To meet her capacity to give and love and care.

He cradles her face with his hand, brushing his thumb tenderly over her cheek before pushing her hair back behind her ear. He allows his fingers to tangle in the silky strands but doesn't guide her or apply pressure. This is all her, and she quite obviously doesn't need any help from him.

He reaches his other hand down, the soft warmth of her breast in his palm making him that much hungrier to touch more of her, to please her like she's pleasing him. He settles for working her taut nipple between two of his fingers.

"Lucy," he warns hoarsely as he approaches his climax, reaching down to stop her from completing another torturously delicious stroke down his length.

She smacks his hand away for possibly the thirtieth time that night, before settling her palms back onto his thighs and sliding them upward in time with the bob of her head as she takes his length back into her mouth. His head falls back against the wall as he releases into the perfect wet warmth of her mouth. And he can feel the pleasure of it thrum through his entire body; it feels so incredible he's shaking

And god, it should be illegal to feel this good. He dazedly watches her throat work as she swallows and he slides his hand appreciatively along every part of her that's within reach — her shoulder, her arm, her chest. He wants to be as close to her as possible. Feels almost desperate to try and make her feel as good as she just made him feel, though, truly, he's not sure it's possible.

Her eyes meet his as she finally pulls back, and he moans as she licks her lips before running her fingers around her mouth to clean up, a slight reddish smudge of her lipstick the only evidence that remains.

He reaches down to tip her chin up, tenderly brushing his thumb over her skin to clear away the bit of color.

He's still struggling to remember how to form words. This — all of it — has been completely unreal.

The playlist ends and the room goes quiet, and even as he is reaching to pull her up off of the floor and into his arms, she is pulling further away.

He groans, attempting to reach for her. "Where are you going?"

She laughs, and it sounds strange in the now silent room. "Show's over, Bradford."

She feels suddenly, inexplicably shy and raises an arm to cover herself, which doesn't make a lick of sense given the eye [and hand] full he just got.

But it's different. That had been part of the show (okay, maybe a tad bit more than what they weretechnically assigned), but it had been like playing a role or playing a game. Like it wasn't actually her.

This — whatever is actually happening between them outside of the forced exercises and the show — it's suddenly feeling very, very real.

She leans across him to retrieve her discarded robe and can feel herself flushing as he follows her every move with his eyes.

She doesn't regret a thing. She hadn't exactly planned for things to go as far as they had — but his response to her — seeing how into this he was, how intoherhe was — it made her want to take things further.

He's just been so damn good to her since they've been back in LA. And then yesterday — seeing him do something so far out of his comfort zone, something he viscerally didn't want to do, just to make her happy — it made her want to give him something back, to makehimhappy.

And she's not upset so much as she is overwhelmed — at how strong the attraction and chemistry is between them, at how strong her feelings are becoming — strong enough that she's heaping blow jobs and lap dances on a man she swore she wouldn't let ever touch her again less than a month ago.

And things are going so fast —toofast. And yet they aren't going fast enough because all she wants is to get even closer and it is terrifying.

She feels him come up behind her as she secures the robe.

He slides his arms around her and nuzzles his face into her neck, and she feels a wave of comfort wash over her.

"Are you okay?" And of course he's this tuned in to the slightest shift in her emotional state when heshouldbe basking in the afterglow of his orgasm. What an idiot.

She nods, turning to face him and wrapping her arms around his waist.

"Yes," she says simply into his chest.

And she is. She really is. Some part of her might be terrified and overwhelmed, but a bigger part of her is happy and more than content to just enjoy this moment with him.

She angles her head back to kiss him but he beats her to it, squeezing her tighter against him as his lips capture hers.

"That was unbelievable, Lucy."

She laughs. "Don't ever say I'm not a benevolent dictator."

He snorts. "Idohave one complaint, though…"

She pulls back so he can see howinterested she is in his feedback. Not even the slightest bit interested.

"The main event — it felt alittleunbalanced."

"Mmm… good try, Bradford. But you're gonna have to show me more of those moves if you want to get into these panties again."

His groan reverberates through the studio. "Never again, Lucy. Never again."

His voice is husky in her ear as he wraps an arm around her from behind. "You know… we've got twenty minutes before we need to leave for our class…" He nuzzles his face into her neck, and Lucy tries to squirm away.

"That tickles," she complains in response to the scratch of his stubble against her skin.

"I could tickle you somewhere else…" He presses a hot open-mouthed kiss to the crook of her neck.

Lucy snorts with laughter, reaching for the dish towel to dry her hands after their post-lunch clean-up.

"As romantic as that sounds, I think I'll pass." She turns to face him.

He frowns down at her, suspicion darkening his blue-eyed gaze. There's no way she's not at least a little bit sexually frustrated after the week they'd had and especially not after last night.Unless…

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?" Lucy pushes past him and heads toward her room to get changed.

He catches her around the waist, swinging her back into his chest as she laughs. Tim leans over her shoulder to press a few sloppy kisses to her cheek.

"Timmm," she groans, reaching a hand up to wipe away the lingering wetness. But despite her protest, she relaxes back into his hold and arches her head back against his shoulder as he slides the strap of her tank top out of his way and delivers a few substantially less slobbery kisses along her shoulder.

She sighs with pleasure — she never would have pegged him for someone that was all that physically affectionate outside of the bedroom (though, arguably, heiscurrently attempting to get her into bed). But she's loving every minute of it.

His lips brush her ear, "What'd you do after we got home last night, Lucy?"

Her brow crinkles in confusion. "What do you mean? You know what I did — I went to bed."

She feigns innocence but can already feel the heat prickling her cheeks.

"Uh-huh… You know, it's weird. I swear my Rams shirt was right at the top of my hamper yesterday, but this morning it was just… gone. You haven't seen it, have you?"

Lucy shrugs.Be cool, Soda Pop.

She tries to think about anything other than breathing in his scent as her fingers had worked diligently to remediate their little "balance" issue from the night prior. It doesn't work.

She can feel her cheeks flame.Busted.

He chuckles, squeezing her a little tighter. "You know I'm right here, ready to be of service… whenever you're ready for the real thing, Lucy," his voice is throaty and just smug enough to turn her on and piss her off at the same time.

But she's never really been gracious in defeat. She pulls out of his arms in a huff. "I don't know what you're talking about, Tim. But just to set the record straight — unlike you, I'm perfectly fine with delayed gratification."

Tim's eyes narrow at the infuriating creature that, unfortunately for him, has also become the object of his affection. "What do you meanunlike me?"

"Hmm, nothing really… just that you were ready to get on your knees and beg is all…" Her level of self-satisfaction is outrageous.

"I wasnot," he refutes with righteous indignation best suited to a twelve-year-old.

He absolutely was, but that's beside the point, and he's certainly not going to admit that to little miss 'delayed gratification' over there.

"Sure… whatever you say, Tim," she taunts.

They stare at each other, locked in a silent standoff as they size one another up and try to figure out exactly what they are arguing about and — more importantly — how to win.

"Perfectly fine with delayed gratification, huh?" Tim retorts.

"Thatiswhat I said," Lucy asserts defiantly.

She absolutely is not; like her peers, she's really more of an instant gratification type. But she's certainly not going to admit that to cocky mister 'ready for the real thing' over there.

"Huh. Well… I guess we'll see about that." His lips curve into a rakish smirk that makes her knees feel a bit wobbly.

She nonchalantly places a hand on the counter to steady herself, while forcing a confident nod.

His lips twitch as he follows her movement, and it's so damn rude. But also, why the hell does he have to be so damn hot? How can she be expected to function when he looks at her like that? It's truly ludicrous.

"I guess we will," Lucy challenges back with the petulance of a fifth grader.

Wait, what?

What does that even mean? Certainly not anything good for her, considering they'll be working through their next attempts at sensual seduction this weekend. And this time, Tim will be in the driver's seat.

Well, shit.

"Now remember, you want to apply the oil in a structured way. Put it in one hand first and then warm it up by rubbing your hands together. Use short strokes at first. Long strokes don't work until we have an oil base."

Lucy's kneeling behind a half-naked Tim, whose only wearing a pair of low-slung sweatpants.

And she's trying to focus — she really and truly is — but she's finding it awfully difficult. Of course she's seen him shirtless before. She's felt his chiseled upper body underneath her palms, felt it pressed against her own bare chest. But she's never really had the opportunity to study him in this way — to focus on nothing other than his broad shoulders, the muscular definition of his back, and his sculpted arms.

Why is it so damn hot in here? It's summer in LA. The entire globe is in the process of warming. You'd think they'd know to crank up the AC.

She bites her lip as she dribbles a few drops of oil between his shoulder blades and watches as they slowly traverse down the planes of his body.Delicious.

"Oh, no. Not like that, Lucy. Here, let me show you."

Lucy frowns, shifting back, as one of their two instructors, Mercedes, moves between her and Tim, rubbing the oil between her hands before rubbing her hands over Tim's upper back and shoulders.

Does her unhappiness have anything to do with the fact that Mercedes is a literal swimsuit model? It most certainly does not. She'd be annoyed at any woman who was so blatantly disrespecting her reality TV marriage.

The pretty instructor has been glancing over at them all afternoon, taking every opportunity to come over and correct Lucy and put her hands all over Tim in the process.

And did he — did he just groan with pleasure? She is going tomurderhim.

"See — just like this," Mercedes demonstrates. "Do you want me to show you again?"

Tim sighs something that sounds a little too much like "yes" for someone who ever wants to see her naked again.

Lucy's voice is tight when she finally responds, "No. Thanks. I think I've got it from here."

She pinches the back of Tim's arm as she settles back in behind him once Mercedes moves on to help another struggling masseuse-in-training.

He yelps in protest. "I don't think you're doing that right, Lucy," he complains as he leans away from her touch.

"Want me to ask Mercedes to come back and demonstrate again?" she hisses into his ear.

"Is that an option?"

And though she knows he is absolutely goading her, it still earns him a solid thwack.

"Whoops, sorry, just trying out that tapotement technique… guess I need a little more practice," Lucy explains sweetly when a few curious eyes turn in their direction.

Tim rubs his still tingling shoulder, grumbling something about her not being able to take a joke.

Mercedes is like a moth to a flame for the rest of the afternoon, and try as he might to appear unaffected and disinterested, it's pretty obvious Tim is enjoying the attention.

Lucy's so pissed she can't even enjoy what a flustered, awkward weirdo Tim turns into every time the pretty instructor comes around, oozing her sexual energy all over him.

Shockingly, when it comes time for Lucy to seduce Tim with her newly acquired skills later that evening, the massage isn't particularly steamy. But at least it's efficient. Production quickly moves on once they realize there is quite literally nothing to see beyond Lucy experimentally poking and prodding at Tim's back while he whines about her technique, or lack thereof.

Tim flips onto his back once the small crew leaves them alone in the private massage room.

Apparently finally ready to move beyond his massage class infidelity, Lucy teasingly bends deeper than necessary over the table as she slides her hands up his chest.

He groans his appreciation, eyes locked on the rapidly lowering neckline of her tank top. "Nowthisis more like it."

She eventually shifts downward to work on his thighs. Lucy raises an eyebrow when a little tent appears in the thin sheet draped over his pelvis. "Do you always have that reaction during a massage?"

He reaches over to squeeze her side. "Only when the masseuse is as hot as you are."

Lucy eyes him distrustfully, "Does that mean this has happened before?"

"Would it bother you if it had?" Tim asks lazily, too blissed out to notice just how far into the danger zone he's waded.

"That depends… did it happen earlier with Mercedes?"

Tim opens his mouth to plead innocence, but it's too late, she's caught the flash of guilt in his expression.

"I think we're done here," Lucy snaps, throwing his robe over his chest and turning on her heel to exit.

"Lucy — come on. It's just biology… it doesn'tmeananything… I was thinking aboutyou…"

So much for his happy ending.

Lucy's still a little ticked off when they make it back home later that evening.

"Lucy," Tim pleads as he follows her into the apartment. She leans back against the kitchen island, crossing her arms in annoyance as she waits for him to grovel. Because he is definitely going to have to grovel.

"Come on. Why are you so mad? All that stuff back in class — you know I was kidding. The only hands I want on me are yours. Come here."

"That's not what it sounded like," she fumes, not budging an inch.

His lips twitch, and she sees red. "I'm sorry — do you find something funny about this, Tim?" she seethes.

Tim shakes his head and chuckles before crossing over to her and pulling her into his arms. "I do actually. I find it hilarious that you're so dumb."

"That is theworstapology I've ever heard."

She pushes back from his chest, and he hurries to finish. "I just mean… you have absolutely nothing to worry about, Lucy."

"Who says I'm worried?" she grumbles, but then gradually relaxes into his hold, pursing her lips thoughtfully. "I'm listening…"

Tim has to admit he's kind of enjoying this. While things have been undeniably hot and heavy between them, he's still trying to get a read on where Lucy's head is. Fucked up as it is, it's kind of reassuring that she's bothered by the idea of him getting attention from another woman. And he's finding this little jealous streak of hers kind of adorable.

They settle onto the floor in the living room — Tim with his back against the couch, and Lucy seated between his legs.

"You know I'd take a shitty massage from you over an amazing massage from Mercedes any day, right?"

Lucy scoffs. "Needs improvement," she evaluates. Then, "Even with my tapotement technique?"

He laughs. "Especially with your tapotement technique. I kind of like it when you get a little feisty."

She bites back a smile. "You're an idiot."

He slides his hands down the length of her arms and presses his lips to her shoulder. He settles his hands over hers.

"You know I'm crazy about you, right?" He slides his hands back up her arms, continuing on to work up into her shoulder blades and back as she sighs with pleasure.

"Hmmph," is Lucy's only response.

Tim grins, allowing his hands to settle on her shoulders. "Because you're amazing…"

"Go on…"

He leans in to kiss the nape of her neck. "And fearless… and too damn smart…"

Lucy arches back as Tim slides his hands down her sides, settling on her hips as he turns his focus to working his thumbs into her lower back.

"How am I doing?" he breathes into her ear.

"Mmm… good. So good. Don't stop."

Tim chuckles, resting his chin on her shoulder as he slides his hold around to her front, kneading into her hips and upper thighs. "And so ridiculously talented… excluding volleyball, of course. And funny… and too damn caring for your own good… "

The sound of her moan cuts him off, and he laughs out loud, giving up on the massage and instead wrapping his arms around her, pulling her firmly back against his chest.

"Oh you like that, huh?" he rumbles in her ear.

"Mmmhmm," she twists around, angling her face toward his.

Tim leans down to graze his lips over hers. "And." He kisses her again, this time delivering a proper peck. "So." His lips work more earnestly against hers until he gets them to part. "Fucking." He slips his tongue into her mouth, swallowing her soft sounds of pleasure as he pulls her practically into his lap for a better angle to explore her. "Hot."

She's turned completely sideways and they're both breathing heavily once he finally releases her.

Lucy gazes dreamily up at him. "You're really fucking hot, too."

Tim waits patiently for her to continue. But, apparently, she's done. He frowns, "That's it?"

"Really,reallyhot?" Lucy revises, offering him her most angelic smile.

He frowns, and then lifts her off his lap and gets to his feet.

"Where are you going?" Lucy whines, fingers tangling in his as she attempts to stop him.

Tim returns her deceptively innocent expression. "I wouldn't want to spoil you for tomorrow, Lucy. Besides, what was that you were saying? Something about how much you love delayed gratification?"

Lucy narrows her eyes as Tim turns his hand in hers and tightens his grip to help her to her feet. He dips his head to kiss her again once she's upright.

"Or… you could just admit you're a lying liar who lies, and I'll take you to bed right now, Lucy," he growls in her ear as he gives her ass a playful squeeze.

"Hmmph," she tilts her head back and pulls him back down to her for a final, lingering kiss good night.

"You wish, Bradford," she pokes him in the chest before turning on her heel to head for her room.

She pauses and then turns back to face him. "And Tim?"

"Yeah?"

She lifts her finger to point at him, "If I wanted you to take me to bed, you'd take me to bed. No ifs, ands, or buts about it."

He grins because she's absolutely right.

"Is that an invitation?" he asks wolfishly.

Lucy holds back a laugh as she shakes her head at him. "You really are an idiot. Good night, Tim."

Week 5, Day 1: Sunday

"Did they just turn on porn and leave?" Lucy asks incredulously as she turns to stare at Tim.

He arches an eyebrow and shrugs nonchalantly. "I think it's pretty clear what we're supposed to be doing." He gestures toward the screen where a male masseuse is massaging a completely naked, oiled-up woman with an offensively perfect body.

"Don't worry, Lucy. I've received extensive training. I knowexactlywhat I'm doing," he pompously reassures her.

The extensive training was an additional hour of class the men attended this morning to coveradvancedtechniques for their private sessions today that weren't exactly suited for broadcast television

"The goal of tantric massage is to awaken your sexual energy, deepen the intimacy between you and your partner, and increase mindfulness of sexual pleasure and your body," the narrator explains. The voiceover continues to explain that the goal is not orgasm, even as Lucy feels the heat pooling low in her belly.

Despite herself, she can feel her cheeks flush as she imagines Tim doing to her what the man on screen is doing to his partner.

She narrows her eyes at Tim, opening her mouth to set him straight.

"Yeah, yeah," Tim fills in before she can speak. "You wish, Bradford," Tim mimics in a high-pitched, offensively squeaky voice.

"That's too bad. I was actually going to say that looks pretty fucking hot. But we can do it your way."

Tim's hands are warm and the strength of his fingers working into the muscles of her upper back is pretty damn amazing.

"Why are you so tense, Lucy?" Tim teases in a tone with just enough goading for her to know he's implying it's sexual tension. The ego on this man.

"It's clearly the stress of being married to you…" she sighs with pleasure as he adds more pressure in exactly the right spot. He is really damn good at this.

"Uh-huh."

Things only get better as he continues to work his way down her body.

But despite his teasing, he's mostly behaving himself. Possibly a little too well.

His hands creep up her thighs in a way that has her thinking he might be about to earn himself a punch in the face, but also in a way that has her aching, wishing he would keep going. And dammit to hell he is probably eating up the fact that she is so totally and completely turned on.

"Time to flip over," he says, lifting the sheet in a way that is clearly giving him a full-on view of her backside and is definitely not going to cover her top half once she flips. He isn't even attempting to hide his appreciation of the view. So much for behaving himself.

Lucy shoves at him. "Yeah, no — you drop the sheet and turn around. I'll handle the flipping."

He stares at her innocently. "I spent a lot of time on my flipping technique in class. You're in good hands I promise."

"I'm sure." She rolls her eyes.

Occasional gentleman that he is, Tim begrudgingly turns around but is clearly not done with his quest to seduce her. "You know… we learned some other techniques in that class, Lucy. Some techniques that I think you might like."

"Mmm, I'm sure you did. Did you practice on Mercedes?"

Tim snorts but softens as he turns back around to face her. He reaches down to cradle her cheek with his hand and she automatically leans into his to touch.

"Let me take care of you?" he asks softly, brushing his thumb over her cheek.

Her entire body is screaming yes — more than ready to feel this man touch her in all the ways she's been fantasizing about for far too long.

And yet… she hesitates.

She's not sure why she's suddenly feeling so apprehensive about letting him 'seduce' her or the idea of an erotic massage, but she is. It had been different on Friday during her striptease when she'd been the one calling the shots.

This isn't like that. Without control, she feels vulnerable in a way that isn't exactly putting her in the mood to have her Yoni awakened. Which is a damn shame, because, to be honest, this type of spiritual, meditative practice focused on energy is completely up her alley.

And seeing Tim — king of goat yoga that he is — so willing to embrace all of it (though surely, the naked rubbing part has something to do with it), is pretty damn hot in itself.

Something flickers in his gaze and when their eyes meet, Lucy can see it — a tiny flash of uncertainty and even a bit of confusion as he waits for her response and tries to get a read on what she's thinking.

And of course he's confused. Hell, she's confused. They've been flirting with and teasing each other all weekend, presumably building to this exact moment.

"Tim, I —" she wishes she knew what to tell him. Wishes she herself knew what the problem was.

"It's okay, Lucy. I'm not trying to pressure you. I don't want to do anything you're not comfortable with," he says.

And god this is so frustrating. Because she absolutely wants this. Wants him.

And maybe, for whatever reason, she's just putting too much weight on this one thing — feeling like somehow letting him do this signifies some huge shift in their relationship, when, in actuality, they've been all over each other and pushing those boundaries for days.

She's overthinking it, she decides, going back to a mantra that has proven to be pretty damn problematic for her once before already. Sex can just be sex, can't it? It doesn't have to mean something significant. On some level, she could even argue this is perhaps the most transactional of all of their physical encounters — a quid pro quo for Friday night if you will.

And then, on the complete opposite side of the spectrum of her insane rationalizing, she wants him to know that she wants this, that she's comfortable being with him in this way. Because she is, isn't she?

She knows he means what he said, that, despite their idiotic out-of-control flirting and foreplay, he would never, ever push her. But she also knows how she would feel if the positions were reversed — how the mixed signals would make her question him and how he feels toward her. And that's the last thing she wants, though it's absolutely not a reason for her to do this.

None of these things are reasons she should or shouldn't do this. The only reason that matters is exactly the reason Tim has posited — that it's something she wants to do and it's something she's 100% comfortable with.

She grabs hold of his hand. "Come here."

She reaches up to pull him down toward her, kissing him in a way that she hopes is enough for him to know she is still completely in this with him, despite not being sure she wants to take things any further right now.

But when he kisses her back with just as much softness and tenderness and understanding, it's enough for her hesitations to begin to fade, to remember how much she craves closeness with him, and provide yet another reassurance that he has shown her over and over again that he's not the same man who hurt her.

He presses his lips to her forehead before pulling back, fingers twining into hers. "Let's get out of here," he suggests, pulling her hand to his mouth.

"Mmm. No way," Lucy's eyes sparkle with mischief. "I fully expect you to deliver on that sexual favor you just offered me, Officer."

Tim laughs out loud, shaking his head. His expression turns more serious as he gazes down at her.

"Are you sure, Lucy? I promise — all of the teasing aside — I wouldneverwant you to feel like you need to do something because I —"

Lucy shakes her head, cutting him off. "I know you wouldn't. And I wouldn't either. I want to, Tim. I'm sure."

He leans down to kiss her again. "You wanna stop, we'll stop. Just say the word."

She nods, body already heating in anticipation of his touch. His perfect read on and response to her uncertainly only making her want him more.

He turns up the warmer on the bed, and then, eyes on hers, grabs hold of the sheet, waiting for her nod before he pulls it down to her waist and then completely off of her.

And though Lucy fully expects him to dive right into the fun bits, he doesn't. Instead, he slowly and methodically works his way over her entire body, working over her shoulders, and arms, and abdomen, and hips, and legs all the way down to her feet. And shit, how is he so damn good at this?

His eyes unabashedly devour her as he works, and though, maybe in concept, this should make her feel like she's on display or exposed, it instead makes her feel sexy, and beautiful, and appreciated in a way she's not entirely sure she's ever felt before. It also makes her ache to feel his hands on all of the places his gaze is lingering.

By the time he finally works his way back up to her chest, Lucy is a strange combination of absurdly turned on and blissed out — a heady mix that makes her feel a bit like this is some alternate reality.

He palms her breasts and works over and around them with broad circular strokes. She exhales a deep sigh of pleasure.

Gradually, he makes the circles smaller, until his sole focus is on her nipples, gently working over them by moving his thumbs in the same round motion. Eventually, he shifts his hold so that he is grasping the taut peaks between his forefinger and thumb, torturously rotating between gentle rolling, pinching, and tugging gestures that could very well drive her completely mad with want.

Her body tenses as her build and need for release intensifies.

"Doing okay?" he asks softly.

She can't even manage to force her eyes open she's so caught up in enjoying his touch, instead just offering an "Mmmhmm," that's half mumble, half moan.

The tension increases when he works his way south, cupping his hand between her legs and moving it in a slow, gentle circular motion. He gradually flattens his grip, his palm pressing up against her opening as he continues to massage.

Lucy's toes curl and she bends her knees up, parting her legs further for him as she continues to fight the strange euphoric battle between arousal and relaxation.

He works her folds between his fingers in a rolling motion, starting on the outside and then working his way in.

She emits a vocal gasp when his fingers find her clit, making those same torturous circles with the tips of his fingers — sometimes smaller and sometimes larger, sometimes one way and sometimes the other. Sometimes circles and sometimes pulsing. Sometimes pulsing and sometimes tugging. It's just enough variation to repeatedly disrupt her build in a way that is somehow both infuriating and so fucking delicious.

By the time he slips his middle finger inside of her, curving it in just the right way, she is completely and thoroughly edged. She cries out in response to his skillful movements, ready to beg him to take her the rest of the way.

When he stops, she has to stop herself from crying out in protest, only soothed when she realizes he is climbing up onto the table, settling himself between her legs.

He dips his head to kiss her, and his lips are everything to her in that moment — soft and warm and teasing in a way that has her debating where she wants his mouth more.

He decides for her, lifting his eyes to hers for permission as he begins to slide down her body. She is practically panting as she nods vigorously.

He kisses down her neck, pausing briefly to take each of her nipples into the warmth of his mouth before continuing his path south.

The length of the table doesn't give him a ton of space to work with, and Lucy can feel that he's not entirely comfortable by the way he keeps shifting positions. It's making it harder for her to stay in the moment despite how ridiculously amazing he's made her feel. How amazing he is continuing to make her feel with movements of his lips and his tongue against her center.

He finally pulls back when it's clear she isn't getting any closer.

"Let's try another position?" he suggests, swiping the back of his hand over his mouth and attempting to catch his breath.

She pushes up onto her elbows, grateful he has another idea, since clearly what they are doing isn't working for either of them.

He gets to his feet and then helps her off the table, quickly taking over her position — lying flat on his back on the table.

"Come here," he instructs, jutting his chin upward to indicate just exactly where 'here' is.

Lucy's eyes widen when she realizes he's expecting her to sit on his face. He laughs, reaching over to squeeze her hand. "I promise I want to… if you're up for it, that is."

She nods slowly, warming to the idea of a position that will give her more control. She carefully works her way back onto the table, straddling his face in a kneeling position and bracing herself with her hands gripping the corners of the table.

He hooks his arms around her thighs to stabilize her, so she can sit back and relax without worrying about her balance.

It takes them a bit to find their rhythm with Lucy mostly staying stationary until Tim squeezes her thighs and encourages her to, "Use me however you need to."

And god it feels really, really damn good, but it doesn't take either of them all that long to realize she's having trouble fully relaxing and putting her guard down in this particular position.

She finally lifts completely off of him, shifting into a seated position in the small space above his head, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. "I — I'm not going to get there," she says, not entirely meeting Tim's eyes as he sits up and turns to face her.

She's suddenly feeling all of the things she had feared, but hasn't actually had to confront until now — vulnerable and exposed and maybe even a little embarrassed, though she knows she has absolutely no reason to be. And though he's been nothing but amazing and sweet and supportive, she can't help but realize she isn't entirely sure those are things she's comfortable feeling with this man again.

Tim takes her in. The way she's sitting makes her look so small.

"It's okay, Lucy. It's not a big deal," he reassures immediately, even though the words don't feel quite right. "Not that there's any reason it wouldn't be okay. I just —" he runs a flustered hand back through his air, feeling suddenly, painfully far away from her in this moment and completely unsure of how to bridge the divide.

He knows this really and truly isn't a big deal. It happens all of the time. It's not the physical part of this that's distressing him. It's the way she's pulling away, closing off to him.

Orgasm aside, he can't help but think back on their first time — how trusting and free-spirited she had been. He feels like a slick of sludge has lodged itself in the back of his throat because he knows he took that from her. And he hates himself a little more for it. Can't help but wonder if she'll ever be that comfortable with him again.

He slides off of the table, grabbing a wipe off of the counter to clean off his face before moving around until he's standing in front of her. He wraps his arms around her and feels almost immediate relief when she doesn't pull away, but instead slips her arms around him to return the hug, burying her face into his chest.

She's not sure how much time passes with him just holding her, but god it feels so good to just be held and reassured.

She pulls back to look at him and he slides his hands soothingly down her arms.

He looks like he wants to say something, but is clearly conflicted.

She presses a kiss to his jaw. "What? You can say it. Whatever it is."

"I'm just wondering if — I don't know. Do you — do you think you can get yourself there? And if I'm being an idiot, just tell me and I'll shut the hell up."

Lucy shrugs, chewing her bottom lip thoughtfully. She's genuinely surprised at the question. A lot of men would be too busy coddling their own bruised egos in a situation like this to still be trying to figure out a way to please her that didn't rely entirely on their own abilities in the bedroom (or lack thereof).

"I don't know. Maybe."

Tim nods, "I can leave… if you want to…"

Lucy shakes her head, tightening her hold on him. "I don't want you to."

He presses his lips to her temple, "I'll do whatever you want me to."

"Kiss me?"

He nods, leaning down to cover her mouth with his own, attempting to channel just how deeply he cares about her, how deeply sorry he is for everything he's done to hurt her, into the act of affection.

"Hold me?"

Tim climbs back onto the table and Lucy shifts over to make space for him. She settles in between his legs, relaxing back against his chest, as he wraps his arms around her.

And it turns out Tim isn't a complete idiot, because when Lucy does manage to get herself there, it is one of the most spectacular orgasms she's ever had thanks to all of the edging and foreplay, even despite the little detour.

She curls into him afterward, and he tugs her up more tightly against his chest. He grabs another wipe, reaching down between her legs to gently clean her up, and then pulls the sheet over her tucking her in against his chest.

Lucy can't help but think about her idiotic train of thought as she had spiraled earlier — nothing about this feels transactional. He's been so tender and sweet and caring with her. Whatever is happening between them could not be further from transactional. And that in itself is a little bit terrifying.

Tim tightens his hold on her. "Lucy, I need you to know that what happened in Mexico — when I told you I wasn't sure if I could have feelings for you —"

Lucy stiffens, and Tim stops short.

"That's not what you said."

Tim's brow crinkles in confusion, because, in all honesty, that morning is all a blur of heightened emotion for him. He can't actually remember his exact words. But obviously, Lucy hasn't forgotten them.

"You said you already knew you couldn't." She heaves a frustrated sigh and begins to shift in his arms. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. There's no point in rehashing this. It's done. You've apologized. I just want to move on."

Tim wants to argue, to point out that it clearly does matter if just mentioning it bothers her this much, but he doesn't. This afternoon has been hard enough for her when all he'd wanted it to be was fun and relaxing and a way for him to show her just how much he adores her.

She turns to face him, seeming to sense the shift in his mood as a result of her dismissal. She pulls him down to her for a sweet kiss. "This was amazing, Tim. Seriously. Thank you."

Tim nods, though he's not honestly feeling much like he deserves the gratitude.

She pulls the sheet more tightly around herself and climbs off of the table, "Let's get out of here?"

Lucy's back to her chipper, positive self by the time they make their way out to the parking lot. Tim is still a bit in his head, but he tries to keep his focus on her and to allow her bright energy to take some of the weight off of his chest.

"Lucy!" a voice calls from behind them.

They both turn.

"Oh good lord," Lucy grumbles as they spot Mercedes hurrying toward them, proving that she is highly capable of channeling both sunshine and grumpy in a span of thirty seconds.

She forces a smile while Tim attempts to maintain an expression that conveys complete and total innocence.

"Hey — sorry! I didn't want to miss you, Lucy. Look. I — uh — I know you guys are married, but well, it's reality TV, so I figured — um, well, you know…" She extends a card to Lucy, "If you'd ever want to go out or something, I'd really like that. My number's on there."

Lucy's eyes go wide as Tim doubles over with laughter once Mercedes is out of earshot.

"What exactly is so funny, Tim?"

She shoves at him as he straightens, wiping tears from his eyes. "You were so jealous," he gasps.

"I wasnot. Wait — did you — did you know, Tim? That she was interested inme?"

He shrugs, still fighting back his laughter. "She may have asked about you once or twice…"

"Oh my god. You are the literalworst, Tim. You know what? Laugh it up, because in case you haven't noticed, that woman is a literal swimsuit model. Maybeyou'rethe one that should be jealous."

Notes:

Next up: teensy bit more feelings teensy bit less horny in Emotional Intimacy

Summary:

Tim and Lucy celebrate(?) their monthiversary; Lucy learns that being a reality TV star isn't easy; Tim has a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day (week?, month?); Lucy tries to cheer him up, but a teensy(?) mix up throws things off track; Lucy's a lover of commitment, or is she?; Lucy's hesitance to open up threatens the foundation of her relationship with Tim

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter fornotes.)

Chapter Text

Emotional Intimacy

Week 5, Day 1: Sunday

They are set to film a monthiversary of sorts to commemorate surviving four weeks of being married to each other that evening.

Tim pops a bottle of champagne open for them after dinner, and they curl up on the couch to go through the wedding album that had been delivered before Lucy had left for the spa earlier that morning.

"What was your first thought when you saw me?" Lucy asks as they examine a photo of Tim gazing down the aisle at her.

"That you were more beautiful than I could have imagined," he answers honestly, if not a little ingratiatingly.

Lucy arches a disbelieving eyebrow. "Uh huh… I bet."

Tim laughs sheepishly. "It was," he insists. "But also, you only asked for myfirstthought."

She opens her mouth to protest, but he hurries to finish.

"I was an ass. We both know that. But — and this isn't meant to be an excuse, I just think you should know — my feelings that day were… I thought I was prepared, but it was just a lot harder than I thought it would be."

Lucy tilts her head in confusion. "You're saying it was hard to marry a complete and total stranger? Well, no shit," she teases.

He rolls his eyes. "You think you're so cute."

"Mmm… no.Youthink I'm cute. Or no, sorry —more beautiful than you ever could have imagined," she declares theatrically.

He chooses to ignore her antics this time, not wanting to lose the thread on an explanation he's owed her for a very long time.

He glances toward the camera crew; hehatesgetting into anything too personal when they are filming but he doesn't want to continue this trip down memory lane without at least attempting to explain.

Frankly, if he had it his way, they wouldn't be having this journey through the past at all. His behavior at the wedding is not something he's proud of.

He rubs the back of his neck before meeting her gaze. "I mean the actual wedding. The rituals. It felt like I was — I don't know. Being disrespectful or something."

Her face falls, and for a second he wonders if he's somehow hurt her feelings. "Oh," she says softly. She looks lost in thought.

"That makes a lot of sense. I'm so sorry, Tim. I didn't even think about that…"

He shakes his head, "I wouldn't have expected you to.Ididn't think about it until I was living it. And it's not like I wasn't fully aware of what was coming — it was just different, actually going through the motions..."

Her next question surprises him. "What was it like? Your wedding, I mean?"

He notices she doesn't refer to it as his first wedding or his wedding to Isabel. He's not entirely sure what to make of that.

She seems genuinely curious, though he's now wondering if bringing up his wedding to Isabel was wise on a night when they are [theoretically] supposed to be celebrating their own, joyous occasion that it was.

"It was actually kind of a dumpster fire, if I'm honest. My family is —" he tugs uncomfortably at his collar, as he again second guesses the direction he is taking this conversation.

Lucy laughs softly, "I mean, you've metmyfamily. So you know I'm not in any position to judge."

He squeezes her hand. "Let's just say that there were plenty of tears and a pair of dentures in the chocolate fountain by the end of the night. But other than that… uh… yeah, we were really in love and celebrating that with the people we cared about, so it was pretty wonderful."

She nods, and she looks a little wistful. He thinks back to how disappointed Genny and Angela had been in him after the ceremony. And Tim can't help but wonder if Lucy regrets not getting to have that experience, regrets deciding to do any of this.

No matter how things turn out for them at the end of this — the idea of a wedding, the experience of getting married, is always going to be tied to this for her.

He may not have gotten his happily ever after, but he'd still gotten to experience all of the incredible moments of his love story with Isabel.

He hadn't wanted to carry the weight of those things for some random woman he'd never met and, subsequently, hadn't given it all that much thought. But he's thinking about it now, feeling the weight in his chest in an entirely different way.

"I'm sorry, Lucy."

She looks puzzled, "For what?"

"For the way I behaved at the wedding. It may have been a hard day for me. But it wouldn't have cost me much to have shown you some kindness."

She smiles half-heartedly and shrugs, "Probably. But I got married on a reality TV show. I wasn't exactly expecting the wedding of my dreams."

"And what would that have been?"

She glances away and then shakes her head. "It doesn't matter." She whacks him with a pillow. "Now, come on, this album isn't going to look at itself."

He takes her stuffed weapon away from her and wraps his arms around her. "It matters to me. And, if I haven't been clear about this, it may have taken me a little while, but I couldn't be happier about who I was paired with, even if you are the most aggravating woman I've ever met."

"Hmmph," Lucy pretends to be irritated, but he can see the shine of pleasure in her eyes.

She kisses his cheek, "You're the most aggravating man I've ever met, too."

He nuzzles his nose against hers as he pulls her closer. "Next level compatibility if I've ever seen it," he declares.

She laughs out loud and pushes him back before they really give the film crew a show.

"Your turn. What was your first thought when you saw me?" Tim asks as they continue to flip through photos of the processional and the ceremony.

She smiles wickedly, "That you were so beautiful, you were probably an actor slash model attempting to revive your career."

Tim narrows his eyes at her, "What do you mean, 'revive'?"

Lucy shrugs innocently, turning her focus back to the album. "Ooh… look at this one. Genny looks so pretty. Do you think I'll get to meet your nephews at dinner this week?"

He snorts, "Doubtful. The boys don't go anywhere where the waitstaff wears pants. Trust me, it's better for everyone that way."

They continue to flip through the album, teasing each other about the obvious sexual tension in one picture and then the complete and total awkwardness in the next.

Lucy laughs out loud in response to a photo of Jackson and Angela talking enthusiastically with their heads bent together. "They really did hit it off, huh?"

Tim raises an eyebrow. "Did you know they met up for Happy Hour the other day?"

She frowns, "No. Hmmph. Where wasmyinvite?"

He shrugs, "That's what I said. Apparently, they thought we might kill the vibe with all of our newlywed drama."

She crosses her arms in a huff. "Excuse me? What drama? We don't have any drama. Ugh. This isyourfault. I told you not to side with Wes in that dumb argument. I cannot believe you're already getting us excommunicated from social events, Tim."

"I don't know what to tell you, Lucy. If you thought I wasn't going to have a strong opinion about a grilled cheese in the shower, then…"

Next on their monthiversary checklist is the wedding video, which had arrived alongside the photo album this morning.

They continue to cuddle and flirt and generally adore each other through the first bits — getting ready, pep talks with family and friends, their guests filing in and getting seated for the ceremony.

But things change when the ceremony begins.

It's one thing to have lived through it, to have memories with edges that have dulled with time.

It's something else entirely to see it captured on film.

It's one thing to have an awareness of how callous and cruel he'd been in the past while being surrounded by his kindness and warmth in the present.

It's something else entirely to see it captured on film.

To see herself happily smiling at him and introducing herself like a hopeful idiot while he brushes her off.

To see herself nervously fumbling and looking to him for reassurance only to be met with a look full of disdain and irritation.

To see herself naively spilling her heart out to a man that was so clearly embarrassed by her and could so clearly not give a single fuck what she had to say.

To know that millions of other people will see him treat her like garbage.

She truly wishes she could just shrug and laugh it off, that they could tease each other and move on like they'd been doing earlier. But it doesn't feel all that funny to Lucy anymore; it's making her feel a little sick.

They sit quietly on the couch together for a long time after the video ends. For a long time after the crew packs up and leaves.

"I'm so sorry, Lucy," he offers helplessly for what might well be the trillionth time that night.

It's a strange thing to have her still tucked into his side, head resting on his shoulder, even as he is certain she's not really with him anymore at all.

He certainly didn't think this night would end with him wishing she would just rage at him or cry or simply express any tangible emotion for him to latch onto.

But she's not angry or upset or any of those things. She'd watched without a word. Quiet. Calm. Distant.

It's too much like she'd been that night in Mexico when he'd finally found her on the deck and tried to apologize.

He forces himself to ignore the painful thrum of desperation and panic quietly edging into the background of his concern for her.

Of course this was upsetting for her. It was upsetting for him, too. But that doesn't mean —

"What are you thinking?" he asks, needing to know what's going through her head.

She doesn't answer at first, instead turning to bury her face into the crook of his neck. She finally exhales a sigh and pulls back to look at him, misery filling her sad brown eyes.

She swallows, and it betrays that she's holding back more emotion than she's letting him see. "That I'm going to look like such a doormat."

He winces. She doesn't say them, but he hears the unsaid words.I'm going to look like such a doormat… if I stay with you.

And he wishes he could tell her she's wrong. That he's the one that looked like the asshole.

And he certainly had.

But production hadn't bothered to do either one of them any favors in the editing — skillfully snipping and weaving things together in a way that best suited their agenda, whatever story they've decided to tell.

And that included twisting Lucy's joy and hopefulness that day from something authentic and well-intentioned into something sillier and starry-eyed and oblivious. In reality, it hadn't taken her long at all to get his number, but that was seemingly easy enough to erase in post-production.

She presses the heels of her hands against her eyes, and he immediately regrets wishing she would cry. He hates that she's hurting.

Hates that he is again seriously doubting whether they can actually get past his mistakes, since, apparently, those mistakes are ready and waiting to haunt them both at every turn.

But her eyes are dry when she drops her hands and meets his gaze.

"Whatever. I don't know what I expected. This is exactly what I signed up for."

She gets to her feet and Tim's stomach clenches, not wanting to leave things like this — not wanting her to feel like she can't lean on him when she's upset.

But he knows this is complicated, and even if she doesn't seem to be upset with him specifically right now, he's certainly not blameless in this outcome.

"I'm exhausted. I'll see you tomorrow, Tim."

She disappears into her room.

It's the first night in weeks she hasn't stopped to kiss him goodnight.

Week 5, Day 2: Monday

As he walks into the apartment after work on Monday, Tim stares down at the phone that has just stopped vibrating in his hand, already knowing what's coming.

Ignoring me doesn't make this all go away, Tim. He doesn't have much time left. You should see him before you don't have the option.

We also need to sort out what we're doing with the house — I think we can make some decent money with a bit of fixing up.

Tim swallows, pressing his eyes closed. Because he absolutely cannot fucking deal with this.

He feels rage begin to bubble up from his chest.

He gets that Genny has rebuilt her relationship with their father — that she thinks he's a different man than he was when they were kids.

What he can't understand is her inability to accept that this is one door in his life Tim has decided to shut.

All of it is an unwanted reminder that the weight of abuse continuously falls on the abused.

Why should he have to carry the burden of his father's impending death? Why should he have to deal with the house where he suffered the very worst kind of betrayal — betrayal by the people who were supposed to protect, care for, and love him?

Tim wasn't a perfect brother to Genny when they were children, but he had tried. He's done his best to shield her from the reality of how abusive their father really was, not wanting her to have to carry the same hatred for the man that he did.

That's not to say Genny didn't suffer in her own ways. She absolutely did. But despite coming up within the same four walls, their experiences were very, very different.

She wasn't their father's punching bag. That was an honor reserved exclusively for Tim.

But she stillknew.

And, of course, if he expects Genny to respect his choices, he has to respect hers, however begrudgingly.

But it's those times when she takes it further. Attempts to force her choices onto him. Can't seem to understand why Tim doesn't care about making money off of the house. Won't accept that Tim has no desire to visit their father on his deathbed for one last vitriolic exchange.

Those are the times that feel most hurtful and invalidating. Times that feel like she's chosen a side, and that side isn't his. Times that feel like yet another betrayal from someone he loves.

And, of course, on some level, he knows shutting down and ignoring her isn't a very mature way to deal with any of it. But his trauma doesn't care how old he is or how mature he is supposed to be, it only cares that Genny keeps attempting to take a crowbar to a door that he's very intentionally barricaded shut.

Tim looks up as Lucy emerges from her room in a pair of cut-offs and the Rams T-shirt she'd unceremoniously swiped from his hamper. Seeing her in it after last night makes him feel immediately lighter. It doesn't hurt that it also looks about a million times better on her.

Kojo is on her heels and breaks into a trot to greet his master, apparently recalling that Tim is the possessor of the hands that feed him. Tim bends to give the dog some love as Lucy approaches. He's grateful for the opportunity to take a deep breath and collect himself.

Her presence alone is enough to cut through the dark cloud over his head. The warmth in her gaze trickles into the spaces hollowed out by stress, worry, and grief.

"You're home late." She slides her arms around him as she hugs him hello, and it is exactly the reassurance and comfort that he needs. He clings to her, pulling her even closer as he buries his face into her hair and inhales the flowery scent of her shampoo.

Lucy seems to sense how much he needs this because she doesn't pull back, instead shifting one of her hands to soothingly brush over the short hairs at the nape of his neck.

When Tim finally releases her, she tilts her head to study him.

"Are you okay?" She cradles his cheek with her hand, her concern evident. "I heard there was another kidnapping. I'm so sorry, Tim."

He hesitates, and Lucy hurries to clarify. "I'm not working the story. I promise. I just… wanted to make sure you were okay."

He nods tiredly, "I'm not really working it either at this point, but… yeah, it's still…"

She slides her hand down to his arm and gives him a reassuring squeeze. "I know how hard it can be to be sidelined."

He runs a hand over his face, feeling too drained to continue the conversation.

"Is there something else?"

And there are so many somethings at the moment, the idea of choosing one seems too overwhelming to entertain. So instead he leans forward, lifting his hand to her face as he presses his lips gently against hers.

Lucy smiles softly as he pulls back, but it's short-lived as worry quickly returns to her expression. "We can talk about it… if you want, I mean. But we don't have to."

He's emotionally exhausted, unable to process everything that has piled up on him recently, but she's looking up at him with those earnest eyes of hers.

It strikes him that it's a beautiful thing — having someone who wants to listen for no other reason than that she genuinely cares.

"One of the guys on my squad in Afghanistan got arrested today. I thought he was doing well — engaged with a solid job in San Diego. But turns out he's been here, living on the street, for a while."

She laces her fingers through his, "That must have been pretty jarring."

She guides him to the couch and they settle next to each other. Lucy folds her legs up underneath her and sits so she is facing him.

"I feel responsible," he admits, swallowing back the lump in his throat.

"That he doesn't have anywhere to live?"

"All of it. That I didn't know he was having a hard time. That he's somehow gotten wrapped up in this murder investigation."

Lucy's brow furrows. "Why would you feel responsible for that? I get caring about him and choosing to help if you're able but…"

He looks away, suddenly wishing they hadn't gone down this path. Because he doesn't want her to know about another one of his failures.

"Tim, entire systems are failing our veterans. It's ridiculous to think that one person can, or should, carry that entire burden. If anyone should feel responsible, it's — "

"It's not that simple, Lucy. You don't understand," he can hear the hard edge in his voice as he cuts her off, and he knows she hasn't done anything to earn it.

She nods, pulling back and falling back against the armrest of the couch. "You're right. I don't. I haven't — I haven't been in the military; I don't know what it's like. Sorry — I know I can get kind of carried away with the idealism sometimes…"

He pulls her hand to his lips. "No, Lucy — it's not that. I think I'm just tired."

She nods, "Will you help me understand?"

Tim steels himself for his admission, the weight of his remorse and shame already heavy in his chest. "He lost his leg while we were over there. And it was my fault."

Lucy frowns, "What do you mean?"

"I was his sergeant. I was supposed to be looking out for him. Instead… I let him slide on something I shouldn't have. And it cost him his leg."

She flinches, sliding her hand over his. "I'm sure you had a reason for letting him slide on whatever it was. You couldn't have known what was going to happen."

He shakes his head. "It doesn't matter whether I could have known. Rules matter, Lucy; they exist for a reason."

"Sure, they do. But so does compassion. You're not a robot. I can't imagine your squad didn't need a leader that could balance humanity and discipline. I can't even imagine what it was like for you… how you must have felt when… I'm so sorry, Tim. But that doesn't mean it was your fault."

And then, more gently, "Everything isn't yours to carry."

Tim looks away, the compassion for him reflected in her eyes too much for him. He's not accustomed to this — this unconditional support and belief in him. Especially from someone who has every reason to believe the worst of him, to condemn him.

Lucy tugs him closer. "Don't get me started on who's to blame for the real cost of war — I could write a literal book… Oh my god, I'm doing it again, aren't I? I'm really bad at this. I'm so sorry."

His lips twitch and he wraps his arms around her. "Lucy, the way you see the world is so —"

"Annoying?"

"Well… yeah. But I was going to say inspiring. I better get some credit when this inspires your Pulitzer-winning book."

She laughs, but her eyes are still sad. "It's not your fault, Tim," she repeats.

He nods, surprised at just how much he needed to hear those exact words. He tightens his arms around her and she shifts closer, rearranging her legs so that she can cuddle against his side.

"Thank you," he says simply, his voice hoarse.

He places a kiss on the top of her head but then tips her chin up so their lips can meet. He wants to be closer.

She kisses him back, and it gradually transitions from something slow and sweet to something more heated as their hands begin to wander.

Lucy squeaks in surprise when he gets to his feet and lifts her into his arms before carrying her into her bedroom. She's pulling her shirt over her head before he's even fully set her on the bed, and he quickly follows suit.

Once he's down to his boxer briefs, he climbs in next to her, wrapping her in his arms as they continue to hungrily explore each other.

She eventually pushes him onto his back and reaches behind her to unhook her bra. She barely has a chance to toss it aside before Tim pulls her down on top of him. God, he hadn't realized just how badly he'd been craving this — the feeling of their bodies pressed together skin to skin.

Their sighs of pleasure are almost simultaneous. Tim rolls them onto their sides. He holds her face as he kisses her, reveling in the feel of her hands as they slide over his back and chest.

Lucy settles on her back, and Tim props himself up on an elbow while his free hand strays down her stomach, stopping just above the waistband of her shorts.

He looks at her for permission, and she arches up, gripping his face with both hands as she crushes her mouth against his.

"Yes," she gasps as she flops back on the bed.

He makes quick work of the button and then the zipper. He slips his hand into her shorts and groans in response to the moist heat radiating through her panties.

He bows his head to capture her lips, and she audibly moans when he pushes aside the thin strip of fabric between her legs, allowing his fingers to slide through the slickness coating her center.

"Fuck. Lucy," he gasps, feeling his own body respond to her arousal. She cups her hand over his rapidly stiffening erection through his boxers, and he barely stops himself from actually begging for more of her touch. He'd certainly never hear the end of that one.

They break apart, both trying to catch their breath.

Tim's eyes find hers. "Do you… do you have, uh, you know… in case…?" It's not an easy question for him to ask, but he's willing to take the hit to his pride if it means it takes some pressure off of her so she can just enjoy this.

She looks at him quizzically for a few seconds, but then recognition dawns in her eyes, and she cracks up laughing. "Are you asking if I have a vibrator?" she finally gasps.

Tim can feel his cheeks heat and he glances away from her, not really appreciating being laughed at when this entire situation already isn't exactly doing wonders for his ego. But she quickly reaches up to guide his gaze back to hers, unapologetically dragging him down to her for a kiss that effectively conveys her gratitude and dispels his embarrassment.

Her eyes are soft with her adoration when they finally pull away from each other, and she gestures to the side of the bed. "In the nightstand," she instructs.

His lips curve upward as he imagines the delicious torture he'll be able to inflict with the, erm, backup. He dips his head for a final, steamy kiss, before rolling over to open the nightstand drawer.

She slides over until she's behind him, hooking her arms under his to grip his shoulders, pressing her breasts firmly against his back. She places hot, wet kisses along his shoulder blade and upper back in a way that makes it difficult for Tim to focus on the task at hand.

Thankfully, his fingers close over a phallic-shaped object with a hefty weight to it. He glimpses a flash of pink as he rolls back over on top of her, taking the device with him.

They continue to make out until Tim decides he's ready to taste another part of her.

He blames the power of Lucy's unadulterated sexiness for why it takes him so long to realize what he's retrieved from the drawer.

He immediately pulls it back away from her, his eyes going wide with his surprise.

Lucy's jaw drops open as she follows his movement. "Oh my god," she gasps, hand flying up to cover her mouth.

Tim sits up, settling the device back into the drawer with significantly more care than he'd retrieved it with.

He shakes his head in disbelief, "Was there some reason you thought it was a good idea to keep a taser1in your nightstand right next to your vibrator?"

He can't help but laugh at the absurdity of the mix-up — definitely not the type of torture he had been intending to inflict.

But when his eyes find her face, there isn't any humor in her expression. She looks genuinely bothered by his teasing.

"It's not funny, Tim. You're not a woman — you don't know how it feels to…"

She trails off, but she doesn't need to finish. There's a distant glimmer of something in her eyes that he hasn't seen since that day in the underground river caves.

His stomach clenches at just the idea of her being scared. At the idea of someone trying to hurt her in any way, but especially in a way that is responsible for that look in her eyes.

He pulls her into his arms. "You're right. It's not funny. I'm an idiot. I'm sorry. I was just surprised; clearly, I should have been paying a little more attention to what I was doing."

She nods, "I know. It's okay. And itiskind of funny." Her lips start to curve upward. "That would've been quite the shock," she deadpans.

Tim can't help but chuckle and roll his eyes, but his smile quickly fades. "It's not okay. I shouldn't have made light of it. Not with what I see every day. I get it, Lucy. You should do whatever you need to feel safe."

He pauses, trying to sort through the right way to ask his next question.

"It must have been scary — when you came back from being undercover and the story broke," he ventures uncertainly.

For a second she looks confused, but then she nods. "It was."

Tim waits, wondering if she'll continue, but she doesn't.

He swallows, not wanting to pry, but also wanting to better know and understand her. All of her. Not just the side of her that is bold and fearless and joyful. The version of her that projects sunshine and rainbows out into the world.

He's a cop. It's not like he hasn't noticed the pepper spray on her key chain and the gun in her glove compartment and now, apparently, the taser in her nightstand. Or the way she automatically clocks her surroundings everywhere they go; hell, she could probably give his own cop eyes a run for their money.

He doesn't know or understand that side of her. But he wants to. He wants her to know that he wants to. Thatheis more than willing to listen because he genuinely does care.

"Did something happen? When you were under? Or after?" he tries again.

She stiffens in his arms but then shakes her head. "No. Well, I mean, stuff happened, but not like that. I just — I like to be prepared."

Something in her words rings hollow — not like she's lying exactly, but also like she's not being completely truthful.

It stings more than he'd like to admit, but he would never push her on something like this.

He swallows back his weariness. He studies her for a few more moments, but then just nods.

He presses his lips to her forehead and she cuddles closer to him, pulling the sheet up to cover herself. It's pretty clear that neither of them is in the mood to pick up where they left off.

He's not sure how long they stay like that. Eventually, he glances at his watch. "I should take Kojo out…"

She nods against his chest, but something in her energy has changed. It feels heavier. Sadder. Or maybe that's just his own…

He gives her a final squeeze before slipping out from under the sheets and collecting his clothing.

Week 5, Day 3: Tuesday

Lucy meets Tamara and Jackson for happy hour the next day.

When Tamara shows up, Lucy greets her with a huge hug. "This is the best kind of surprise — what brought you into town on a weeknight?"

"My roommate and I came down to see a show at the Echoplex tonight. And yes, before you ask, I'll be back in plenty of time for my classes tomorrow, mom."

They catch up on the show and college life for the first bit of happy hour, breaking only to order some drinks and appetizers.

"Our entertainment columnist told me there's a lot of buzz about Sterling getting nominated for an Emmy this year," Lucy tells Jackson, her eyes flashing with excitement.

Jackson blanches. "Whatever you do, don't say that to him," he advises. "He's trying to act like it's no big deal and like he doesn't care either way, but he's been so damn superstitious about it. Like freaks out if anyone says anything that even sounds like Emmy. It's gotten beyond ridiculous. I can't imagine what he'll be like if he actually gets the nomination." Jackson's eyes go wide with his horror as he flags the waitress down. "I've changed my mind; I'd like the pizza instead."

Tamara laughs, "Ah… the trials and tribulations of dating the rich and famous. You poor thing."

Jackson ignores her snark. "Right? Do you think they have garlic bread?"

Lucy pats his hand soothingly. "That bad, huh? Just remember how you felt the last time you turned to pizza as a coping mechanism."

"Like it was a very sound decision?"

Lucy snorts with laughter, "Not quite, but I'll let you have this one."

Her expression turns serious. "How are things going at work?" she keeps the question vague, knowing that Jackson won't want to worry Tamara with the specifics of the situation.

Jackson nods, also glancing toward their younger companion before forcing a smile. "Still a little rough, but I think things are heading in the right direction."

"Is this about your dickhead partner?" Tamara interjects.

Lucy and Jackson meet each other's eyes before turning back to Tamara, both bursting into laughter at the same time.

"Why do we ever think we can get anything past her?" Lucy asks Jackson.

Jackson shakes his head and shrugs, "Guess we should know better than to try and keep secrets from our firstborn."

He clears his throat. "But seriously, uh, maybe thank Tim for me."

Lucy tilts her head curiously, "Why would I do that?"

"He, uh — he's been helping me out behind the scenes. Reached out to a few people he trusts at North Hollywood to have my back. One of them showed up at a scene that was close to going sideways between me and Stanton last week, and it helped a lot — knowing I'm not completely on my own. Sounds like there may be a few people that are willing to help me start to collect evidence — discreetly, of course.

"He's also offered to connect me with his Watch Commander — Sergeant Grey. He says I can trust him. But I think he's friendly with my dad, and I'm not sure if I want to take things that far just yet, but it's nice to have the option."

Lucy feels a strange fusion of wariness and relief wash over her, hating that her friend is still in this awful position, but grateful that he's not completely alone in it anymore.

She's tempted to press him again on how she can help but decides to leave it for now. Things seem to be heading in the right direction; there's no reason for her to risk rocking the boat.

"Speaking of your husband…"

Lucy flinches at his casual use of the label, and Jackson arches a knowing eyebrow.

He and Tamara exchange looks.

"What?" Lucy asks defensively. "What are those looks?"

Tamara glances at her phone, "Almost exactly one month to the day. I believe that means you owe me twenty bucks, Jackson."

"Excuse me?" Lucy objects.

"We were just wondering how long it'd take you to freak out once you realized you might actually like Tim," Tamara explains.

Lucy stares at her friends in wounded disbelief. "What the hell? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Aw, Lucy, come on. We're not trying to be mean. You just don't exactly have a long history of serious,committedrelationships."

Tamara snorts with laughter, "Remember when she dated that really old guy from work?"

"Ah, yes. The divorcee that was fresh off a twenty-year marriage, moved across the country, and decided journalism was supposed to be his life's work after what? Binge-watching Dateline for a weekend?"

"He wasnice," Lucy sputters with indignation. "What the hell? He even remodeled our bathroom. I thought you guys liked him?"

"Hewasnice, Lucy. But he was a walking mid-life crisis. It was pretty obvious that wasn't going to go anywhere. He was a safe choice.

"Honestly, it's part of the reason I was shocked you even wanted to do this whole married at first sight thing in the first place. You're kind of a closet commitment-phobe." Jackson clarifies, so very helpfully.

"I'mnota commitment-phobe…" Lucy frowns as she turns the assessment over in her head. "Okay. Maybe,historically, I've been a little… commitment-averse. But that is neither here nor there. It has nothing to do with how I feel about being m—" She clears her throat. "It has nothing to do with how I feel about Tim, okay?" she asserts indignantly.

Tamara and Jackson just stare at her, both attempting to hold back their laughter.

She sighs. "I hate you both. So much."

Lucy noodles over her friends' assessment of her so-called commitment issues on her Uber ride home — the result of one too many discounted cocktails with Jackson after Tamara left for her show.

And with the clarity that only a solid buzz can provide, she evaluates her situation.

She quickly concludes that it's absurd — how could she possibly have a problem with commitment when she had literally signed up to marry a stranger?

That must mean she is the exact opposite of a commitment-phobe. Someone who embraces commitment in all its forms. A commitment-lover, if you will.

If she's a little wary and overwhelmed by the intensity and rate at which things have progressed with Tim, well, she certainly has good reason to be. Their situation is complicated in a million different ways. She'd be an idiot not to keep her guard up.

That doesn't mean she's scared of commitment. Scared that the idea of forever she'd been so excited about at the beginning of all of this could be less of a concept and more of reality. A reality that might actually, possibly resemble a human now? A very specific human.

One with stormy blue eyes as troubled as his past. A human who makes her laugh and feel beautiful and causes her knees to go weak with a single look. A human who looks out for her and adores her and reassures her.

A human who has chosen to trust her with his battered heart because he sees something in her that makes him want to. A human who is flawed and complicated and unpredictable.

A human who's already proven he's capable of shattering her heart.

What could she possibly have to be scared about?

She's all over Tim as soon as she gets home — certainly not because she has anything to prove. He laughs as he attempts to extract himself from her hold.

"Lucy — mmm, wow — not that I'm complaining, but what's gotten into you?"

She pouts, "Nothing. I just missed you. You didn't miss me?"

"Well, I mean I saw you last night and it was kind of a busy day, so…"

He laughs out loud at the swift outrage that colors her features. He stops her retreat, "I'm kidding. Of course I missed you. Maybe you should go to Happy Hour more often…"

He groans as she pulls him down to her, slipping her tongue between his lips.

He manages to break away again a few minutes later, attempting to catch his breath.

Tim finally gives in to Lucy's agenda, but only after she agrees to first eat dinner and at least attempt to rehydrate.

When they tumble into Lucy's bed this time, Tim secures the appropriate 'back-up' from the drawer and they finally do finish what they had started the evening before. And though they don't have sex, they are both more than happy with their endings.

She falls asleep relatively quickly after. Curled up facing away from him, her arms folded up beneath her head as a makeshift pillow on top of her actual pillow with the sheet gathered around her waist.

He'd made a move to get up once she started drifting off, but she'd stirred, reaching blindly for him with a sleepily mumbled, "Stay."

It filled him up inside with feelings of connection and belonging that he hasn't felt so intensely in a very long time.

Tim gazes at her, his eyes trailing from the shiny waves splayed out over her pillow, to the appealing lines of her jaw and her neck, eventually zeroing in on the ink of the tattoo on her neck. He wonders what it means.

It's unreal that he didn't know this woman existed a month ago. He wants to know everything about her. Wants to escape into her when the rest of his world feels like it's closing in on him.

She is steady and kind and caring — all of the things he didn't have when he needed them the most, and it feels almost like a drug. Addictive. Terrifying. Simultaneously thrilling and comforting.

His fingers mindlessly follow the trail of his eyes as they continue to move down her body. Just barely feathering along her side.

He pauses as he reaches her next tattoo, fingertip idly tracing over each character individually, mesmerized and lost in his thoughts about her, about them, about what they're building.

He doesn't even realize she's stirred until her hand is closing over his to still his movement. Her fingers firmly grip his hand as she forces it off of her side.

He freezes, watching as she abruptly sits up and swings her legs over the side of the bed without bothering to spare him a glance.

She reaches down to retrieve her shirt, quickly pulling it over her head before settling back in next to him, this time turning to face him. Her expression is unreadable.

"I don't like to be touched there."

Tim opens his mouth once and then closes it. "I — uh, sorry. I didn't mean to —" he finally manages.

She seems to register his surprise and confusion because she immediately softens. She tiredly lifts a hand to his cheek. "No — I didn't mean… it's not you. I don't like when anyone touches me there."

He stares at her. She gives his hand a squeeze and mumbles a good night before rolling back over.

Tim stares up at the ceiling for a long time after that. Thinking.

It's almost midnight when he slips out of her bed to return to his own room.

Notes:

1. taser batonreturn to text

I know that the updates have been a bit erratic lately, and that that can be both disappointing and frustrating. Just know that I'm doing my best, and the comments from anyone who is sticking with this anyway mean the world.

Summary:

Tim pulls away; Lucy and Tim have dinner with his family

Chapter Text

A House Is Not a Home

Week 5, Day 4: Wednesday

When Lucy wakes the next morning to discover Tim isn't in her bed, she feels the tiniest flicker of disconcert before she shakes it off. Sure, it would have been nice to wake up to some cuddling and affection, but it's a ridiculous thing to read into. It's a Wednesday. Tim's an early riser and probably already out for his run.

And when she wanders into the kitchen after getting ready for the day, excited for the serving of tea and breakfast and gorgeous Tim Bradford she is certain will be waiting for her only to discover his absence, she tells herself it's ridiculous to be disappointed.

She tells herself that her sudden, insistent need for reassurance from a man that has given her basically nonstop reassurance for weeks is unwarranted.

It's not the first time he's gone into work early, and she knows how much he's had on his plate.

She grabs her phone to wish him a good day and whine about the inhumanity of having to make her own breakfast, but something stops her. A tiny, sludgy tendril of trepidation swirling deep in her gut that she immediately pushes aside.

But she doesn't send the text.

She doesn't hear from him until almost dinner time — a simple text letting her know he'll be working late and asking if she wouldn't mind taking care of Kojo.

She stares at the screen for far too long. Willing something, anything to appear that will quell the cold fingers of apprehension threatening to clench around her heart.

She's being ridiculous. It was barely two weeks ago that she'd forgotten to tell him she'd be late coming home from work at all.

She has nothing to be worried about.

Week 5, Day 5: Thursday

When the next day feels like Groundhog's Day and suddenly all of her fears aren't feeling so ridiculous, she calls in reinforcements.

"Have you asked him if something's wrong?" Jackson suggests in an unacceptably rational way.

Lucy glowers at him. "Ugh. God. Why do men have to be so —"

Jackson arches an eyebrow, his expression a reminder that he'd dropped his evening plans to respond to her SOS.

She stops abruptly, offering her friend a cloyingly sweet smile. "What I meant to say is — that's not really the point."

Jackson shakes his head in confusion. "I mean… yeah, it sounds like he's being a little distant, but it's not like y'all had a disagreement or he's ghosting you or something, right? You said yourself he's got a lot going on at work. That case you mentioned — with his army buddy — there have been some crazy rumors going around about it."

Lucy tilts her head, "What kind of rumors?"

He shrugs, "Honestly? Most of it sounds pretty bananas, but the main thread is that it's somehow tied to the Deep State."

"How so?" Lucy's eyes light up with interest and Jackson laughs out loud.

"Are we talking about your relationship or your next headline, Lucy?"

"Ha. Ha," she returns dryly.

"Like a dog with a bone," Jackson teases before returning to the topic at hand. "But yeah — case in point — you, of all people, knows what it's like to be absorbed in your work. I think you have to tell him if it's bugging you that he's not checking in more or whatever."

Lucy nods distractedly.

She knows she's not doing a good job of explaining herself to Jackson.

Not explaining that it feels again like Tim is showing her how capable he is of flipping a switch when it comes to their relationship. Hot one minute and then freezing the next without any warning.

Not explaining why she's being so stubborn — why she isn't willing to be the one to reach out, even when so much of her does want to pick up the phone and beg him to reassure her that she doesn't need to worry, that her fears are unfounded.

Because explaining those things would mean having to admit out loud just how terrified she is.

Terrified that Tim is pulling away from her when she needs him to be doing the exact opposite — especially right on the heels of reliving the humiliation of the wedding, right on the heels of being physically intimate with him again.

Terrified that deep down he is still the man he was in Mexico. Maybe not outright cruel, but distant and aloof and cool in a way that can hurt her just the same.

Terrified that this is just who he is — who he's going to be if they do decide to build a life together. And the idea that, after everything, that could still be true — it fucking hurts.

"Are you okay?" Jackson asks, clearly keying in on her distress.

Lucy shakes her head, and the movement sends a tear spilling down her cheek. She wipes at it in frustration.

"No," she admits. "I've never — I've never felt like this. I mean, you know me, Jackson. Since when have I ever cared if some guy is too busy to call me or see me for a few days? It's like I'm so… I don't know. I'm so wrapped up in him that every little thing he does or doesn't do has an impact on me, and I don't know what to do with that."

Jackson's lips twitch as he smiles knowingly at her.

Lucy groans. "Ugh.What?I hate that look."

"What look?"

"The one where you clearly think you have some wisdom to impart, like you're some all-knowing Yoda. I'molderthan you, you know?"

Jackson shrugs, getting to his feet. "Well, if you don't want to benefit from my vast amounts of life experience, young Padawan, then…"

He laughs as Lucy attempts to tug him back down to the couch with a whine. He pulls her to her feet instead and wraps her in a hug.

"I've got to get back before you and I are discussing theactualdemise ofmyrelationship. But it sounds to me like Tim is maybe a little more important to you than 'some guy', Lucy. And I know you wanted my opinion, but I honestly don't know if you're overreacting or reading into things. But I do know that you have good instincts. So if you feel like something is off, it probably is. But no matter what… there's only one way through this — you're going to have to talk to him."

Week 5, Day 6: Friday

"I missed you this week," her voice is soft, almost tentative.

And it still startles him. He fumbles with the canister of Kojo's food he's just retrieved from the cabinet. The fact that he hadn't even heard her approach is an indication of just how exhausted he is. He presses his eyes closed before setting down the canister and wearily turning to face her.

She's boosted herself up onto the counter. She's watching him, waiting for a response. When she doesn't get one, she presses her lips together and just nods, looking at him like he is exactly who she expected him to be before she looks away.

It fucking hurts.

He turns away, unable to stomach her disappointment, and assumes that they're done — maybe for now, maybe for longer than that. But she surprises him when she speaks again. This time, the anger is unmistakable in her voice. She is livid.

"I don't know what's going on with you, but if you think that pulling away and shutting down instead of talking to me — actually having the hard conversations instead of avoiding them — is what I want in a relationship, then —"

He can't stop the humorless, disbelieving laugh that escapes him. "Are you being serious right now?"

Hurt and fury and confusion war across her face. "Do Ilooklike I'm joking, Tim? What iswrongwith you?"

"It's just rich is all — coming from you."

"What isthatsupposed to mean?"

"Oh come on, Lucy. Is that what you've been doing? Being open? Having the hard conversations?"

He doesn't give her a chance to answer, his own frustration and hurt getting the best of him. "Look. I know I fucked up. I do. And I'm trying, Lucy. But ifyouthink I want to be in a one-sided relationship where I'm the only one with something to lose, then you're the one who's mistaken."

Her jaw drops open and she looks for a moment like she's been slapped. And the expression on her face as she fights back tears is all he needs to know that she was completely unprepared for his words — that if she's been holding him at arm's length, it's not something she is doing intentionally. He immediately wishes he'd just kept his damn mouth shut.

The whole point of keeping his distance this week was so that this wasn't the way they would be having this conversation.

He doesn't want to lash out, doesn't want to hurt her.

And so he'd done what came naturally; it was the best he could manage during a time when he feels like he is collapsing under the weight of his father's impending death and Genny's inability to let things be and the constant guilt and compulsion to atone that is plaguing him in every aspect of his life.

He'd done to Lucy what he'd already been doing to Genny and just avoided the situation altogether. The natural result of his instincts to protect himself clashing with his instincts to protect someone he cares about.

Maybe if things were different, he'd be able to handle this better. Be the version of himself that she deserves. But they aren't.

It wasn't the physical boundary that had sent him reeling on Tuesday night. It was the emotional one.

And god he wouldneverbegrudge her any kind of boundary. He knows he has his own, that he is far from an open book.

But this wasn't about a single boundary — it was about the fact that underneath the sweetness and warmth she radiates on the surface, he had failed to recognize just how fiercely Lucy was still protecting her heart from him.

It was about realizing that while he was busy worrying about being shoved off of a ledge, he was already well on his way to death by a thousand cuts.

About suddenly seeing every single one of the doors she kept slamming in his face, even as he kept trying to hold his open…

The reassurance she'd never given him after he'd told her he wanted to give this a real shot.

The answer that never came to Megan's question.

The conversations she wasn't willing to have about what happened in Mexico. About what they needed to do to move forward.

Moment after moment where he had waited for her to open up and offer him a little bit more of herself and she just… hadn't.

Hell, he still didn't have the faintest idea about her reasons for doing this to begin with.

The irony of it was almost unbearable — that maybehewas the one struggling to understand the difference between physical and emotional intimacy. That maybe he'd been mistaking the strength of their physical connection and her innate kindness and warmth for an emotional connection that wasn't actually there. At least not on her end.

But looking at her now — the sadness and hurt and confusion so undeniably evident in her eyes — it's obvious that even though she might still be guarded and struggling with the idea of opening up to him, she is very clearly emotionally invested.

And the story he's been telling himself all week to excuse his urge to pull away from her as soon as he'd reached his limit is just that — a story.

He presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. He doesn't want to be this man, but it's starting to feel like he's just not capable of being anyone else.

"Lucy, I —"

She shakes her head, her expression cool and devoid of the emotion that had overtaken it just seconds before. Her voice is clipped, "We should get going; we're going to be late for our reservation."

Neither of them speaks on the way to dinner, and every second of silence feels like it is forcing the rapidly expanding chasm between them that much wider.

It doesn't help that Tim is dreading seeing Genny as much as he'd dreaded having to face Lucy. A cosmic joke that all of his avoidance is catching up to him all at once.

The only saving grace is that they are having dinner tonight for the show — Lucy's chance to get to know Tim's family — so Genny won't be able to nail him to the wall. Well, at least not until after filming wraps.

Lucy exhales a sigh of relief when they arrive at the restaurant, grateful for a reprieve from the lingering tension that's settled between her and Tim.

She puts on a smile and happily greets the crew, before sitting down at the table across from Genny and her husband, Mark.

It's an upscale restaurant with white linen tablecloths, candlelight, and a menu that would mean nothing to her if she didn't happen to be fluent in French. They have a private table set further away from the rest of the guests to accommodate production.

Genny and Mark have already ordered a bottle of wine, and Lucy eagerly takes a sip once the sommelier fills her glass. She could certainly use something to take the edge off.

They make small talk and exchange pleasantries, but Lucy immediately notices something is off. Genny has dark circles under her eyes that rival the ones Tim is sporting, and the two siblings are barely speaking to one another.

Lucy meets Mark's gaze and he offers her an unhappy shrug, confirming that he, too, isn't exactly enjoying the vibe.

"So, Lucy, tell me, how is it being married to my brother? Have you found that he shows up when you really need him to?" Genny's voice has a hard edge and her eyes are on locked on Tim, despite directing her question at Lucy.

Lucy's eyes widen. What the hell kind of question is that? Despite her current frustration with him, she feels a surge of protectiveness toward the man sitting next to her.

Tim stiffens, and Lucy can see his fingers turn white as he tightens his grip on his salad fork.

"Leave her out of it, Genny," he growls under his breath, clearly hyperaware of the cameras and mics capturing their every move.

Lucy laughs uncomfortably as she glances back and forth between Genny and Tim.

She opens her mouth to change the subject but is barely able to get a word out before Genny responds.

Lucy takes possibly the largest gulp of wine she's ever taken as Genny again addresses a question to her that is obviously intended to get a rise out of Tim.

"Has Tim told you about our Dad yet, Lucy? Did you know he's dying?"

Lucy coughs, choking on her wine. There's a clattering sound as Tim's fork drops to his plate.

What the hell is going on? She shifts her gaze to Tim, eyes searching his face for an answer — there's no way that can be true, right? There's no way she's been married to and living with this man for over a month without having a clue that he'd been dealing with something this big, right?

"Genny," Mark attempts to interject.

"This is between me and my brother, Mark," Genny responds bitingly.

Mark sighs, sending an aggrieved look toward the cameras, but simply nods.

Tim clenches his jaw. "Why are you doing thishere, Genny?" There's a desperation underlying the anger in his voice, and it tugs directly on Lucy's heartstrings.

Genny releases a mirthless laugh, "Where else would you suggest I do it, Tim? Should I try calling you? Or texting? Stopping by the station for lunch? Oh. Right. I'vebeentrying all of those things. You've been avoiding and ignoring me for weeks, Tim."

Lucy glances back at Tim, thinking back on the many dismissed calls and ignored texts that he said he'd return later.

"That's because I've made my position clear, and there's nothing to discuss," Tim manages through gritted teeth.

"We have to talk about it," Genny insists.

Lucy takes another swig of wine, feeling a bit like she's at a tennis match she really would prefer not to attend.

"I don't have anything to say about him," Tim asserts again.

"Fine. Let's talk about the house then."

"I don't fucking care what you do with the house, Genny. Sell it. Tear it down. Do whatever you want. I don't want anything to do with it."

"It was my childhood home, Tim. It was yours, too. I don'twantto tear it down or sell it to some investor. I want to fix it up so another family can live there and make happy memories. Look, I know you don't feel the same way I do, but our childhood wasn't all bad."

Tim scoffs, a bitter expression taking over his features. "Forgive me if I don't feel particularly nostalgic over that place. What do you want? Some other family to just cuddle up under the broken plaster where dad slammed my head against the wall?"

Lucy sucks in a breath, heart leaping up into her throat and then immediately plummeting into the depths of her stomach as she pieces together what's happening here.

No. Oh no.She shakes her head, heart feeling like it is cracking literally in half for Tim because she cannot believe what she is witnessing. It's not okay at all. But especially not in front of the cameras.

"Dad had a lot of demons," Genny allows.

"Dad was a monster."

"He's changed. You haven't seen him in 20 years."

"The only thing that's changed is that the drinking caught up with him. Okay? He can't throw a punch, but he's the same guy underneath."

"You can't keep holding on to all of this anger, Tim. I think if you'd just go see him, you'd see that he's changed. Or at least talk to someone — therapy's really helped me come to terms with everything that happened to us when we were kids. It could help you, too."

Lucy has to bite her tongue, because though she's also a huge advocate for therapy, nothing about what Genny is doing to her brother right now is a healthy approach to dealing with childhood trauma, and she can feel herself getting almost as angry as Tim is.

But she's not mad at Genny — her behavior is as much a product of abuse as Tim's avoidance is. And as much as she hates what is happening right now, she can feel for Genny — can see that, like Tim, she is struggling with being in a position where she has to ask for help. Her guard is up and she is prickly because she is clearly deeply hurting. And clearly feeling abandoned by her brother in a situation she feels like they should be helping each other through.

Lucy turns her gaze back to Tim, and she's never seen him like this before. Every single muscle in his body seems like it's corded and tensed. His jaw is clenched. His breathing is rapid. She half expects him to get up and flip the table or bolt out of the restaurant. He is angry, more upset than she's ever seen him.

And she hates this for him; hates that he's being ambushed and that his trauma is being exposed without his consent. She wants it to stop, wants to be able to protect him from this assault, which is obviously causing him so much emotional distress.

She slips her hand over his clenched fist under the table and even though it seems like it would be impossible at this point, he stiffens further in response to her touch, angrily flicking his eyes in her direction before turning his focus back to Genny.

Lucy swallows and moves to pull her hand back, feeling as if she has woefully miscalculated, but is stunned when Tim grabs her wrist, stopping her retreat.

He clutches her almost desperately at first — not having broken the exchange he's still having with Genny, his emotion coursing all the way down to the grip he has on her wrist. She has no idea how to be here for him right now, was in no way prepared for this conversation or revelation about his childhood. And if all she can give him is something to hang onto, then she'll gladly do it.

The waiter arrives with their entrees and it seems to break Tim out of his state of agitation. He immediately releases her wrist, turning his surprised and apologetic gaze toward hers. She doesn't pull back, leaving her hand resting on his thigh to offer what little reassurance she can. He gently slips his fingers around hers and guides her hand above the table, eyes scanning her wrist (which is perfectly fine), before ultimately pulling it up to his lips. And the gesture is so sweet — his concern for her so evident even amidst trying to process having his own trauma exposed and invalidated.

He settles their hands back onto his lap, their fingers now intertwined.

Genny's eyes flit between them as she watches the exchange, and something changes in her expression, a softness taking the place of her frustration.

"Tim — I — I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have brought this up here. I don't know what I was thinking." Her eyes fill, "I just — it's a lot to handle on my own, and you weren't — I just don't think I can do this without my big brother."

Lucy's fingers tighten around his hand as Tim shakes his head, looking utterly crestfallen.

"I'm sorry," his voice is thick. He shakes his head, "I shouldn't have kept ignoring you when you were trying to ask for my help. You shouldn't have to do this alone, and I'm sorry for not stepping up —" He swallows back his emotion, "I'm sorry for not being the brother you deserve."

Lucy's eyes fill even as Genny begins to protest. The fact that he could even say something like that after everything that unfolded tonight tells her all she needs to know about what kind of brother he is, what kind of man he is.

"Tim — that's not true. You have protected me my whole life and I wish I was strong enough to return the favor and protect you from this, but I'm not. And I'm just so scared that you'll regret — I just don't want you to have to carry anything else, Tim. But it's not my place to decide for you."

They are still holding hands as they wait for the valet to pull the car around after dinner.

Lucy silently slides her arms around his waist, and though he automatically slips his arm around her in response, it doesn't feel like he's actually holding her. It doesn't feel like he's there at all with her anymore.

The drive home is as silent as the drive to the restaurant was. Tim has the same weary and withdrawn look on his face.

Lucy aches for him.

She knew he had been dealing with a lot at work, but she had no idea about any of this. And she is desperately wishing she hadn't laid into him before dinner, that she had just kept her emotions in check until they could have a calm conversation, because she knows how utterly alone he must feel right now.

And now, more than ever, she wants him to know she's in his corner

Later that evening, Lucy knocks softly on his open bedroom door; she's standing in the doorway in one of her oversized sleep shirts, an uncertain expression on her face. Kojo trails in behind her but continues into the room past where she has stopped, hopping up onto the bed with Tim.

And he's surprised at how much comfort that one small thing brings him. He reaches over to give his pup a scratch between the ears.

"Kojo wanted to stay with you tonight," she explains.

Tim snorts, a burst of wry laughter escaping him. "I'm sure he did."

She takes a deep breath, her hands wringing together in a clear indication of her nervousness. "I — um, I could stay with you tonight, too. If you wanted, I mean…"

And he can actually see her holding her breath in anticipation, and it makes his heart hurt.

It's never been something he's been good at — letting anyone see him or be there for him when he feels vulnerable or exposed. It's wired into him from one too many moments in his childhood when doing exactly that blew up in his face — now a deep-seated instinct to push people away when they get too close.

"Lucy — tonight was…" he exhales a frustrated breath and briefly looks away. "Look, you don't have to just because of what happened or because you feel bad for me. I'm fine. I promise."

She nods and glances down briefly before meeting his gaze. And she's giving him that same sad look from earlier — like his reaction was exactly what she expected it would be. It still hurts. He doesn't want to live down to her lowest expectations of him.

She turns to leave and he wants to beg her to stay but he doesn't quite know how to make that reach when he feels like this.

She pauses before turning back and swallows. "Idofeel bad about tonight, Tim. I hated that it wasn't your choice to share that with me or with anyone else, and I feel awful about what happened to you. I can't even fathom what that must have been like for you. But I — I'd still like to be with you. Because of tonight, but also because I just want to be closer toyou,regardless." She takes a deep breath, "But I also understand if that's not what you — if you'd rather be alone, I mean."

And she doesn't say it, because she would never put that on him after a night like this, but he can still hear the words she doesn't say. See it in her sad, uncertain eyes.If that's not what you want anymore…

Maybe it's that she doesn't try and pretend that what happened tonight has nothing to do with why she's in his doorway; or maybe it's the knowledge that he has given her every reason to be even more guarded with him this week and yet, she is still here — braver than he could ever be — not pushing him away, but actively trying to get closer.

His throat is thick when he finally nods, pulling down the comforter to invite her in next to him.

She stares at him for a moment, as if surprised by his agreement. But then she quickly crosses the room and crawls in next to him.

They don't talk anymore that night, even though neither falls asleep for a very long time. He rests his head on her chest and slings his arm across her waist and Lucy cradles him against her body, soothingly brushing her fingers through his hair and wishing she could do more to lift his burden with every stroke.

Week 5, Day 7: Saturday

They both wake before the sun the next morning. Tim idly trails his fingers through her silky strands as Lucy tenderly brushes the tips of her fingers over the stubble on his cheek.

They just lay there — silently tangled up in each other — knowing that even though they may have taken a step toward reconciling last night, they still have a lot to work through.

Lucy shifts to kiss his cheek, and he gently presses his lips to her temple in return. Eventually, they both angle themselves so their lips can meet.

And it would be so easy — too easy — to get lost in each other. But they can't keep choosing the path of least resistance, not if they truly want a shot at making this work.

Lucy breaks away to catch her breath, before shifting to nuzzle her face into the crook of his neck. He tightens his hold on her, pulling her even closer.

"I don't want to fight with you," she says softly, settling so that her cheek is resting on his chest, his skin firm and warm beneath her own.

He is learning pretty quickly that she can be just as stubborn and just as guarded as he is, maybe even more so, but she also has this ability and willingness to open up and be vulnerable with him in a way that can send his walls crashing down almost instantly, no matter how carefully constructed.

He shakes his head, throat feeling unexpectedly thick with emotion. "I don't want to fight with you either, Lucy."

She teases gently, "Mmm, well, actually…sometimesI wanna fight with you. But not like this. This sucks, Tim."

He chuckles and nods his agreement.

She takes a deep breath before continuing. "I didn't realize — I didn't mean to make you feel like you were in this alone. I've been thinking about what you said yesterday… and I can see how I may have made you feel like I wasn't as invested, but I need you to know that I am, Tim. I care about you so much. And I hate that I hurt you.

"But when you pulled away this week — it felt like you were shutting me out and I hated it. Idowant to make this work, but I can't be with someone who treats me like — like I matter one minute and then I'm nothing to them the next. It hurts too much..."

His eyes burn and he crushes her against his chest because he hates that he's made her feel like that again, and isn't entirely sure what he can say to make it right. He needs her to know just how precious she is to him. Just how precious what they have together is to him.

When he finally loosens his hold enough for her to pull back and for their eyes to meet, he takes a deep breath, knowing that he has to at least try to find the words.

His voice is hoarse, "I'm so sorry, Lucy. I was just — I was overwhelmed and I didn't want to lash out. I know I should have talked to you but I just…"

"It's okay," Lucy soothes. "I'm sorry I didn't see how much you were struggling."

"It's not okay," his voice cracks, "I'm trying, but it feels like I just end up hurting you anyway," he covers his face with his hand, feeling utterly miserable — like he is always trying and failing and apologizing.

She tugs at his wrist until he drops his hand, but he's still not looking at her. Lucy guides his gaze back to hers with a hand on his cheek, her eyes filling as she takes him in. "I'm not saying this is your fault. I know how hard you're trying, Tim. And I know I don't always make it easy. I'm so sorry I haven't given you the same reassurance that you've given me. I'm going to try to be better, too."

She brushes her thumb over a stray tear that has found its way down his cheek and lets the tip of her nose brush his. "We're in this together, okay," she proclaims softly.

He presses his eyes closed because how can he possibly deserve this woman? How can such simple words feel so fucking good?

She kisses along his jawline, pausing to meet his eyes before capturing his lips with her own. And this time neither one of them pulls back. Falling into each other like there is nothing else that could possibly matter more in this world.

Lucy reaches down to slip her panties down over her hips and thighs, bending up her legs so she can remove them and then toss them aside. Tim follows suit with his boxers, eyes locked on hers as he settles on top of her.

She pulls him back down to her and their kisses are hungry, but not frantic. Their physical chemistry has obviously never lacked, but it's entirely something else being with her like this — kissing her and feeling her body beneath his and making love to her knowing they are both finally,finallyon the same page about how they feel and what they want for the first time since this entire journey began.

Summary:

Tim and Lucy continue to find their footing; specters from the past come back to haunt them both

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter formore notes.)

Chapter Text

The Past

Week 6, Day 1: Sunday

"Good morning," Lucy chirps happily as she walks into her bedroom.

Or perhaps it's their bedroom now.

Tim had cheekily suggested Lucy move in with him the evening before — an idea she summarily rejected on the grounds that she had the better room. But she had been gracious enough to lethimstay the night withher.

Tim yawns, stretching his arms lazily over his head. It's been a long time since he's allowed himself to sleep in like this on a Sunday. But Lucy had insisted he needed the rest, tiredly tugging on his arm to stop him from getting up when his alarm had gone off several hours earlier for his morning run.

He'd ultimately given in — the world wouldn't end if he skipped one run. And it was hard to say no to her adorably sleepy face. And it's not like he hadn't gotten plenty of a totally different kind of workout the day and night prior.

She sets a glass of what appears to be green sludge on the nightstand next to him before climbing over him to reclaim her spot on the bed. "I made you breakfast," she explains sweetly.

He eyes the concoction warily. "What is it?"

"It's one of your protein smoothies, you dummy."

He arches an eyebrow. Somehow his vanilla protein shakes don't typically come out quite so green. And he's not sure he's ever seen quite that shade of green in a smoothie.

"What else did you put in it?" he asks, lifting an arm around her as she burrows closer into his side.

"All sorts of good stuff. Ashwagandha, kale, maca…"

"Yum," he deadpans.

"Justtryit…" She kisses his cheek. "And I may have made waffles too."

The sound of her sweet laughter rings in his ears when he rolls on top of her and practically mauls her, chaotically nuzzling and kissing and nipping at her face and neck and shoulder.

She squirms underneath him. "Tim," she attempts to protest through her laughter as she tries to latch her hands around his neck and hold him still.

He finally relents, and he is immediately rewarded with the feeling of her soft lips capturing his own.

He stares down at her, a light airy feeling filling up his chest.

It's been so damn long since he's felt this light and free and warm on the inside, especially when everything else in his world feels so heavy and dark. But being with her in moments like this — it sneaks up on him.

"God, you make me happy." And as soon as the words leave his mouth he knows without a doubt they are true.

Her eyes soften, and she smiles with so much affection, he's not sure his heart can handle it if she keeps looking at him like that. She arches up to press a quick kiss to the tip of his nose.

And that's it. He's had it. He is never, ever letting her go.

Her lips curve upward and her eyes sparkle as she continues to gaze up at him. "Mmm… that's all well and good, but, tell me, Tim, do I get you hot?"

Then again…

He stares at her in shock for a moment before bursting into laughter.

"I'm not touching that one. You're kind of a little asshole sometimes, you know that?"

"Do you think I'm making a mistake? By not seeing my dad?" Tim eyes Lucy over his mug of coffee and plate of waffles.

The question surprises Lucy, since this is obviously a topic that's difficult for Tim to talk about.

She takes him in. His eyes are uncertain in a way that makes him seem so much younger, and, for a moment, it's like she's seeing the sad and confused child in place of the man who is understandably full of anger and resentment toward his father.

She reaches for his hand, and he bristles. She tries not to let it get to her as she tangles her fingers with his; it's clear that accepting kindness and affection in these moments of vulnerability doesn't come naturally to him.

And if it were up to her, she'd get even closer — but she settles for squeezing his fingers, not wanting to make him feel uncomfortable.

"You know I can't answer that for you. I obviously don't know very much about what you went through as a kid. But I heard enough to — I can only imagine how powerless you felt. You didn't get to choose the hand you were dealt back then, but you aren't that kid anymore….

"If you don't want to see him, or you don't want to go back to the house — you get to make your own choices now, Tim. And your choices are valid. And they matter."

Her eyes fill as she remembers how harshly he'd judged himself at dinner on Friday.

"I also don't think having boundaries makes you less of a brother or son. But you're allowed to change your mind or to feel overwhelmed or unsure. It'sa lot, Tim."

He nods, shifting his gaze away from hers as he swallows. His voice is thick when his eyes find their way back to her face. "Thank you. For saying that."

"For whatever it's worth, Tim, I'll support whatever you decide."

He holds her gaze and the depth of the sadness in his eyes makes her ache.

"It's worth quite a bit, Lucy."

Week 6, Day 4: Wednesday

Tim's eyes flit toward the door when Lucy enters the apartment that evening, one eye on her and one eye on the Dodgers.

Her cheeks are still flushed from her exercise class, and a few damp strands of hair have escaped her high ponytail to frame her face. His mind immediately jumps to how good it had felt to be tangled up with her sweaty naked body that morning before their alarms had gone off, both knowing they'd regret giving up those last precious moments of sleep but also not caring enough to stop themselves. Same as every other morning that week. And night.

Needless to say, Tim had been rigorous in his commitment to overcoming any lingering challenges in the bedroom, and all of the practice had certainly paid off for them both.

She drops her duffel to the floor before bending to greet Kojo and remove her sneakers. The Dodgers are forgotten as he's distracted by the view, mentally thanking whoever it was that invented leggings.

He averts his eyes as she quickly straightens. She points at him accusingly, "Uh uh uh. I saw that. You're shameless, Tim Bradford."

He shrugs unapologetically, eyes continuing to roam over every inch of her. "Don't put on the show if you don't want me to watch, Lucy."

She purses her lips and shakes her head, eyes crinkling with good humor, "Absolutely shameless."

His attention is drawn back to the game as the bases become loaded off of a single.

"Don't forget your bag," he reminds her as she begins to move toward her bedroom, his eyes not leaving the screen.

He doesn't have to see her to know she's rolling her eyes as she turns back for the bag, grumbling something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like, "I'm bringing crackers to bed tonight."

After her shower, Lucy joins Tim on the couch, swinging her feet up onto his lap as she opens her laptop to continue working. Tim mindlessly rubs her feet, only giving her his full attention when the game goes to commercial.

He frowns, eyeing the well-worn Dodgers tee she's put on over those sexy cut-offs of hers. He'd been searching for it before the game. Next time he's going to start the search in her room. "You know that's my favorite shirt, right?"

She makes a disinterested humming sound, not looking up from the computer.

"I'm not going to have anything left to wear if you keep stealing all of my clothes, you know?" he attempts again.

She lifts her gaze, eyes sparkling playfully. "And that would be a problem because...?" She nudges his thigh with her toes. "Besides, I don'tsteal, Irecycle. I like it better when they smell like you…" she adds coyly.

And just like that, his irritation dissipates. Could she be any cuter? He doesn't think so.

She lets out a squeal of surprise when he grabs hold of her ankles and tugs her until she's lying flat on her back on the couch.

He makes quick work of climbing on top of her, unceremoniously swinging her laptop onto the coffee table before she can deliver a lecture on unwarranted brutality to her electronic devices.

He nuzzles his face into the crook of her neck, and he has to admit, there might be something to her kleptomania. The scent of himself on her skin is certainly a turn-on. Then again, so is everything else about her.

Their eyes meet when he pulls back to look at her, and he can practically feel her anticipation sending a thrill through his own body as she gazes up at him.

Her lips form a pout when he doesn't make a move, and she wraps her arm around his neck in an attempt to pull him closer. He grins when she hooks one of her legs around him, his hand automatically moving to admire her thigh.

When he finally dips his head, he delivers a simple peck, and she groans, opening her mouth to complain about his cruel and unnecessary teasing. He takes the opportunity to capture her full lips with his own, tongue slipping into her mouth to explore as she tightens her hold and returns the favor.

The soft moan that he elicits from her as his fingers progress further north, tangling with the frayed edges of her cut-offs, is almost distracting enough for him to forget about the game.Almost.

He pulls back as the commercial break ends, but she hangs on, lips chasing his for more, and he chuckles as he gently extracts himself from her hold.

He palms her breast as he retreats, thumb and forefinger coming together to teasingly squeeze the pebbled peak of her nipple through the thin cotton of therecycledshirt before releasing her and returning to the other end of the couch.

"Hold that thought," he instructs, returning his focus to the screen.

She huffs an aggrieved sigh as she pushes herself back up into a seated position and reaches to retrieve her computer. "You're so romantic, Tim."

By the fourth inning, Lucy's given up on work and allowed Tim to wrap himself around her like a burrito, nuzzling and kissing and adoring her at his will while she scrolls social media on her phone.

The Dodgers are up to bat when a breaking news bulletin interrupts the game.

"Oh come on," Tim grumbles something about reporters under his breath as Lucy turns her attention to the television.

"Wildfires continue to rage in the San Joaquin Valley; though no injuries have been reported thus far, officials advise caution as firefighters are still struggling to bring things under control with the fire currently at 0% containment. Evacuations are underway in Sierra Vista and residents in the surrounding areas are advised to remain vigilant."

"God, that must be so terrifying," Lucy says, shaking her head in disbelief as Tim pushes himself to a seated position. "Do you ever feel like you're crazy for living here?"

He pulls Lucy up behind him as she follows suit, bringing her hand to his lips once they're both upright.

"There are a lot of things that I think are pretty crazy," he gazes fondly at her. "Doesn't mean I'm not gonna do them."

"You're such an idiot," she laughs as he leans in to nudge her cheek with his nose, theBreaking Newstransition screen briefly appearing before the station flips to a commercial.

Lucy shifts, reaching a hand to the back of his neck as she tilts her head back and pulls him down to meet her lips. He sighs with pleasure against her mouth as she threads her fingers through his hair. She is soft and warm and so damn addictive.

"We should probably get started on dinner," he suggests even as he slides his hand under her shirt, flattening his palm against her lower back to pull her even closer. He raises his other hand to cradle her cheek as he takes control of their kiss.

Then again…

"Maybe we'll order in," he offers against her lips.

"Maybe we should go to bed early," she counters.

Tim laughs out loud; it's barely even 6:30, and yet…

They both startle, breaking apart in response to a rap on their door.

"Did you just manifest a food delivery?" Lucy laughs, before frowning. "It's weird that nobody buzzed in."

Tim nods as he climbs to his feet, "Do you mind putting Kojo in the bedroom?" The dog is already raucously barking in response to the unexpected arrival. "I'll see who it is."

"Tim." It's so soft it's barely even a breath. Her beautiful blue eyes are uncertain, and for a moment, it's like he's looking at a ghost. Staring at a specter of the woman he'd loved with his whole entire being before she had shattered his heart into a million jagged pieces. Before her addiction had all but destroyed them both.

She looks good. Incredible, even. Healthy.

Clean.

He gapes at her.

She takes a deep breath, nervously tucking a strand of shiny blonde hair back behind her ear. "I'm sorry to just show up here. I know this is nuts. I just — it felt weird to call after so long. And I followed someone in because I — I thought it would just be easier if we could talk face-to-face…"

He hasn't seen her in almost a year, not since even before the divorce was finalized. Not since that morning she'd woken up from a weeks-long coma and told him in no uncertain terms that she never wanted to see him again. That she'd never forgive him for what had happened to her.

Isabel's gaze shifts over his shoulder in response to Lucy coming back out of the bedroom and closing the door behind her to secure Kojo. "Is that her?"

He ignores her, still trying to make sense of what's happening right in front of him — what she could possibly be doing on his doorstep.

"Isabel — what are you doing here?"

He hears a sharp intake of breath, and he turns to see Lucy standing uncertainly a few feet behind him.

And for a moment, he sees her how Isabel must be seeing her — all rumpled clothes and tousled hair and swollen lips, wearing his favorite shirt.

"Isabel…?" Lucy says the name slowly, almost like she's speaking a foreign language.

The two women silently study each other until Tim realizes he needs to say something. He steps back so Isabel can enter the apartment.

"Erm… Isabel, this is Lucy. Lucy, this is Isabel."

Lucy is the first to break the silence, offering Isabel a welcoming smile and a slightly awkward wave. "Hi! I'm Lucy — but, uh, obviously you already know that." She laughs nervously as her cheeks tinge pink. "It's really nice to meet you, Isabel. Can I — can I get you anything to drink?"

And if the circumstances were different, he might be tempted to laugh out loud at the reminder of just how awkward Lucy can be when she's uncomfortable, though still unbelievably kind and warm.

Isabel politely declines, and they all turn to glance toward the TV as another Breaking News update begins, footage of the rapidly spreading flames accompanied by a voiceover with the latest update.

"Prisoner rights advocates are sounding the alarm as the fire begins to close in on Chowchilla, threatening both the Central California Women's Facility and the Valley State Prison. The Central California Women's Facility is the largest female correctional facility in the United States and houses the only State of California death row for women. Valley State Prison is the most overcapacity prison in California.

"Advocates say their warning calls for preparedness following Oregon's disastrous prison evacuations in 2020 have been largely ignored by the state, despite the growing risk. We are still awaiting a response from the Governor's Office of Emergency Services and the Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation."

"Wow," Isabel says softly.

"That's going to be a damned mess," Tim shakes his head, turning back to continue the conversation when the TV returns to commercial.

Lucy's still staring at the screen, though, seemingly in a daze.

"Lucy?" he tries, despite feeling a little in a daze himself as he glances back at Isabel.

Lucy slowly turns to face them, a distracted expression on her face.

Recalling how upset she'd been about the city's handling of the virus, he has to wonder if she's already writing her next scathing call for reform in her head.

"Um, listen, I'm just gonna let you two…" she gestures to the bedroom, only stopping to grab her phone and tablet off of the kitchen bar before hurrying into her room, not bothering to spare either of them another look.

Tim shakes his head at the abrupt shift in her demeanor, but, then again, he's not entirely sure a meeting between his estranged ex-wife and his new reality TV wife could be anything other than a little bit strange.

Lucy closes the door behind her, leaning back against it and squeezing her eyes shut.

It's irrational to be worried, she tries to tell herself, though she's not entirely sure which situation she's attempting to dismiss.

Is it Tim's beautiful ex-wife — the woman he had actually chosen to marry, his partner in the marriage he would have done anything to save — showing up unannounced?

She shakes her head. She's being ridiculous. They were married for over a decade. That's not the type of relationship that just disappears. She's his family. This was bound to happen at some point.

And unless Tim tells her she has something to worry about, she certainly has other things to obsess over.

Like the fires nearing Chowchilla.

There's nothing to worry about.

There's every likelihood that the fires will never reach the prison.

And even if they do, there are protocols for this. Procedures. Somebody out there has to have a plan.

And even if they do, The Central California Woman's Facility is 254.6 miles away. A number she'd looked up even before moving into their temporary apartment. A strange tick she's adopted in the aftermath.

And even if they do, she'll be notified well in advance if there's a legitimate concern or threat.

She sucks in another slow, deep breath, before swiping to the VINE app on her phone. Victim Information and Notification Everyday. Situations like this one are the very reason this victim notification network exists, right?

Her heart drops into her stomach when she sees the status on her screen:

ROSALIND DYER

Custody Record

Age45

GenderFemale

RaceWhite

CA: Central California Women's Facility

ID Number246*

Custody StatusUnavailable

Custody DetailUnavailable

This agency is temporarily offline.

Her hand flies to her mouth to muffle her reaction. And even as a familiar feeling that all of the oxygen has been sucked out of the room begins to form in her chest, she forces herself to take a deep slow breath before stumbling across the room to open the balcony door.

She blinks back the tears that are blurring her vision as the fresh air immediately calms her.

She's overreacting.

Rosalind is 254.6 miles away. Locked away in a maximum security cell.

A power outage amidst wildfires is normal.

An obscenely insane amount of variables would have to align for this to be any kind of credible threat to her safety. And on the one-in-a-million chance Rosalind manages to somehow make a prison break and survive the fires, she'd be idiotic to risk her freedom by coming after Lucy.

Even still, she sends a text to the one person who will completely understand.

"She's pretty," Isabel offers.

Tim nods uncomfortably. "How did you know where to find me?"

"I still have some friends in the department," she explains. "But trust me — I didn't believe them at first. I thought for sure they were just messing with me. Never in a million years would I have thought you'd sign up for something like this… I can't believe you're actually going to be on a reality TV show."

Tim hesitates, not entirely sure how to respond because, while yes, the reality TV aspect of all of this is ridiculous, the connection he's built with Lucy is not.

He is, however, deeply grateful that they aren't filming today. This is exactly the type of drama the producers would salivate over.

He finally shrugs, "You know how Angela and Genny can be when they get an idea in their head."

She nods, a sad, slightly wistful smile gracing her lips. He feels a pang deep in his gut as memories of group date nights and family dinners and holiday celebrations and how close they all once were flood his mind. It feels like remembering another life.

"So… it's real then. You're really married?" Her gaze is heavy with the weight of their shared grief, and Tim can feel that very same weight settling in his own chest.

He swallows. "Yeah. That's kind of how it works."

They are quiet for a few moments, and Tim finds himself remembering how easy it was to get lost in her eyes.

"You look good, Iz."

"Thanks. I — I'm feeling a lot better too. Eleven months, 22 days, 13 hours. Turns out the key to getting sober was getting shot in the head and being in a coma for the hardest part of withdrawal."

He stares at her, not finding the humor in her attempted joke, instead feeling a little like he's been punched in the stomach, dark fingers of grief and guilt and resentment beginning to clench around his insides.

"Listen, I know what I said when I woke up, Tim. I know how much I hurt you, and you have every right to be angry with me —"

"I don'twantto be angry with you. What are you doing here, Isabel?" his voice is harsher this time, with a twinge of desperation, but he doesn't need this uninvited trip down memory lane. Not when he is finally, finally feeling something that feels a lot like happiness again.

She takes a deep breath, pressing her eyes closed, and Tim immediately knows it's not something he is going to want to hear.

She meets his eyes. "I'm being investigated. IA is looking at all of the cases I worked in the six months before I was fired, and Tim — you know what things were like back then. I don't even know what they're going to find — about me… About you…"

Tim feels his jaw tighten.

Two years ago, Isabel had been fired for cause by the LAPD. She'd become a liability, and they were ready to wash their hands of her. Her service and the unimaginable sacrifices she'd made in the line of duty had been so easily wiped away in the face of an addiction that was spiraling out of control.

He had tried desperately to help her hang on to her job — made choices that he knows won't look so great in the light of day — because he had known it was the last thing tethering her to who she was before the drugs had taken over, the last thing tethering her to him and the life they'd built together. And he'd been right.

Because the morning after she was fired, she'd walked out on him. Just up and left without a word.

He couldn't tell you much about the next year of his life after that — a blur of agonizing and searching and hoping. Unable to move on without knowing what had happened to her.

And then, almost a year to the day, he'd received a call from the hospital informing him that Isabel had overdosed.

The next month had been one of the most painful in his life. Somehow even more painful than his time in limbo, because back then, he'd at least still had hope. He'd naively thought that finding her meant he still had a chance of reaching her.

Instead, she'd been so strung out, she barely even seemed to remember who he was. And when she did, she made it clear that she wanted nothing to do with him. Despite that, he had still enabled her. Giving her money and swiping NARCAN and trading favors to get charges dropped because he couldn't bear the thought of turning his back on her. Of not helping her when he had the chance.

And then she had been busted with her boyfriend's stash, and suddenly she was begging and pleading with him to help her. To cross a line he wouldn't be able to come back from.

She'd been forced to become a confidential informant to avoid jail time and was sent into a situation that very nearly cost her her life, despite Tim's every effort to protect her.

He'll never, ever forget what it was like seeing her limp, lifeless body being lifted from that dumpster. What it felt like keeping vigil at her side, praying for her recovery and for a second chance for them to build a life together. Not knowing if she'd ever wake up. Hating himself more with every passing hour.

Painful as it was, the morning she woke up and tore his heart out for what felt like the millionth time was the turning point. It had gutted him to accept that he had failed her, but all of the fight had simply flooded out of him.

He gave her what she wanted. Walked away. Filed for divorce. Did his best to move on with his life even though it felt like he'd never be whole again.

Isabel's voice wavers slightly as she continues. "They've been asking me to come in. And I know I shouldn't have, but I've been avoiding it because I'm scared, Tim. And now," she swallows, "they said if I didn't come in tonight, they'll put a warrant out for my arrest. I just — I don't know if I can handle this. I'm finally back on my feet and trying to move forward and now it's like I'm being pulled right back into —" her voice breaks as tears well in her eyes.

She had lost so much for this job; they both had. The fact that some asshole in IA has decided to pursue this two years later, after the department had left her with less than nothing is inconceivable. It's nothing short of enraging.

But rage isn't going to help either one of them right now. He sucks in a breath.

It's strange to think that this is exactly what he had wanted for so damn long. For her to come back to him. For her to be willing to ask for his help. For her to trust him enough to accept it.

It's instinctual — reaching to comfort her when her tears begin to spill over. She melts into his arms in that way that has always somehow felt like it just fits.

He breathes her in, holding her tightly until her tears have stopped flowing. "We'll figure it out, Iz. Okay? I promise."

She takes a deep breath before stepping back from him. "Thank you, Tim. And again — I'm sorry for just showing up like this. Tell Lucy — just makes sure she knows I'm not trying to mess anything up for the two of you."

He nods, moving to pull the door back open for her. "I'll meet you at the station in an hour."

He knocks softly on the door to Lucy's bedroom, and she jumps from where she is seated on the edge of the bed, tearing her eyes from the tablet. She's gripping the device so tightly that her fingers are turning white.

A tinny voice rings out from the speaker.

"The fires are continuing to spread into the western parts of Madera County, with officials advising Merced County residents to prepare to evacuate if the situation continues to escalate. Vigilance and caution are strongly advised as the fire is currently less than 5% contained.

"We're expecting to hear from the Secretary of the Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation within the hour to address the growing concern about public safety, as well as the threat to incarcerated populations, as the risk to the Chowchilla prison complex continues to increase."

He takes her in, "Are you okay?"

She stares blankly at him for a few moments, almost as if she'd forgotten he was even in the apartment with her.

She finally flips the tablet case closed, setting the device aside. "Uh. Yeah. I'm fine. How's Isabel?"

Her eyes are already darting back toward the tablet, like she can't bear to not be following the coverage for even half a second.

He crosses the room toward her. "Come here," he gestures for her to stand before opening his arms.

She seems to relax a bit as she steps into his hold. "Sorry. I'm just a little distracted."

"What's going on? Are you worried about the fire? The situation with the prisons?"

She doesn't respond, but he feels her arms tighten slightly around him.

He shakes his head, thinking it would be just like her to be deeply concerned about vulnerable populations in a situation like this, even if they do happen to be criminals.

He pulls back to look at her, raising a hand to cradle her face. "I think your heart is too big for your own good, Lucy. But listen, I know how you media types like to turn everything into a crisis," he teases lightly. "But I promise procedures are in place if an evacuation is needed. Not to mention the preventative measures to stop things from ever even getting to that point — they built the structures and maintain the landscape specifically to limit the risk. I think they even have a dedicated fire brigade.

"And it sounds like they're getting warnings to residential areas with plenty of advance notice, so try not to worry too much, okay?"

She nods, some of the tension easing from her expression. "Yeah. You're right. That all makes sense."

He studies her carefully. "As for this stuff with Isabel, I know it's out of nowhere. I haven't even spoken to her since before the divorce. But listen, I promise I'll tell you everything when I get back."

She jerks back from him. "Wait — you're leaving?" The distress in her tone is unmistakable.

He frowns, brow furrowing as he tries to make sense of her reaction. She seems almost distraught.

"Isabel needs my help with something. I wouldn't go tonight if it wasn't important. We've got to go up to North Hollywood to get it sorted. Hopefully, it doesn't take more than a few hours."

She looks away, biting her lip as she again reaches for the tablet, flipping it back open.

He's not sure he's ever seen her this agitated.

"Lucy, talk to me. What's going on?"

But she's already turned her focus back to the screen.

She doesn't meet his eyes. "Nothing. It's fine, Tim. Do what you need to do."

He stares at her — her lies aren't even marginally convincing.

He shakes his head, running a hand back through his hair in frustration. He doesn't want to be back in this place. Doesn't want to be playing these damn games trying to guess why she won't be straight with him.

But a bigger part of him doesn't want to leave things like this.

"Look, Lucy, if you don't want me to go…"

But she's shaking her head before he can even fully process the idea of having to make a choice.

"No, Tim, that's not — I wouldn't — of course you should go."

She blinks back tears, and it makes him feel a bit like crying himself, realizing that she's dealt with far more than her fair share of his baggage. This would be a lot for anyone to process, and he's not being fair to her by getting frustrated.

She seems to sense his hesitation, because she drops the tablet on the bed and turns back to him, sliding her arms around him. He hugs her tightly to his chest.

"I'm sorry I'm being so — it's just been a weird night," her voice is muffled against his chest. "But you really should go. I'll be fine for a few hours." She tilts her head back to look up at him and swallows. He's again surprised by the intensity of the emotion swirling in her eyes. "But when you get back — Tim, there's something I need to talk to you about too."

And it makes him want to leave her even less. But he knows the clock is ticking for Isabel. "Are you sure it can wait?"

She pulls him down to meet her lips. "I'm sure."

Notes:

When you attempt to squish 4 years of canon as well as your own wacky ideas into an AU that takes place in eight weeks…

All right... well, hopefully I've kind of remembered how to write again . And if I haven't, maybe just tell me I have anyway?

As usual:
- Thanks for the patience if you happen to still be here ️
- Kudos and comments and encouragement in all its forms are so very appreciated!

Summary:

Tim learns more about Lucy's past.

TWs in end note

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter fornotes.)

Chapter Text

The Things That Haunt Us

Week 6, Day 4: Wednesday

"I'll be right back," Tim tells Isabel as he steps out of the interrogation room to find them both some coffee. He pauses outside the door and runs a tired hand over his face — given how long they've been waiting between interviews, he's getting the sense that it's going to be a long night for them both. He's been trying to keep a level head for Isabel's sake, but he's starting to wonder if his presence is doing more harm than good.

He's on edge, and he knows he's not doing a good job of hiding it. He's angry that they are having to have these conversations at all, and Lucy's failure to respond to the text he'd sent almost an hour ago is only exacerbating the sense of unease he's been battling since leaving the apartment.

He glances down at his phone as he walks to check once again for a response. No dice.

He's just looking up from the screen when he spots a harried-looking Jackson striding toward him from across the bullpen.

"Tim? What the — what areyoudoing here? Where's Lucy?"

The wave of irritation Tim feels in response to the younger officer's accusatory tone is forgotten at the mention of Lucy.

His stomach clenches as he registers the obvious concern written all over Jackson's face.

"She's at the apartment. Why?"

Jackson opens his mouth and then closes it, fury coloring his features. He shakes his head in disbelief, "You just — you left her alone?"

He's looking at Tim like he's officially lived down to his lowest possible expectations (not that he'd had all that far to fall).

Tim narrows his eyes as he feels his entire body begin to tense. "Why wouldn't I leave her alone?"

Confusion flickers across Jackson's face. "She didn't tell you? Of course she didn't tell you." He pushes a hand back through his hair as he shifts his gaze and exhales a steady stream of air. This time his frustration seems to be directed at Lucy.

"Didn't tell mewhat, Jackson?" Tim can feel the dread growing in his stomach with every second his question goes unanswered.

He switches tack. "I'm going to need you to tell me what's going on, Officer West." His tone is icy and authoritative, and Tim doesn't care that it's idiotic to pull rank in a situation like this.

He can't stand this. He hates being left in the dark. He hates even more that it's Lucy who chose to put him there.

Jackson finally shakes his head, "You'll have to talk toher, Tim."

"I need to know if she's in some kind of trouble." He tries to keep his voice level, but he's acutely aware of his body responding to the idea he's just put into words — feeling like the blood running through his veins is gradually turning to ice.

Jackson's aggravation fades as he takes in Tim's distress, seeming to realize they are on the same side.

"She's not in trouble. She just —" Jackson stops short, clearly conflicted over how much to tell him.

Tim forces himself to stay calm, working the tension out of his fingers as he fights an insane urge to physically make Jackson tell him what the fuck is going on.

"Look, Tim — it's not my place to tell you what's going on if she hasn't. She just really shouldn't be alone right now."

Jackson holds up a hand, hurrying to finish as Tim opens his mouth to demand an explanation. "She's okay — physically. And she's tougher than anyone I know, but that doesn't mean — Look, if you're not planning to be with her, then —"

They both turn their heads in response to Stanton hollering Jackson's name from across the bullpen.

There's no doubt in his mind that Jackson would be with Lucy himself if he was in any position to take off in the middle of a shift. They both know Stanton isn't going to cut him any kind of break.

"I'll wrap up here and head back now." Tim swallows his urge to demand answers, knowing deep down that Jackson isn't the person that should be providing them.

He tries to push aside the voice in his head questioning Lucy's reasons for keeping him in the dark. Isabel showing up had certainly thrown them both for a loop, but it's still hard for him not to question Lucy's choice when this isn't the first time she's opted not to confide in him. It's a bitter pill, but it's certainly possible that Tim just isn't who she needs or wants by her side right now.

He swallows, "You're sure Lucy's okay? She hasn't been responding to my texts."

Jackson nods, already starting to walk away. "She is. I just talked to her."

Tim chooses to let his relief distract him from the salt Jackson has just rubbed in the wound with the revelation that Lucy does, in fact, still have a functioning phone. She's okay. Physically okay, anyway, as Jackson had put it earlier.

It's an incongruous feeling — having such strong feelings for someone he still has so many unanswered questions about.

Jackson hesitates, momentarily turning back to face him, "Look, Tim — it's not just you. What she went through — she doesn't really talk to anyone about it, but she really needs someone who can see her when she's struggling, someone who can reach her."

Tim nods, feeling a little sick. He'd known something was wrong. But he'd left anyway. He wanted to believe her when she said she was okay. He hadn't wanted to make the hard choice, and she'd made it easy for him. She'd told him to go.

The irony is that it's crystal clear to him now that if they'd just been honest — with themselves and with each other — he wouldn't have left her side. Not for a second.

"Okay, that sounds good, Wes. I really appreciate this."

Tim ends the call and heads immediately back into the interrogation room where Isabel is nervously shredding a napkin as she continues to wait for the investigator.

"What? No coffee for the dishonorable?" she attempts a wry smile, but it's not particularly convincing.

Tim slides into the seat next to her and covers her hand with his, "Isabel, I'm sorry, but something's come up, and I have to go."

Her anxiety is palpable as she looks up at him with confusion, "You're leaving? I don't know if I can do this by myself, Tim."

He squeezes her hand, "You're going to be okay, Iz. And you're not going to be alone. Wesley's on his way here, and he is going to get you through this. He's really good at what he does, and he's going to be a lot more useful to you than I can be. I'll check in in a few hours, okay?"

And even as he's saying the words, he can hear the truth in them.

There's no question that the love and care that once existed between them is still there. It will always be there.

It's a huge part of the reason he'd shown up here to begin with.

But seeing Isabel tonight — being face to face with this version of her that is the very embodiment of what he wishes they could have been — he can finally see it for what it is. An idea that he's clung to for far too long — maybe even right up to the point that he'd married another woman, maybe even right up until this very moment.

What he had with Isabel was complicated. Beautiful and bittersweet. Memories he'll cherish and moments so painful he knows he couldn't forget them if he tried. She had been his entire world.

But as much as what they had is in the past, Tim knows there's a part of himself that has struggled to truly let go. A part that has gotten smaller as his heart has begun to beat for something else in the present, but a part that continues to linger nonetheless. And maybe it always will.

But Tim knows now that if he'd been able to set aside that part of himself — the same part of himself that has never stopped hoping he could somehow be what Isabel needed him to be — he'd have called Wesley right from the start.

Because Isabeldoesn'tneed him. She needs a lawyer and a friend that can provide an emotional objectivity that Tim simply can't offer in this situation. Luckily, Wesley is both of those things.

She nods, her features softening as some of her worry fades. "Okay. Yeah. That makes sense."

He gives her hand a final reassuring squeeze before getting to his feet.

"Tim?"

He pauses, hand already on the door handle as he turns.

"Thank you. For always taking care of me. I'm sorry — really sorry — if I ever made you feel like you did anything less."

"Lucy?" Tim calls out as soon as he gets the door to the apartment open.

No response. Not even the sound of Kojo's paws clattering across the floor to greet him.

"Lucy?" he tries again, more urgency creeping into his voice as he heads toward her bedroom.

Relief floods him when he spots her with Kojo out on the balcony.

She's sitting in one of the patio chairs, staring out at the city and hugging her knees tightly to her chest.

She jumps when he places his hand on the door handle, getting to her feet with an agility that has Tim recalling the first time he'd seen just how fast her reflexes were — when pervy PA Brad had attempted to grope her on their wedding day.

His eyes follow the movement as she reaches for the handgun on the side table while simultaneously whirling to face him. He immediately releases the door and lifts his hands.

"It's just me," he reassures through the glass.

Thankfully, her ability to assess a situation is just as fast as her response time, and the weapon never even makes it off the table. She's better than many of the actual cops he's trained, and he can't help but feel an odd fusion of pride and comfort around just how capable she is of taking care of herself. Even if, for a moment there, he'd wondered if sneaking up on her was about to get him shot.

She presses her eyes closed and briefly covers her face with her hands as he slides the door open. "I'm so sorry, Tim. I didn't know you were headed back."

"You weren't responding to my texts so…" he shrugs. "Who exactly were you expecting me to be?"

It's then that he notices just how badly her hands have begun shaking.

It's suddenly crystal clear why Jackson had been so upset at the prospect of her being left on her own tonight. Distracted by the situation with Isabel, it's obvious now that earlier he'd mistaken her fear for concern, but there's no mistaking it now. She is terrified.

He swallows back his own visceral response to seeing her so rattled as he plays back their exchange from earlier, and the pieces of the puzzle finally begin to come together.

"The fires near the prison — you're worried about what would happen if — you're worried about somebody getting out."

Her eyes well as she nods. "I — I know there's basically no chance of that happening, and Jackson keeps telling me that I'll be notified immediately if something does happen, and it's 254 miles away, but I can't…" her voice breaks, and she shrugs helplessly, before lifting a hand to swipe at her red-rimmed eyes.

His heart aches at the realization that he'd left her when she was feeling so vulnerable. He doesn't care how remote the possibility is or whether her response is rational, he cares about the fact that she clearly feels like she is in very real danger.

"Lucy…" he begins gently.

"No — it's okay. I know I'm being ridiculous." She forces a smile as she changes the subject. "How did things go with Isabel?"

Her walls couldn't be more different from his own on the surface, but they are walls just the same.

He ignores her attempt to deflect. "Why didn't you tell me what was going on, Lucy?" He doesn't mean for it to come out sounding like an accusation, but it does.

Her smile disappears, and she shakes her head. "Because I was fine, and —"

"You don'tlookfine, Lucy," he snaps. He again immediately regrets the harshness of his tone when her face falls.

Jackson's words echo in his head. This isn't how he's going to reach her.

He pushes a hand back through his hair in frustration. He doesn't want to feel like this — like he is again failing the one person he wants to be there for the most.

He's lived the story of being with someone who wouldn't, maybe even couldn't, turn to him when she needed help. He can't live it again.

But Lucyisn'tIsabel, and it's not fair for him to make her continue to carry the burden of his past disappointments.

"I just — I don't understand why you told me to go if you were so upset, Lucy," he says, this time unable to keep the raw vulnerability out of his voice.

She swallows and raises her weary eyes to his. "Because I know how important she is to you, Tim."

It's a simple answer.

A truth he can't deny.

Isabelisimportant to him; she's always going to be important to him.

But it's not the only truth.

"You'reimportant to me, Lucy."

She blinks rapidly as her tears threaten to spill over, "I know, Tim. I know how much you care about me."

"Do you? Because if that's true, you have to know I'd want to know that you were feeling like this, no matter what else was going on. It killed me to hear it from Jackson —"

"He shouldn't have said anything," she snaps, cutting him off in a way that indicates she's already well aware of the exchange he'd had with Jackson at the station.

He stares at her in confusion and disbelief, "Is that really what you think the issue is right now?"

She looks up at him with pleading eyes, as if begging him to understand. "What was I supposed to do, Tim? I didn't want to make — She was your wife. She needed you."

And he knows. He knows she would never have wanted to put him in a position where he had to choose.

But it's the way she says it. So matter of factly. As if there was no other way this thing could have gone. No universe where he'd stayed behind with her.

He's not sure whether that hurts or makes him love her that much more. Because of her heart. Because she sees him so clearly — maybe even better than he sees himself.

Because six weeks ago, a month ago, a week ago, hell, maybe even a few hours ago, he probably couldn't have seen it going any other way either.

When he started this journey, he hadn't been ready to admit that he'd clung to the idea of Isabel, and what they weresupposedto have had together as some idealized benchmark. Right up until he'd allowed the failure to meet that benchmark to mutate into a validation of his very worst beliefs about himself.

He hadn't wanted to acknowledge that he'd carried those beliefs as he'd gone through the motions of moving on without realizing he was dying under the weight of them.

But then he'd met a woman that made him want to challenge those beliefs.

On a ridiculous reality TV show.

He'd married a stranger at first sight.

Never in a million years would he have guessed that this weird voyeuristic game of house they were playing would somehow become something very, very real.

Lucy had done more than just open his eyes to the person he was becoming. She'd seen good in him, even after he'd shown her the very worst of himself. She'd made him want to be better.

She'd given him hope.

And somewhere along the way, she'd become the most important thing in his life.

He swallows, trying to get a handle on his emotion. "And what about you, Lucy?"

Her lower lip quivers, and she looks away.

But he can still see it. Her walls crumbling down.

He can still see her. The woman who had broken down in front of him after nearly dying in those caves — haunted and scared and vulnerable.

"Lucy," he begs as the tightness in his chest threatens to crawl into his throat.

She starts to cry. Tears silently streaming down her cheeks at first.

"I really needed you, too." The words are barely a whisper, and yet Tim can hear how hard they are for her — how hard she works to make it seem like everything is okay, all of the time.

But she isn't okay.

She lifts a hand to her mouth to stifle a sob as Tim rapidly closes the distance between them. Her other hand trembles as she reaches for him, fingers grasping at the front of his shirt, barely settling before they are crushed between their bodies as Tim pulls her into his arms.

Her skin is ice cold against his own when she buries her face into his neck. The pilfered Dodgers T-shirt and her cut-offs are a poor defense against the rapid drop in temperature that's come alongside nightfall in L.A. He moves his hands over her in an attempt to warm her up.

He takes a deep breath, sweeping a strand of hair back behind her ear before stepping back and reaching down to take her hand in his.

"You're freezing; can I take you inside?"

Her eyes are still watery, but the tears have stopped. She nods, allowing him to lead her back into the apartment after he retrieves her weapon from the table. Kojo lumbers to his feet to follow after them.

Tim pulls the screen door shut but leaves the glass door open, sensing that Lucy wouldn't have been outside turning herself into a human popsicle if she hadn't felt some need to be out there.

He sets the gun carefully on the nightstand before turning to face her and Kojo.

"Keep an eye on her," Tim orders his pup, though it is absolutely unnecessary. The dog had curled up on Lucy's bare feet the moment she'd taken a seat on the edge of the bed and kicked off her flip-flops. "I'll be right back."

Tim walks quickly to his room, retrieving the hoodie he'd thrown on after his morning run from the top of his hamper.

He tosses it at her as he walks back into her bedroom, "That one might even still have some fresh sweat on it."

She crinkles her nose, "It sounds really gross when you put it that way." But she's already pulling it on.

He shrugs, "What can I say? I'm a romantic. And you're the one who dumpster dives in my hamper."

She rolls her eyes, but her lips quirk upward in the beginnings of a smile that warms him from the inside out. It is really hard for him to see her so upset, and the glimmer of sunshine is a welcome appearance.

She holds her hand out to him, and he accepts it, allowing her to pull him down next to her.

He notices that even though her eyes dart to the tablet sitting on the nightstand, she fists part of the duvet in her free hand instead of reaching for it.

He looks at her questioningly.

"Jackson had his dad call in a few favors — he swears I'll be the first to know if there is actually anything to worry about. He made me promise I'd stop watching the news. Like you, he seems to think the coverage is blowing things out of proportion and that I'll drive myself crazy if I keep following it."

Tim nods, hoping his face doesn't give away his own wariness. The existence of any kind of threat to her safety, no matter how unlikely, obviously isn't sitting well.

But Jackson's right — obsessively following the news isn't going to change the course of the fires, and it's the last thing Lucy needs.

She needs reassurance. She needs to feel safe.

He settles in next to her on the bed, wrapping his arm around her to pull her closer. She curls into him, lifting her legs into his lap as he tightens his hold. He tips his head down until his forehead is resting against hers, and they sit quietly for a few moments just breathing each other in.

"I'm really glad you're home," Lucy says softly as she threads her fingers through his hair.

"Me too," Tim agrees, before shifting so he can press his lips against her forehead, grateful that she does seem to be gradually relaxing into his hold.

Lucy pulls him down to her, her lips soft and wanting against his own. He allows himself to get lost in her touch, knowing that, on some level, she is seeking both comfort and distraction.

They might both be champion avoiders, and Tim can't say he doesn't prefer her coping methods to his own more misanthropic tactics, but neither approach is sustainable.

He grips her face with one hand, deepening the kiss as he takes control. He hopes that she can feel just how much he cares about her.

She makes a weak attempt to resist when he finally breaks away, before sighing in resignation.

He locks his eyes on hers, brushing his thumb over her cheek.

"How do we do this, Lucy? How can we do this if you won't let me see you?"

She blinks, hurt and confusion warring on her face as she stares back at him. "Idolet you see me…"

She pulls her legs from his lap and moves back into her seated position next to him, shaking her head and looking down as if trying to make sense of his words.

"Just because I don't want to talk about… this thing — it just… it happened, but it's not — it's not a part of me. It's not me, Tim. It's not."

He slides his hand over hers, not wanting her to pull any further away. He's not trying to hurt her. He's just trying to reach her.

Tears begin to slide down her cheeks. When she finally lifts her gaze back to his, her eyes are the saddest he's ever seen them. "I don't want it to be me."

The whispered words break his heart. He doesn't doubt for a second just how desperately she wants them to be true. How badly she wants to live in a world where whatever this thing is didn't happen. Didn't change who she was.

His own eyes burn as he tightens his fingers around hers.

"What happened to you, Lucy?"

But even as the words are leaving his lips, he finds himself questioning if he really wants to know.

He's seen truly horrific things, has had a front-row seat to the very worst that humanity has to offer. But that doesn't make seeing her in this kind of pain any less difficult to bear.

But more than anything, he doesn't want her to be alone in this.

She nods slowly, wiping away her tears and taking a deep breath.

Lucy offers him a miserable smile, and there's not a trace of sunshine in it this time. "Do you remember what I said when you asked why I decided to do this?"

Tim nods, thinking back. "You said you were tired of dating in LA after some bad dates or something?"

He remembers, at the time, not finding her answer to be particularly substantive. Another box ticked on the version of her he thought he had completely figured out from the moment they'd met.

She swallows. "That was true… but, um, there was more to it than that. It wasn't just a bad date, I… I went on a date with a serial killer."

Tim stares incredulously at her. "Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?" he finally asks when the punchline he's waiting for never comes.

Lucy sighs pressing her eyes closed. "I really wish it was, Tim."

He narrows his eyes, dropping her hand abruptly as he gets to his feet and begins to pace. He turns her words over in his head.

There's no way.

It's not just implausible; it's practically impossible.

He could count the serial killers that have been active in LA in the last decade on less than one hand.

Victims that had survived to tell the tale? Even fewer.

In fact, he can think of only two.

Both victims of Caleb Wright.

There's just no way, though. He's a cop. Stories about Rosalind Dyer and her protege Caleb Wright had dominated headlines for weeks. There's no way he wouldn't have known something like this.

And yet, his mind continues to follow the tenuous thread.

Caleb Wright had targeted young women in their 20s.

Pretty, petite brunettes.

Something turns in his stomach.

Caleb had left a long and gruesome trail of bodies for Rosalind to lord over authorities, but his arrogance and carelessness had ultimately cost him his life.

He'd left behind two survivors.

Two.

He closes his eyes trying to remember the specifics of a case he'd never actually worked but that had been all everyone had talked about for weeks.

Nora Valdez. The name of the first survivor. The LAPD had rescued Nora after tracking down Caleb's killing ground. She'd been saved when Caleb had decided to make a run for it. Her survival had led to a multitude of interviews and documentaries; America's obsession with serial killers meant her name had continued to come up long after Caleb's death. It was firmly engrained in his mind.

But there had been a second survivor. He draws a blank.

The one that had been rescued only after Caleb had been killed. A much closer call.

Her identity had never been made publicto protect her privacy.

And with no face to associate with the story, there had never been the same level of media fanfare around the second survivor. The coverage had instead continued to center on Caleb, Rosalind, Nora, and the many others that hadn't been lucky enough to survive.

The victim had been someone who hadn't wanted all of the attention that would come with surviving a serial killer.

Maybe someone like a reporter who would have hated becoming the story.

Someone like an investigative journalist that would go on to make headlines less than six months later for a very different reason — a hugely successful undercover operation that never would have been possible had her name and image been splashed all over the news beforehand.

Tim swallows, feeling as if he can actually hear his heart beating in his ears.

It had been the end of 2019 — when Rosalind Dyer had tried to cut a deal and Caleb's victims had been discovered alongside hers.

No. That can't be right. He tries to convince himself even as the pieces all begin to fall into place.

The end of 2019. December 2019. 12919.

The numbers etched into her skin. The tattoo she couldn't stand to have anyone touch.

He shakes his head, "No." He says it out loud this time. A rejection of this new reality.

And suddenly it's not just Lucy that can't accept this. He doesn't want it to be her either. Her desperation has become his own.

He feels like he's going to be sick.

How many times had he looked at that fucking tattoo? Tried to puzzle out the meaning of the letters and numbers.

The very first night. It had caught his eye the very first night. He had known even then that it was somehow wrong on her skin.

DOD. A permanent marker of what was supposed to have been her day of death.

He fights his urge to pull her to him and slide up her shirt and stare at the tattoo until it tells him how he could've missed something that feels so fucking obvious now.

But so much about Caleb's crimes had been kept under wraps. Federal investigations had continued the search for other possible proteges or accomplices. And the DA tried to hang on to every possible thing that could eventually be used in the case against Rosalind.

Lucy has been waiting quietly, her eyes following his movements, seeming to understand that he's slowly, but surely, connecting the dots.

He stares at her — this woman, his wife — and suddenly it feels like he's looking at a stranger. How could he not have known?

"I don't understand," he says gruffly, shaking his head. "What are you saying?"

And he knows that he's upsetting her, but what is he supposed to do when none of this makes sense? He needs it to make sense.

"I need you to say it, Lucy."

She looks at him in disbelief. "What do you want me to say, Tim?"

A mirthless laugh escapes her lips. A bitter sound he's never heard her make.

"Do you want me to say that I was an idiot? That when Rosalind Dyer decided that a random, nobody junior reporter at the Post should get an exclusive interview, I didn't even think to question why.

"I was so excited, Tim. I thought it would be the story of my career — following along as she negotiated her reduced sentence in exchange for revealing where she'd buried three of her victims — I even thought that maybe I'd discover something the DA had missed. All I could think about was what a huge opportunity it was…

"I don't know if it was ego, or just being so single-minded, or that I was just naive — it was probably all three — but she toyed with me for weeks. I wasn't even — there was a plan for the other victims and burying them with Rosalind's kills. But I wasn't even that. I wasn't a part of the plan. I didn't even have a purpose. I was entertainment for them — a little game between the two of them to keep themselves from getting bored. The stupid, naive little reporter that never had a clue. I just didn't see it. I never saw it, Tim. "

Tim shakes his head, moving to join Lucy on the bed. "She was locked in a cell, Lucy. You couldn't have known she was working with Caleb. Nobody knew that."

She presses her eyes closed and shakes her head, as if unwilling to accept the truth of his words.

"You accused me once of blindly chasing a story for the glory."

Tim winces, mentally kicking himself as she continues. "The worst part of it is that you weren't even wrong, Tim; you just didn't know that I already made that mistake and that the price I paid for it isn't something I'll ever forget."

His stomach aches. He slides his hand over hers. "Nothing about this was your fault, Lucy."

She offers him a sad half smile, "I don't know that I'll ever stop wishing I hadn't taken that story.

"Anyway, I met Caleb in a bar. And I thought he was cute and charming…" she pauses, clearly sickened by the descriptors in retrospect. Tim feels a little nauseated himself, hating the idea that she'd ever been anywhere near that monster.

"And yeah — he played me too. We talked and texted for weeks, and I never had a clue he was a sociopathic murderer."

The words take Tim back to their earliest moments — the small flickers of fear and wariness that had broken through her happy, bubbly mirage.

He'd written her off — thought she'd come into this looking for an easy-button husband. And though it's undoubtedly been established that he was a massive idiot, he still hadn't had any conception of how hard this must have been for her. He hadn't had any conception of just how big a leap she'd taken to find her way to him.

"When he finally asked me out — I don't know — part of me hesitated, but then I figured, why shouldn't I go out with him? I thought —" her voice breaks. "I thought I knew who he was."

Tim can feel his chest tighten as he reads the distress in her gaze. He thinks about the way she'd looked at him the morning he'd flipped a switch on her in Mexico. He thinks about how it must have felt for her — not just confused and hurt by his actions, but also how destabilizing it must have been to be forced back into a place where she believed she couldn't trust her own judgment about who she allowed to get close to her.

He can't. He can't figure out how to process this. How is it possible that she could still even be here, by his side, after that?

Her voice is more detached when she continues. "I didn't realize he'd drugged me until he was stuffing me into his trunk."

Tim shakes his head. He wants her to stop. He's changed his mind. He doesn't need to hear anymore.

"Lucy…" He reaches for her, but she bats him away.

"No, Tim. You wanted me to say it. I'm going to say it." She meets his gaze, the edge falling out of her voice. "I need to just get it out, okay?"

He swallows and nods. The least he can do is listen. Even if her words are making him feel like he's being torn apart from the inside.

"It was the next day I think — when I woke up. I was tied to a table and he was —" Tim follows the movement as she automatically lifts a hand to her side. Her voice is distant, "I asked him why he did it — tattooed his victims with their day of death. He said it was a gift — knowing that I was going to die, getting to have that clarity.

"And I think… part of me knew. I was going to die. But I didn't want to — I didn't want to die, Tim. So I tried — I tried so hard."

She's sobbing now, but she's not done.

"I even — I got away. I was dizzy and confused, but I got out of the ropes and I made it outside and then —"

She breaks then, unable to keep going and Tim pulls her into his arms, cradling her against his chest. "It's okay, Lucy. Shhh. You don't have to. It's okay," his own voice cracks. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

They stay like that until her sobs have quieted.

She takes a deep, shuddering inhale before she continues. "There wasn't anyone there. I got out, and there was no one there to help me. We were in the mountains and it was just dirt, for miles and miles — there was nowhere for me to run.

"I tried, though. I still tried to get away. But he came after me.

"There wasn't anyone there. There was nowhere for me to run," she repeats as if she still can't believe she'd made it that far only to realize this was not a nightmare she'd be able to escape.

She squeezes her eyes shut, and her next words come out more quickly. "He made me get in a barrel. And then he buried me. And, um, —"

She pulls out of his hold and gets to her feet, crossing over to stand in front of the screen door and fixing her gaze on the view.

"I don't — I don't think I really want to talk about this part…"

For a minute, Tim isn't able to get the words out around the emotion in his throat. "You don't have to, Lucy. It's okay."

He watches as she stands there looking out at the sky, occasionally lifting a hand to wipe at her tears. He aches for her.

He crosses the room, slipping his arms around her from behind and bending to bury his head into the crook of her neck, trying to shut out the memories of her panic in the caves — unable to stomach that that had only been a glimpse of what she must have felt being trapped in that barrel.

He lifts his head when she begins to turn in his arms a few moments later, and he's surprised to see the beginnings of a genuine smile curving her lips as she wraps her arms around him and rests her cheek against his chest before continuing.

"Jackson saved me though. He found me. He brought me back."

"That… That's how you met Jackson?" Tim asks with surprise. Though he hadn't actually met Jackson before marrying Lucy, he'd certainly heard about the legacy sensation that had been recognized by the department a few years ago for an outstanding rookie year. The reason for the recognition is now obvious.

Lucy nods against his chest. "Yeah, it was."

She pulls back to look at him, her weariness evident on her face. "After… I went to therapy. I did all of the things I was supposed to do. And then, I just — I just wanted to move on. But…"

He hates that she'd survived something so horrific only to have to continue to live her life in fear.

"You think Rosalind might come after you?"

Lucy shrugs and suddenly looks very, very tired. "I don't know. Maybe? I was as much her victim as I was his. She chose me. And Caleb — he, uh, he recorded it for her."

Tim can feel his whole body tense. "Recorded what?"

She swallows and looks away. "When I was dying. In the barrel."

For a moment, it feels as if his entire chest is constricting as he processes her words.

I was entertainment for them.

He presses his eyes closed and pulls her back into his arms, not wanting her to see how much her words have upset him. How hard he's working to keep it together.

If he'd been unsettled by the idea of some nebulous threat earlier, the idea that she might be in the crosshairs of a serial killer has him outright terrified.

He takes a deep breath, forcing himself to focus on what's most important.

He will do whatever it takes to keep her safe. But to do that, he has to be able to assess the threat. And, locked up or not, there's no denying that Rosalind Dyer is a very real threat.

He treads carefully, unsure of how she'll take his next question. "Lucy… is it okay with you if I take a look at the case files?"

Confusion mars her pretty features as she pulls her lower lip between her teeth.

"I just want to know what we're dealing with," he explains. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you, okay?"

She looks thoughtful for a few moments, and Tim worries he's upset her, until she reaches up and pulls him down, brushing her lips against his cheek. "I'm really, really glad you're home, Tim."

He softens, practically melting into her as he pulls her close. His head is spinning, and his heart is aching with the weight of what he's learned tonight, and despite the fact that they still have so much to talk about, he can't quite find the words.

And it's clear that Lucy is both emotionally and mentally exhausted.

He gazes down at her, tenderly brushing his thumb over her cheek. "Do you think you might be able to get some sleep?"

She looks uncertain, "Maybe? I mean, if you're staying… But, if you need to—"

"I'm not going anywhere, Lucy," he reassures. "Now tell me what kind of crazy tea I can make you," he teases, allowing his fingers to tangle in the silky strands of her hair as he pushes it back from her face.

She laughs softly before looking thoughtful. "Mmm… let's see. Chamomile — obviously. Valerian is good for sleepandstress. Also the honokiol in magnolia bark and probably some lemon balm to round out the taste."

She smiles at Tim's overwhelmed expression, nuzzling closer to place another kiss on his cheek.

"Why don't I just come with you?"

He chuckles. "As long as I don't have to drink it."

She pouts as he grabs hold of her hand to pull her with him, grumbling under her breath. "Well, that's kind ofrude."

It's well past their bedtime when Tim follows Lucy into bed after she finishes her tea.

Too drained for any of her nightly ritual, she'd settled on stripping down to Tim's Dodgers shirt before crawling directly in between the sheets.

He opens his arms, and Lucy is out like a light once she's settled into his hold.

Tim, on the other hand, simply accepts that he has very little hope of getting much sleep tonight. He watches the rise and fall of Lucy's chest shift into a slow and steady rhythm.

He would trade a few hours of sleep a million times over, though, if it means Lucy is actually getting some reprieve from her worries.

He barely grazes his lips against her forehead once he's positive she's fully out, carefully extracting himself so he can return to the living room.

He grabs his laptop before settling in at the dining table.

The first thing he does is check for news on the fires. He's immediately grateful for the advice Jackson had given Lucy — shifts in the wind have made the fire's trajectory wholly unpredictable. Tracking the play-by-play would have been uselessly nerve-wracking for them both. No news about the threat to the prison is good news.

Then he shifts gears, logging into the LAPD's records management system.

He starts with Rosalind — reading through the chilling and gruesome details of each case before shifting to Caleb and all of his victims that had preceded Lucy.

He pauses before clicking on the last file for Caleb. It hasn't exactly been pleasant reading up to this point, but he's been trained to compartmentalize. He's done his best to push Lucy out of his mind and objectively review all of the information they have on Rosalind Dyer and Caleb Wright. Like he would for any other case.

But this one is going to be different. This is her file. He hesitates.

It's going on 3 AM. He needs to make a decision if he's going to get any amount of rest tonight, but he already knows he won't be able to sleep. Not while the fires are still raging (yes, he'd looked again). Not without finishing this task.

He opens the file. The first thing he notices is all of the black boxes — redactions of Lucy's name in the report.

And then he begins to read.

Lucy had downplayed the role she'd played in saving her own life. The detail captured in the statements tells the story of a fearless woman who had refused to bend to Caleb's will. She had refused to be the victim he so wanted her to be. A woman who instead had turned the tables and gotten intohishead, buying herself the time that had ultimately been the difference between life and death. A woman who had fought back in every possible way. A woman who hadn't given up — not even when being forced into the barrel she was meant to die in. Not even when he'd buried her alive.

He shakes his head in disbelief and awe at the fact that, in what had to be the most terrifying moments of her life, she'd had the presence of mind to drop the ring that had ultimately been the reason her rescuers had been able to locate her.

The words are hard — especially the bits that are from her own statements, painting such a vivid picture of everything she had been through.

But the pictures are harder.

Her battered and unconscious body being pulled from the ground. The rope burn on her wrists. The bruises covering her from head to toe. The wounds from her violent struggle with Caleb when she'd attempted to escape.

But the hardest thing, by far, are the details she hadn't been able to share with him about her time in the barrel.

How she had struggled to contain her panic despite knowing she needed to preserve her oxygen.

How she'd miraculously wrenched her wrists from the zip ties only to be faced yet again with the impossibility of her escape.

How singing was the only way she could keep herself from screaming her desperation.

How her body had begun to shut down as she slowly suffocated in response to the increasing levels of carbon dioxide. Headaches and confusion and exhaustion. Failing vision as she faced the excruciating agony of feeling like she'd never be able to take another breath — choking and gasping for air until she'd lost consciousness.

With every word, he knows he should stop. He doesn't need these details to assess any potential threat from Rosalind or a future protege. In fact, the words are doing the opposite of preparing him — they are destroying him.

He thinks about his first impressions of her — sweet and trusting and, yes, a tad overenthusiastic. Even before he'd really known her, even when he'd found her mildly irritating, he'd still recognized almost immediately just how inherentlygoodshe was.

He knows there is evil in the world. But he is still struggling with the idea that anyone would intentionally try and hurt her in this way. That anyone would try to snuff out her beautiful spirit in the cruelest possible way. It's unfathomable to him.

He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, feeling like he is going to be sick.

There are clips at the bottom of the file — from the recording that Caleb had captured of her while she was in the barrel. But Tim has already seen too much. He can't take anymore. He slams the laptop shut.

He knows he shouldn't disturb her. That after the day she's had, she needs her rest.

But it's not an option. Not after what he saw in that file. Not with an almost visceral need to hold her and comfort her and find some way back for them both to a reality where this thing hadn't happened to her.

He slides in next to her, a dull ache forming in his chest when she automatically curls into him. He pulls her impossibly close, thinking that she'll wake at any moment and push him away. Instead, she somehow manages to clutch him even tighter, mumbling his name as she burrows into him and slips back into sleep.

His fingers intertwine through hers, and his eyes take in how small her hands are in his. He thinks about their first night together — out on the balcony after their reception. When he had felt the urge to laugh out loud at the tiny angry fist she made every time he pissed her off, all while keeping a sweet smile on her face.

And now he's thinking of that same fist banging on the top of that barrel. He's thinking about her sweet voice screaming and crying for help. He's thinking about this beautiful woman unable to take another breath.

He buries his face into her neck, completely overwhelmed by his emotion.

And then that same beautiful woman is sleepily shifting in his arms and pulling back from him, that same sweet voice is saying his name with concern, and that same tiny hand is separating from his and coming up to his face, trying to force him to look at her.

It's been a long time since he's cried —reallycried — and an even longer time since he's let anyone see it.

Lucy's fingers brush at his cheeks, as she attempts to soothe and reassure him that she's okay. She holds him until her lips are kissing away the last of his tears.

It's almost impossible to believe she'd once thought this man cold and unfeeling.

It couldn't be further from the truth — he feels things so deeply, cares so damn much that he's had to build walls to survive.

She presses her lips to his forehead, waiting until he calms before attempting to speak. "Tim?" her voice is thick with both sleep and emotion.

He pushes himself up, shifting so that he can face her. He looks remorseful, not quite meeting her eyes as he apologizes. "I'm sorry, Lucy. I didn't mean to —"

She presses her fingers to his lips, shaking her head, "Don't."

He swallows when he finally meets her eyes again, his voice raw, "I can't stand thinking about what going through that must have been like for you."

Her eyes soften. "Me neither."

Tim nods, looking like he's about to apologize again. And she knows he must be beating himself up for pushing her to relive what she'd gone through.

But that's because he can't possibly know how much she needed this. She's gotten so good at pretending — showing the world the exact version of herself she wants it to see.

But inside…

"Sometimes I feel like he broke me in ways that I'm never going to be able to put back together." She can barely get the words out; they are possibly the hardest ones she's ever said aloud.

Tim stares at her, his red-rimmed eyes filling again as he lifts his hand to cup her face. "It doesn't seem like that to me at all, Lucy. I wish you could see — you are so incredible."

She laughs with an uncharacteristic bitterness, "I don't want to be incredible for surviving a serial killer, Tim."

He shakes his head. "That's not what makes you incredible. What's incredible is how brave and resilient you are. Your spirit. How you choose to live your life and choose to see the world. You could have let what happened — you could have let it change you, you could even have let it break you. Most people would have, but you didn't Lucy."

She's crying now. "How can you know that? How can you know that I'm not just showing you what I want you to see?"

Tim pauses, tenderly wiping her tears as he considers her question. "Because I'm not talking about who you are on the surface, Lucy. Look, I'm not going to say your bubbliness and endless optimism and all-around pep hasn't grown on me. It has."

Lucy laughs softly through her tears as he gives her an affectionate squeeze for good measure.

"I love what you choose to put out into the world. But that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about your heart. Your capacity for kindness. Your willingness to offer people grace. How much you care about people and how hard you try to always do the right thing. Your idealism. The fact that you can see good in someone like —"

She stops him, capturing his lips before he can give life to the idea that she had seen good in him when he hadn't deserved it. Because heisgood and so deserving of kindness and grace and love.

And he has no idea how much he's given her. How much it means to her to hear these words from someone who hadn't known her before Caleb and Rosalind had tried to destroy her.

He doesn't see her as somehow broken; he sees her as beautiful.

She blinks back her tears when they finally break apart. "Thank you."

He swallows and nods, settling back and pulling her into his arms.

She stops trying to fight her tears once she settles her head against his chest. She doesn't attempt to resist his concern and comfort or convince herself and anyone that'll listen that she's completely fine.

Instead, she just allows herself to melt into him, allows herself to be held, and allows herself to feel more safe and cared for and loved than she has in a very long time.

Notes:

TW: DOD, Lucy's time in the barrel

I really hope you enjoyed this chapter that took me approximately a decade to write. See you in 12 years with the next update!

Happy holidays!

Summary:

A sick day, toothpaste on the mirror, and Lucy shares more about her past

Notes:

And you thought I was being hyperbolic when I said 12 years... welp, at this point this story is pretty much read at your own risk. I make no promises, but I am going to try and break some of these chapters into smaller chunks since what I originally had planned for this chapter fought me for 8 months. No idea if it will help, but we shall see - just a heads up that you will likely see the chapter count flux a bit as a result.

(See the end of the chapter formore notes.)

Chapter Text

Skip Day

Week 6, Day 5: Thursday

When Tim wakes the next morning, he feels as if he's just barely closed his eyes. He ignores the stiffness in his joints — the result of too many hours spent hunched over those files on his laptop and too few hours spent sleeping — instead rolling over and blindly reaching for Lucy. His eyes blink open at the same time he finds her — all softness and warmth and curled in toward him in a way that has him suppressing the urge to wrap her up and pull her close.

He watches her nose twitch in response to a piece of hair that's fallen across her face. A soft snore provides the soundtrack for his journey to the acceptance phase — amidst the chaos the day before, he hadn't had to confront what was at the root of the emotional rollercoaster he'd been on, but now it seems almost blindingly obvious. He is utterly and completely gone for this woman.

He reaches over to push the offending strand back behind her ear, allowing the tips of his fingers to momentarily linger on her cheek. The peaceful expression on her face makes her appear almost doll-like — fragile in a way that belies the fierce and unbreakable resilience that lives underneath.

But even despite knowing this, his protective instincts are in overdrive — so much so that knowing he can't somehow protect her from what she's already been through makes him feel like there is an almost suffocatingly heavy weight on his chest. It's hardly rational, he knows, to spiral over what can't be changed, but, then again, his need to keep those closest to him safe has never been about what's rational.

He reaches back behind him, unhooking his phone from the charger before scrolling quickly to check for the latest on the fires — 30% containment with the perimeter established along the edges that pose the greatest threat to the prisons and the public. The threat is far from gone, but the number represents significant progress since the last time he'd checked just hours ago.

Lucy begins to stir next to him, and he sets the device aside, turning back onto his side to face her.

Her eyes sleepily blink open, and he watches an uncertain vulnerability flicker in her gaze as she reprocesses, relives just how much of herself she'd laid bare for him the night prior.

He slides his hand back into her hair and leans in to briefly press his lips to her forehead. Their gazes stay locked for a few moments once he pulls back, until Lucy finally breaks the silence.

"Mmm… Have you been staring at me all night?" she asks, her voice gravelly with sleep as she reaches up to rub at her tired eyes. "Creepy."

Tim blinks, momentarily dumbstruck by her unexpected response to his show of tenderness, before shaking his head and rolling his eyes, "Obviously."

He gives in to his earlier urge to pull her closer, "C'mere you little asshole." Was there really a time when he'd thought this feisty ball of sass could be too sweet for him?

She laughs and squirms as Tim relocates his hand to her ass for a generous grab, simultaneously hooking her arms under his and squeezing as she snuggles closer.

"I'm so tired," she mumbles against his throat as he returns the hug. Followed by something surprisingly profane for this early in the morning.

He chuckles, nodding his agreement against the top of her head, genuinely appreciating the irony that his little ray of sunshine is not actually all that much of a morning person.

He feels her tense in his hold before she shifts, groggily attempting to push herself up onto her elbows. He stops her before she can grab her phone off of the nightstand, pulling her back against his chest as she whines in protest.

"It's at 30% containment. The perimeters look good."

She immediately relaxes back into him, the sounds of her mild outrage transforming into a soft hum of pleasure when he nuzzles her temple.

"I think we should call in sick today," Tim announces against her cheek, his lips brushing against her soft skin. He hugs her from behind, breathing in the floral vanilla scent of her hair as his eyes follow her gaze to where a dozing Kojo is sprawled out in a patch of sunlight filtering in through the curtains.

Lucy sighs, slipping her hand beneath his and threading their fingers together. "You don't have to do that, Tim. I'll be okay."

"I know…" he grunts as he nudges his way into the crook of her neck. She pulls their joined hands up to pillow her cheek, taking the opportunity to gently kiss the inside of his wrist.

"I think we should call in sick today," he repeats, his body surrounding hers as he leans down to kiss her neck.

"Mmm… you know…" She emits a soft, breathy sound of pleasure in response to the wet heat of his mouth against her skin, before arching back against him. "I think we should call in sick today."

"Ten years?!" Lucy exclaims, meeting Tim's eyes in the mirror before bending to spit a mouthful of toothpaste foam into the sink.

His eyes settle on the bit of spittle that her barely coherent exclamation has splattered onto the mirror, and he fights his urge to wipe it up immediately. He forces himself to focus on sliding his razor up along his neck instead.

He's just explained why Grey hadn't hesitated to approve his last-minute request to take the day off.

Her mouth is still hanging open as she continues to stare at his reflection in disbelief. "Before our honeymoon, you hadn't gone on a vacation in over a decade?"

Tim rolls his eyes. "Calm down, Lucy. It's not like I never left LA. Though, to be honest, I'm not sure what the point would be unless it's to go see the Dodgers or the Rams play somewhere else."

"You don't understand thepoint?" she flings her hand (yes, the one with the toothbrush) to accompany the emphasis, and Tim wonders if it's possible to have a toothpaste splatter-induced aneurysm.

Lucy's lips twitch as she follows his gaze to the rapidly expanding collateral damage.

"You're such a tightwad," she proclaims, "I'll clean it up when I'm done, Tim." The fact that she waits to say it until her mouth is again overflowing is enough for Tim to know that, now, she's just doing it on purpose.

He grunts, not willing to dignify her baseless accusation with a response, and diplomatically chooses not to point out that she does not, in actuality, always clean up after she's done. She's lucky he adores her as much as he does, because this could most certainly be grounds for divorce.

Her brow crinkles; she's apparently still struggling to process his revelation. "So… you don't like to travel?" She says it as if she's a child that's just learned there is no Santa Clause.

He finishes another perfectly precise swipe before responding as he runs the blade under a stream of water. "Not really. Honestly, after spending so much time overseas and everything I deal with at work, I kind of like just being at home. The simple life."

She purses her lips as she considers his words. "Hmm. I guess it's notthatsurprising." She wiggles her behind tauntingly as she leans down to spit a final time, before rinsing the rest of the toothpaste out of her mouth.

In all the drama yesterday he hadn't noticed her butt's latest proclamation.Spank me, I deserve it.Who knew underwear could be so insightful?

"Youwerelame enough to choose beach volleyball," she meets his eyes as she mimes an exaggerated shudder, "over ayacht."

And when her shrieks of surprise and laughter fill the apartment mere moments later, well… it's not like she didn't ask for it.

Lucy reaches her hands up around Tim's neck as she fights to catch her breath through her giggling.

"Okay, okay. You win," she concedes once she can finally get the words out. After five minutes of chasing her around the living area and a solid bout of wrestling, he's finally managed to get her pinned on the couch.

She shifts one hand to wipe at the tears of laughter that have escaped from the corners of her eyes before lifting the other to his cheek.

"Thank you," she says with more seriousness once she's caught her breath. "I really needed that."

He grins down at her, and she wonders how it's possible for someone's eyes to convey such deep affection. Finds herself marveling over the idea that maybe this —heis what she's been missing. That even as they continue to clumsily stumble down this path together — not always on the same page, not always making the right choices — the connection tethering them together has only continued to strengthen, building beyond the chemical attraction that had initially drawn them together.

"You doing okay?" he asks, his concern evident as his smile slowly fades.

She nods, lifting her fingers to brush over his cheek and then trace along the edge of his perfect jawline.

"You're kind of amazing," she confesses the thought without hesitation, not caring in the moment if it makes her seem like a starry-eyed teenager.

His cheeks tinge, and she can see the flicker of happy surprise in his eyes before he shrugs it off with a deadpanned, "Well. Yeah."

But she can feel the impact of her words when he bends to brush his lips against hers, the warmth of his gratitude in the sweetness of his touch. She slips a hand behind his neck to hold him in place when he moves to pull back, angling her head to prolong and deepen the kiss, needing the tender moment to last a little longer.

She presses up against him until he shifts off of her onto his back and pulls her over on top of him, somehow managing not to disrupt his tongue's exploration of her mouth in the slightest amidst the acrobatics.

Her lips curve upward when she finally manages to break away. "Nice moves, Bradford."

He offers her a cocky half-smirk, the silent sibling of his 'Well, yeah,' from moments before.

She admires the solid feel of his bare chest beneath her palms as she pushes herself up into a seated position, settling her thighs on either side of his hips.

This man belongs in a museum, she muses as her fingers trail lazily down his abdomen, pausing as she reaches the waistband of his sweatpants. She's suddenly quite grateful for his aversion to shirts. And for the lack of plans to derail this morning.

She playfully rolls her hips against him in response to the growing firmness of his arousal pressing against her center.

He follows her every movement, the rapid rise and fall of his chest betraying his anticipation as she reaches down to pull the Dodger's T-shirt up over her head and tosses it toward the coffee table. It slides across the surface and lands in a heap on the floor.

"Careful with that," he chides. "It's my favorite."

"Is it?" Lucy brushes her hair back over her shoulders, offering him a completely unobstructed view of her full, shapely breasts. She eyes him as if he is a complete idiot. "Would you like me to go get it?"

He tilts his head as if seriously considering her offer, blowing out a long, slow exhale as he takes her in, his gaze feeling impossibly like tiny, sizzling pinpricks of sensation on her body as it trails down the lines of her neck and collarbone, and lingers on her chest until the pulsing want between her legs is almost unbearable.

"Hmm?" Lucy prompts, her thighs involuntarily clenching around him as she impatiently waits for him to put his hands all over her.

He glances briefly toward the discarded shirt, before turning his full attention back to the woman sitting on top of him. She sighs her next breath in response to his touch as he leisurely slides his palms up her thighs.

"Did I say that was my favorite?"

She squeaks in surprise when he launches himself up, his arms crushing her into his chest as he holds her in place and nuzzles his face into the pillowy softness of her curves, his fresh shave silky smooth against her sensitive skin.

"Because I meant this. This, right here, is definitely my favorite." He presses a sweet kiss to her breast, before tipping his head back and tangling his hand in her hair as her pulls her down to meet his lips.

He carries her back into the bedroom, their laughter and teasing dying down as he lays her down. He settles his hands on her hips, looking up at her before hooking his fingers into the waistband of her panties.

"Is this okay?" he asks seriously, wanting to be 110% confident of what she wants after the emotional rollercoaster they've been on for the last 24 hours.

"Yes," she nods vigorously, and he drags the cheeky panties down her legs, tossing them aside before he returns his full attention to the beautiful naked woman in front of him.

"Careful," she teases softly, pushing up onto her elbows as she waits for him to join her, "those are my favorite."

He arches an eyebrow at her, pushing his own sweatpants to the floor before responding. "Is that so? Would you like me to go get them?"

She eyes him hungrily, gaze traveling up and down his body in a way that might make him blush if she didn't have him so turned on.

"No," she mouths the word silently as she shakes her head.

He reaches down and lifts one of her feet, gently kissing the inside of her ankle and allowing his hand to slide down the length of her calf. He enjoys every bit of how her body responds to his touch.

"Tim," she whines when he doesn't immediately make another move, instead just gazing at her like he hasn't quite decided how he'd like to prepare his next meal.

"Sorry," he grins down at her before dropping her foot. "Sometimes your unimaginable beauty just overwhelms me."

Lucy snorts, playfully kicking in his direction as he crawls in next to her.

"What are you doing?" she laughs as he wraps his arms and legs around her in a full-body hug.

"Hugging you," he responds in a tone that indicates he is questioning her intelligence.

She sighs, pushing him back from her just enough so she can free her arms and loop them around his neck. "I can't believe you got me naked for a hug," she grumbles as she squishes him back.

He nuzzles his face in to kiss her cheek, before shifting her onto her back. Her breath hitches when his hand slides in between their bodies, escaping her in an whoosh when his fingers slip between her legs.

She makes a strange mewing sound he's not entirely sure he's ever heard her make before, lifting her hips to chase his touch as he cruelly teases near her entrance. His blue eyes blaze with unspoken emotion as he stares into hers, "AndIcan't believe you got toothpaste all over the mirror."

He holds her after, gripping her so tightly against him her skin practically melds against his own. He uses one hand to follow the line of her side up along her thigh and over her hip, his brain trying to comprehend how drastically things have changed between them. For much of their relationship it has been the physical leading the emotional, but now it's like the physical can't possibly keep up. That there's no position, no amount of contact between their bodies that can sate his need to be closer to her still.

"I'm sorry," she says softly, her hand catching his as he automatically lifts it to avoid her tattoo. She twines their fingers together before settling their joined hands over the ink.

He frowns, "You don't have anything to apologize for, Lucy."

She shakes her head, "I'm sorry about yesterday — that I didn't tell you what was going on. And I'm sorry that I let this get between us instead of just telling you the truth sooner."

He opens his mouth to protest — to assure her that none of that matters now that he understands the weight of what she was battling — but stops once he realizes she has more to say.

"I knew… I knew I was going to have to have the conversation when I signed up for this, but I never realized it would be this hard. I thought that maybe I could even have just ripped the bandaid off at the start and put it out there, and we could move past it."

She starts to laugh, "I actually wrote a little speech. I wasn't going to get into all the details — just the basics. You know. Went out with a serial killer. Buried alive. Lots of therapy. But don't worry — I'm totally not an emotional wreck about it or anything." Her eyes fill at the last sentence as her attempt at humor fails to cover the depth of her pain.

The idea of her attempting to address this through some talking points she'd drafted is so completely her. It makes him ache to think about her working up the courage to share what she'd been through (even at a surface level) with a stranger, and…

"I gave you every reason not to do that."

She shrugs, "Well, yeah. But it was also…"

"Also what?" he encourages gently when she doesn't continue.

She sighs, frustration entering her expression. "After it happened… I don't know. Everything was so different. It felt like nothing was the same — no one was the same. And yeah, I guess I wasn't the same either. The people I was closest to — they didn't know how to be around me, and I didn't know how to be around them. It's not like they didn't care or didn't try — they did.

"But I couldn't stand it — the way they looked at me. It made me feel like a victim all over again."

Sadness flickers in her gaze. "So yeah, eventually it was like the life I'd had before… it just kind of faded. And I — um — I guess I let my world get pretty small after that." She looks away, the sadness in her voice giving way to anger, "I let him take so much."

His eyes burn as he looks at the grief reflected back at him in her beautiful brown eyes, and he knows then and there that he wants to be a part of making her world bigger again, wants her to be a part of every aspect of his own.

He thinks about how she is when they are around other people — bubbly and outgoing and radiant. So easy to be around. So easy to love.

Someone you'd expect to have no shortage of friends and loved ones surrounding her at any given time. It makes him ache to think about how much she's lost.

He slides his hand over hers, again fighting his urge to do and say more because he doesn't want to miss a word of what she has to say.

"I think somewhere along the way — doing the show and being with you — I think that maybe I just wanted to have this — to not have to beher… I don't know. It sounds dumb when I say it loud."

He shakes his head, lifting his hand to her cheek. "It's not dumb, Lucy. I get it."

He pauses before asking something he's been wondering about for a long time — something he's even more curious about now that he knows it must have happened only a few months after she'd been abducted. "Is that why you decided to go undercover?"

She looks surprised but then nods, "It was definitely part of it. Don't get me wrong — I wanted the story. I wanted to prove myself. But it was hard — really hard — coming to terms with this giant fracture in my life that happened overnight. So, yeah — I made the decision to go undercover when I still felt like a stranger in my own life. I wanted to escape. I wanted to be someone else for a little while.

"It wasn't all bad though."

"Jackson and Tamara?"

Her lips curve upward at the mention of her two dear friends. "They were everything I needed. They became my family. They grounded me when I came back."

"Jackson checked in on me at first… after Caleb. In the hospital and then a few times after I was released. And talking to him was so easy because he knew what I'd gone through, and I didn't have to explain anything, but he also didn't have this preconception of who I was before. And the way he talked to me — he never made me feel weak. He made me feel strong — like a survivor."

Tim squeezes her hand, this time unable to keep quiet. "Youarea survivor, Lucy."

She offers him a soft smile in response to his words before she starts to laugh. "I think that maybe at first Jackson was alittleworried that I was like obsessed or in love with him when I started calling because of the whole saving my life hero worship thing. But once he got over himself, I found my best friend. He saved me when he pulled me out of that barrel, but he saved me after too, Tim."

He nods, feeling a rush of gratitude toward the man who had played such a vital role in making it possible for this woman to come into his life. The mutual protectiveness and intense loyalty between the two friends now makes perfect sense, and Tim promises himself that he'll keep working to win the trust and respect of the person that's been Lucy's anchor for so long.

"With Tamara — she was struggling when she stole my car, and it was maybe a little crazy to take her in after that, but being able to help her — it felt like coming back to myself, it felt empowering, and I just really needed — I needed to focus on something other than my own pain. She didn't know it at the time, but she was helping me as much as I was helping her.

"Anyway, enough about me," she laughs uncomfortably, her cheeks tinging pink. "I'm done telling my life story for a little while; can we talk about something else?"

And there's an edge of desperation in her tone that makes it clear she needs a break from all of the darkness surrounding that part of her past.

He studies her quietly for a few moments, before reaching over to brush her hair back off of her face. "Let's go to the beach."

"Huh?" Lucy asks bluntly, eyeing him suspiciously, as if she's seriously questioning the motive behind all his unexpected proclamations this morning. "But… you hate the beach?"

"I hate theocean," he corrects, before shrugging, "but Kojo loves it, so…"

She suppresses a smile as he unsuccessfully attempts to play off the suggestion as anything other than an obvious ploy to distract her.

"Well, ifKojoloves it…" But apparently, she isn't above playing along.

And that is how they find themselves making the trek down to Long Beach — one man, one woman, one dog, and one heavily mutilated beach volleyball.

In her defense, it's not like she didn't warn him.

Notes:

Thank you so SO much to those of you that have left such kind and encouraging comments whether on a re-read or if you discovered this story for the first time only to realize you probably should have checked the last updated date . They mean so much to me, and are a huge part of the reason I haven't given up on this story just yet (even if I maybe should have by now). Regardless of where we end up (which, you know, is hopefully at an actual end ), I hope the journey has still been enjoyable ️

Summary:

Lifeguards, jealousy, and Tim starts to share more about his past relationships

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter fornotes.)

Chapter Text

Life's a Beach

Week 6, Day 5: Thursday

"How pissed do you think production is going to be when half of our Couples Cam footage this week is Kojo playing on the beach?" The salty breeze blows the soft fabric of Lucy's flowy cover up1against Tim's legs as they walk together along the shore behind a jubilant Kojo, who is gleefully chasing after seagulls that are far too smart (and airborne) for their canine companion. Nevertheless, Kojo persists in his hapless pursuit.

Lucy laughs, tightening her grip on his arm, "Whatever. This is first-class entertainment if you ask me. Who could possibly not adore this dopey ball of fluff?"

Tim shakes his head, arching an eyebrow. "You'd be surprised."

"Hmm?"

"Not everyone takes to him as quickly as you did; he's not exactly a perfect little angel."

Lucy gasps out loud, "Of course he is. Don't you dare say that in front of him, Tim." She pushes at him in mock anger, before reclaiming her hold and pulling him back to her side as he chuckles at her antics.

She narrows her eyes, mulling over who on earth could have the audacity not to completely adore their furry companion.

Well, thereisJackson, but he gets a pass given the trauma she'd inflicted on him that one time she'd brought home a foster dog without discussing it with him first. Like Kojo, that pup had also been a perfect little angel.

Everyone else that attended their housewarming had practically fawned over the little monster.

She eyes a white tower a little ways up the beach. "It was the lifeguard, wasn't it?" Lucy accuses.

Tim snorts, and yes,maybeit came out a little like she was cursing her nemesis in a super hero movie, but his failure to confirm or deny the allegations is all Lucy needs to know she's hit the nail on the head.

He glances down at her, "You're pretty cute when you're jealous, you know?"

"I amnotjealous," she insists. "Why should I care that you dated a lifeguard that literally looks like she walked off of the set of Baywatch? I am simply appalled that anyone could have a problem with Kojo."

Tim turns to look at her, lips twitching as he attempts to hold back his laughter. "How do you know what she looks like, Lucy?"

Dammit.So much for her stealthy investigating via social media.

"Wait, did youfriendEmmett to stalk my ex?" Tim fumes, and suddenly the conversation appears to be a whole lot less funny to him.

Lucy rolls her eyes at the outdated reference. "I might havefollowedhim, but that is hardly the point.

"You're pretty cute when you're jealous, you know?" she mimics, before softening and sliding her hand down his forearm so she can twine her fingers into his. She squeezes his hand, "In case this isn't obvious, you have nothing to worry about." She nuzzles her face against his upper arm.

"Uh huh," he says in a disbelieving tone even as he retrieves his arm from her grasp so that he can slip it around her shoulders before bending to kiss the top of her head. "But, in casethisisn't obvious, I am not particularly keen on setting you up with Emmett, or anyone else for that matter."

Lucy nods, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she tips her head back to look at him. "Not even Mercedes?"

He snorts and shakes his head, "Do I look like an idiot?"

"Well —" Lucy stops short when Tim sweeps her off of her feet, her surprise only compounding as he begins wading into the water. But even as it occurs to her that she is about to get very very wet, he dips his head to kiss her in a way that leaves her barely able to tell up from down.

"Speaking of Emmett, do you remember that time you wanted me to dress up like a firefighter?"

"Tim! Don't you dare — "

And then he promptly drops her into the ocean.

Once Lucy methodically ensures that Tim is also covered from head to toe in his beloved ocean water, they spend another twenty minutes coaxing Kojo back toward the shore.

Lucy chooses a spot for them to settle and dry off under the sun, while Tim makes the soaking-wet trek back to the truck to retrieve their beach bag, grumbling under his breath about the toils of a day at the beach.

But once he's sprawled on his back with the clear blue sky overhead and the ocean as his personal soundtrack, Tim has to admit this is pretty damn nice. He lazily glances to his right where Lucy is lying on her stomach attempting to read the same damn political thriller she'd brought on their honeymoon, eventually allowing his eyes to wander south to the perfect plump roundness of her ass. And yeah… the view isn't anything to complain about either.

He eventually dozes off, and he's not sure how long he's been out when he senses movement at his side. Still on her stomach, Lucy pushes up onto her elbows, and he can feel her eyes on him.

"What is it?" he asks, eyes still closed.

"Nothing."

He sighs, pushing his sunglasses up to pinch the bridge of his nose and blink in some daylight, before turning his attention to the person responsible for ruining his spectacular nap. He arches an eyebrow at her before settling the shades back in place. "It's definitely something. You've got a look."

"I don't have alook," Lucy protests indignantly, propping her chin on her hands and shifting her gaze away from him, as if she's suddenly riveted by the cover of her discarded novel.

"Uh-huh."

She exhales a disgruntled sigh, clearly torn between asking him whatever it is she wants to ask and her need to prove him wrong.

He suppresses a bemused smile, and shifts to his side, propping himself up on one elbow so they are eye level with each other. He places his hand on the sun-warmed skin of her lower back, rubbing his thumb back and forth in an attempt to encourage her to vocalize whatever it is that's on her mind. Her expression softens as her short-lived defiance melts away, replaced by an uncertainty that immediately sobers him.

She chews on her bottom lip, "I was just wondering… how it went at the station yesterday? With Isabel, I mean?"

And though he should have been prepared for the question, Isabel's unexpected reappearance feels almost like it happened in another life.

He clears his throat, his brain straining against its sleep deprived limits as he fumbles with how to answer her question. "Uh, good… well, as good as being interrogated by IA can be, I guess. Wesley's been keeping me updated though."

"Oh," Lucy turns her gaze to the horizon. "Well, that's… good, I guess."

An uncomfortable silence settles between them, and for a moment the only sounds are the distant squawk of seagulls and the crash of the waves against the shore.

Tim nods, studying her profile as he tries to figure out how on earth he is supposed the navigate this conversation.

He owes her more than that cop-out of an answer, which means next to nothing without any context. He owes her honesty, and there's so much he wants and needs to tell her, but he also needs to handle her heart with more care than he has in the past.

She has been nothing but supportive and understanding, and excluding her tearful speculation that his feelings about Isabel were at the root of how badly he'd treated her in Mexico, she's never indicated that his past — the fact that he'd been married before, the fact that it had ended badly, or the fact that that so much had been left unresolved between him and Isabel — bothers her.

But last night had been a reminder that what Lucy chooses to show on the surface isn't always a reflection of what's going on underneath. She'd chosen to leave him in the dark because she truly believed he would have wanted to be there for Isabel, regardless of what she'd been dealing with at home.

And he can't even say that there isn't some truth underlying either of her conclusions. He's been a fucking mess, and she deserves so much better than that.

He sighs, struggling to find the right words against a backdrop of not wanting to bring more of his past with Isabel into his relationship with Lucy any more than is absolutely necessary.

He shifts his hand to brush a few locks of hair that have tumbled into the sand back up and over her shoulder, fingers gently working the tiny particles out of the silky strands along the way. "You know what I wish sometimes?"

Lucy lifts her gaze from where she is letting sand slowly sift through her fingers, turning her head in his direction. "Hmm?"

"Sometimes, I wish we could have met six months from now." He watches a gull swoop down over the water as he envisions what their relationship might look like if he'd been a better version of himself when they'd met. "But then… I don't know. Sometimes I think that maybe it wouldn't have made a difference."

Lucy pulls away from him, not meeting his eyes as she pushes herself up into a seated position and turns to face the ocean. She wraps her arms around her knees as she pulls them into her chest.

"I don't really know what that means, Tim." She turns her head to look at him, and the raw vulnerability in her gaze slices right through his center. "I wish I could say that I understand what this is like for you — you know I can't. I haven't been married. I haven't even been…" she shakes her head as she trails off. "My point is that I don't know her, and I barely know anything about your marriage, but it's still pretty obvious to me how much you loved her Tim, and I know that feelings like that don't just disappear because you aren't together anymore…"

Tim sits up — this is exactly where he hadn't wanted the conversation to go. "Lucy —"

"No," she lifts a hand to stop him, "Please just let me finish."

He nods, a heavy weight settling into his stomach.

"I understand that Isabel is probably always going to be a part of your life, and I don't need all of the details — I get that the past isyourpast, and it's between you and her, but I need you to be honest with me if…"

She pauses to take a deep breath, and Tim finds himself marveling over just how fucking fearless she is sometimes. Her question is quiet, but to the point, "Do you still have feelings for her?"

And though he'd known it was coming, hearing the words from her somehow still feels like a punch in the gut.

"No.Shit.That's not what I was trying to say…" He thinks back on his words, and lord, the way he manages to be a massive dick without even trying at times is surprising even to him.

"Lucy, I don't," he repeats, pausing to take a breath and push aside a surge of defensiveness. "Not in the way you mean."

It's certainly not the first time he's denied still having feelings for Isabel — to Genny, to Angela, even to himself — but it is the first time he genuinely believes the words as they leave his mouth.

Tim reaches for her hand, twining his fingers through hers before settling their joined hands on the stretch of overlapping beach towels between them.

"Look, I'm not saying you aren't right about some of it. Everything about me and Isabel and the way we ended is complicated, Lucy. And yeah, I am probably always going to care about Isabel, and I think — no, Iknowthat I still have a lot of feelings about what happened between us, especially how it ended.

"But all I meant was that I wish I'd been in a better place with it all when I met you, because —" He exhales a sigh of frustration, wishing words would come as easily for him as they always seem to come for her.

So he instead chooses what comes more naturally, "Can you please just come here?"

She allows him to slide his arm around her waist and pull her closer, and he can't help but feel a bit of relief when she curls in toward him to press her cheek against his chest. He rests his chin on the top of her head as he mulls over how best to put his thoughts into words.

"For a long time — too long," he shifts back to meet her gaze, and his eyes are soft with apology and regret, "all I wanted was for Isabel to come back and for us to have a chance to get back what we'd lost. And I guess at some point I just decided if I couldn't have that, then nothing else would be worth having. It's probably why Genny and Angela pushed me so hard to do this…"

Her gaze is sharp when she speaks again, in a way that lets him know she isn't done asking the hard questions. "Is that how you felt when you were with the life — when you started dating again?"

He watches her carefully, knowing what's at the root of her question — that she still doesn't understand why he'd been able to see a future with another woman, but had been so adamant about not seeing one with her.

"After the divorce was finalized, I decided it was time to move forward. And in a lot of ways I did — I sat for the Sergeant's exam, I was making an effort to see more of Genny and Angela and spending more time with the boys, and yeah, I started dating again.

"At that point, it was like — I don't know — going along for a ride. I told myself I was open to seeing where things would go, and that's what I tried to do.

"I dated a little bit, and then I got set up with Ashley, and things just sort of fell into place.

"Being with her was easy and fun, but it wasn't — it was a relief after what I'd gone through with Isabel. And we cared about each other, and yeah, I was a little down after it ended, but if I'm honest, I wasn't that surprised.

"It's kind of like you said about your past relationships — it made sense until it didn't. When it started to become clear that we wanted different things — that she wasn't all that comfortable with my job and wasn't particularly interested in settling down in LA — I don't think either of us was invested enough to fight all that hard for our relationship.

"So yeah, being with her was easy,whenit was easy. I saw potential with her and wanted it to work, but like I said, it never really got that far or that deep with us.

"But when things ended with her, it was like something just hit me — the reality that I was never going to have the life I'd hoped for. And it was like…" he pauses, searching for the right words, "Do you remember what you said in your vows?"

She tips her head back to look up at him — seemingly surprised by the random change in subject — before offering him a half-hearted shrug. "Doyouremember what I said in my vows?" she scoffs.

Tim chuckles, pulling her back to him. "Mostly just the first bit."

"You're an idiot," Lucy complains as she settles her head on his shoulder and slips her arm around his waist, the humor having cut some of the tension still lingering between them.

"You said that the idea of me — of a partner — was something you'd thought a lot about…"

"Uh-huh…"

"Well, for me, the idea ofyou— someone that would make me want to do this again —reallydo this — it seemed impossible."

He feels her fingers just barely flex against where she is gripping his side, and it's all the encouragement he needs to continue.

"It was different with you, Lucy. I'd convinced myself the process couldn't work before I'd even met you, and then when I did, all I could see were the ways we were different — the reasons we couldn't possibly work — but even despite that, I couldn't stop myself from wanting more of you every minute we spent together — and I don't just mean physically. I don't know that I've ever felt pulled like that toward anyone, and it scared the shit out of me."

She nods, and he can't help but think she must know exactly what he's talking about — likely the same pull that had sent her better judgment right into the crapper and the rest of her right back into his arms when she had every reason to walk away.

He takes a deep breath, taking her hand in his own, "I need you to know, that I don't feel stuck anymore. Iwantto move forward, and I owe so much of that to you."

"Yeah?" And she's got that sweet, hopeful look on her face that had flat-out terrified him not too long ago, and well, yeah, it still scares him shitless, but not in a way that makes him want to run for the hills.

"Yeah," he nods.

Her lips twist into a teasing smile, "Tell me more…"

He rolls his eyes, "I think I just needed to find your particular brand of annoying to get my ass moving in the right direction."

She sticks her tongue out at him but still preens a little when he lifts her hand to his lips.

Her smile fades as his expression turns more serious. "I know I've put you through a lot, Lucy, and I wish I could say I wasn't still struggling with the idea…" He looks away, attempting to work the tension out of his jaw as he wars with his emotions. His voice is barely above a whisper when he finally finishes, "I can't go through that again. I don't ever want to feel like I've failed someone the way I failed Isabel again."

Notes:

1. Lucy's cover-upreturn to text

Thank you so much for all of the encouragement, kindness, and patience; every single comment means the world to me, and it makes my heart so full to know that people still care enough about this story to deal with my inconsistency.

Also... I know we've been dealing with the past for like the last 1200 chapters, and it's been a bit heavy - we've got maybe one more to go before we shift gears back into the present - thanks for bearing with me as we get these two idiots functioning in their new relationship like whole ass adults!

Thanks for reading ️

Summary:

More beach. More talking. More feelings. A bit of psychoanalysis and a picnic!

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter fornotes.)

Chapter Text

Beach Therapy

Week 6, Day 5: Thursday

Lucy's chest tightens as she watches Tim swallow back his emotion.

"What do you mean?" she asks softly, not wanting to push when he's so obviously struggling, but also knowing how singularly important this is to understanding the man he is today. "How did you fail Isabel?"

He laughs bitterly. "It'd probably be easier to explain how I didn't fail her. Not sure there'd be much for me to say on that front. Let's see. Where should we start? After she started using —"

"Using?" she interrupts.

Tim frowns, as if fully realizing just how little she knows about his past with Isabel. "Yeah, sorry — you know she was a cop. Well, she was UC. In narcotics. And well… yeah, she got hooked."

Lucy blinks, feeling as if suddenly a large piece of the puzzle that is Tim Bradford is finally falling into place. Everything she knows about Tim's past feels like it is being illuminated in a completely different light.

"She was struggling. It was right in front of my face. But I just didn't see it… Or maybe I didn't want to. I don't know."

His voice falters, and Lucy tightens her hold on his hand. "I was in denial for a long time. I thought if I could just get her to come back to me, to let me help her — I was so caught up in this stupid idea that I could save her."

Lucy presses her lips together, thinking that nothing could be less stupid than wanting to help someone you love when they're struggling.

"I didn't know it then, but looking back, after she got fired, there was no coming back for us. Being cops — it was the thing that brought us together. And when she stopped being one, it was like the final thread holding us together was just gone.

"And then she was gone, too. Just up and left without a word. I looked for her, every day and every night. I never stopped. I had no idea if she was dead or alive, but I couldn't stand the idea that she could be out there somewhere… that she might need me. And that I wouldn't be there."

He appears to have difficulty getting the last words out, and Lucy finds herself physically hurting over the idea that he's known what it's felt like to be alone and struggling far too much in his life. She wonders if anyone has ever looked out for him the way he does for the people he loves.

Another bitter laugh escapes him, "She'd been gone for about a year when I got a call from the hospital letting me know she had overdosed."

Lucy sucks in a breath as Tim shakes his head, "Part of me thought that maybe that would be our turning point, that she'd finally get some help. But she walked right back out of there that afternoon after making sure I knew she still wanted fuck all to do with me.

"I knew things had gotten bad between us. Our marriage was far from perfect, even when it was good. But that day, I think it finally hit me just how much she resented me. Shehatedthat I kept trying to ride in on my white horse and save her, hated the way I made her feel like she could never live up to my expectations. I don't think I really understood until right then thatIwas the source of so much of her unhappiness."

He looks away, frowning at the memory, and he suddenly looks so young and vulnerable, his voice softer as he muses, "She was my wife. And I know I made mistakes. We both did. But all I wanted at the end of the day was for her to be okay. To be better than okay — to be happy and healthy and safe. But she wasn't any of those things by the end — I wasn't able to give her even one of those things. It probably shouldn't have surprised me that I was the last person she needed or wanted at that point, but it did. Somehow I still just —"

He shakes his head, unable to finish the sentence as he swallows back another wave of emotion.

She shifts closer, no longer caring that she's interrupting as she wraps her arms around him.

"I'm so sorry, Tim."

He gives her a quick squeeze in return, but simply shrugs in response to her words, as if he's not deserving of her sympathy. It doesn't sit right in her stomach any more than the idea that he was somehow to blame for Isabel's unhappiness. But this is the most he's ever opened up to her, and she's pretty sure they both need him to keep going, so she doesn't force the issue, instead just waiting quietly for him to go on.

He turns his gaze to the ocean as Kojo gets up to switch positions barely settling before getting up and switching again, seemingly agitated by his owner's emotional discord. Tim reaches over to scratch behind the dog's ears before continuing.

"But even after that, of course I still couldn't just let it go. I felt so helpless; I needed to dosomething. I realize now that I just made things that much worse by enabling her — giving her money and stealing Narcan for her and trading favors to get her off when she was picked up. God, maybe if I'd just faced the truth and gotten out of the damn way, she'd have been forced to get the help she needed sooner. But I didn't, and she almost died because of it."

Lucy exhales slowly, processing his words; she'd known that their relationship had ended badly, but she hadn't had any idea just how much they'd been through, how muchhe'dbeen through.

"Did she OD again?" she asks softly.

Tim lets out a harsh, humorless chuckle, "No. She got shot in the head."

"What?!" Lucy blurts, her shock causing the question to tumble out of her mouth involuntarily.

He shakes his head dismissively, "She got busted with enough drugs for a felony distribution charge and got forced to go undercover as a CI to avoid jail time. By then, everything I had done to try and help her put us both in a bad position — IA was starting to ask questions. She didn't have any room to negotiate, and no one was looking to do me any more favors.

"There wasn't anything I could do to help her when she really needed me — when her life was on the line. The target shot her point blank in the head; we found her in the dumpster."

The emotion has drained out of his voice, and his gaze is distant.

Lucy's eyes go wide with disbelief, unable to reconcile this story to the beautiful, vibrant blonde that had shown up at the apartment less than 24 hours ago.

She wants to get closer, to comfort him somehow, but he feels impossibly far away from her right now.

"I'm so sorry, Tim," she repeats, the words feeling woefully inadequate. "I can't imagine how excruciating that must have been for you."

He nods, gaze still locked on the ocean in front of them.

"But… she's okay now, right?"

"Apparently," the sharp edge has returned to his voice. "I honestly didn't think she'd ever wake up again after that. But she did. And I was still fucking stupid enough to think, yet again, that maybethatwas going to be our second chance, that maybe we could start fresh. But to her credit, she was absolutely clear about what she wanted. Or maybe I should say what she didn't want. She blamed me for what happened to her, and she wasn't wrong."

Lucy feels a bubble of anger rise up in her chest, "What? I'm sorry, Tim, but how is any of that your fault?"

His red-rimmed eyes are angry when he turns to look at her, but she knows it's not directed at her.

"I was her husband. The closest person to her. I was supposed to protect her, and instead I did the exact opposite."

"That's ridiculous —" Lucy cuts herself off when she sees the expression on his face, reigning in her reaction. "I don't believe that," she tries again more calmly, knowing that she's pressing her luck. That Tim is more likely to shut down on her than he is to listen to her challenging such deeply held beliefs. But she can't keep her mouth shut any longer.

Something tight clenches around her heart as she recalls the last time she'd seen this utterly broken expression on his face, his eyes reflecting the stormy blue of the ocean on a different beach. Right after he'd put his life on the line to saveher— someone he'd known for less than a week.

"I don't believe you didn't do everything you possibly could have to protect her, Tim. And you have to know that whatever Isabel said to you during that time was the addiction talking, not her."

It's not a revelation that Tim feels compelled to carry the pain of those he loves on his very own back when nothing could be further from the truth. But this feels like a stretch, even for him. How could he possibly hold himself responsible for so many things that were so completely out of his control?

And it's when she thinks about it from his perspective that she sees it the way he must see it, or, more importantly, feels it the way he must feel it — not as the grown man that intellectually knows what addiction is, but from the eyes of the child who suffered abuse at the hands of a father fighting his own battle with addiction. A child that would blame himself for his father's behavior not as a matter of choice, but as a matter of survival.

She stares at him, the words spilling out like they have a life of their own, "Do you —" She pauses, the words transforming from a question to a statement that, deep down, she knows she isn't her truth to speak, "You blame yourself. For her addiction."

Confusion and hurt flicker across his features as he opens his mouth to respond and then snaps it closed. He shakes his head, "What are you talking about, Lucy? That isn't what I —"

But, as Jackson would say, she's like a dog with a bone in her need to follow this thread — to make sense of the man sitting next to her.

"Tim, you know nothingyoudid made Isabel an addict, right? That's not how addiction works. Addiction is cruel and horrific, but it's an illness. It'd be ridiculous to think…" And she knows as soon as the words leave her mouth — the delivery is all wrong.

He shakes his head, clenching and unclenching his jaw before turning to face her, every single bit of the openness and vulnerability gone from his expression.

His voice is tight, "You think I don't know that? You really thinkIneedyouto explain addiction to me?"

She places her hand on his forearm, "Of course not. I just meant that maybe … because of your dad…"

And this time she has no doubt that the fury blazing in his eyes is absolutely directed at her.

"Are you — my dad hasnothingto do with this," he jerks away from her, startling Kojo as he finds his way to his feet, all the while staring at her in disbelief.

And if she'd had any doubt before, she's now certain she has monumentally fucked up — attempting to analyze and diagnose his feelings about the very worst moments of his adult life and then blurting her thoughts without thinking of how intrusive and invalidating and dismissive they must sound to him.

Her chest aches and her eyes fill.

He turns his back to her, clearly attempting to collect himself, if the shaking hand he pushes back through his hair is any indication. Lucy's heart drops into her stomach when he turns back to her, the hurt and betrayal unmistakable in his gaze for only a moment before his mask falls into place.

He'd trusted her.

Lucy swallows, feeling a little bit like she might be sick. "Tim, I'm sorry. I —"

He shakes his head, holding up a hand to stop her. "Lucy, listen, I know you're just trying to help, but I can't do this — I'm sorry, I thought I could — I just I can't talk about this anymore."

He bends to retrieve a rubber football from their beach bag, and Kojo begins to dance and jump in excited circles, apparently eager for a distraction from the emotional turmoil of his keepers.

Tim forces a smile as he meets her gaze, "I think Kojo is ready for some fetch."

She watches as he walks away, unable to stand the idea that she's made him regret being vulnerable with her when she knows how difficult it is for him open up like this. She bites back what feels like a sob rising in her throat and gets to her feet to chase after him, "Tim, wait! Please."

He turns, that same tight-lipped smile on his face as he waits patiently for her to catch up, taking the opportunity to pitch the ball out into the waves.

"Tim, I —"Shit.She presses her lips together, afraid of saying the wrong thing yet again. But she has to try.

"I'm so sorry. I — what I said, it came out all wrong."

He shakes his head, eyes following Kojo's trek into the water. "It's fine, Lucy. Let's just talk about something else."

He glances over at her and must register her disbelief and distress, because he tries again, softer this time. "Seriously, it's fine. It's not a big deal."

He moves to hug her, but Lucy presses her palms against his chest, resisting his embrace.

"No, it's not okay. Don't do that." Tears of frustration threaten to spill out over her cheeks.

Confusion and concern war across his face, as he gives up his attempt to hug her, instead lifting his hands to cradle her face. "Don't do what? Hey, come on, Lucy. I promise it's okay. I'm fine." He sighs, and for a moment he looks almost as miserable as she feels, "Lucy, the whole point of today — I don't want you to be upset. I definitely don't want to be the reason you're upset."

She swipes angrily at her eyes, working to reign in her emotions before she glares up at him. Why does he have to be so damn wonderful and infuriating at the same time? "Then don't — you can't just pretend it's fine. Be mad at me. Tell me I'm being a jerk. Tell me that I've upset you and you need some space. Just don't dothis."

He shakes his head, a slight chuckle escaping him. "Youwantme to be mad at you?"

"Yes! No… I don't know," a frustrated growl escapes her, and his lips twitch. So damn infuriating, this man.

"Don't laugh at me!" she snaps, even as she feels the almost overwhelming urge to laugh at herself and this absurd attempt to apologize. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself, "When you act like you don't care or like everything's okay when it's obviously not, it makes me feel like… just please don't shut me out," she pleads softly.

Realization dawns in his eyes, and he looks immediately remorseful. "Shit, Lucy. I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to — "

"Don't you dare apologize to me before I apologize to you, Tim Bradford!"

He holds his hands up and takes a step back, pressing his lips together before simply nodding for her to continue.

"I'm so sorry, Tim. I know what I said — the way I said it — I didn't mean to hurt you."

And it's Lucy's turn to hold back a laugh because she can literally see the battle on his face as he fights his instinctual need to deny her claim.

"Unless, of course, admitting that someone could hurt you will cause you to spontaneously combust. In which case, I'm sorry I said something that could, in theory, be hurtful to someone," she teases gently.

His eyes narrow, "You're doing it again. I feel like you're trying to psychoanalyze me or something, Lucy. It makes me feel like I'm part of a lab experiment."

"No, I — well, okay, yes, but — it's not because I think you'd be a fascinating test subject. Honestly, you'd be a horrible test subject."

He crosses his arms and arches an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with the turn her apology has taken.

"I just — I want to know you, and… I want to understand you, because… well, you know… you matter to me."

His expression softens, as a teasing glint enters his eyes, "Well, when you put it that way…" He gently grasps her upper arms and gives her an affectionate squeeze. "You matter to me, too, Lucy."

Tim bends to retrieve the football from their eager canine companion before tossing it back out into the water further up the beach, pulling Kojo away from where he's quickly resumed his unimpressive attempt to terrorize the sea birds several feet away.

They begin to stroll along the shore in his wake, and she takes a deep breath. "I told you my parents were both therapists, right?"

He nods.

"Well, when I was younger, anytime I was upset, they'd do this thing — they'd sit me down and ask me all these questions about what happened and how it made me feel and why I thought I felt that way." Lucy snorts, "They even took notes some of the time. It was so… clinical. I just wanted them to be my parents — I wanted them to hug me and tell me it was going to be okay, but it was like I was one of their patients or something."

A displeased sound that borders on a growl escapes Tim, and Lucy rushes to finish, not wanting her apology to turn into a sob story about her childhood.

"It wasn't all bad — I think they were coming from a good place. And in the long run, maybe it benefitted me in some ways, but… I don't think they realized that being so analytical and detached when it came to my emotions made me — I don't know, I guess it made me feel dumb for having those feelings to begin with. Like I was wrong for feeling that way. It was really invalidating, which is crazy because I think they were trying to do the opposite.

"But it still hurt, Tim. Every time. And I hate that I did that to you. I'm really sorry."

He's quiet, and Lucy finds herself wondering if he's simply processing or if she's somehow made things worse. She's so lost in her thoughts she doesn't notice that he's stopped walking until he takes hold of her elbow, gently turning her to face him once she's stopped.

"Look, Lucy, some of this stuff from my past — I don't talk about it. Not with anyone."

She nods, trying to keep her face neutral as she braces herself for disappointment, certain that if she'd somehow avoided it before, she's now most definitely included in that blanket 'anyone'.

"Of course, I understand."

His brow furrows as he gives her a strange look, but he continues. "Sometimes the way you see things — it's a lot. And it can be hard for me to hear, and a lot for me to process."

She nods, trying to ignore the pit forming in her stomach.

He shakes his head. "But Lucy, youdon'tmake me feel dumb or invalidated, at least not most of the time," he clarifies. "You make me feel lucky — to have someone in my life that cares as much as you do, okay?

"So I guess what I'm trying to say is, I accept your apology."

"Really?"

Tim chuckles, "Yes, really. It got a little dicey there for a bit, but you finished strong, and you're still really damn good at apologizing, Lucy."

She snorts, "I don't know if I should be proud of that, or…"

He pulls her into a hug, and she goes willingly this time. "You're kind of ridiculous sometimes, you know?"

She nods against his chest, "I know."

"You're also kind of amazing."

She nods again. "I know."

He pulls back, using his hand to tip her chin up before bending to kiss her, his tongue gently parting her lips as he deepens his exploration.

He blanches as he pulls away, "You taste like the ocean."

"Well, now, whose fault is that, Timothy?"

"Tim, come on," Lucy whines as she treks behind him over yet another sand dune. "That was a perfectly good spot. I would've worn my sneakers if I knew you were going to make me hike for six miles."

He ignores her complaining, the same way he's been ignoring it for the last 10 minutes. They crest the dune, and Lucy immediately stops short. Because the most beautiful picnic setup she's ever seen is laid out before them — a large woven blanket spread out over the sand, topped with almost a dozen fluffy, fancy-looking cushions and pillows set out around a low table with two place settings.

Next to the table is the most amazing, ridiculous picnic basket she's ever seen filled with champagne and charcuterie and cheese and every delicious accompaniment she could ever imagine. Lucy can actually feel her eyes begin to sting when she glimpses a bottle of the tempranillo she'd fallen in love with at the tasting they'd filmed for the show a few weeks ago. To top it all off, an umbrella and a pretty teepee tent frame the luxurious setup.1

Tim pulls a face, "Good lord, it's even worse than it looked in the pictures." He mutters something about glamping being the downfall of civilization as they know it, while she stares at him in disbelief.

"Is this — this is for me?"

"It's certainly not for Kojo," he offers gruffly.

"Oh my god, Tim… this is… this is too much. You didn't have to do all of this."

He shrugs uncomfortably but is clearly pleased by her reaction. "Well, technically, Picnic People did it, with a little help from Genny, but… consider it a birthday present."

"But my birthday's not until Sunday."

"Consider it an early one then."

She shakes her head, biting her lip as the burning sensation behind her eyes intensifies. This man has shown her how wonderful he is in so many different ways, but she never would have pinned him to be one for big romantic gestures. In fact, she's pretty certain that the little doily place mats are going to give him nightmares for weeks to come.

And suddenly the enormity of everything he's done for her today hits her. This entire day has been him choosing things for no other reason than thinking they'd makeherhappy, going above and beyond to make sure she wasn't spending the day feeling sad or scared or anxious.

She blinks rapidly, still struggling to put into words how he's made her feel. "I can't believe… no one's ever done anything like this for me, Tim."

He opens his mouth — probably to once again acknowledge the great (and excessive and completely unnecessary) talents of Picnic People, but seems to think better of it, instead crossing over to her.

He takes hold of her upper arms, pausing to meet her gaze. "That might be the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

Her brow crinkles in confusion, and he hurries to fill in the rest. "Because I can't think of anyone that deserves it more."

A strange noise escapes her as he pulls her into his chest, because what thehellis this man doing to her insides?

"Lucy?"

"Hmm?" It's all she can manage around the damn of emotion that is building in her throat.

"Just so we're clear… if you cry, I'm going to let Kojo have your cheese."

The temperature drops as the day progresses, and Tim suggests it's time to head home once Lucy begins to shiver, but she stubbornly refuses. "I want to see the sunset."

And so he climbs into the ridiculous, frilly little tent and pulls her tightly back against his chest once she settles herself between his legs, wrapping her up in his arms to keep her as warm as possible. Neither says a word as they watch the sky transition from day to night, simply enjoying one of those rare moments of feeling like they are the only two people on earth.

When the little lights strung between the tent and the umbrella and the stars are the only light remaining, Tim shifts her hair over one shoulder.

She breathes a surprised little "oh" when she feels the warmth of his mouth press against the side of her neck. He moves his lips to her ear, his evening stubble scratching against her skin in a way that has her toes curling further into the cool sand.

The husk of his voice sends a shiver coursing through her when he finally speaks, "I think I'd like to take you home now, Lucy."

And though going home with this man sounds like a pretty damn good plan to her, part of her isn't ready for this day to end.

She tips her head back for a kiss, and he obliges. And then she heaves a sigh. "I guess… if we have to…"

They untangle themselves, and Tim helps her to her feet, pulling out his phone to check the news as she brushes herself off.

"Looks like the fires are fully contained," he announces.

And though he's been hugely successful in distracting her, it still feels like a massive weight off of her shoulders, like she can finally breathe normally again.

He's watching her closely, and there's a brief flicker of sadness in his eyes. "Lucy, look, I know I've said it before, but I'll say it again. I hope you know you can come to me when you're upset."

She nods, "I do." But even as she's automatically saying the words, the recognition of just how important it is to him that she does exactly that washes over her.

She closes the distance between them, reaching up to cup his face. "And I will, Tim." She brushes her thumb over his cheek, "But only if you promise to let me take care of you, too, okay?"

Tim scoffs, jokingly pulling away from her as he takes hold of her hand. "Now, I don't know about all that…"

Lucy shakes her head, "Too bad, Bradford. This is a two-way street."

"Fine, fine," he sighs melodramatically. "Now what's a guy gotta do to get you to come home with him?" he teases, eyes darkening as they roam further south.

She hesitates, keeping hold of his hand when he moves to pull away and collect the rest of their belongings.

He smiles playfully at her, before sighing and enveloping her hand between both of his, "You've got that look again, Lucy. Spit it out. And no, we are not staying here for the sunrise. "

She rolls her eyes, "I just wanted to say one thing, and then I promise we don't have to talk about it ever again."

A flash of weariness crosses his expression, but he's quick to push it aside. "Care to put any money on that?"

She crinkles her nose in distaste, and he chuckles, "Go on, then."

She loops her arms around his neck, "Okay, wait — two, maybe three, things."

"Lucyyy," he groans.

"Okay, one — thank you. For everything today, Tim.

"Two — I know that you've been through a lot. So much. But I —" she swallows, knowing that even though her next words are about him, there's no question that they are even more vulnerable for her. "I hope you decide to give it a chance again," she feels her cheeks begin to burn and sucks in a breath as she tips her head back to meet his eyes, "because, three — I can't think of anyone more deserving of love."

She releases the breath she's been holding and moves to spin out of his hold, unable to wait for his reaction. "Okay. That's it. We can go home now."

Tim catches her around the waist and easily spins her back into him. "And just where do you think you're going? Dropping sweet little bombs and then running for the hills, huh?"

He tips her chin up, and it's then that she sees the adoration and spark of amusement in his eyes. He shakes his head, and his expression softens into something more serious as he gazes at her. He kisses the tip of her nose.

"Bold of you to assume you left me with any other choice, Lucy."

Notes:

Hi, hello - let me know what you think!

Too much beach? Too much talking? Not enough Kojo terrorizing birds?

No psychoanalysis in the next chapter... I promise!

1. Beach Picnic Inspirationreturn to text

Summary:

A birthday celebration for Lucy complete with heart-to-hearts with loved ones, a dance, and a royal proclamation!

Chapter Text

It's My Birthday!

Week 6, Day 7: Saturday

"You can't wear that."

Lucy arches an eyebrow, "Excuse me?!"

"It's like you're trying to kill me," Tim complains, gaze focused on the plunging neckline of the colorful, floral dress she's chosen as part of her master plan to ruin him.

Lucy snorts, placing two fingers on the bottom of his chin to push his half-gaping mouth closed and tilt his face up.

"My eyes are up here, Tim. And I don't know what you're whining about. It's not like you don't have an all-access pass."

His eyes light up at her words, and he wastes no time, pulling her roughly against him, his free hand reaching up to work at the first of several tenuous hooks preventing her breasts from spilling out of the dress.

She giggles, swatting his hand and squirming away from him before turning back to face the vanity mirror. "Excuse me— I said all-access, not on demand." Her eyes darken as she meets his gaze in the mirror, "Later."

He turns his attention to the back of the dress, which isalmostas cruel as the front, and traces his finger along the edge of the very limited bit of fabric somehow managing to hold the garment together.

He gathers her curls in one hand, gently pushing them over one shoulder before bending to press his mouth to the newly exposed skin at the intersection of her neck and shoulder. He smiles when she involuntarily shivers in response to his touch, setting her makeup brush on the counter and arching back against him with a sigh of pleasure.

Good. It's only fair if it's equal-opportunity torture.

He slips his arm around her waist, pulling her even more tightly back against his chest, before continuing to kiss his way up her neck and along her jaw until he reaches her ear.

"It's kind of ridiculous how into you I am, Lucy Chen," he breathes before straightening and pulling her hair back into place.

She beams at him through the reflection, and he marvels over just how much a single compliment or a few kind words light her up.

"Mmm, well… you do have great taste," she teases before wisely lining her lips with a pretty pink gloss that, unfortunately, won't go nearly as well with his outfit as it does with hers.

"The big 3-0 — how does it feel to be officially in middle age?" Jackson teases as he allows Lucy to drag him into the old-school photo booth at their favorite bar, the sounds of karaoke night becoming more muffled as they settle into the kiosk.

"Hardly," Lucy scoffs. "Besides, I'm pretty sure last time I checked, you weren't exactly a spring chicken yourself."

"Okay, Grandma."

She plops an oversized hat on his head as he blindly attempts to hold a mustache in front of her face, the two tussling like middle-grade siblings as the flash bulb goes off four times in a row, and Jackson makes the case for why he is, in fact, the actual definition of a spry young chicken.

But even as she is wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, she turns to look at her friend, spurred on by one too many shots at the bar and the emotion of the last few days. "You're kind of an idiot sometimes, but I love you, you know?"

Jackson laughs out loud at the unexpected declaration. "Drunk Lucy has arrived," he says, bringing his hands to his mouth to amplify his voice into sounding like an announcer over a speaker.

She rolls her eyes, "Whatever. I'm notthatdrunk. Yet."

He grins at the promise of drunken debauchery to come and bops her on the head with the 'Take me Drunk, I'm home!' prop while simultaneously stretching his other arm out to capture the highly redundant photo booth selfie on his phone.

"I love you too, Lucy. Sooo…" he ventures as he pushes his phone back into his pocket, "Does this mean you aren't still mad at me for confronting Tim at the station?"

"Ishouldbe mad. Youshouldn'thave said anything," Lucy glares at him, but can only manage to hold the expression for a second before softening, "But I know you were just looking out for me."

She frowns, shifting to face him and allowing her head to tip to the side until it's resting against the back wall of the photo booth. A fresh wave of drunken emotion overtakes her, "He's just so — he's so wonderful. Why is he so wonderful, Jackson?"

"And it's not like I didn't alreadylikehim, or know that helikedme,obviously.But he's just so wonderful, and it all just — it feels so real now. He makes me feel so special, and he takes care of me, and he makes me so happy. What the fuck, Jackson?"

He shakes his head in bemusement, "But tell me, Lucy, is he wonderful?"

She groans loudly. "How did you know? He's so wonderful. I can't deal with this. He makes me feel all squishy and warm on the inside, and it should beillegal.It's so rude."

"Uh-oh, sounds like it's getting pretty serious," Jackson teases.

She sighs miserably, "I know? It's awful, right?"

He nods his agreement, chuckling as he gives her arm a comforting squeeze.

"You're really happy," he observes. And the fact that it's a statement and not a question speaks volumes about how Jackson's perspective on her relationship has evolved.

"I am."

"Happy enough to spend the rest of your life with him?"

Her eyes go wide as saucers. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Let's just take this one step at a time, all right, Officer West?"

He snorts, "You do realize you already married him, right?"

She waves a dismissive hand, "Details, details."

His expression turns more serious, "That's great, Lucy. I mean it. I'm glad he stepped up. It's obvious how much he cares about you. And you deserve to be happy Lucy, to be with someone who lights you up like this."

Lucy frowns, nose scrunching as his words and the magnitude of just how serious things have gotten with Tim force tears to her eyes. "What if I fuck it up? What ifhefucks it up?"

"Then someone fucks it up, and you figure it out, Lucy. I love you, but as your friend, I've gotta tell you that I don't want to see you break any more hearts because you're scared; I definitely don't want to see you break your own."

She nods, blinking back tears. "I know. You're right. God, what would I do without you, Jackson? My own personal Yoda."

"You're not so bad yourself, Lucy. God knows where Sterling and I would be if you weren't there to talk me out of my worst impulses."

Lucy laughs, throwing her arms around her friend in an impromptu hug. "We are quite the duo, huh?"

"That we are," he squeezes her back tightly before getting to his feet and offering her his hand. "I think we've hit our quota on sappiness for one night, but we are nowhere near our quota on bad karaoke!"

Lucy scoffs with righteous outrage while allowing him to pull her to her feet and out of the booth behind him. "Jackson, Jackson, Jackson. My sweet summer child. There is no such thing as a quota on bad karaoke, okay? There can never be enough."

"Touché," he acknowledges as he grabs the photo strip from where it's printed out, and Lucy stands on her tiptoes in her attempt to see over his shoulder.

"Ughh, you're the worst!" Lucy accuses when she spots the '#oldAF' sign Jackson had stealthily managed to insert over top her 'it's my birthday!' declaration on a stick, both cheesing to an absurd degree in what was supposed to have been the one "normal" picture of the batch. "The absolute worst!"

"So… Isabel, huh?" Angela asks, cutting straight to the chase, in typical Angela fashion, not even five seconds after she, Genny, and Tim have taken a seat at a small round table, fresh beers in hand.

"Wait, I'm sorry, did she really just show up at your apartment unannounced?" Genny interjects.

Tim sighs, as his younger sibling fixes him with a concerned look. "Are you okay?"

He shrugs and nods. "I'm fine," he responds without expanding, in typical Tim fashion.

Both women just stare at him until he groans and rolls his eyes. "Iam. Look, yeah, it was a little jarring seeing her again. But I don't have any interest in getting caught up in the past. I'm happy, and I want to focus on that right now."

Both Genny and Angela are speechless, the surprise evident on their faces at his unexpected declaration.

"Look, I'm glad she seems to be doing better, and I'm glad Wes is helping her, but that's all I have to say about it, okay?" he looks back and forth between the two women, his gaze pleading for them to just to leave it.

"Lucy's okay?" Angela asks, and Tim can feel his temper flare, a familiar defensiveness clicking into place at the reminder that he'd come very close to letting the situation with Isabel prevent him from being there for Lucy this week.

"Why wouldn't she be?"

Angela presses her lips together and then exchanges a look with Genny. "Well, I don't know… maybe cause if Wes had an ex-wife that randomly showed up at our door, let's just say I'd certainly have some feelings about it."

He frowns, turning the bottle in a circle on the table as he picks at the label and avoids the gazes of the two women who know him better than anyone else.

He swallows. "I messed up," he admits. "Isabel showing up — it was a lot. It was confusing. And Lucy knows how much Isabel — she knows what a big part of my life she was.

"I knew Lucy was upset about something, but I went to help Isabel anyway. I just — sometimes it feels like I can't get anything right when it comes to her. Like I want to do right by her, but no matter how hard I try, I always screw it up."

"But Wes said you called him because you needed to get home."

"I did."

"And you guys seem more than okay today — to be honest, y'all were making me a little nauseous earlier with all that hand-holding and cuddling during dinner," Angela continues.

Genny nods her agreement.

"We are. We worked through it."

"You talked to her about Isabel?" Genny asks, eyes widening in surprise.

He shrugs. "I owed her an explanation, and she was dealing with other stuff — we had a lot to talk about."

"So, let me get this straight. You ended up in a difficult situation, realized your partner needed you, dropped everything to be there for her, and then actually talked to her so you'd both understand where the other was coming from?

"Sounds like you got a lot right to me, Tim," Genny concludes. "In fact, who evenareyou? This is not the Timothy Bradford I know and love."

He rolls his eyes, despite feeling genuinely reassured by her words. "It's notthatsurprising," he grumbles.

"You're right. It's not," Genny reaches over to give his hand a reassuring squeeze. "And I'm really happy that Isabel is doing so much better, and I'm even happier that you were smart enough to let someone else help her, Tim."

He nods.

"So things are getting pretty serious with you and Lucy, then?" Angela prods.

Tim shrugs, "She's pretty amazing."

The two women exchange another one of their annoying wordless glances.

"Tim, are you — are you in love with her?"

He groans out loud at the invasive question, but then allows his eyes to wander across the room until they settle on Lucy — belting karaoke at the top of her lungs in a way that would leave people shocked to learn that she is actually a very talented singer.

Her commitment to shrieking the lyrics as far off key as possible makes him want to laugh out loud. It also makes him crave the sound of her real singing voice — sultry and silky smooth — in his ear again. Just the two of them.

Her eyes meet his, and though he would have thought it impossible for her to look any happier, she somehow manages to make him feel like he is her very favorite person in the room with only a single look. Her eyes crinkling, her nose scrunching, and her smile widening just enough for him to notice.

Tim shakes his head, gesturing toward the woman that has utterly and completely stolen his heart. "She's just…" but there's not a single word that can encompass what she is in his eyes. She's everything.

He shrugs again, swallowing, "How could I not be?"

"Oh my god!" Genny and Angela yelp in unison, and if they were the bouncy type — like the other most important woman in his life — he has doubt they'd be bouncing in their chairs with excitement. Thankfully, they are not.

"Have you told her?" his sister asks excitedly.

Tim's eyes widen, "No! And you two aren't going to say anything either." He immediately regrets his choice to divulge this information when he remembers that Lucy will be brunching with them both tomorrow morning.

"I'm serious, okay? This whole thing has been a lot for both of us. It's been chaotic and dramatic and —"

"Kind of like a reality TV show?" his best friend helpfully finishes for him.

Tim rolls his eyes, glancing toward the various crew members and cameras set up around the bar, including around their little table, momentarily surprised to realize that he wasn't even particularly concerned that this entire conversation was being filmed. The irony is that most of their drama and chaos hasn't even been on camera, but no need to announce that now.

He turns his focus back to the conversation at hand. "Look, she could run circles around me when it comes to emotional maturity, but when it comes to relationships…"

"Oh," Angela says, a knowing that only comes from the firsthand experience of not having been seriously in love before she'd met Wesley in her eyes.

He shrugs, unwilling to betray Lucy's confidence any further. "Look, I don't want to pressure her or overwhelm her. After what happened in Mexico, I need her to be sure about what she wants and how she feels, without any pressure from anyone, okay? I want her to set the pace."

"Oh my gosh, you really do love her," Genny squeals as she and Angela fix him with a look that has him getting to his feet. "We have to plan out how you're going to tell her! That picnic on the beach is going to be hard to top, but, hear me out, what if we got a hot air balloon…?"

Tim shakes his head. Did they hear nothing he just said? "That's it. I am done with this conversation. You two are nuts."

Tim holds his hand out to Lucy where she is perched at the edge of a booth chatting with a few of her friends from work. He juts his chin in the direction of the dance floor, "C'mon."

Her eyes widen in surprise, "What?"

He huffs an impatient sigh. "You wanna dance or what?"

Lucy stares at him, mouth falling partially agape until she snaps it closed and scrambles to her feet, "Um, yes!"

She allows him to lead her to the floor, looking as though she's contemplating whether production had swapped Tim for a stunt double and she hadn't noticed.

"You don't have to act like it's such a big deal, you know?" he grouses as he takes her hand in his and settles his other hand on her waist.

"I know… I just thought you hated dancing?"

"I don'thatedancing. I just prefer not to do it in crowded nightclubs."

"Or at Latin dance classes?"

"Or at Latin dance classes," he agrees, lips curving into a smile as he spins her in time to the music. "Though, in my defense—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah… I know. You were off saving the world, catching missiles, and thwarting bioterrorism plots…"

He shrugs nonchalantly, "Someone's gotta do it."

Conversation stops as they lose themselves to the music, both fighting to catch their breath as the song ends, and the post-karaoke band switches to something with a slightly slower tempo. Lucy tilts her head back to look up at him, her eyes bright and cheeks flushed, and for a moment he forgets himself, forgets where they are, forgets anything beyond the woman standing in front of him and looking up at him like he's made her whole damn day with a single dance.

He takes hold of the back of her neck and dips his head to kiss her, barely even hearing her squeak of surprise in response to the unexpected display of affection. Her lips are soft and pliant against his own, and she is all sweetness and warmth as her surprise melts into a sigh of pleasure, and she twines her arms around his neck to return the kiss.

"Get a room!" Angela and Jackson heckle in unison from where they are downing tequila shots at the bar together, and Tim rolls his eyes as Lucy begins to laugh against his lips. He allows his forehead to fall against hers as their lips separate.

"What do you say we get out of here, birthday girl?"

He's exhausted when he finally climbs into bed next to an already asleep Lucy later that night — taking Kojo out, locking up, showering, and the rest of his bedtime routine had taken longer than he would have liked, and his eyes are half-closed before his head even hits the pillow.

He reaches for her, slipping his arm around her waist from behind, and his eyes snap open when his hand comes into contact with bare skin and then more bare skin, his exploration unhindered by the presence of any clothing.

Tim's groan is audible when Lucy sleepily turns toward him. "You're naked," he states in an impressive display of his deductive reasoning skills.

"It's my birthday," she returns sweetly, showing off the brilliance of her own observational prowess as she slips her arms around his neck and tugs him down to meet her for a sleepy kiss.

"Are you sure?" he growls, hands greedily sliding over her supple curves. "It's kind of feeling like it might bemybirthday."

"Mmm…" Lucy stifles a yawn, "Well, maybe it can be yours, too. I'm very benevolent, you know?"

Tim snorts with laughter, wondering how she can possibly still be half-asleep in these conditions as, for the millionth time, he marvels at how perfectly her ass fills his palm. "And how exactly would that work, Your Royal Highness?"

She throws her leg over him, cuddling closer into him, until her face is tucked into the hollow of his neck. "I think… we can share it," her lips brush against his skin as she responds, "I think… I want to share everything with you, Tim."

She is already fast asleep by the time Tim is able to swallow back the unexpected well of emotion in his throat. "I want to share everything with you, too, Lucy."

Summary:

Birthday. Sex. Lucy learns why Tim agreed to get married at first sight.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter fornotes.)

Chapter Text

The Bet

Week 7, Day 1: Sunday

Lucy groans, covering her face with her hands as she sleepily turns in Tim's arms the next morning.

"Morning, sunshine," his first words of the day are a throaty rumble.

She peeks up at him over her hands. "Mmm… god… did I really get naked and then just pass out on you? I'm such a tease." She buries her face against his chest.

He laughs softly, gently tipping her chin up to get her to look at him. "Look, Lucy. I'm very benevolent. You're allowed to get naked with me whenever you want. There doesn't have to be a reason. In fact, if you just want to be naked all the time, we could probably work something out."

She snorts with laughter. "What did I do to deserve such a prince?" But while her words are mocking, the adoration in her eyes is not.

"Well… it just so happens that Iamstill naked," she wiggles her eyebrows, while simultaneously dragging her toe up the length of his calf.

"Are you?" Tim lifts the cover up and peers underneath as if to verify the validity of her statement, "Interesting… I hadn't noticed."

Her cheeks tinge just the slightest shade of pink when his gaze lingers far longer than necessary. She playfully pushes him back and reclaims the cover, pulling it back against her chest.

"And… itisstill my birthday."

"Is that so?" A low growl erupts from his throat, and both of his hands disappear back under the blankets to grip her by the curve of her hips and haul her back against him so that every bit of her is pressed up against him.

He squeezes her butt with both hands. "And what does that have to do with it?"

"You know…" she nuzzles her nose against his, and he's unable to suppress his grin even as he shakes his head, eyes going wide in feigned cluelessness as he waits for her to spell it out.

"You owe me, Timothy…" she presses a seductive kiss to the corner of his mouth. And this time it's her hand that disappears under the sheets.

He arches a cocky eyebrow, enjoying the feel of her fingers trailing down his abs toward the waistband of his shorts. "Owe you what, exactly?"

His swagger lasts only about as long as it takes her to slip her hand into his boxers, his breath hitching as she wraps her fingers around his length.

The tables turn, and he feels the buzz of anticipation and loss of control that comes with knowing just how good she can make him feel, how much just one touch can put him completely at her mercy.

"Mmm," she moans softly as he stiffens in her grasp, kissing her way down his chest and scraping her teeth over his nipple before finally responding to his question, "Birthday." She works her hand up and down his cock, "Sex."

She pouts when he reaches his hand down to capture hers, halting the movement. He flips her onto her back, and then he is jerking the sheets completely off of her. Lucy gasps in response to the rush of cold air against her skin, while Tim threads his fingers through hers and pins her wandering hand to the mattress.

He presses a chaste kiss to her cheek that is at complete odds with the hunger in his gaze as his eyes roam greedily over her body. "Well, why didn't you just say so?"

And this time when she shivers, it's in response to more than just the air conditioning. He barely brushes his lips over hers, chuckling as she arches up in an attempt to prolong the contact, instead kissing along her jaw and then down her neck, shifting down her body until he closes his mouth over her breast, the tight bud of her nipple firm and delicious between his lips, against his tongue. First tasting one and then the next as she tangles her fingers into his hair.

He pauses his assault to glance up at her, enjoying every bit of her bliss — eyes squeezed close, lips parted just enough to allow the breathy sounds of her gratification to escape, chest heaving, and back arching to ensure his focus stays exactly where she wants it.

"Feel good?" he teases arrogantly.

"Tim," she whines in protest at the interruption, her hand guiding him back toward her breast as she hooks her leg around his waist in search of part of his body to grind against. And holy fucking shit, she is so unbelievably sexy when she's like this — completely uninhibited in the pursuit of her pleasure.

He shifts his thigh between her legs, and she wastes no time claiming it as her own.

"God, I could do this all day," he groans before dipping his head to reclaim her nipple. And he really and truly could.

But apparently that's not the case for Lucy. Her eyes fly open, and her movements quite literally grind to a stop as she turns her head to look at the clock on their bedside table.

"Oh my god!" she pushes up against him, and attempts to reclaim her hand, but he doesn't budge. "Tim!Shit.I didn't realize it was so late. I have to go. I have brunch; they're going to be waiting for me."

She attempts to squirm out from under him again, but he just shakes his head, staring down at her until she stops trying to escape.

"Brunch is going to have to wait, Lucy…" Her eyes go wide as she stares up at him, clearly taken aback by the firmness of his tone, the lack of humor in his hungry gaze.

Her head bobs up and down as she silently nods her assent, and his lips soften into a devilish smile. He gives her breast a final teasing nip, going a little rougher than he normally would and enjoying her little gasp of surprise.

He certainly has no complaints about Lucy's willingness to take charge and go after what she wants in bed, but he's also enjoying this newfound compliance.

He continues to make his way down her body, and her knees spread wide to accommodate his broad shoulders even before he reaches his destination. Clearly, thoughts of being late to brunch have been entirely forgotten.

He presses a kiss to her hip, his mouth quirking up at the corner when a shiver of anticipation courses through her as his lips continue to follow the lines of her body, the tip of his nose brushing along the crease of her thigh as he makes his way to the main event.

"It's your birthday, baby…" he licks his lips, hooking his hand under one of her thighs before settling her leg over his shoulder. He uses his fingers to spread her open, and she shudders as his breath warms her sensitive skin, "And I am going to takesuchgood care of you."

Lucy does, in fact, arrive to brunch a little late and a lot flustered, her cheeks flaming in a way that she is certain broadcasts the fact that she was just having ridiculously hot sex with a man that both of these women consider a brother.

Her mind flashes back to the way the attentive foreplay had suddenly transformed into something else entirely — she'd still been recovering from the first earth-shattering orgasm when he'd flipped her over without warning, an arm under her hips yanking her up onto her knees so quickly she'd barely had time to balance herself on her forearms before he had thrust himself inside of her from behind.

Her thighs involuntarily clench together at just the thought of how good it had felt to have him penetrating her so deeply from that angle, all the while his fingers skillfully working over her clit. The explosive pleasure when she'd come not one, but two more times as he'd relentlesslessly drilled her in pursuit of his own release.

She's never been concerned with being particularly quiet in the bedroom, but she is certain she has never been as loud as she'd been when her forehead had collapsed down on her arms and her entire body had continued to vibrate with pleasure for what seemed like an implausible amount of time afterward.

He had chuckled throatily, somehow still functioning while she dissolved into a puddle, flopping against his chest as he'd attempted to maneuver her into an upright seated position. He'd kissed her forehead and then carried her into the bathroom, unceremoniously depositing her in the shower as she'd gaped up at him in disbelief.

"Better get a move on, Lucy," he'd warned, "Or you're going to be late to brunch."

She wipes a hand over her brow. The garden terrace is beautiful, but she's kind of wishing they'd opted for somewhere with AC.

Lucy exchanges hugs with both Genny and Angela, while apologizing to them as well as to production for her tardiness.

Genny waves a hand to dismiss her apology, "Not that we aren't happy to see you Lucy, but Angela and I are happy to spend as much of our morning as possible sipping mimosas, so we're all good."

Angela nods her agreement, lifting her glass to acknowledge her arrival. "Get on board, Lucy; you've got some catching up to do."

She laughs, picking up her own waiting mimosa to join in on the toast.

"So… eventful morning?" Angela asks, her eyes lighting up with a devious glimmer as she studies Lucy once they've completed their celebratory cheers in honor of her birthday.

Lucy flushes, "Oh… um, you know… last night just went a little late…. I'm so glad you both were able to make it; I hope you guys had a good time!" She finishes with a lame attempt to redirect the conversation.

Angela and Genny exchange glances before bursting into laughter.

"You know what, that's fine. Wereallydon't need any details," Genny reassures.

"Speak for yourself!" Angela interjects, ducking to avoid the butter packet that Genny launches in her direction.

Lucy tugs uncomfortably at her collar, wishing someone, anyone, would turn on a damn fan or something.

"Leave the poor girl alone," Genny orders through her laughter. "You're clearly making her uncomfortable, Ang."

Angela snorts, "She's married to Tim. What could be more uncomfortable than that?"

The two women crack up again, and Lucy finds herself wondering just how many mimosas they'd had before she'd arrived. She takes a long swig of her own drink.

"Sorry… sorry," Genny gasps, "Clearly, Angela and I don't get out like this very often. Young children at home and all of that. Seriously, how are you, Lucy? How's Tim? How are things going with you both?"

Lucy's eyes go wide at the barrage of questions, and she ponders if maybe itwouldbe easier just to detail their morning exploits.

"I'm good. We're good. Tim is — he's great," she immediately softens, going back to her descriptor of choice from the night prior, "He's really, really wonderful."

Angela snorts, "Now that's not an adjective I'm used to hearing to describe Tim."

Genny smacks her on the arm, "Stop it. Timiswonderful."

And then the two women are guffawing again, and Lucy finds herself contemplating whether something other than mimosas might be in the mix.

"Can you believe he was dumb enough to bet us this wouldn't work? We should have raised the stakes, Genny! I could have gotten free child care for the rest of my damn life out of this."

Genny nods her agreement as Lucy frowns.

"Bet?" She asks in confusion, looking back and forth between the two women.

"He didn't tell you?" Angela asks, still battling to control her laughter. "How else do you think we got him to agree to do the show?"

"Oh," Lucy says slowly, unsure what to make of this new revelation. "What were the terms?"

The two women immediately sober, seeming to realize that Lucy isn't smiling along with them.

"You know what? Bet's the wrong word for it," Genny intercedes. "It was more of an agreement. Just that if he gave the show a try, we'd back off of his love life a little bit."

"And it was forever ago," Angela hurries to clarify, "He is obviously crazy about you now, Lucy, but we all know he can be a bit of an idiot sometimes."

Lucy nods, because they're right. What does it matterwhyTim decided to do the show? It doesn't change how they feel about each other now.Right?

She forces a smile, pushing aside her lingering discomfort as she tries to focus on the conversation at hand, but it's difficult for her not to replay their rocky start with this new perspective in mind. It seems strange, given all they'd gone through, that he wouldn't have even thought to mention it, even in passing.

It's not until things go quiet, and two pairs of eyes are studying her with concern that she realizes they are waiting for her to say something.

"I'm sorry; I think I missed the question."

And this time when the two women exchange glances, there's not any giggling.

Genny's voice is soft, "I was just asking how you were feeling about Isabel showing up out of the blue."

Lucy shrugs, eyes wandering to the rustling leaves in the canopy of trees overhead as she contemplates her answer. "I don't really know how to feel," she confesses. "I'd be lying if I didn't admit it's a little intimidating. She's beautiful, and it's obvious how much he loved her, but Tim has been wonder— he's been really reassuring."

She chews on her bottom lip, wondering if she should even voice her next concern aloud, but who better to give her insight into Tim than these two women? "But sometimes… it's hard to tell if he's really ready to move on, if he really wants to do this all again."

She pauses, "And now… with what you said about the bet — I knew Tim was skeptical about the process, but knowing that he did this just to prove it wouldn't work…" She trails off, still trying to make sense of why the idea of this bet is so unsettling to her.

"Lucy, please don't let me running my big mouth make you doubt Tim or his intentions," Angela pleads. "He doesn't do anything he doesn't want to do, and he may not have been willing to admit it at the time, but he wouldn't have agreed to do the show if some part of him didn't really want this to work.

"He'd do a lot to prove me and Genny wrong, but getting married and spending eight weeks on a reality TV show is beyond extreme, even for Tim."

"He adores you, Lucy, and I think the two of you are pretty damn amazing together," Genny adds, and Lucy notices there's a new wariness in her expression, "But if you're having doubts… listen, at the end of the day, you have to do what's right foryou, but please just promise me you'll try and be careful with his heart; please don't blindside him at the end of this. And maybe that's not fair for me to ask you; I know there's not much time left —"

And she can see just how badly Genny wants to protect her big brother, how much they both do.

Lucy shakes her head, blinking back tears as her eyes fill, suddenly feeling the immense weight of not only the decision they will have to make in two short weeks, but of holding this man's heart in her hands. "I really care about him. And I don't want to hurt him either," she whispers.

Genny offers her a watery smile and then squeezes her hand. "I know you do. And I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything, but he's my big brother, you know? I don't want to see him get his heart broken again. But it's not fair of me to put that on you." She blinks rapidly before taking a sip of water and clearing her throat, "Anyway, did Tim tell you he's going to be coaching Little League this year?"

Lucy's eyes light up at the mention, relieved that the conversation is shifting toward lighter topics, "He did! I cannot wait to see him with the boys. I can't decide if he'll be a total hardass or a complete marshmallow."

"Have youseenhim with Jack? A marshmallow. 100%!"

Notes:

Okay, so it wasn't exactly a smut extravaganza, but I heard you and tried to spice the morning after up a little bit. How'd I do?

Separately, I promise that there isn't going to be some over-the-top blow-up over the bet a la our favorite rom-coms, but it's definitely going to stir things up a bit.

What do you think? Should Tim have told her? Should it even matter at this point?

Summary:

Lucy confronts Tim about the bet.

Notes:

Do not get used to this update cadence. I am nothing if not inconsistent

(See the end of the chapter formore notes.)

Chapter Text

The Only Way Out Is Through

Week 7, Day 1: Sunday

Tim is at the kitchen island dicing vegetables when Lucy lets herself into the apartment. She barely even processes the crew members completing their set up or Kojo jumping up to greet her. She distractedly gives the dog some love as Tim glances up at her.

"Hey, how was brunch?"

The smile he gives her is so genuine and warm it makes her heart ache. Makes her wish she could just rewind and erase Angela's revelation. Or that she could just let it go. But she can't.

For some reason that she doesn't completely understand herself, the new information is eating at her. Swirling inside her and pooling into a pit in her stomach that is entirely unique to being disappointed by someone you deeply trust and care about.

And her own confusion over why this feels like some kind of a betrayal is only magnifying her discomfort and unease.

Because it's not like she suddenly thinks that everything between them is a lie. Or that his feelings and intentions toward her now are anything less than 100% authentic. She knows in her heart that they are. Knows he is not the same angry man who'd been waiting for her at the alter on their wedding day.

But it still hurts.

He almost immediately picks up on her mood, setting down the knife and wiping his hands on a towel as he studies her, "What's wrong, Lucy? What happened?"

She crosses the room to stand on the opposite side of the island from him. "Why are you here, Tim?"

He looks at her in confusion, "What do you mean?"

"Why did you really decide to do this — the show?"

His eyes flick toward the cameras and then back toward her uncertainly. But he seems to push aside whatever hesitance he has about answering the question. "I told you… at the beach. After Isabel, I —"

"Tim, stop," she shakes her head, feeling suddenly frustrated that, once again, it feels like he is skirting around the truth. And equally frustrated that she is far more upset about this than makes any kind of rational sense.

"I know about the bet."

Tim's mouth opens and then closes in surprise, his brows knitting together. "The bet?"

And though, yes, on some level he has an inkling of what's she talking about, but on another, he's certain he doesn't. Because there's no way she'd be so upset about the dumb agreement he'd made with Genny and Angela, would she?

Obviously he'd be the first to admit he'd been wrong about the process, and if he'd had any intention of actually "winning" the dumb bet, he'd certainly be doing a piss poor job of it by falling head over heels in love with his match.

She doesn't beat around the bush, and it may be one of the things he's starting to love most about her.

"Angela and Genny told me. That you wanted to prove to them that this couldn't work so they would stop trying to set you up. That is why you agreed to do the show, isn't it?"

And though the tone of her voice betrays very little, her eyes of course give her away. He feels something tighten in his chest because he can't stand the way she's looking at him — hurt and confused and maybe even a little distrustful.

He nods slowly, "Technically, yes, that's true. But Lucy —"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

He shakes his head, feeling helpless, because yes, sure, he hadn't told her, but not because he was intentionally keeping it from her. "It wasn't like that, Lucy. I wasn't trying to keep it from you; it's just that it's not relevant to —"

"It's relevant tome,Tim," she snaps, and he presses his lips closed. He's getting this all wrong.

She looks immediately remorseful and the edge drops out her voice, "I'm sorry. I'm not mad. I just don't get it."

The ache in his chest deepens as he waits patiently for her to work through her emotions. Because despite her words, she does, in fact, seem a little bit angry with him.

Her voice is soft when she finally asks, "Did it not matter you? That people were coming into this with genuine intentions? That you might end up hurting someone by turning this into a stupid game?"

And she doesn't say it, but she doesn't need to — did it not matter to him that he would be hurtingher?

"Of course it matters to me, Lucy." He feels completely crestfallen that she could even question that. "I made a mistake. And you know — you know I wasn't in the best place when this all started. It's not an excuse, but I wasn't intentionally trying to keep something from you.

"I honestly haven't even thought about that dumb bet since I met you because it stopped being a factor as soon as there was another person on the other side of it, as soon asyouwere on the other side of it, Lucy."

She nods slowly, seeming to accept his explanation, but he can tell there's something still bothering her.

"I guess I don't understand why you wouldn't have — I just feel like you should have told me after —"

Her lower lip trembles, and Tim fights his urge to close the distance between them and pull her into his arms.

"That morning, when you — you made it aboutme, Tim. You made me feel like I wasn't good enough when you could have just told me the truth. That you never intended for things to work, that you didn'twantto walk away with a wife," she covers her mouth as she fights to bite back a sob. "It would have made a difference to me."

And Jesus, she might as well be ripping his heart out of his chest. And he feels utterly broken, because she's absolutely right. He could have told her. He should have told her. He's not even entirely sure why hedidn'ttell her.

He's certain he hadn't kept it from her on purpose, but maybe, subconsciously, part of him just hadn't wanted to admit one more shortcoming, hadn't wanted to have to face her being disappointed in him again.

"I'm sorry," she sniffles, and reaches up to wipe her eyes, "I don't know why I'm getting so upset about this." And she's looking at him with so much sad vulnerability and confusion. He hates this. Hates seeing her like this. Hates even more that his recklessness is the cause.

He moves around the island to pull her into his arms. "You have every right to be upset. And you're right, I should have told you, and I'm so sorry I didn't.

"Lucy, I wanted to talk to you about that morning — to explain that it had nothing to do with you, but…" He pauses helplessly, unwilling to turn the tables on her when he knows that he is in the wrong.

"But I didn't let you," she fills in. Timhadtried to talk to her about what happened that morning in Mexico — multiple times.

"It doesn't matter. I still should have found a way to tell you. I just — I didn't even think about it like that. I probably should have, but it feels like a lifetime ago when I made that stupid deal…"

He huffs a frustrated sigh as he runs a hand over his face, feeling almost on the brink of tears himself.

"I'm sorry. I know I hurt you, and that this is my fault, but I don't know what else I can do to help us get past this, Lucy. And seeing you like this — knowing it's because of something I did… god, I am completely in love with you, Lucy, but I can't keep — Ihatehurting you."

He squeezes his eyes shut when he sees the surprise on her face, because this is exactly what he hadn't wanted to do.

"Fuck!" He shakes his head as he turns away from her, because how is it possible that he's still getting so much so wrong, when all he wants is to get it right for her?

He presses the heels of his hands against his eyes as he tries to collect himself.

Lucy watches as Tim turns his back on her and on the cameras, half expecting him to walk out of the apartment.

"You're not," she says quietly to his back, the realization hitting her like a punch in the gut.

And yes, he probably should have told her about the bet. But that isn't what's at the root of this. It's her unwillingness to deal with her feelings about that morning in Mexico that's hurting them both.

The child of two therapists and somehow she's still surprised by the revelation that the only way out is through.

All of the emotion has drained out of her, and now all she feels is fucking awful — for dredging this up, and making him feel so damn bad when she knows that nothing about this was intentional on his part. That he has done everything and more to make amends for his mistakes, and that's it's completely unfair of her to keep putting him through the emotional wringer because she can't handle having to confront her own fears and insecurities.

And god, she is so fucking exhausted — day after day, week after week of emotional overload piling up on her until she can't figure out what she's feeling at all.

She walks over to him, stopping in front of him and slipping her arms around him, squeezing even as it's obvious he's fighting his own emotional overwhelm.

"Tim?" she asks softly when she finally pulls back from him, tugging gently at his wrists to pull them away his face.

His eyes are red-rimmed, and he looks as exhausted and miserable as she feels.

She cradles his face, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for this to blow up like this. Thisisn'tyour fault."

She drops her hands, looking away as she fights back tears of frustration. "I think I just — the last few days, all of this — it's just been a lot. And I think I just need some time to process it all, okay?"

He nods, his voice thick when he responds, "Of course, Lucy. Take all the time you need. I'm not trying to pressure you. I just need to know if — are you going to be okay?"

She nods, stepping back into him and slipping her arms around his neck as he settles his hands on her hips. "I will be… I promise." And then, because she knows he needs to hear it as badly as she does, "Wewill be too, Tim."

And she can feel the tension draining out of him as she arches up on her toes to brush her lips against his, neither giving a shit about the cameras because this is too important. What they have is too important.

"Phew, that was intense!" Lucy says with a forced laugh when they finally break apart, both seemingly regaining awareness of their audience. She glances toward Tim and he shrugs wearily, resigned to having their most vulnerable moments captured on film for the world to see.

She shakes her head, pointing a finger in the direction of the crew as she wipes away the last of her tears, "Don't you dare say we never gave you anything!"

Notes:

Gimme all of your thoughts!

Summary:

Ugly dumplings are the key to Lucy's heart; Tim questions whether Lucy is the appropriate level of cuddly

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter fornotes.)

Chapter Text

The L Word

Week 7, Day 1: Sunday

They film a pair of confessionals that are only slightly less painful than their earlier exchange. Lucy joins Tim in their kitchen after, feeling the need to escape after the drama and emotional exhaustion of their morning.

She knows they aren't done with their conversation, and she has every intention of finishing it. She owes Tim that. She just needs some space to clear her head and really process what she's feeling.

And a text from her boss is as good an excuse as any.

"Are you okay if I go into work for a few hours? My editor found a source for my story, and I feel like I need to do more research before I talk to them tomorrow."

He offers her a tired smile, "Working on your birthday?"

"I know, I know… I just — I think it'll be good for me to get out of my head for a little bit, too."

"You and me both," he teases gently, before catching her hand in his and bringing it up to his lips for a quick kiss. She feels herself melt a little at the sweet gesture.

"Do what you need to do, Lucy. I'll be here."

She gathers her things, feeling frazzled as she navigates around production and the crew as they begin to pack up for the day, pausing to kiss Tim on the cheek before she heads out the door. He says something about dinner as a light stand loudly clatters to the floor, but she's too distracted to fully register his words, simply nodding and giving his hand a final reassuring squeeze before leaving the apartment.

She stays at the office too long. She knows that.

And then she spends too much time strolling around Hancock Park. She knows that.

And she squanders the evening driving aimlessly in her car until well past sunset. She knows that.

But it's peaceful and quiet and exactly what she needs to clear her head.

And for awhile she does exactly that — she doesn't think about Tim, or their reality TV marriage, or the fact that he'd said he'd loved her.

But then she spots someone in a Rams T-shirt in the park (what are the chances?!), and she immediately starts to miss him. And she can't not think about him, and their reality TV marriage, and the fact that he'd said he'd loved her.

And as much as she wants to go home to him, something is still holding her back because she's still confused and overwhelmed and quite frankly very uncomfortable with not having full control over her emotions.

She'd always thought of herself as calm and level-headed in her prior relationships. In touch with her feelings, but in an emotionally mature way.

But now she's wondering if that's because she's never really let herself feel emotions like this. Has never really let herself fall this hard.

But like Tim had said on the beach, it doesn't feel like she has much of a choice when it comes to him. There's no safe, easy middle ground for her to exist in — in fact, it feels an awful lot like the ground is falling out from under her feet altogether.

So yeah, it takes her way too long to go home. She knows that.

She's still surprised to find the apartment mostly quiet and mostly dark when she finally does get home, Kojo sleepily lumbering from the bedroom to greet her, but no Tim.

It's not unheard of for him to be in bed at this hour, but she's still disappointed that she's missed the chance to spend any time with him tonight. Even if it was her own doing. Add it to the list.

She toes off her shoes before depositing her purse and laptop bag on the couch, pausing when she notices that their small dining table is set for two. Nothing as over the top as the beach picnic — just two simple place settings, a beautiful vase full of flowers, a bottle of wine, and a few candles. A gift bag is sitting on one of the chairs.

And it's then that she remembers that Tim had said something about dinner as she was leaving.Oh no.

And, yeah, she probably should have anticipated he'd want to have a nice dinner together for her birthday, but in all honesty, she hadn't expected anything else from him after the amazing picnic and the party last night and their little 'celebration' this morning. Especially not after the havoc she'd wreaked on their afternoon.

She crosses the room to pick the gift bag up off of the chair, heart aching even as she can't stop herself from smiling as she pulls out a medium-sized stuffed turtle. She sets the bag on the table and pulls the plush toy into her chest, pressing her eyes closed as she squeezes the absolute crap out of it, wishing she could turn back time and not have ruined this night.

There's one more item in the bag — a jewelry box — and when she flips open the rectangular container, her eyes begin to burn.

It's a gold necklace. At first she thinks it's a star, which would be perfect enough, but upon closer inspection, she realizes it's a specific star — the North star, a compass.

She lifts a hand to her mouth, overwhelmed by the thought Tim put into choosing these gifts for her.

She feels like breaking down in tears because how could she not have bothered to make it home for this? She takes a deep breath, fighting to reign in her emotion.

But when she pulls open the refrigerator to pour herself a glass of water from the Brita and spots one of her serving dishes covered with foil, she knows even before she pulls the cover back that it's going to break her heart.

He made dumplings.

Dumplings.

Dumplings like the ones that had been ruined when Kojo had masterminded an escape from his bath on the day of their housewarming.

It is the saddest, ugliest plate of dumplings she's ever seen.

And also so fucking beautiful.

She can't imagine how long it must have taken him to learn how to make them. He must have spent the entire day putting this all together.

And then she really starts crying, her vision blurring as she finds her way to their bedroom.

She climbs into bed behind him, attempting to hook her arms under his to wrap around his chest, even as he is already shifting toward her.

"Lucy?" he asks groggily. "Are you okay?"

"No," she manages to get out, face pressed into his back as she shakes her head.

And then he is pulling out of her hold altogether, pushing himself up into a seated position as he reaches over to switch on the light on the bedside table.

"What happened? Tell me what's wrong." And god he looks so damn worried, his eyes running over every inch of her as if searching for some physical source to her distress.

And now she just feels like an even bigger jerk for waking him up like this.

She pushes herself up enough so that she can get her arms around him, and bury her face into the crook of his neck, her shoulders shaking as she begins to sob uncontrollably.

And she can feel the tension in his hold, knows that she is scaring the crap out of him, but she can't stop herself from just letting it all out.

And he is so patient with her, running his hand soothingly down her back and waiting until she has mostly calmed before finally prodding, "Lucy — hey, come on, I need you to talk to me. What's going on?"

She glares at him through her tears when she finally pulls back enough to see his face. "I can't believe you made medumplings…"

The way she sobs on the last word would be utterly comical if it wasn't so clear that she is genuinely upset.

Tim's brow furrows as he tries to follow her line of thinking.

"This is about… the dumplings?" He looks at her quizzically.

She sniffles, "Yes. The ugliest, most beautiful dumplings I've ever seen. And Iruinedit!"

Tim snorts with laughter despite his best attempts to hold it back.

"Lucy," he reaches over to wipe her tears, "in your defense, they were really terrible dumplings."

"Don't say that!"

His lips twitch, but he holds back his urge to remind her thatsheis the one who started the dumpling defamation.

Her fingers close around his as she meets his gaze, "They're amazing. And you're amazing. And I love you, Tim. I love you so much. I am so completely in love with you, too."

His blinks, rendered momentarily speechless by the unexpected declaration.

"What?" She shakes her head as if aggrieved by the absurdity of her own behavior, "No one's ever told you they loved you because you made them dumplings?"

This time he doesn't bother to try and hold back his chuckle, gazing fondly at his adorably chaotic other half. "Well… erm, not exactly, no, but listen, I'm certainly not complaining."

Lucy takes a deep breath to collect herself, before fixing him with one of her looks, "Why didn't youcallme?"

"What?" He stifles a yawn, "You mean dinner? Isthatwhat you're so upset about?

"Baby, it's not a big deal that you missed it. I promise. You taking the time you needed was more important."

"Of course it's a big deal! I'm just — I'm so sorry," she buries her face into his chest and he slips his arm back around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "God," she hiccups as she pulls back to continue the conversation, "I can't believe this. I was trying to be less of a mess so we could talk, and —"

He shakes his head, tipping her chin up so her eyes are focused on his. "I don't need you to be less of a mess, Lucy. I just need you to tell me what's going on in that beautiful, infuriating little head of yours, okay?"

"You're supposed to tell me I'm not a mess, Tim," she grumbles.

He arches an eyebrow as if to say, 'Do you really want me to lie to you?' but instead wisely offers, "I think you're allowed to be a mess after the week you had, Lucy."

She sniffles as she nods and wipes at her cheeks. Ithasbeen a really intense week. A really intense six weeks, even.

He settles back against the headboard, opening his arms as an invitation for her to join him, and she doesn't waste any time curling up against him. He nuzzles his face against her temple as she takes a deep, calming breath, the familiarity of his scent bringing her that much more comfort.

And again, he is so patient with her — allowing her to stay like that without asking any more questions until she feels ready to talk some more.

All she wants is to get it right for him this time. To be as open and brave as he needs her to be. To be as open and brave as she wants to be.

She shifts so that she is facing him on the bed. Her voice is softer and more serious when she finally speaks again. "I feel like I'm getting this all wrong."

His brow furrows, "Getting what wrong?"

"This," she gestures in the small space between them, "Being with you. I thought I was ready for this — falling in love, getting married, but now that everything is so real… I — I don't know. Sometimes I feel like I don't have any idea what I'm doing..."

"Oh, and I suppose I've gotten everything right?" Tim teases with just an edge of snark in his tone, indicating how he feels about the idea of her getting it all wrong.

"No," Lucy bites back with a roll of her eyes, "but it's different."

"Why? Because you're supposed to be perfect?"

"Yes,obviously," she frowns before grousing, "Stop psychoanalyzing me."

"Not so much fun on the other side, huh?"

She makes a face at him and he laughs out loud, reaching over to squeeze her thigh.

"You know, when we were in Mexico, I thought you were such a dick…" she pauses for dramatic effect, and he nods because, well, yeah.

"...for being so judgmental when I told you I'd never been in love before," she drops her gaze, becoming increasingly uncomfortable with having to give voice to her insecurities. "But… what if you were right?" She blinks rapidly, her emotions again threatening to overwhelm her, "What if I'mnotright for you? Maybe youshouldbe with someone who's better at —"

He shakes his head in disbelief, cutting her off midsentence, "Are you kidding me?"

Her hurt at his dismissal must show on her face, because he immediately reaches for her hand and hurries to clarify, "Lucy, no, I'm just saying you had it right when you started. Iwasa dick, but… maybe you missed the part when I told you the other day on the beach that I did those things because I was terrified of letting you get any closer? Whatever I said then, it was never really about whether you were right for me.

"And maybe you didn't hear me this morning when I told you that I was completely in love with you?" he squeezes her fingers as she begrudgingly nods her understanding.

"You are right for me in every way that matters, Lucy. And I know it took me some time to figure that out even though someone literally told me exactly that, and I told them they were nuts. But I don't have a single doubt about that now, okay?"

She nods again, not quite trusting herself to be able to get words out around the lump in her throat.

"But it's also okay ifyou'renot sure, Lucy. I've given you a lot of reasons to question ifI'mright for you, and I don't expect you to not have any doubts, especially after this morning."

She shakes her head, doing her best to swallow back her urge to cry [again]. "I don't care about the stupid bet, Tim." She manages a watery smile, "Maybeyoumissed the part when I told you five minutes ago I was completely in love with you?"

He grins at the reminder, "Hmmm… not sure. You might have to tell me again. All I remember is someone calling my dumplings ugly."

Lucy bursts into laughter, and it's a welcome reprieve from how damn hard it is to be vulnerable.

"I'm never like this, you know? And it's scaring me. Ilovebeing with you — you make me feel so loved and happy and appreciated and so taken care of…"

He smirks, "Idotake good care of you."

She smacks his hand away from where it's playfully creeping up her thigh, "Not likethat, Tim."

He laughs, catching her hand and drawing her into him for a quick kiss on the cheek, before his smile fades and he returns his attention to what she's trying to say. "You love being with me,but…?"

"But… I also feel really out of control and like I can't outrun my insecurities, and it's..." she offers him a wry smile, "terrifying. I guess it's my turn, huh?"

He returns the smile, pushing a strand of hair back behind her ear. "You're certainly handling it better than I did, Lucy." He pauses, his smile fading, "I really hate that I put so many doubts in your head. I never meant to make you feel like you weren't enough — not that morning or at any other point."

"I know." She takes a deep breath, her eyes beginning to burn, "What you did really hurt me. Ilovedour night together, and I — I thought you loved it too… so, yeah… I really wasn't expecting your reaction. I felt so stupid and so naive for thinking that you felt the same way, that you might be falling for me the same way I was falling for you. It was humiliating, and I felt so dismissed and rejected. And you just seemed sosureyou didn't want to be with me."

Tim nods, and she can see him fighting against the emotion building in his throat. She knows this isn't easy for him to hear, and yet he is sliding his hand over hers, encouraging her to continue with a squeeze.

"I felt so exposed," her voice gives out and she swallows before continuing, her words just barely louder than a whisper, "and like there was nothing I could do to protect myself because I'd trusted the wrong person. And that — um, that was really hard for me to process — that I could be so completely wrong about you."

He presses his eyes closed and turns his face away from her, but she crawls over until she is right in front of him, using both hands to cradle his face.

"But Tim, I really need you to hear this part, okay?" He nods and there's so much pain in his blue eyes that Lucy wishes she knew how to work through this without talking about how he'd made her feel that morning.

"Iwasn'twrong about you. You have done so much to make things right. So much to show me how much you love me. And I need you to know that I trust you, Tim. Even when I was upset this morning — I wasn't doubting how you feel about me, or how I feel about you.

"And as much as I'd love to blame you for all of my doubts and insecurities, I'm pretty sure most of them were there a long time before you came along."

He pulls her into his lap, a frown marring his handsome features, "I still fucking hate what I did. I hate the way I made you feel. I hate thatanyoneever made you feel that way."

He lifts a hand to her cheek, "I hope you know that you are thebestthing that has happened to me in a really long time, Lucy. And I know this hasn't been easy for you. And I'd be lying if I didn't admit it's been a lot for me, too. Ithasbeen hard and messy with so much pressure and real life and the show and things moving so quickly, but I'd do it all over again in a heartbeat. I'd do it all over again a million times. Because you are so worth it."

Lucy attempts to blink back a fresh wave of tears, but they fall anyway. She feels like those dark places she's tried so damn hard to ignore for so damn long are finally, finally starting to be filled with light.

He winds his hand through her hair and guides her down until her lips are pressed against his.

He brushes his thumb over her cheek when they separate, and she rests her forehead against his.

"You turned out so much better than anything I ever expected, Tim Bradford."

"Uh huh… so, just so I've got this straight, if another man walks in here and makes you dumplings…?"

"I am definitely running away with him," Lucy reassures.

"Hmmph," Tim grouses, lifting her off of his lap and turning his back to her to rearrange the pillows so he can go back to sleep.

But Lucy's not quite done with him, following him with her lips as she crawls half over him to kiss any and every part of his face she can reach.

A low rumble escapes him as Tim chuckles, futilely attempting to ward her off before sliding his hand around her waist to pull her the rest of the way over. She lands flat on her back, and gazes up at him, momentarily stunned.

He smiles down at her, dipping his head to brush his lips over hers. She wraps her arms around his neck to keep him in place as she deepens the kiss into something longer and more lingering.

"Mmm… okay, but when you said you'd do it all over again, do you really meanallof it? Even the striptease?"

He rolls his eyes, "Even the striptease."

Lucy slips back into bed with Tim after she's changed into her pajamas, washed the tears from her face, and finished the rest of her bedtime routine.

He glances up from his phone where he's reading over a nastygram from production about their failure to submit their required footage for the week, "Apparently, we didn't do our homework this week…"

She groans — crawling out of bed to get their Couples Cam to record whatever nonsense the producers have dreamed up is pretty much the last thing either of them wants to do right now.

"Can't we just wake up early and do it in the morning?" she whines.

He scoffs, "Right, because you'resucha morning person."

She pointedly ignores the jab, "Well, what is it?"

"What do you think it is? Questions, questions, and more questions…"

"Like what?"

Tim clears his throat, making his voice more formal as he reads aloud from his phone, "If you could ask your partner to change one behavior, what would it be?"

"Oooh, that's actually a good one. Setting aside that you love me and already think I'm perfect, obviously."

He snorts, "Obviously."

"Well?" she prompts and he frowns, a little annoyed he's somehow managed to put himself in the hot seat.

He shakes his head, unwilling to take the bait. "Not a damn thing," he proclaims diplomatically.

"Oh come on," Lucy groans derisively, "There's gotta be something. If you could changeanything…?"

He rolls his eyes as she prods him in the stomach with her finger, demanding an answer. He grabs her hand and wraps her up in his arms so she can't inflict any more damage. "Well, I suppose Icoulddo with you being less of a little asshole and a little more cuddly instead."

Her eyes light up with delighted amusement as she presses a kiss to his cheek. "Ohhh, hardass Tim Bradford wants me to be a little more cuddly, huh?"

He shrugs noncommittally, refusing to confirm or deny as she wriggles out of his hold.

"I can be cuddly," she says, voice dropping seductively as she slides her hand down his stomach and under the elastic band of his boxer briefs.

"So, so cuddly," she breathes as she presses her lips to his throat and closes her fingers around his shaft, his body automatically responding to her touch as he gets hard.

He groans out loud when she shifts further south, cupping his balls.

"God, Lucy, are you trying to prove you can be cuddly or that you have my balls in the palm of your hand?"

She laughs sweetly, "Maybe a little bit of both…"

Her teeth close around his nipple, and he yelps in response to the unexpected sharpness of the bite, "Ow! Lucy! What the hell?"

"You started it," she offers, a picture of complete and total innocence as she continues her sadistic journey down his body. And damn, the memory of their naked morning together makes him that much harder.

She finally releases him, removing her hand so she can rid him of his underwear.

He automatically lifts his hips, breath quickening as she tosses the boxers aside and hovers over him, the warmth of her breath on his dick driving him absolutely wild.

She takes her time with her torture, first pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the underside of his shaft and then working her way up and down his length like she's eating a popsicle, covering every inch of him with her lips and her saliva without ever quite fully taking him into her mouth.

His groan practically reverberates off the walls when she finally puts an end to his torment. The goddamn neighbors are going to call the cops on them if they keep going at each other like this.

"You are so fucking cuddly," he declares as she works her fist in tandem with her mouth up and down his length, faster and faster until he isn't thinking any coherent thoughts, just relishing in the pleasure of his very favorite person causing him to fall apart in the best possible way.

She giggles when she climbs her way back up his body, burrowing into him and sweetly kissing his cheek, before nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck for an actual cuddle as he stares glassy-eyed up at the ceiling.

"I love you," she declares angelically as he gradually returns to himself, pulling her in closer as he shakes his head in disbelief.

"Best fucking cuddle I ever had."

Notes:

Good news! These two idiots finally figured it out!

Bad news! It may be a bit before my next update; I've got a hectic few weeks at work coming up, but hopefully it's something like longer than a week but shorter than a year, but we shall see... (too soon?)

But your comments and kudos always bring me so much joy and remind why I love writing these two idiots, so let me know your thoughts ️

Summary:

80% porn, 10% nonsense, 10% feels

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter fornotes.)

Chapter Text

Let Me Love You

Week 7, Day 2: Monday

Tim burrows his face into Lucy's neck as he wakes the next morning, using one arm to spoon her more tightly against him as his eyes blink open. He'd slid his hand under her shirt at some point during the night, the soft weight of her breast in his palm bringing him comfort as he'd drifted back into sleep. His attempt to reclaim his wayward appendage leaves her exposed, one perky nipple out in the open begging for his attention.

She moans sleepily as he closes his mouth around the bud, and it's not like he'stryingto wake her. It just sort of happens. She rolls toward him onto her back, offering him unfettered access to his target and he grins against her chest.

They might be compatible in a lot of ways, but her nighttime friskiness combined with his AM horniness is a recipe for sleep deprivation that neither one of them has the willpower to avoid. But since shehappensto be up, Tim decides now is as good a time as any to return the favor from the night before.

He gently tugs her pajama shorts and panties down her legs before she's even said her first words, her eyes still blinking open, one hand rubbing the sleep from them while the other lovingly ruffles through his hair. A happy sigh escapes her as he settles himself between her legs and nuzzles his face into the crease of her thigh. He glances up to meet her gaze, and the sleepy smile that curves her lips and crinkles her eyes makes him feel like he's turning into a pile of mush on the inside.

The scent of her arousal drags his attention back to the matter at hand. He takes advantage of her relaxed state, not wanting to rush, instead taking his time to explore and experiment — tasting different parts of her and trying out different motions and rhythms and pressures with his tongue and his lips.

She giggles quietly, squirming to redirect him when trying something new doesn't quite hit the mark. But he certainly doesn't let that deter him, shifting his focus until he feels her body tense and her hips begin to shift, feels her hand at the back of his head gently encouraging him to continue.

He relishes in the sound of her soft moans and sighs of pleasure, thinking it's a shame that he doesn't take this kind of time with her more often. Not that he'd trade the heat-fueled passion that generally leads to them ripping each other's clothes off in record time for anything in the world. But this is nice. Sensual and slow, but also evidence of a comfort and trust and openness between them he had genuinely feared they might never get back.

She flexes her foot, curling her toes into the mattress as the muscles in her calf begin to tighten, the press of her hand a little less gentle and a little more demanding as he drives her closer, focusing the movement of his tongue and lips around her clit. And when he feels her thighs clench around his face he decides he's made her wait long enough, using his forearm to pin her bucking hips down to the bed to avoid disrupting the rhythm that has her crying out his name as she tumbles over the edge.

And he knows the orgasm is good because of the way she curls into him after, her head resting on his shoulder and her half-naked body pressed up against him, so completely sated she barely manages to mumble an "I love you" and something that sounds like "just five more minutes" before almost immediately dozing off.

This woman is absolutely ruining his morning routine, and he is somehow perfectly okay with it. Apparently more than okay with it, because god, he is completely obsessed with her — can still taste her on his lips and somehow still feels like he is never going to get enough.

When Tim gets home later that night after a long shift and what feels like an even longer evening at the house with Genny, he's rushed by a blur of red silk as soon as he opens the door.

He smiles and laughs for what may very well be the first time that entire day as Lucy just about knocks him off of his feet with the force of her greeting. He manages to get his arms around her soft, warm frame to return the hug. He breathes in her familiar, comforting scent.

Kojo hops around them both in an attempt to steal his attention before eventually accepting that he's no longer Tim's only priority and flopping to the floor by his feet. He bends to give the dog's head a loving scruff after kicking off his shoes.

Damn it feels good to be welcomed home with so much enthusiasm.

Lucy grabs hold of his arm for balance once he straightens, bouncing up on her toes to briefly press her lips against his.

"Hi," she says softly as she pulls back. He smiles down at her, shaking his head as he struggles to accept that this is his new reality. That this woman, who can light him up from the inside out with a single sweet smile, is all his.

"Hi," he returns, fingering one of the loose ringlets that's tumbled over her shoulder before tucking it back behind her ear.

"You're finally home."

"Finally," he agrees, bending forward to briefly rest his forehead against hers.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you today," she confesses, tipping her head back to meet his eyes and settling her hand on his chest in a way that gives life to a warmth radiating through his center. How is he supposed to function when every little thing she does has him feeling like he's melting on the inside?

"Yeah, I got that from your 332 texts," he teases gently as he brushes his thumb along her jaw. Lucy's steady stream of memes and ridiculous ClipToks and random, entirely irrelevant facts about sea turtles had easily been the very best part of his day after their morning together. Up until now, that is.

She bites her lip, little lines forming between her brows, "Was it too much?"

He finds his focus drifting from the conversation as he allows a finger to continue the journey down her neck and along her collar, finally fully processing the feel of her silk robe under his hands, the deep red of her lips, and the picture-perfect waves tumbling down over her shoulders.

"Tim," a tinge of a whine enters her voice as she tries to draw his attention back to her question. But if it's conversation she's interested in, she has absolutely chosen the wrong outfit. He leans in for a better look — what exactlyisthat bit of lacy black fabric peaking out from the deep V-neck of her robe?

"Mmmhmm. Yeah… definitely too much," he answers distractedly, his mouth already watering at the memory the crimson kimono is conjuring — one of a very specific night in a dance studio involving a very tiny red thong.

A disgruntled sigh escapes her, and she crosses her arms over her chest, very rudely obstructing his view. And he knows he's being a bit of an ass, but it's not like she's making it easy on him with these wardrobe choices.

He guiltily jerks his eyes up to meet hers when he finally manages to disconnect his brain from his dick.

Her lips have twisted into a pout and she looks genuinely upset. "Was it really too much? You weren't really responding, but I thought…"

He softens immediately, because this woman had made the effort to let him know she was thinking of him and there for him almost continuously throughout the day — specifically because she knew how much he was dreading having to return to the house — and he'd been so caught up in his own shit, he'd barely made the effort to acknowledge her thoughtfulness.

He shakes his head, taking hold of her face with both hands and leaning in to press a kiss to her forehead. "It was perfect… exactly what I needed to make it through the day. Now, are you going to tell me why you look so damn incredible?"

She arches an unimpressed eyebrow, and perhaps his brain isn't entirely back to 100%.

"Evenmoreincredible than you always look," he hurries to amend.

Her lips twitch as she offers him a begrudging nod of approval. Her features soften as she coyly shrugs, brushing her hair over her shoulder and tipping her head back to fix him with her doe-eyed gaze as she runs her fingers along the lapel of his flannel over shirt. A lethal combination of feigned innocence and sexy as fuck that has him forgetting every single thing that exists outside of the four walls of this apartment.

"Itoldyou… I was thinking about you…"

"Uh huh… and whatexactlywere you thinking about when you picked out this little number?" He slides his arm back around Lucy's waist, urging her closer with his hand against the small of her back until she is pressed up against him as he dips his head to brush his lips over hers.

Her eyes sparkle with mischief as she playfully tugs at the belt loop of his jeans, "Just you. But… you might have been a little naked."

"Only a little?" he growls, the fingers of his free hand already pulling at the tie of her robe, which, for some absurd reason, she's triple-knotted like it's some sort of chastity belt.

He frowns, meeting her eyes with an accusatory glare before glancing back down at the tangled belt.

"What the hell, Lucy?" he whines.

"I made you dinner," she explains, as if making it impossible to get her naked within five minutes of him arriving home is a perfectly normal accompaniment to the meal. "AndI want to hear about your day…" she adds sweetly, pretending to be all innocent and angelic as she pulls his hand away from the tie and guides him further into their apartment.

Despite the teasing and heavy flirtation, Lucy can still see the toll the day has taken on Tim.

It's hardly shocking that meeting Genny at their childhood home after shift to figure out a game plan for the renovation was just about the last thing he'd wanted to do. But he'd made a decision to try and support his sister on the project, and Lucy knows he isn't one to do something halfway once he's committed. But for as much as she admires and appreciates that trait, she's also worried it may come at the cost of his mental and emotional wellbeing.

She attempts to make conversation as they eat, but it's clear his mind is elsewhere so she eventually gives up. After having spent so much of the day wondering how he was doing, she tries not to be too disappointed that he's clearly not in the mood to open up about how he's feeling.

She reaches over to squeeze his forearm before getting to her feet.

"Hey," he protests as she clears the not even half-empty plate he's been aimlessly poking at for the last ten minutes. "I was going to finish that."

"No," she corrects as she heads into the kitchen, "You weren't."

He looks remorseful when she makes her way back to the dining table a few moments later, a relieved smile twisting his lips when she settles on his lap instead of returning to her own chair. She loops her arms around his shoulders and crosses one leg over the other as he gives her a loving squeeze.

"That was delicious, Lucy. I'm sorry — I guess I just don't have much of an appetite tonight."

"That's all right," she says softly, eyes searching his, "Are you okay?"

He gazes up at her. "Right this moment? I'd say I'm doing better than okay." He slides his calloused hand along the smooth skin of her thigh until it disappears underneath the silky fabric of her robe.

"Tim,"Lucy grumbles, trying not to get too distracted as he runs his hand all the way up to her hip and pauses to rub his thumb back and forth before trailing his fingertips back down her thigh and starting again.

Goosebumps prickle her skin, and she has to squeeze her legs more tightly together to stop herself from inviting him to touch her in more intimate places.

"Lucy,"he returns in the same tone, and she huffs an aggrieved exhale in response to his deflection. Seeming to sense her frustration, he brings his torture to a halt and lifts his hand to cradle her cheek. "I'm fine," he reassures.

She's obviously not convinced that he's as okay as he's pretending be, but she also doesn't want to push or pry too much when he's clearly so drained. She lifts a hand to his face, tenderly following the line of his five o' clock shadow as she studies him.

"I just want to help…"

Tim sighs, "I know you do. And you already are, Lucy." He shifts and locks his gaze on hers, "This, right here…" he gestures between them, "it's more than enough."

He grips the back of her neck, pulling her down to meet him. Her lips automatically part for him, and he wastes no time deepening the kiss, his tongue slipping into her mouth as he wonders if he's ever going to be able to be around her without such an intense need to get as close as possible. He moves his hand over the smooth silk of her robe — over her hip and up her side before pausing to cup her breast through the layers of fabric.

"Mmm," she smiles against his lips when he finally eases up enough for her to break free. She straightens and taps him on the nose with her finger. "So what you're saying is… all you want from me is sex?"

He gives her a gratuitous squeeze, "At the moment?"

She groans, and he laughs. "Listen, Lucy, if you wanted me to be thinking about anything other than sex, you probably should have thought about that before you put on that outfit and started talking about getting naked."

She snorts with laughter. "You're such an idiot, Tim," she declares before offering him a coy shrug and sliding off of his lap and onto her knees on the floor in front of his chair, "...but if it'll help…"

His eyes widen as she slides her hands up the length of his thighs before her fingers begin to work at his belt buckle. This was not at all the outcome he was expecting from being such a jackass.

"Lucy, I was kidding. Come on, what are you doing?" he attempts to tug her up by the arms, now officially feeling like a massive jerk for having so callously blown off her sweet concern. "You don't have to do that."

She shrugs him off, making quick work of the button and fly of his jeans once she's gotten his belt out of the way. And damn her hands feel good as she gropes his rapidly hardening cock through his boxer briefs.

She tips her head back to meet his gaze, "And if I want to?"

Good god. He shakes his head in disbelief. She motions for him to lift his hips and he helps as she tugs his boxers and jeans further down his thighs.

His erection springs free and the feel of her fingers closing around his length has him groaning out loud. She collects the precum that's appeared at the tip of his penis with her thumb, and uses it to lubricate the motion as she rubs little circles around the sensitive spot on the underside of his shaft.

"Lucy," he begs, squeezing his eyes closed as he tries to summon the willpower to right the ship. Because there is absolutely no way he isn't going to make sure she is well taken care of as the first priority. He may not always be great at putting how much he appreciates her into words, but he can certainly convey it in other ways.

He can feel the warmth of her breath as she leans in closer. She lets out a surprised gasp when Tim hooks his hands under her arms and hauls her up from the floor and back into his lap. She squeals as he dips her back into his waiting arm without warning. He grips her face with his other hand and kisses her — vascillating between his need to tenderly convey his adoration and his need to immediately and completely possess every bit of her.

He shifts his hand down her body until it settles between her legs, and Lucy lets her head fall back as he pushes aside the robe and begins to stroke her through the fabric of her panties. He increases the pressure of his touch as he traces along her opening and the wet heat of her arousal begins to seep through the lacy barrier.

He dips his head, teasingly biting at her breast through the fabric of her robe, while using his fingers to move the damp strip between her legs to one side.

"Oh my god," she whimpers softly when he enters her with his index finger, enjoying the feel of her slick, tight warmth as he explores her.

He grunts in frustration as he finds silk in all of the places he wants to find skin, giving up his efforts to expose one of her tits with his teeth once it becomes clear they are absolutely futile.

"Take this damn thing off already, would you?" he barks as he puts a second finger to work inside of her, despite knowing how hard he is making it for her to focus on his words.

"Yes.Please,"she begs, lifting her head for only a moment before burying her face against his neck.

He waits, chivalrously extracting his fingers so she can concentrate on getting the damn thing out of the way.

"Hurry up, Tim!" she whines as she begins to squirm uncomfortably in response to him bringing her pleasure to such an abrupt halt.

"I'm waiting foryou. To untiethat…" Tim says, wearily eyeing the gigantic knot at her waist.

Lucy's eyes fly open as she pulls back enough to see his face. "Youdo it — weren't you trained on knots?"

"Well, yeah, but I didn't learn whatever the hell that thing is. It's not like I was in the fucking Navy," he grouses. "Lucy, quit messing around and just untie the damn thing."

She chews on her bottom lip. "Um, well, see… the thing is… I only watched the parts of the videos that showed how totiethe knots."

He gawks at her, "Are you kidding me right now?"

"What? This isn'tmyfault. I'm sorry I overestimated your skills, Tim." She reaches around him to retrieve her phone off of the dining table. "It's fine… it was only like 3 or 4,maybe5, videos. And I just have to remember what order I did them in…"

He blinks, because this is absolutely not happening right now. She may be one of the smartest people he knows, but…

"Lucy, this might be thedumbestthing I have ever seen." He unceremoniously lifts her off of his lap and deposits her onto the nearest dining chair, pausing briefly to sort himself before yanking his boxers and jeans back into place.

Her jaw drops open and she glares at him, tossing the phone onto the table and crossing her arms over her chest. "Oh,really? More or less dumb than saying those words to me when you're trying to get laid?"

He arches an eyebrow, "I'd say I was doing a little better than justtrying."

Her eyes flash with annoyance and she lifts her chin with a haughty defiance he's pretty sure is reserved specifically for him. "Keep it up, Tim. Do I need to remind you how good I am with delayed gratification?"

"Oh good lord, not this shit again…" he rolls his eyes, striding into the kitchen and yanking open the junk drawer. Her eyes go wide when he stalks back toward her, wielding a pair of scissors in his right hand.

"Tim,no, I love this —" her words are interrupted by the sound of the snip as Tim brutally assaults her favorite robe.

"What the hell, Tim?" she gapes at him in disbelief as he jerks off the sash and deposits it along with the scissors on top of the table. "I cannot believe you just —"

But he's had his fill of her lip for the night, ignoring her protests as he bends to lift her out of the chair and throws her over his shoulder.

He none too gently tosses her on the bed once he reaches their bedroom, and all the movement has caused the robe (or what's left of it) to slip off her shoulders.

And holy shit. His eyes zero in on the sexy black lingerie1that she's been hiding from him all night. And suddenly he can't remember how he could possibly be irritated with this beautiful, perfect woman. "You picked that out for me?"

She pushes the hair that's fallen into her face back, and damn she looks angry. And damn if that doesn't turn him on even more. She glowers at him as she pushes herself up from where he'd rudely dropped her on the bed until she is standing on her knees in front of him. She jerks the robe closed, seeming to get even more pissed off at the reminder that there's no longer a way to secure it.

"No. I didn't," she lies unconvincingly, "I picked it out forme, becauseyouare a jerk, Tim Bradford."

But even though she is full on sulking, she doesn't resist when he gently tugs down on her hands until she releases the robe. He pushes the garment back off of her shoulders until it slides completely off of her, creating a pool of red silk around her legs on the bed.

"Youdefinitelypicked this out for me," he says, his voice taking on a throaty timbre as he looks her over, drinking in the way the pretty bralette accentuates the beautiful lines of her neck and collarbone. The way the fabric molds perfectly over her full, round breasts and the way her erect nipples peek out at him through the sheer lace. The way the high cut of the panties perfectly exposes the flare of her hips, drawing his eyes down the uninterrupted length of those strong, delicious thighs that heneedsto feel wrapped around him.

"I kind of hate you right now, you know?" she grumbles as he leans around her to check out her back side before teasingly smacking the perfect round bubble of her ass with appreciation. This is the actual stuff wet dreams are made of.

"How are you so fucking perfect?"

Her lips twist as she attempts to suppress her smile, and he knows that flattery will get him everywhere with this woman. Good thing she makes it so damn easy.

"I did good?" she asks softly, her cheeks tinging pink as he continues to devour her with his eyes.

And god, this woman, whose confidence almost never falters, whose naked body he's pretty sure he's kissed and licked and tasted every inch of, suddenly seems to be a little shy about putting herself on display in front of him in her sexy lingerie. And there is something so ridiculously endearing about that — he has really come to adore all these little contradictions of hers that had confused and aggravated him so much in the beginning.

"You did amazing, baby. You look unbelievable, and there is no way on earth I could possibly deserve you."

She preens in response to his words, looping her arms around her neck. "I mean…" she shrugs playfully, "Iamkind of a catch, but not sure I'd gothatfar."

He settles his hands onto her hips, "You make me feel like the luckiest man on the planet, you know that?"

Her eyes soften, "Mmm… well, you make me feel pretty lucky, too… when you're not being a dick, that is."

He smirks, "I dunno. I think you kinda like it..."

"And I think you're delu—"

He jumper cables her sides, cutting her off midsentence, and she shrieks and squirms in an attempt to escape his hold, but he tightens his grasp on her. He certainly isn't about to let her go anywhere.

She wipes at the tears of laughter that have escaped her eyes, before tugging him closer until he bends to capture her lips. He shrugs off his overshirt when she begins pushing it down his shoulders. He kisses her again, only breaking away to yank his Henley over his head when her hands slip under his shirt. She's already moved on to forcing his boxers and jeans back down his legs, and he takes them the rest of the way to the floor.

She scooches back on the bed toward the headboard and leans back onto her elbows. And this time it's her turn to rake her eyes all overhisbody.

But he doesn't give her long to enjoy the view, quickly climbing onto the bed to join her.

She mutters something about him being rude as he settles himself next to her, propping himself up on one elbow.

He gazes at her, so damn enamored with her the words pop out without him even realizing it. "I love you… so damn much."

Something shifts in her expression in response to hearing him say the words so directly for the first time, a soft vulnerability that makes him ache at the idea that she's not nearly as used to hearing those words as she should be.

And then, in that way that is so specifically hers, she reminds him that she's not nearly as sweet as she looks. "I love you too, you idiot."

He snorts and rolls his eyes, lifting his hand to tenderly brush his thumb over her cheek before eventually allowing his fingertips to trace along her jawline, down her neck, and then along the edges of her bralette — down her shoulder and over the swells of her breasts — absolutely mesmerized. Every bit of the darkness that has been threatening to creep in around him dissipates as he loses himself in the act of exploring her body.

"I really like this," he says huskily, giving the frayed edge of her top a teasing pull. He guides one of the straps down her arm until her breast is exposed. He takes her into the palm of his hand before brushing his thumb over the pebbled tip. He touches her slowly and with intention, enjoying the opportunity to just observe her and fully absorb the way she responds to his hands on her body.

"Mmm, I really like it, too," she shivers when he turns his focus to teasing her other nipple through the lacy fabric of her top, but he's not particularly concerned about it. She'll be plenty warm, soon enough.

He encourages her to lie back as he places his palm on her stomach and caresses her supple skin, ultimately allowing his hand to wander into her lacy panties. And god, she is soaking wet for him in a way that sends a jolt of arousal straight to his dick.

She makes a sound akin to a whimper as he slips his fingers inside of her for the second time that night and dips his head to kiss her as he moves his thumb rapidly over her clit.

And she is so fucking beautiful — her skin flushing, her teeth biting into her lower lip, her body beginning to cord with tension — as he purposefully builds her with his touch.

He brings her to the edge — her sounds of pleasure transforming to something more uninhibited and desperate as she begins to beg, her thighs closing around his wrist and her body writhing against him as she approaches her release.

He brushes his lips over her cheek, loving ever single minute of getting to experience her like this.

"Uh uh uh," he chastises, somehow managing to extract his hand from between her thighs despite her ironclad grip and disgruntled protest.

Her eyes fly open and she glares up at him.

"I'm not done with you yet," he attempts to soothe her with another tender kiss to the now damp skin of her forehead.

"Urgh," she growls with frustration, "You know I can have more than one, right?"

Tim chuckles, "Pretty sure you're the one that keeps going on about how much you love delayed gratification, Lucy... besides, did no one ever teach you that patience is a virtue?"

"Did no one ever teach you to never keep a lady waiting?" she snaps back.

And this time he laughs out loud, "God, I love you."

"So prove it, then," she whines, and, frankly, he considers that a personal challenge.

He takes hold of her face with his hand and kisses her roughly before shaking his head and tsking his disapproval, "It's like all you want from me is sex."

She grumbles something under her breath about a divorce as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of her panties and pulls them down the length of her body once she lifts her hips.

She bends her knees, spreading her feet further to accommodate him as he settles himself between her legs.

Her breath catches in anticipation, and he eases himself into her, holding his own breath as he processes how damn good it feels to be inside of her, surrounded by her warmth. He moves slowly at first, waiting until she's had the opportunity to adapt to his length before pausing to lift one of her legs over his shoulder.

He establishes a rhythm, adjusting the angle of his entry until he can tell by the depth of her moans and the glazed look in her eyes that he's found exactly the right spot. He revels in the sound of her cries getting louder as his thrusts quicken and penetrate more deeply inside of her.

She wraps her fingers around his straining bicep with one hand, while the other slips down between their bodies, and, impatient little minx that she is, she doesn't bother waiting for him. And he can't say he's all that mad at how quickly she comes, given how good it feels to have her contracting around his dick. And because there is just something about the way she gives herself to him in these moments — letting go of control and allowing herself to be so completely and totally open with him.

Lucy blinks, eyes struggling to focus on the cieling as she recovers from what can be described as nothing less than an absolutely spectacular orgasm. But god, it's so rude of him to be so far away from her in these postcoital moments when all she is craving is his closeness. Sure, she gets that he's probably pretty interested in pursuing his own spectacular orgasm at the moment, if the way he is bracing and preparing to thrust into her again is any indication, butwhereare his priorities? She'd really like to know.

She reaches her arms up for him and he stops short in response to her pleading, "Tim."

He sighs and shakes his head as Lucy lifts her leg off of his shoulder, her feet settling on either side of his hips. "Oh. Sonowyou want to cuddle, huh?"

She offers him a sleepy angelic smile that is almost immediately wiped off of her face when, instead of laying down beside her and taking her into his arms like he's obviously supposed to be doing, he wraps his arms around her torso and swiftly pulls her up and onto his lap until they are face to face, with her thighs straddling his hips.

She hugs him tightly around the neck and he pulls her even closer, until her chest is plastered against his. She tips her head down to rest her forehead against his neck, sucking in deep inhales of him as she collects herself. It's not exactly what she had in mind, but she supposes it'll do.

He's patient with her, lips brushing over her shoulder as his hand moves soothingly over her back, and when she finally pulls back enough to capture his lips with her own, she loses herself completely in him. The tenderness of his touch, the sweetness of his taste, the pleasure of being completely surrounded by the strong warmth of his body.

She doesn't know how long they stay like that — just kissing each other, pressed as tightly together as possible. She's not sure she's ever felt this level of connection during sex before. She pulls back, cradling his face with both hands as her emotion threatens to overwhelm her, and the words are not nearly enough to convey the depth of what she is feeling for him, "I love you."

He gazes back at her, his eyes soft with affection as he reaches up to tuck her hair back behind her ear. "I love you too, you idiot."

She cracks up laughing because she probably [definitely] had that coming, and his teasing is perfectly timed to prevent her from becoming a weepy mess before the poor man has even gotten a chance to orgasm.

She pulls him back to her, gripping the back of his neck as she deepens the kiss and he holds her close. His hands eventually fumble at her back for a clasp that isn't there before he gives up and leans back enough to jerk the bralette up and over her head instead. She giggles as she lifts her arms so he can free her from the fabric.

"You are really making me work for this," he complains in exasperation, once he's tossed the confounding piece of lingerie aside. She pouts, and he shakes his head. "But you are so worth it," he reassures quickly, and this time there's nothing left between them when they close the distance again.

She shifts, hanging onto his shoulder for balance with one hand as she lifts herself and guides his shaft back inside of her. She lowers down onto him, and he supports her as she begins to move, rocking and grinding against him until it's his turn to beg.

She arches back and he steadies her with a hand at the small of her back, both groaning in unison as he plunges even deeper inside of her. He dips his head down to capture to tip of her breast between his lips, teasing it with his tongue as she continues to roll her hips against him in pursuit of her next release.

"Mmm… it feels so good," she gasps, her eyes squeezing shut and her face scrunching up in that telltale way that indicates she is about to come, and he can sense how close she is from the way her body tightens around him.

"Ahhh," she half gasps and half screams as her walls begin to spasm around his cock, and he barely has the presence of mind through his own blinding pleasure to grip her more securely around the waist and prevent her from collapsing back onto the bed.

She falls forward into him once the tension has flooded out of her body, one arm still looped around his neck while she lifts her other hand to caress his cheek. When he catches her scent on the tips of her fingers, he turns his head and captures two of them in his mouth, savoring the taste of her as he turns his focus to chasing his own release.

Her eyes flutter open to watch him, and she moans softly as he finishes sucking the remnants of her arousal off of her skin before letting go.

"Hold on," he orders, and she wraps both arms tightly around his neck as he hooks his arms under her knees and firmly grips her ass with both hands, grunting as pushes himself up so that he is standing on his knees and lifts her just high enough up off of the bed so that he can rapidly pile into into her.

"Gotta give me one more more, baby," he demands and her eyes widen in surprise, still too dazed to vocalize a response as she nods.

His eyes never leave hers as he takes her as fast and hard as he needs to push through to completion, groaning loudly as he spills into her right as she begins to climax for the third time. He drops her back onto the bed before collapsing on top of her, the sounds of her pleasure as she cries out blending into his own moans of satisfaction.

She is definitely in the mood to cuddle that night because she clings to him after, her body pressed up against his as she drops tender kisses to his shoulder and chest, along his jaw and over his cheek, every so often.

He has trouble understanding it sometimes. For as hard as he'd worked to convince himself that she couldn't possibly be right for him, that's the part that seems so obvious now. It's not difficult to see how a panel of matchmakers would have looked at Lucy and her joyful and optimistic nature and decided she was exactly what he needed in his life.

But it's not entirely clear to him what they'd seen in him that made them thinkhewas whatsheneeded in hers. He doesn't like to think too deeply about it, because it feels a lot like staring at a winning lottery ticket and willing one of the numbers to change instead of just taking the damn jackpot while he has the chance. But on nights like this one, it's hard… hard not to feel that no matter how much he might want this, that maybe this isn't actually something that is supposed to be his.

His thoughts drift back to the house, how suffocating it had felt to be back there. How crazy it is that just a few hours in that place was enough to send him into a spiral of self-loathing.

He feels Lucy shift beside him. "Where'd you go?" she asks softly, her eyes searching his as she brushes her thumb tenderly over his the stubble on his cheek.

And he knows it's a shitty thing — being intimate with someone only to discover they aren't really there with you. And he hates that, once again, he can't get out of his head enough to just be with her in this moment.

He waits, expecting her to question him further when he doesn't immediately respond, but she doesn't. And when she wriggles out of his hold, he fully expects it's to get out of bed, pull on a T-shirt, and complete the rest of her nighttime routine.

But she doesn't do any of those things, instead pausing only briefly to cradle his face and gaze into his eyes before takinghimintoherarms.

And though he's the one who should be apologizing, she's the one who's murmuring that she's sorry as she cradles him against her chest.

She is softness and warmth and comfort — everything he could possibly need in a moment like this one. Asking nothing of him except to just allow her to be with him.

"I hate that fucking house," he finally says, angling his head back so he can see her face. She nods, her gaze heavy with sadness. "And I hate that I can't just have this, can't just be happy for five seconds without him finding some way to ruin it."

She nods her understanding, her eyes filling with tears. "I'm so sorry, Tim. I hate that, too… but…" She trails off, looking like she's debating her next words before simply shaking her head, "I wish I knew how to make it easier for you, and I don't, but… I'm here. And I love you."

And that's it. No judgement. No questions. No advice.

And though the words are simple, they are more than enough. And as he considers them, it occurs to him that perhaps he's being a bit of a moron. Because she ishere.Right now. In this moment, he has this beautiful woman. Her love. Her kindness. And all of the happiness she brings to his life.

Hedoesget to have this. All of it. If he chooses it. Chooses to stop letting his past rob him of joy in the present. Chooses to let Lucy love him the way she's chosen to let him love her.

Notes:

Well, I'm running out of clever things to say or memes to insert when I randomly reappear after disappearing for months, so just let me know how you're feeling... about the fic... about the show... or whatever else.

Anyway, this chapter mostly exists just because I knew I'd get roasted if I didn't deliver any proper smut before moving into the rest of the journey for these two, so here you go. I hope the level of my struggle to produce this does not come through in the writing, and if it does, I am truly sorry

Thanks for being here ️

Lana

1. lingeriereturn to text
Lucy's Lingerie

Summary:

Lucy struggles to come to terms with an unexpected loss; Tim does his best to support her as she grieves.

TW: Supporting character death & grief.

Notes:

I'm so sorry. It's going to get a bit dark for these two for a little bit as we head into this last mile of angst. And I know things have already been pretty rough for this fandom as of late, and I have genuinely struggled with what's to come for these guys in the next few chapters. But this was always part of the plan for their journey, and I want to stay true to the story I had intended to tell from the beginning.

So though I will miss you dearly, I completely understand if you're not in the headspace for this, and /or you'd rather wait for the happy ending before continuing on with the rest of this story. ️

hugs*

Lana

Chapter Text

Til Death

Week 7, Day 4: Wednesday

Tim jerks awake around 4:30 Wednesday morning, not entirely sure what's going on, but certain that something isn't right. His hands are reaching into the empty space beside him despite his eyes having already confirmed that Lucy isn't there.

He's always been a light sleeper; it's only with Lucy he's ever slept deeply enough to not be woken by the smallest of disruptions during the night.

He swallows back his panic, flipping on the bedside lamp and scrambling out of bed. And despite telling himself it's absurd to panic over her getting out of bed in the middle of the night as he flips on the light in the bathroom only to find it empty, he's pretty sure he doesn't actually take another breath until he makes his way out to the living area and finds her sitting at the dining table.

She's staring off into space, her phone lying on the table in front of her. The glow from the screen illuminating her features is the only light in the room. He knows immediately that his instinct had been spot on; something is very wrong. She looks… vacant.

"Lucy?" he asks, switching on the lights in the living and dining areas as he moves toward her.

She doesn't respond until he's standing right in front of her and tries one more time, "Lucy, are you okay?"

She blinks, as if realizing suddenly that she isn't alone anymore, looking up at him with confusion.

"It's Jackson," she finally says, "He was working the night shift tonight." She shakes her head as if she's having trouble understanding her own words as she says them. "They said he — he pulled someone over and was hit by a car. They said he didn't make it?" She tips her head back to look up at him, leaving her statement open as a question as if she's waiting for him to contradict it.

And for a minute, he's as shocked as she is, struggling to process her words and what they mean.

Jackson.

Didn't make it.

"Tim?" her voice is pleading, "They said he's —" she shakes her head. "I don't understand."

She's still looking up at him, still waiting for him to tell her something — anything — that will make her world make sense again. He shakes his head, wishing he could do exactly that because god, she looks so damn young and confused and vulnerable and he would doanythingto get her out of the path of the freight train of grief and loss and heartbreak that is coming right for her.

"What's happening?" she begs as if he can somehow explain why the ground is suddenly falling out from under her feet.

His blood runs cold as the desperation in her gaze cuts right through him, her face crumpling as she is forced to confront the awful reality of what she's just shared all over again.

Jackson was her person. Her very best friend. The person who had seen her through the very worst time in her life.

And now he's just… gone.

He can feel his throat closing as agony for her rises up in his chest. He drops to his knees in front of her, hands sliding up her thighs, and then circling around her waist.

She melts into him, joining him on the floor as she finally breaks and begins to sob, her entire body shuddering under the weight of her emotion.

Tim wraps himself around her as completely as possible, pulling her into his lap and cradling her against his chest, and rocking her soothingly as he whispers how sorry he is into her hair.

The heat behind his own eyes is building as he physically feels her pain racking her body, as he continues to work his head around the magnitude of this loss for her.

It was Jackson she'd turned to when she'd been terrified and alone during the fires. Jackson who'd known exactly what she needed. Jackson who'dsavedher.

He's no stranger to death and loss. It's been a fact of life for his entire career, from the military on into the LAPD. But instead of making him numb to what she is feeling, it only makes him hurt for her that much worse. Because she doesn't get to flip a switch and focus on whatever mission is at hand. She's being forced to feel every bit of the anger and pain and confusion and disbelief that comes with losing someone you love without any warning.

When her sobs suddenly hitch and transition to stuttering gasps, he can feel the panic leap up into his own throat as he tries to calm her, tries to help her breathe, tries to reassure her with words that are possibly the biggest lie he's ever told. "You're okay, Lucy… it's gonna be okay," he repeats over and over again until it's over.

Tim loses track of how long they stay like that — huddled together on the floor. And he doesn't dare to even make a move until her sobs have finally died down to a silent, but steady trail of tears down her cheeks.

And then he shifts, keeping an arm secured around her as he carefully finds his way to his feet before bending to lift her into his arms and carry her into their bedroom. He holds her until the sun comes up.

She barely has it in her to protest when Tim informs her he's taking a personal day — that he isn't going anywhere — simply nodding when he explains, "You shouldn't be alone right now."

Tim is hit in the face with the knowledge of two things that morning.

One is just how much he loves this woman, how intensely he wants to be able to shield her from some of this pain.

The other is that, despite feeling closer and more to connected to her than rationally makes sense for the seven weeks that he's known her 90% of the time, this is one of those times that falls into the other 10%. He is almost painfully aware of the fact that he doesn't know her well enough to even begin to guess at what she wants or what she needs right now.

Doesn't know whether to draw the curtains closed so she can escape into sleep or to let the daylight in so she isn't surrounded by darkness.

Doesn't know whether her favorite foods will bring her even a sliver of comfort or if the smell will just make her nauseous.

Doesn't know whether turning on a Top Chef marathon will be a welcome distraction or just an agitation.

But he does his very best, forcing aside his feelings of inadequacy so that he can focus on what really matters. So that he can focus onher.

He holds her until she pulls away.

Stays by her side even after she turns away from him and curls up into the fetal position.

Keeps trying to take care of her the best way he knows how despite knowing that nothing he does can make this better.

When Tim takes Kojo out that evening, he realizes that it is turning out to be a beautiful night with a miraculously clear sky. Once he's back in the apartment, he takes a seat on the edge of the bed and reaches over to gently squeeze her shoulder. She rolls over to face him, before slowly pushing herself up into a seated position.

"Tim? What time is it?" she blinks her red-rimmed eyes in confusion, appearing momentarily disoriented.

"Almost eight. It's a really nice night... I thought maybe you might want to go out on the balcony for a bit?" he asks, trying not to sound too hopeful, despite feeling like he's finally thought of something that might actually bring her even just the tiniest bit of comfort.

She glances over her shoulder toward the sliding glass door, staring for a long moment before turning back to Tim. She shakes her head, eyes watering and tears threatening to spill over in response to the movement. "I — uh — no. I don't really feel like going out there tonight."

He nods slowly, trying not to betray any sort of reaction as he fights an urge to break down and cry because she is so fucking sad. And so fucking heartbroken. And it is killing him to see her turn away from the one thing he knows has gotten her through her hardest times.

She wakes repeatedly that night and he wakes with her, aching as she relives over and over again the realization that this wasn't all a horrible dream, that Jackson is really and truly gone.

"It just doesn't feel real," she whispers. "It can't — It doesn't make any sense."

"I know," he says softly, tightening his hold on her as her shoulders begin to shake.

Everythingis different.

Week 7, Day 5: Thursday

Lucy forces herself out of bed and into the shower early the next morning. She has a lot of things to do.

That is her mantra. The only thought driving her forward.

She needs to go see Jackson's family.

Needs to check on Sterling.

Needs to figure out how she can help with everything that needs to be arranged.

And then she needs to drive down to see Tamara at school. She should have told her by now. She knows that. But the idea of calling her had just been — no, she needs to see her in person.

And then there's the apartment. She swallows back a gigantic lump in her throat at the idea of packing away all of his things, the idea of never being able to share that space with him again, and perhaps most painful of all, the idea that she hadn't been there with him over the last seven weeks.

Time she will never ever be able to get back.

She's not ready to deal with the apartment just yet. But that's okay, because she has a lot of things to do.

Tim tries to convince her to let him come with her, but she declines, gently encouraging him to go back to work. Not because she doesn't want to be with him — god, all she wants to be right now is back in bed and wrapped in his arms and pretending that this nightmare isn't real — but because she knows she won't be able to hold it together with him there.

Because the love and concern in his gaze makes her want to break down and cry. Because he is trying so damn hard to take care of her, and she isn't sure she knows how to let him. Isn't sure she knows how to do much of anything right now other than to keep trying to put one foot in front of the other.

Because nothing makes sense anymore. Nothing feels right anymore.

Everythinghas changed.

And she has a lot of things to do.

Week 7, Day 6: Friday

Despite his suggestion that she should at least give herself the weekend before going back, Lucy insists on returning to work on Friday.

And for all he knows, maybe thatiswhat she needs right now — something to take her mind off of her grief.

Which is why he finds himself doing a doubletake when she appears in the doorway of his office that afternoon. He jumps to his feet, quickly crossing the small room toward her.

"Lucy? What are you doing here? Are you okay?"

She shakes her head, "I don't really know… I just —" She pauses when he gently takes hold of her forearm to guide her into the office, her eyes following his movements as he closes the door behind her and then swiftly adjusts the blinds to deter any prying eyes or ears. This station loves to gossip, and the appearance of the woman Tim married at first sight is likely to draw some interest. And that is the absolute last thing she needs to be dealing with.

"Is it — is it okay that I'm here?"

He gives her his full attention, hands coming up to gently grasp her upper arms. "Of course it's okay."

And he's suddenly feeling very grateful he'd made the decision to volunteer for desk duty over the next week, specifically because he wanted to have the flexibility to be there for her in whatever ways she would let him. The relief in her eyes when he'd mentioned it to her the night before had cemented for him that he'd made the right choice.

Other than working with Wes to convince production that a clause in their contract should grant them a break from filming until after the funeral, it's one of the only things he's been able to do for her that he knows has really and truly helped over the past few days.

"What's going on?" he brushes his thumb along the inside of her arm as he searches her eyes for some indication of how she's doing. They're beginning to show signs of the trouble she's had sleeping, much like his own.

"I've just been thinking, and I can't stop — Tim, what if it wasn't an accident?"

He blinks, because those are just about the last words he expected to hear coming out of her mouth.

But he forces himself to swallow back any reaction and instead simply waits for her to continue.

She pulls out of his hold and begins to pace back and forth, betraying just how worked up she is.

"How do weknowit was an accident? Jackson was building a case against Stanton. He was riding with him that night. You said yourself that he was putting a target on his back, and now —" her voice cracks, "Now he's gone. And Stanton's just what? Gonna get off scot-free? I need to talk to him. Ineedto know —"

A surge of panic rising up in his chest overrides his attempt to hold back any emotion, "No — Lucy, stop. That's not a good idea."

Hurt and frustration color her features, as she raises her sad, angry eyes to meet his. "I knew you wouldn't understand. God, I don't even know why I thought you'd help me."

And the words sting, even though he knows they are stemming more from grief than how she actually feels. Because he would do literally anything he thought would help her right now, and she has to know how much he wants to do exactly that.

He swallows. "Of course I'll help you. You know I will. I just meant — I don't want you anywhere near Stanton, okay? You're right, Lucy. Jackson was making progress, and the stuff he was digging up — he's not a good guy. And if you go out there and start making accusations like that —" he stops short, not even willing to put the thought into words.

She softens, slipping her arms around his waist and resting her forehead against his chest. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "I didn't mean that. I'm just really tired, and it's like I can't figure out how to get out from under this weight and it hurts, Tim. It hurts so much."

His throat tightens as he wraps his arms around her and pulls her as close as possible. "I know, baby. I know it does. And I'm so sorry."

Her fingers clutch at the front of his uniform as she tips her head back to look up at him, her watery eyes pleading with him, "I just want him back, Tim."

His eyes burn as he raises his hand to cradle her cheek, pressing his lips to her forehead, before allowing his chin to settle on top of her head as he holds her against his chest.

"I will find out every detail of what happened that night for you, if that's what you need, okay? I promise you I will, Lucy."

She sniffles before nodding as she pulls back enough to meet his gaze.

"I just — I need you to promise me you'll stay away from Stanton. I need you to promise that you aren't going to say what you just said to me to anyone else."

There's a flicker of wildness, an agitation in her eyes that fills him with dread, and for a moment, he genuinely thinks she is going to refuse him.

"Please, Lucy. I'm asking you to trust me. Just give me a few days to look into it, okay?"

She nods slowly, and the relief he feels is immense as her expression softens. "Okay. I guess I can do that. Thank you."

"You don't need to thank me, Lucy. I'm glad you came to me, and I want to help. However I can."

She nods, "You are, Tim. I — I don't know how I'd be doing any of this without you… but putting all of this on you is so unfair. This is a lot, and we were just finding our footing, and —"

He shakes his head, "Youare the only thing I care about right now, okay? Everything else can wait. I love you."

She nods, blinking back tears as she arches up onto her toes to kiss his cheek.

She takes a step back from him, "I should let you get back to work. I need to get back too."

Tim's eyes settle on where she's left her laptop bag by the door. "Why don't you work from here for the rest of the afternoon?" he asks, already on his way to retrieve the bag. He sets it on his desk before moving around to the other side and shifting a few stacks of paperwork around to make space for her to work.

"See? There's plenty of space," he says, before settling into his chair, hoping that making a show of getting back to business will convince her to stay.

Lucy chews her bottom lip, considering his offer. "I don't know…" She circles around the desk until she's standing in front of him. "Are you sure I won't be a distraction?" Her lips begin to curve into a small, teasing smile and it fills him with warmth.

He grins back at her, reaching to take hold of her by the hips. "Oh, you'll definitely be a distraction."

She laughs as he pulls her into his lap, and god, he has missed that sound. It might just be the best thing he's ever heard.

He lifts his hand to cradle her cheek and she dips her head to kiss him. And it is the first thing that has felt even a little bit right since Wednesday morning.

He circles his arms around her and pulls her more tightly against him as she deepens the kiss, before allowing her forehead to rest against his. "I love you, Tim. So much."

Week 7, Day 7: Saturday

The funeral is on Saturday. It's a beautiful ceremony, fit for the hero that Jackson was.

And though he knows her heart is shattering on the inside as her best friend is laid to rest, Lucy doesn't show much emotion, instead keeping her focus on staying strong for the people who loved Jackson as much as she did

He tries not to crowd her at the wake, but he also doesn't ever stray very far from her, periodically returning to her side between conversations, gently pressing his hand to her lower back to make sure she knows he's still right there.

Angela approaches him while Lucy is talking with Sterling. She nods toward Lucy, "How's she doing?"

Tim swallows, glancing toward his friend. "She's been so damn strong, but, yeah, she's really struggling, Angela."

His best friend nods, her eyes filling. "It's always so hard when it's so sudden and unexpected. And so fucking senseless." She shakes her head, "I know it happens, especially with what we do, but…" She doesn't finish her thought, and she doesn't need to. It doesn't make it any easier.

"And what about you? How are you holding up?"

Tim shrugs, brushing the question off, "I'm fine. I just — I'm worried about her, and I don't know how to help her through this."

"Yes, you do. You're already doing it, Tim."

Tim nods, blinking back a sudden wave of emotion, caught off guard by just how much he needed to hear that vote of confidence from his best friend.

"I know you — I know you're going to be her rock for as long as she needs you to be. Probably even longer than that," Angela teases gently. "But it's okay to admit this is hard for you too, Tim. Don't forget you've got people in your corner if you need us, okay?"

Jackson's father, Commander West, approaches them toward the end of the wake, and the way he softens when Lucy immediately moves forward to hug him tells Tim that he's not the only one incapable of keeping his hard shell in place in her presence.

Tim steps back to give them some space, only catching snippets of their conversation.

"I already miss him so much…"

"He loved you dearly…"

"He was so proud of you; so proud to follow in your footsteps..."

"You are family to us; you always will be…"

Lucy's eyes are brimming as she steps forward to give Jackson's father a final hug before returning to Tim's side and slipping her hand into his.

Tim gently squeezes her fingers as he meets the older man's gaze.

"I'm sorry for your loss, sir. I didn't know your son as well as I would have liked to, but it's clear that he was an excellent cop and an even better man."

The commander nods his gratitude for Tim's words, before offering him his hand and glancing over at Lucy. "Take good care of her, Sergeant Bradford. She's really special to us."

Lucy tightens her fingers around his as she tips her head back to gaze up at him, "He already is."

Lucy joins him on the couch later that evening, cuddling into his side.

Tim closes his laptop before setting it on the coffee table, grateful for an excuse to abandon the mind-numbing amount of paperwork that accompanies desk duty.

He wraps an arm around her, pulling her closer before he presses a kiss to her temple, "You okay?"

She swallows and shakes her head, and though he hadn't expected she would be, it still feels like a punch to the gut.

His face falls, "What can I do, Lucy?"

Her voice wavers when she finally responds, "I don't want to feel like this anymore, Tim. I'm so sad and exhausted and empty, and I just — I need to feel something else…"

She surprises him when she shifts and crawls over him until she is facing him, straddling his lap.

His eyes widen when she reaches down to pull off her shirt, automatically drawn to the curves of her breasts peeking out over her bra, even as he's questioning if this is something they should be doing given her current emotional state.

"Lucy, are you sure?" he asks, his body already starting to react to the idea of being with her despite his uncertainty.

Her eyes are pleading, "Please, Tim."

He pauses to look at her — to take in her beautiful face and her sad brown eyes — and he's done for as soon as she leans in to kiss him. He'd struggle to deny her anything in the best of circumstances, so he's certainly not going to deny her now. Not if she really wants this. Not if there's a chance it will give her a reprieve from her grief, even if for just a little while.

They don't bother with going to the bedroom, both stripped naked on the couch in a matter of minutes.

He's tender with her, gentle in a way that Lucy loves him for, but also in a way that makes her want to scream in frustration.

Lucy can feel it in every touch, every kiss, every breath how much he cares about her. He makes her feel unquestionably loved. And that's the problem — he's making herfeel. And it's too much.

"Tim, no. Stop."

He pulls away from where he'd been kissing down her chest and looks down at her with concern. "What's wrong? Do you want to stop?"

She shakes her head, momentarily overwhelmed by all of the feelings she is tryingnotto feel right now.

He waits patiently before gently prodding, "Tell me what you need, Lucy."

She lifts a hand to his cheek. "I need you to stop treating me like I'm fragile. I don't want you to love me right now, Tim. I want you to fuck me."

Tim frowns — and she knows. She knows how much he wants to comfort and take care of her. Knows that what she's asking him for is the opposite of what he has to give her right now.

But he searches her eyes before swallowing and nodding, "Okay."

She reaches down, taking his now only half-hard length into her hand. She pushes him onto his back and makes her way down his body. He groans as she strokes, and curses when she takes him into her mouth. He's hard in a matter of seconds, and she doesn't waste any time, settling on top of him and leaning down to kiss him, but he stops her.

"Not like this… Lucy. I can't — I don't think I can do this the way you want right now if you're looking at me."

She blinks, momentarily overwhelmed again by the way this man loves her. She nods, turning to face toward the other end of the couch before mounting him.

And then she uses him, uses his body to fulfill her needs as she shuts everything else off, focusing on nothing but her own physical pleasure.

And after that he gives her exactly what she asked for, every feeling and thought flying out of her heart and mind as he presses her up against the wall and takes her from behind.

"Can you hold me?" she asks softly once they've both cleaned up and finally found their way into the actual bed.

He opens his arms without hesitation, because of course he can hold her. It's all he's wanted to do for days. "Come here."

Once she's settled into his arms, Tim teases her gently, "Am I allowed to love you now?"

"Yes, please," she nods vigorously against his chest, tears threatening to spill from her eyes as she hugs him as tightly as she can and presses her lips to his cheek. "Thank you."

He presses his lips to her forehead before pulling back to look at her, pushing a few damp strands of hair back from her face. "How are you feeling?"

She nods, tilting her head back and reaching up to guide his lips to hers. "I think I'm getting a little hungry."

And they are the best damn words he's heard in days. She has barely touched any of the meals he's put in front of her since Wednesday morning.

He kisses her again. "Whatever you want. I'm serious. You name it. Absolutely anything."

Lucy laughs, "Will youuuu go to Italy to get me my favorite gelato?"

He snorts because of course she would push it as far as possible, but he meets her eyes and nods because, if it was actually what she wanted, he would move heaven and earth to get it for her. "In a heartbeat. But if I'm going all the way to Italy, then I'm going to take you with me."

She gives him a soft kiss. "I might take you up on that one day, but for tonight, maybe we just order a pizza?"

He chuckles, "That I can definitely make happen."

Something flickers through her eyes and for a moment she looks distant before returning her gaze to his, a soft smile on her lips, "Did I ever tell you about the time Jackson ate two entire pizzas when he and Sterling got into a fight about going to this vodka launch and runway show…?"

"I can't wait for you to tell me all about it."

Summary:

Filming resumes - Decision Day is coming; Tim shares the results of his investigation into Jackson's death with Lucy; Lucy's grief leads to a reckless decision

Notes:

TWs in end notes

(See the end of the chapter formore notes.)

Chapter Text

Reckless Behavior

Week 8, Day 1: Sunday

"We're so perfect for each other in so many ways, but… it just feels like — is it supposed to be like this? This easy? Or is something missing?" Sonia muses, gazing out at the horizon. And Lucy can see how conflicted the other woman is as she shares her feelings about the upcoming Decision Day that will formally conclude theirOMG! I Married a Strangerexperience.

"But how stupid would I be to throw something thisgoodaway? I can't believe that, this time next week, we'll be making a decision that will impact the rest of our lives…"

Elyse snorts, "Someof us have already made that decision. Or, should I say, had it made for us."

There's a tinge of bitterness in her voice, and Lucy feels a pang of empathy for the other woman. She had very nearly ended up in Elyse's shoes — showing up, ready to give her all and put her heart on the line for this experience, only to have been paired with someone who had no interest in giving this process a real chance.

It's almost impossible to reconcile that she had once felt the same anger and frustration toward the man who has been literally (and figuratively), holding her up over the last few days. Maybe even longer than that.

Tim had been furious when production had notified them they were contractually required to resume filming today — their grace period was over —and being available to film the key moments in their final week together was non-negotiable.

The strain in his voice and the volatility of his reaction were clear indicators that Tim was beginning to feel the pressure of entering into the final week of the experiment, which would have been stressful even in ideal circumstances. Even Megan and Gianna, who seem to be completely confident in the decisions they plan to make, seem a little anxious this afternoon.

Once she'd heard Tim threaten to call their lawyer (Wesley), Lucy had cut him off, slipping a comforting hand up the corded muscles of his bicep as she'd done her best to talk him down and reassure both him and production that she was fine, that she could make it through an afternoon of poolside drinks and spa treatments at a luxury hotel in Beverly Hills.

But she'snotfine. Nothing is fine anymore. And she just doesn't have the energy to fake it.

"On the bright side, I can't believe I'm only a week away from freedom. From never having to see that jerk's face again. Fate can kiss my ass," Elyse finishes.

"Tell me about it," Camila mutters, and all eyes turn to her in surprise.

"I thought you and Malcolm ended things on good terms?" Megan asks the other woman.

"I thought we did, too, but it's not — it's not good right now. We thought we could continue like we were, and then we'd get to Decision Day and walk away with no hard feelings. But there are definitely feelings, and I'm so mad at him right now — but the idea of just walking away? And never seeing him again?" Camila's eyes fill with tears and she shakes her head. "I never would have kept sleeping with him and opening up to him if I knew it was gonna be this hard.

"I want to say yes, to find a way to make this work between us. But he's just sort of shut down on me these last few days. We had our counseling with the experts and, of course, the topic of kids came up again, and he just started to freeze me out after that. And I know it's because he's scared and that he is as in love with me as I am with him, but the way he's treating me right now? I just don't know if we can come back from this."

Lucy's heart aches for Camila even as she reflects on all of the steps of the process she and Tim had missed this week — steps that were supposed to prepare them for Decision Day — couples counseling and critical conversations about what the life they would build together might look like if they chose to stay married.

"Lucy… Lucy?" And she's been trying to stay present. To focus on what the other women are sharing. But it's hard. Hard to care about making a reality TV show when it hasn't even been 24 hours since she watched her best friend being put into the ground.

Megan reaches over to gently touch her arm, her eyes soft with sympathy. "Lucy, they've got to get your answer to the question on camera."

Lucy blinks, "What question?"

The other woman looks concerned, "I'm so sorry, Lucy. You shouldn't have to be here right now…"

She shakes her head, "No, it's fine. What question?"

Megan bites her lip, but obliges her, "How are you feeling about Decision Day, and do you know what you're going to do yet?"

"No… I mean, I don't know…" Lucy feels almost immediately overwhelmed by the directness of the inquiry.

It's not that she doesn't love him. She does. There's no question about that. It is one of the only things in her life right now that she feels really and truly certain about. Why can't that be enough?

Because the idea of making such a humongous decision — committing to spend the rest of her life with him, especially when she knows how strongly he feels about the idea of marriage, how his marriage to Isabel ending in divorce had all but destroyed him — when she is just barely able to keep her head above water feels insane.

She loves him. But they've only known each other for seven weeks — seven weeks that have turned out to be the most tumultuous and dramatic of her life.

And how is she supposed to make a decision this big when, instead of her best friend being here, by her side, to help her work through everything she is thinking and feeling, she has to keep reminding herself that he's not here at all anymore?

How is she even supposed to focus on any of this when she can't stop thinking about what happened to him, can't stop questioning everything about it?

"I love him, but I — I don't know," she whispers again, knowing that production will be less than enthused by her non-answer, but it's all she can muster right now.

Thankfully Megan steps in to fill the silence, "I love Alejandro. I knew almost immediately that I wanted to say yes on Decision Day, and I'm still terrified." She glances sideways at a nearby PA, before pointedly saying, "I can't imagine having to do this if I were going through what you're going through right now, Lucy. It's not fair."

Week 8, Day 2: Monday

Lucy thought that having answers about what happened the night that Jackson died would help her begin to process and move forward, but as she listens to Tim explain what he'd found the next evening, she's not so sure about that anymore.

She's hearing the words that Tim is saying to her, but she's notreallyhearing them.

She nods along as he walks her through his findings, talking about broken street lights, and the driver's tox screens, and footage from the dash and body cams, and statements from everyone who had arrived on scene, but she struggles to grasp what he's actually saying.

"There isn't any evidence indicating that this was anything other than a freak accident."

She stares at him. Because he's not making any sense. Things like this — life-altering, earth-shattering things — don't just happen.

"Hey," he says softly, once he realizes she's no longer fully with him. "Lucy, I know this is hard to hear and process, but I promise you I went through everything. Multiple times. Angela did too. I know it probably feels like there has to be more to it —"

She vigorously shakes her head because she can't do this right now. She is confused and overwhelmed and so fucking tired of feeling like she is living in a snow globe that has been flipped upside down.

"It's fine, Tim."

The looks he gives her makes it clear he thinks she's full of shit, but he doesn't push.

"Thank you for looking into it. Thank you for telling me."

"Lucy," he reaches for her, and she shakes her head again, getting to her feet.

"I think — I think I just need some space right now, okay?"

And she can see the hurt in his eyes as he nods his understanding, and she hates herself for putting it there, but she just can't.

Nothingmakes sense anymore.

Week 8, Day 3: Tuesday

A wave of guilt washes over Tim as he glances down at his phone — Lucy's pretty face lights up the screen as the device begins to vibrate. He hesitates.

He'stechnicallystill supposed to be on desk duty today, but he'd just been getting so damn antsy cooped up in his windowless office all morning. Surely a few hours taking low-risk calls on patrol for the afternoon couldn't actually hurt anything?

It was a short-sighted impulse that he's now regretting. What if she's back at the station today looking for him? He hates the idea of not being there for her.

He shakes himself out of his guilt trip — the only certainty right now is that screening her call will guarantee he isn't there for her in this moment.

He hurriedly swipes across the screen to answer before the call goes to voicemail, "Lucy?"

"Tim." And there's something in her voice that immediately puts him on edge.

"Lucy, what's wrong?"

"Um, I'm not sure. I'm driving south on Griffith Park Drive. I just passed Mineral Wells Trail… and… a few patrol cars have been tailing me for the last few miles.Shit.I'm being pulled over, Tim. I think — I met with Stanton's old partner earlier today just to ask a few — oh my god —shit— I think it might be him."

His blood runs cold as he tries to process what she's telling him. That she'd done exactly what he'd begged her not to. Exactly what she promised him she wouldn't.

"What do I do, Tim?" the shrillness that's entered her voice causes a sudden surge of panic to rise up in his chest.

He flips on his siren as he pulls a swift U-turn, just barely avoiding oncoming traffic.

"Okay, just stay calm," he says, uncertain if it's more for her benefit or his own, since, at the moment, his heart feels like it's managed to lodge itself in his throat. "I'm not that far from you. I just need you to try and stall for as long as you can. Ask him why he's pulling you over. Give him your license and registration when he asks for it. And Lucy — whatever you do — just stay in the car, okay? I'm going to be right there."

There's a clattering sound that Tim assumes is Lucy setting the phone aside, but she hasn't disconnected the call.

"What seems to be the problem, Officer?" And despite the strain he'd heard in her voice just moments before, she sounds calm and steady. He tries to remind himself how ridiculously capable of taking care of herself she is; how resourceful and tough she is.

But the idea that she is out there on her own — surrounded by multiple armed officers that have identified her as some kind of threat that needs to be dealt with — it's fucking him up pretty good.

The sound of shattering glass has him flooring the accelerator as he fights to keep a clear head.

"Huh. Would you look at that? Looks like you have a broken taillight, Miss Chen. Something like that… that could turn out to be real dangerous for you, you know what I mean?" Stanton's drawl is unmistakable.

They're just trying to intimidate her, he tries to convince himself as he blows through a 4-way stop and takes the next curve in the road at breakneck speed.

"I'm going to need you to get out of the car, ma'am."

Lucy stiffens, her fingers turning white as she clutches at the steering wheel like it's a life preserver, Tim's warning to stay in the car ringing in her ears.

She opens her mouth to let him know she has no intention of getting out of the car when he surprises her by reaching through the window to unlatch the door, yanking the door open before she even has a chance to react.

"What do you think you're doing?!" she snaps, this time not even bothering to try and keep the outrage and fear out of her voice. Apparently, they are both done pretending this is anything other than Stanton taking care of a problem, and, unfortunately for her,sheis the problem.

Her eyes widen as he leans over her to unbuckle her seatbelt — showing a complete disregard for her personal space — fighting to keep her panic at bay as she presses herself as far back against the seat as possible in an attempt to reduce the contact between their bodies.

He places a hand on her thigh as he retreats, pausing with his face only inches from hers to answer her question. "I think the better question is what do you thinkyou'redoing, Miss Chen."

She fights against every single one of her instincts to grab for one of the weapons on his duty belt, to slam her forehead into his nose, to spray him in the face with the bottle of mase on her key chain that is dangling from the ignition mere inches away. Her eyes flick to where three other officers have surrounded her car in a loose half-circle, and she cannot stand the feeling of complete and utter powerlessness that floods her body.

She'd sworn to herself that she would never be anyone's victim again, had done everything she possibly could have to make sure that she would always be prepared to defend herself, and it had taken Stanton all of 60 seconds to destroy her belief in her ability to do exactly that.

How could she have been so stupid and reckless?

Tim hadwarnedher that Stanton and others on the force wouldn't take kindly to the idea of being investigated; he'd begged her to leave things alone, had known that she'd be putting herself in danger.

And yet, she hadn't been able to stop herself.

It's not like she hadn't hesitated when she'd decided to reach out to Stanton's former partner that morning.

She had made Tim a promise. But she had promised Tim she wouldn't go after Stanton, and she hadn't. Not directly. And not for Jackson's death.

She hadn't promised she wouldn't go after him at all.

She had felt so empty and helpless when Tim told her what happened to Jackson was an accident. An accident meant there was no one for her to blame, nothing she coulddoto make things right or make this senseless thing even a little less meaningless.

But even if Stanton hadn't been responsible for Jackson's death (and she was still struggling to accept that), he was still far from innocent. The work Jackson had been doing to build a case against Stanton was important. Too important to just forget about. She couldn't bring her friend back, but shecouldfollow through on what he'd started. She had to. She owed him at least that much.

Shehatedthe idea of intentionally keeping something from Tim, but he was just so damn protective of her, there's no way he would have supported what she was planning to do.

As a black officer, Lucy had been hopeful that Stanton's old partner might have noticed the same problematic behaviors and patterns that Jackson had. She'd beenso surethat once she explained the whole story, he'd want to help her finish what Jackson started. Or, at the very least, that, even if he didn't want to get involved, he wouldn't stand in her way.

Obviously, she'd been very, very wrong.

She cries out when Stanton yanks her roughly out of her seat, slamming her against the side of her vehicle before securing a pair of cuffs so tightly around her wrists that they cut into her skin.

A wave of revulsion passes through her and tears spring to her eyes when she feels him force his leg between her own, and lean every bit of his weight into her, crushing her against the car.

She can feel the heat of his breath against her ear when he snarls, "Heard you've been asking some questions about me — making someoutlandishaccusations. Thought I'd do you a favor and give you the opportunity to ask me yourself. Something you'd like to know, Miss Chen?"

She tries to remind herself that this is only temporary, that Tim will be here any minute, repeating the thought in her head like a mantra to keep herself from losing it. She's so focused on not giving Stanton the satisfaction of any kind of reaction that she doesn't even really hear the sound of the siren, the screech of breaks, the sounds of the other officers scattering like cockroaches, or the rage in Tim's voice as he growls at Stanton to, "Get yourfuckinghands off of my wife!"

Somewhere in her brain, she knows she must be in shock, that she doesn't have to stay here pressed up against the warm metal of her car once Stanton steps away from her, but she can't find it in herself to move.

Tim has had more than a few moments of unadulterated rage in his life. He's not proud of his temper, but heisproud of all the work and training he's done to channel his anger productively so that he no longer has to worry about his ability to keep himself in check. But today, for the first time in a long time, he's not entirely sure hecantrust himself.

The moment he'd seen the way Stanton was forcing her up against the car, he'd seen red. He was going to kill him. Plain and simple.

But it's the way Lucy doesn't move after Tim jerks Stanton away from her, the way she's still resting her cheek on the hood of the car that breaks Tim out of his blind rage. That has him doing nothing to stop Stanton as he scurries away like the complete and total fucking coward he is.

He's gentle with her as he unlocks the cuffs, feeling another rush of anger boil up into his chest when he sees the red marks circling her wrists. But he forces it down, keeping his focus on her as he links his fingers through hers and slowly guides her away from the car. His eyes scan over her, looking for any signs of physical distress he might have missed, before he lifts his hand to cradle her cheek.

The movement seems to snap her out of her daze, and she blinks, offering him a watery smile as she tips her head back to look up at him. "I knew you'd find me."

He shakes his head, fighting his own sudden urge to cry as he slides his arms around her and holds her close. She's been through so damn much; this is the absolute last thing she'd needed.

He'd clocked the names of each officer as he'd stormed toward Stanton. They may have been calculated enough to point their dashcams toward the park and turn off their body cams, but they hadn't planned on Tim's arrival or the footagehiscameras would capture. He is going to make every single one of them pay for the role they played in harassing an innocent woman today. Assuming he doesn't kill them first.

His eyes search hers when he finally pulls back, "Are you okay?"

She bites her lip and nods, still valiantly holding back the tears shining in her eyes. "I'm fine. Just a little rattled. Can we — I just — I really want to go home."

Tim follows her back to their apartment, not letting her out of his sight for even a second. Lucy turns to face him once he's shut and locked the door behind them, snapping at poor Kojo to "go lay down" without bothering to give the dog a proper greeting.

She sucks in a breath, knowing she owes him an explanation, but not entirely sure where to start.

Tim, apparently, is not having the same problem. The tenderness from not even an hour ago is gone. His blue eyes are blazing with anger. "What thefuckwere you thinking, Lucy?"

She feels a flood of defiance surge through her; she may be completely in with love him and he may have just saved her ass, but she doesn't answer to him. He doesn't give her orders.

But as quickly as her indignation rises up, it disappears as soon as she registers the hurt and fear and confusion in his eyes.

She shakes her head and looks away, unable to stomach his disappointment. "I'm sorry," she whispers.

He quickly closes the distance between them, pulling her into a tight hug. "No — fuck,I'msorry. I didn't mean to yell. But you scared the shit out of me, Lucy.

"Youpromisedme you weren't going to go after him. Why would you lie to me?"

She shakes her head, not bothering to defend herself with the technicalities they'd both know are complete and total bullshit.

"I don't know." She shakes her head, and the tears begin rolling down her cheeks. "I just — I need there to be a reason, Tim. I need there to be a reason he's dead, because it doesn't make sense that he's gone and I'm still here. I need something to make this hurt less," she sobs.

He saved me when he pulled me out of that barrel, but he saved me after too.

"I know I messed up, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Tim."

He pulls her back into his arms, cradling her head against his chest. "It's okay, Lucy," he soothes, "I'm sorry, too."

"I don't want this to create problems for you at work," Lucy says to him later that evening after they've both had an opportunity to change and deal with their abandoned professional responsibilities. She shifts to face him on the couch.

Tim shrugs, "A little late for that…" And though he says it with an edge of humor, it's a punch in the gut. Because the choices she'd made today weren't just about her — what she did today is going to have a very real impact on Tim and the job that means everything to him.

She begins to blink rapidly, hating the idea that, no matter how indirectly, something she'd done had ended up hurting Tim — the one person who has done everything to help her get through this nightmare.

"I really messed up, didn't I?"

Tim grabs hold of her as she moves to pull away, not wanting him to have to comfort her when this entire mess was one of her own making.

"Hey, no — where are you going? Get back here. Look at me. Lucy, this isn't your fault. What Stanton did today is on Stanton, not you. Yes, you asked some questions, and yes, I wish you would have been honest with me and let me help instead of going it alone, but none of that excuses what he did.

"What he did today — the way he abused his badge — it's a perfect example of why you and Jackson were completely right. He's been getting away with this shit for way too long and it has to stop."

She takes a deep breath. It's time to lay her cards on the table. "I want to write the story, Tim. All of the evidence Jackson collected — I can use it. I can make him pay.

"But I don't want to drag you into this; this isn't your fight, and I've already screwed things up for you."

The hurt that flickers through his expression is unmistakable. "You really think…?" He shakes his head as if he's unable to make sense of what's she's just said. "If it's your fight, it's my fight, Lucy. I need to know you know that.

"And I need to know that you know I want Stanton to pay just as badly as you do — for all of it."

She nods, unable to force words around the lump that's formed in her throat because this man has shown up and continued to show up for her in every possible way. And she can't begin to understand what she's done to earn his unwavering loyalty and love and support.

She buries her face into his chest, letting go of all of the fear and outrage and disgust that Stanton had triggered in her that afternoon as he holds her, acts as her anchor, and leaves her wondering if she could even stand on her own two feet without him at this point because he has become her everything in a way that is even more terrifying than it was before.

Notes:

TW: Police Harassment, Assault

Summary:

Lucy uses sex to distract Tim; Tim gets called in for an emergency shift.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter fornotes.)

Chapter Text

Fear

Week 8, Day 4: Wednesday

"Morning, beautiful," Tim slips his arms around her from behind, the movement threatening to dislodge the towel she'd just secured around herself after her shower.

He's a few steps ahead of her this morning — he'd let her sleep in while he'd gone on his morning run, showered, gotten ready for the day, and made breakfast.

She smiles as he pushes her wet hair over one shoulder before bending to nuzzle his face into the crook of her neck, taking a deep inhale of her freshly showered scent.

She tries not to flinch when he shifts his hold to pull her even closer, unwittingly placing pressure along the bottom of her rib cage on the side that had taken the brunt of the force when Stanton had slammed her up against her car.

But she knows she's given herself away when he stiffens, abruptly straightening and loosening his hold as he meets her gaze in the mirror.

His eyes shift to the purplish imprint left by Stanton's fingers on her upper arm and his jaw tightens.

She sighs. This is exactly why she'd chosen to sleep in a long-sleeve T-shirt the night before. It had been hard enough convincing Tim to hold off on using his dash and body cam footage to go after Stanton and his cronies until she's gotten a handle on her next steps. She needs to get this right, to make sure he'll pay for more than just the shit he'd pulled with her yesterday.

And she doesn't want to upset Tim any more than she already has, doesn't want him to worry about her any more than he already is.

"I'm fine," she says softly, despite knowing the words won't do anything to reassure him.

He takes a step back before taking hold of her by the hips and turning her to face him, his grip careful, but firm.

"Let me see."

She returns his steely gaze with a pleading one of her own, her hands automatically moving to clutch the towel more tightly against her chest. "It looks worse than it actually is, Tim. I'm fine," she repeats.

"Nothingabout this isfine. Let me see, Lucy," he insists again.

She huffs another sigh but drops her hands to her sides and shifts her gaze over his shoulder as he pulls open the towel, neither bothering to catch it as it falls to the floor.

Her still-damp skin prickles with goosebumps as the cold air makes contact, and she's not entirely sure how to respond to the feel of his gaze scanning over her naked body in this context.

"Fuck, Lucy. He could've broken one of your ribs. We need to get this checked out." The tips of his fingers are gentle as he examines the bruised skin on her left side.

"He didn't."

He opens his mouth to protest but she lifts her gaze to his before repeating more insistently, "He didn't."

Something flickers through his eyes before his gaze shifts to the numbers that have almost disappeared against her discolored flesh, and he seems to accept that her certainty is coming from firsthand experience.

She shivers, and it snaps him out of his preoccupation with examining her bruises. He reaches for a fresh towel to wrap around her, but she stops him.

He follows her movements as she boosts herself onto the vanity, parting her thighs for him as she uses his shirt to tug him closer.

"Lucy," he says softly as he steps between her legs, responding almost immediately to her upward pull by jerking his shirt up and off over his head.

She slips her arms around his neck, and she knows it's not particularly fair of her to use sex to distract him, but she doesn't want him starting a new day feeling the same outrage that had ruined the day before — not because of her.

She presses her lips against his, relishing in the warmth of his upper body as it comes into contact with her own. He chuckles when she begins to unbuckle his belt, breaking free from her kiss for just long enough to check his watch.

He smiles against her lips as he steps out of the jeans and boxers she's managed to force down his legs.

"I just got dressed, you know?" he teases gently.

"Mmm," she hums dismissively, her fingers clasping around his as she guides his hand between her legs.

They groan almost simultaneously — him in response to her slick warmth and her in response to the intimacy of his touch.

"I just took a shower, you know?" she teases back, hooking her legs around his waist.

He uses his free hand to grasp her face, kissing her a little more roughly this time before pulling back to meet her eyes.

"At some point, we're going to have to talk about you using sex to get out of conversations you don't want to have."

"Mmhmm… and if I use sex to get out of that one?"

His eyes narrow, "You really think you've got me all figured out, huh?"

And she's having a little trouble concentrating, because, god, this man is good with his hands. It should be illegal.

"Tim," she moans, her hooded gaze following her fingers as they trail along the lines of his perfect upper body — shoulders, and pecs, and abs all the way down to that perfect 'V' that holds the promise of so much pleasure to come for them both.

"You really should be more careful about letting all that power go to your head, Lucy."

And she's done with whatever stupid conversation they are having. She needs him inside of her.Now.

A whimper escapes her, and, at this point, she doesn't care what he wants. She'll say it. She'll do it. She just needs him to hurry up and fill the aching void inside of her — in that way only he can.

He takes such good care of her.

She tips her head back, not even sure she's entirely coherent as she says the words, "I love you." And she doesn't even really care that it sounds like she's begging.

He laughs softly, brushing his lips over her forehead, even as he is hitching her up enough to line up their bodies.

"Because I've got you all figured out, too."

"YES!" she cries out as he plunges into her.

That he most certainly does.

The call comes in just before midnight. Another child has been abducted.

Tim can feel the weight of it in his chest as he scrambles out of bed to get dressed — the feeling of responsibility that comes with wondering if he could have prevented this. If he'd done something — anything — differently in those early cases, maybe they wouldn't be here again.

But it's all hands on deck — because this time he's snatched the kid of a state senator. Every cop in the city is going to hunt this bastard until he's found.

It occurs to him that this is just as fucked up as the response to the virus had been. The "right" kid had been taken, and suddenly there's no limit to the resources available to be thrown at this case. But finding this kid could mean finding the rest. And that's good enough for him.

He realizes how eager he is to get back out there again as he throws everything he'll need for shift into his bag, ready to head out the door in less than five minutes. He'd do the week of desk duty a million times over for Lucy, but that doesn't mean he isn't itching to get back on the streets and do the job he loves.

He pauses, looking down at Lucy's sleeping form. He briefly debates whether or not he should wake her — she's sleeping soundly for the first time in over a week — her exhaustion finally translating into some much-needed rest.

And he hates that one of the first thoughts that crosses his mind is that he has to be careful this time — careful not to tell her anything that could compromise the investigation or put either of them in an uncomfortable position.

Ultimately, the idea that she might wake up to find him gone has him gently shaking her shoulder.

"Lucy?"

"Hmm?" she mumbles tiredly before jerking to awareness. "Tim? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just — I got called into work."

"What?! Why?" She's fully awake now, sitting upright with her legs halfway out of the bed and her body turned to face him.

He presses his lips together and simply shakes his head.

"Tim, tell me what's going on."

"Lucy, I can't. After last time…"

Hurt flickers across her expression, "But…? You can't just leave without…"

She shakes her head, her expression clouding with confusion and her eyes filling as she finds his. "How will I know if you're okay?"

The words are barely a whisper, but they manage to lodge themselves deep inside his chest. He hadn't been prepared for this. How young and vulnerable and scared she looks — so much like when she'd told him about Jackson barely even a week ago.

He hadn't been prepared, but heshouldhave been.

He swallows, "Uh, Lucy, you know I wouldn't leave right now if it wasn't for something important."

And he does have to go. But for as much as he'd been rearing to go just moments before, there's now a huge part of him that would do anything to not be putting her through this right now. It's too soon.

Something changes in her expression as she shakes her head. "Oh my god," she says softly, "I can't believe I just said that. I'm so sorry. I know you have to go. I don't know what's wrong with me. It's just…"

And she doesn't need to finish the thought. He aches for her — he knows she's thinking about the last time he was called in like this — when he'd almost died from exposure to the virus. He knows she's thinking about the last time her best friend went out on patrol for a night shift and never came back.

And for maybe the first time in his life, he feels a pull that may very well be stronger than his sense of duty — the very thing that has given his life purpose and meaning.

A lump forms in his throat. How could he not have realized how hard this would be for her?

He knows what she's feeling. He's been there. It's the feeling that had made him question whether this — love — was even worth it. It's a cruel thing really — how the fear of losing someone can eat at the very thing that compels you to be with them to begin with.

He thinks about how terrified he'd been for her yesterday — how the feeling had all but ripped him apart, and how this has to be so much worse for her right now because she is so raw and so vulnerable and still so shaken from losing her best friend.

He hauls her up and into his arms, "Nothingis wrong with you, Lucy. This is shit timing, and if I could stay with you right now, I would… But listen, it's going to be fine. I promise you it will. I'll be back in a few hours, and then we can talk about this, okay?"

She rests her forehead against his chest, hands fisting in his shirt as she takes a deep breath. She relaxes her hold as she pulls back to meet his eyes, "Pleasebe careful, Tim."

He suppresses the flippant, 'I always am,' that is his go-to response, instead taking the opportunity to brush his lips over hers.

"I will be," he reassures. "Promise me you'll go back to sleep. I'll be back before you know it, okay?"

She nods and smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes, and there's something hollow in her gaze, like she doesn't quite believe him.

Notes:

Shorter chapter, but hopefully superior to no chapter?

Let me know how you're feeling!

Summary:

Notes:

I'm so sorry...

(See the end of the chapter formore notes.)

Chapter Text

Decision Day

Week 8, Day 5: Thursday

Six hours. That's how long it takes for the case that's been haunting him for months to turn into a nightmare of epic proportions.

Not a lone kidnapper. But a trafficking ring.

Not a series of abductions over the course of several weeks. But months.

Not six children. But dozens.

Ten hours to locate the warehouse the traffickers are believed to be operating from.

Twelve hours to get a SWAT team in place and surround the location.

Thirteen hours for a rookie to make a fatal mistake that costs him his life. A rookie that he himself had spent several shifts training.

Fifteen hours to find where the children are being held. To see things he'll never be able to unsee. That make him question everything he believes about humanity and if it can truly exist in a world where things like this can actually happen.

Eighteen hours to get a preliminary count of the number of children that had died while the ring had been operating right under their fucking noses.

Twenty hours until he sends Lucy a text letting her know he's alive, realizing it's beentwenty fucking hourssince he'd left her.

Twenty-four until he's letting himself into the apartment, feeling utterly broken

He strips down to his boxers and slips into bed, wrapping his arms around her from behind.

And when she stiffens in response to his touch, heknows. Somewhere deep down he knows that something fundamental has shifted.

And it is so fucking selfish. But he doesn't let go of her. Doesn't try to explain why he'd put her through twenty hours of hell. Because he needs her. He needs to feel her warmth. He needs to be reminded that good can still exist in this world. Needs her to hold him and tell him that it's going to be okay.

And because she is who she is — so endlessly kind and loving and giving — that is exactly what she does, setting aside her own pain to take care of him.

He clings to her, just breathing in her scent and existing in the cocoon of her loving warmth.

Maybe it's a few minutes. Or maybe it's a few hours. But it feels like a long time before he's finally able to pull back enough to look at her. He cradles her face, his fingers working to clear away the wet streaks on her cheeks, pausing to hover over the signs of exhaustion that hadjustbeen beginning to fade and are now back in full force.

And he doesn't know what to do. Doesn't know how to stomach this. Doesn't know how to face that the thing he loves most in the world — that is such a fundamental part of who he is — is hurting the person he loves most in the world.

"I'm sorry," he says, because he is too much of a coward to offer her anything more, his eyes burning as he tries to swallow back the emotion bubbling painfully in his throat, "I'm so fucking sorry."

Week 8, Day 6: Friday

"I can't believe I put her through that, Angela," Tim confesses to his best friend over lunch on Friday afternoon. They are filming a final pre-decision day check-in, and though Tim would obviously prefer to have this conversation off-camera, he's beyond caring at this point. He needs advice from one of the only people he really and truly trusts, and this can't wait for an ideal opportunity. "She's still devastated over Jackson; I should have —"

"Should have what, Tim?" Angela interrupts, "You're acting like you had a choice. You didn't. This was all hands. A child's life was at stake — dozens of lives, actually. You were on desk duty for a week, Tim. You've been doing everything you can to —"

Tim cuts her off with a humorless laugh. "I couldn't even do that. A few days ago — when everything happened with Stanton — I was out on patrol when she called. I was going stir-crazy.

"I don't know. I never even thought I would consider — maybe I need to figure something else out. At least for awhile…"

She looks at him in surprise, before shaking her head, "Listen, I know you're scared of losing her, but you love being a cop. And I know how much you love her, but… do you really think there's a chance she'll say no? I've seen you two together. She's head over heels in love with you, Tim."

He feels a fresh wave of misery wash over him, "You didn't see her, Angela. Wednesday night before I left — she wasn't okay. And this morning, she was just acting —"

Tim swallows, trying to force back the hurt he'd felt when she'd flipped on the sunshine, offering him a bright smile, hug, and a kiss before sending him off to work. Like things were just… fine.

"I can just feel it. She's pulling away, and I can't — I can't even blame her. "

Sadness sweeps over Angela's expression, her eyes filling in response to the pain in his voice, "I'm so sorry, Tim. This whole thing is just such an impossible situation for you both. It is cosmically unfair that she's still having to film the show at all, much less on this ridiculous schedule. But… I don't think you should make any hasty decisions — I think you need to just give her some time, okay?"

He opens his mouth to point out that time is exactly what they don't have, but Angela shoots him a look that says she's not done, and he clamps his mouth shut.

"Look, I get it. The show has this timeline and it's creating all this pressure like you both have to know exactly what the future looks like right this instant. But that's not real, Tim," she sends a withering glare toward the poor cameraman hovering over his shoulder.

"Everything is still really raw for her. And even if she is strugglingright nowto separate her grief and her fear from whatever decision she makes on Sunday, she's not going to feel like this forever. I can promise you that."

Technically, that evening they are supposed to spend one last night at their shared apartment together. But once Tim realizes the participants are expected to spend the final day and night leading into Decision Day separated from their matches in their own individual residences, he does what he has to in order to ensure Lucy won't be spending her first night back in her apartment alone.

He begrudgingly agrees to a few extra "in the moment" interviews where he honestly discusses his actual feelings about Lucy and Decision Day instead of his typical dismissals and deflections, in exchange for permission for them both to return to Lucy's apartment together a night early.

They prepare and eat a quiet dinner together, Tim's heart aching every time Lucy's eyes flick toward the closed door of Jackson's bedroom.

And when he lays her back on her frilly canopy bed to make love to her in that way he had imagined being able to do way back before he'd had any idea just how much she was going to change his life — just how much happiness and love she would inject into his world — there's something different in the way she is with him that night.

There's a desperation, a clinginess like she can't get close enough that unsettles him — solidifies the reality that this could very well be their last time together like this. A reality that seems to weigh down the air around them.

He tries to ignore the voice in his head working so hard to prepare him — to shield his heart — but he can't shake the feeling that this isn't the way someone would act if they were planning to spend the rest of their life with him.

But he doesn't care. She's given him so much. He isn't going to be the one that pulls back to protect himself. Not this time. Not even if it costs him everything.

And after, when he feels the tremble of her shoulders and the moist warmth of her tears against his chest, he knows. The same part of him that has known since Thursday night.

He can't sleep that night, something deep in his gut screaming at him to savor these last moments with her.

Week 8, Day 7: Saturday

He pauses in the hallway just outside her door the next morning, turning to face her. And it's his turn to feel suddenly desperate, unable to stomach the idea of leaving her.

"Lucy, if you're not ready, that's okay, all right? I don't care about the show or their rules or their timeline. I care about you. I care about us. That's all that matters to me, okay? I love you."

She nods vigorously, the movement causing a few tears to trickle down her cheeks.

"Okay," she says softly, "I love you, too."

He bends to capture her lips, trying to reassure them both with his next words.

"I'll see you tomorrow, okay? We'll figure it out. No matter what happens."

But as he turns to walk away, he has to admit that nothing about these final moments feels like a promise about the future they are going to have together; it feels like a goodbye.

The apartment is too fucking quiet after Tim leaves. She'd busied herself with unpacking after he'd gone, but now that she's alone in the still silence without anything to distract her… She hates it here now, she's starting to realize. Because it was home when Jackson was there, but now he's not.

And it had crept up on her, but at some point, their made-for-TV apartment had started to feel like home. Being with Tim had started to feel like home. This — it just feels empty.

Lucy glances toward the closed door to the room that she still hasn't found the courage to pack up. Tim had offered to help her, but she had declined. She'd promised Jackson's family she'd take care of it; it feels like something she should do on her own.

She reminds herself that Tamara will be by to film a final pre-Decision Day conversation with her later that afternoon. She tries not to think about the fact that she was originally slated to have the conversation with Jackson. Instead, she reassures herself that having someone she loves here with her will make a world of difference.

She idly reaches for the political thriller that she'd found in her duffel bag and tossed on the coffee table — the same damn thriller she'd taken on their honeymoon and then to the beach, and still barely a dent.

She flips the book open to the page being held by a makeshift bookmark and freezes. It's the photo strip from her birthday. From the photo booth with Jackson. She doesn't even remember putting it there.

And she can barely even make sense of the images before her eyes blur. She quickly shoves the strip back into the book before tossing it away from her, curling into a ball on the couch and shutting everything out, because this world — one where there is such a giant gaping hole in her life — it can't be reality.

Decision Day

It's been just a little over 24 hours since he'd last seen her or been allowed to have any contact with her, and somehow Tim still feels his stomach flip when he sees Lucy walk into the studio the next afternoon. Hemissedher, he realizes, and is happy just to be back in the same room with her.

She looks as beautiful as ever, the fitted black off-the-shoulder dress molded perfectly over his very favorite parts of her body. Her picture-perfect exterior does nothing to betray any of what he suspects she might be feeling underneath.

He catches her eye and offers her a shy smile. Her cheeks flush and she automatically returns the smile, before quickly averting her eyes, her smile faltering almost as quickly as it had appeared.

"The time has come for you to decide," their host announces once they've both settled onto the loveseat, side by side, and the director has indicated they are ready to film.

It's weird seeing her and not being able to hug her. Being this close to her and not able to touch her.

"You two are about to make one of the biggest decisions of your lives. But before we dive in, Lucy, we know you've been going through a difficult time."

A picture of Jackson in his dress uniform flashes up on the screen situated behind their host.

"Tragically, Officer Jackson West was killed in the line of duty last week. I think we all got to see what a huge part of your journey he was on the show, but beyond that, what a huge part of your life he was. On behalf of the entireOMG! I Married a Strangerfamily — I want to offer you our sincerest condolences. We're heartbroken for your loss, and we want to thank you for choosing to finish your journey with us here on the show."

Lucy simply nods, ever the epitome of class and grace, even as Tim grits his teeth in anger. Like they'd even give her a choice.

"So let's go ahead and get right to it." The host angles herself toward Tim, "Do you want to stay married… or do you want to get a divorce?"

He takes a deep breath, feeling nervous despite not having a single doubt about his decision. "I want to stay married," he says simply. "And if you're not ready for that, I want to be with you in whatever way feels right for you, Lucy. I love you, and I know that things have been rough and that we still have a lot to figure out and discuss, but none of that —" he pauses as his voice catches unexpectedly, "I just need you to know that I'm committed to this. I'm committed to figuring this out with you. Whatever that ends up looking like."

The host offers Tim a warm smile before turning her attention to Lucy, "And what about you, Lucy?"

She's staring down at where her hands are clasped together in her lap, and Tim's heart aches when he sees the tears that are splashing onto the back of her hands.

She shakes her head, unable to look at him as she squeezes her hands together so tightly her fingers begin to turn white. Her voice is barely a whisper. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I can't."

A sob escapes her, and then she's on her feet, rushing away from him and the cameras, though a good number of the crew have mobilized to follow her as she runs off stage.

Tim stares blankly after her, long after she's no longer in his field of vision. He may have been expecting it, but that doesn't make it hurt any less. He presses his lips together and nods, barely aware of what the host is saying as she closes out the segment.

He finds her waiting for him next to his truck in the studio parking garage, her eyes bloodshot and her cheeks tear-streaked.

And seeing her there is everything. A surge of hope leaps into his chest. He'd meant what he'd said. He doesn't give a shit about the show. They can figure this out. He knows they can.

He opens his arms when he reaches her, and she scrambles into them. She cries hard into his chest, and he holds her tightly, doing his best to soothe her as she tries to get a handle on her emotions.

"I'm so sorry, Tim," she whimpers. "This isn't what I wanted. I never wanted to hurt you."

"It's okay,'" he reassures her gently. "We'll figure this out. We can just take it one day at a time. No pressure. No timelines. No cameras. Just me and you."

A gasping sob escapes her, and she moves to take a step back from him, even as he is moving to pull her closer.

"No," she shakes her head, gently pushing his arms back away from her. "No, Tim. I —"

His stomach sinks, and he feels a wave of nausea wash over him.

"I'm so sorry, but I'm not saying that I need some time or just that I don't think I can do this right now. I — I don't think I can do this ever."

He shakes his head, trying to make sense of her words as cold prickles of shock run over his skin. "What? No…"

She swallows, tears streaming down her cheeks, "I wish I — losing Jackson… I will spend every day of the rest of my life worrying that the next call I get is for you. And I feel so selfish, but I just — I can't feel the way I felt this week again — I can't live like that. I didn't know I was going to feel this way. I'm so sorry."

He can feel the panic setting into his chest. He had known it was a real possibility she wouldn't choose to stay with him at the end of this. That she'd need time and space to heal from her loss. But he hadn't been prepared forthis. He hadn't truly believed there was an outcome where he might actually lose her for good.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

He finds himself saying words he never in a million years thought he would say, "Then I'll apply for another role, or transfer, or —"

She's shaking her head, tears pouring down her face as she grabs his hand with both of hers and pulls it to her chest, squeezing her eyes shut as she clutches it to her heart, and then raises it to her lips.

"I would never — I know how much your job means to you Tim; it's who you are. If you think I'd actually let you walk away from that for me then…"

And for a minute her beautiful, devastated face blurs as his tears begin falling so fast he can't see straight.

"And what about how muchyoumean to me?" he asks hoarsely, before desperately adding, "Then it doesn't have to be — we can just be friends. Just let me be there for you. It doesn't have to be anything more." And he genuinely can't bear the idea of her walking away, trying to carry all of this on her own.

Lucy laughs miserably through her tears, "Tim, even when I hated you, I couldn't stop wanting you. It would never work."

And yes, on some level he knows she's right, having her in his life and not being able to hold and kiss and touch her would be complete and utter misery, but he'll take it a million times over not having her at all.

"I could not have — you have done so much for me, you have beeneverythingfor me these last few weeks. I can't ask that of you, Tim."

"You're not asking, Lucy, I want to. I love you." The words feel oddly childish coming out of his mouth, but he doesn't care. He feels like a child right now — helpless and out of control and desperate not to lose the one thing he loves most in this world.

Another small sob escapes her as she meets his eyes, "I know. I know you do…" she says softly, "but we have to let each other go."

And as much as it is killing him, he finally slowly nods, because he can't stomach the idea that his choices are causing her pain either. She deserves to be with someone who can make her completely happy. He wants that for her more than anything.

"Okay," the single word is all he can manage.

She lifts her hand to his cheek, "I wish… I wish I could be stronger for you — I wish I could give you all that you were willing to give me."

She turns to walk away from him, but stops short, turning back to face him. She looks directly into his eyes, "Tim, I — I just need you to know that nothing about this is easy for me. Walking away from you is the hardest thing I have ever done."

He can barely even see her walking away through the blur of his tears, and even though his heart is completely and totally shattered, her final words stay with him — the tiniest salve for his broken soul.

Notes:

I cried all day writing this, so of course I hope it packed an emotional punch, but I'm also sorry for hurting you. Let me know if you're hanging in there, or absolutely hate me for this and never plan to read anything I write again.

Fun fact... I've been writing this fic for so damn long that a lot of this (Lucy's reason for ending things, the break up) was written longgg before Ashley dumped Tim for the same reason in canon, and of course before the heartache of Season 6. I was superrr annoyed that they went this route for the breakup with Ashley (not that this was some amazingly novel idea), but just because the way they did it felt a little like it cheapened what I was trying to do here, which was not at all the same thing.

Anyhoo, I always look forward to your comments, so don't be shy (even if it's hate-mail)!

- Lana

Summary:

Lucy and Tim each do their best to move forward on their own after Decision Day. Lucy's love of trophies comes back to haunt her.

Notes:

I went ahead and split this next update out into 2 chapters (hence the change in the chapter count) since it was getting long and I figured turning around a quick update was the least I could do after the last one.

We've still got a bit of angst to get through in this chapter and the next, but we should be mostly through the worst of it.

(See the end of the chapter formore notes.)

Chapter Text

Aftershock

August 2022

Lucy is surprised to find Angela at her door the next evening. Or, more accurately, surprised to find Angela and Kojo at her door.

The dog wastes no time jumping up to greet his former roommate, and Lucy can't stop herself from grinning widely in response to the pup's unadulterated enthusiasm. It's the first time she's smiled since leaving Tim in the parking garage yesterday.

Angela looks sheepishly at Lucy once Kojo has returned all four paws to the ground. "Sorry — you know I can't take any credit for his manners."

Lucy laughs as she looks lovingly down at their canine companion and coos, "Aw. Manners are overrated. Aren't they, sweet boy?"

Angela shifts uncomfortably, pulling at the strap of the large duffel bag on her shoulder, "Can we come in?"

Lucy hesitates, the awkwardness of Tim's best friend unexpectedly appearing at her door finally setting in.

"Oh — uh, of course. Sorry," she hurriedly steps back to make room for the pair to enter the apartment. "Forgot my manners myself there for a minute," she jokes half-heartedly.

"Listen, I know it's weird for me to just show up like this. I promise I'm not here to try and convince you you've made the biggest mistake of your life… or anything," she laughs uncomfortably as Lucy tries not to wince.

"Uh, yeah, so I'm just going to get to the point. Tim asked me to bring Kojo by — he thought you might like to keep him with you for a few weeks?" she hefts the duffel to indicate that Tim had sent everything and anything the dog could possibly need.

Lucy automatically begins to shake her head, because how on earth is this man still worried about her, still trying to take care of her, even after she'd broken both of their hearts.

But Angela rushes to head off her objection. "Seriously. He's got a busy few weeks of work coming up; might have to leave town for a few days — you'd be doing him a favor, really… Well, at the very least, you'd be doingmea favor. God knows I don't have time to be making this mongrel his omelets."

Lucy arches a disbelieving eyebrow, "Uh-huh…"

But she finds herself seriously considering the offer.

The apartment still feels so empty. The idea of having Kojo here with her — with his endless supply of dopey happiness and love — sounds kind of amazing actually.

"But what about Tim?" She asks softly, unable to stomach the idea of taking a single additional thing from him, especially not the furry companion he devoutly adores.

"Don't worry about Tim. Genny and I have him saddled with a full schedule of family dinners and involuntary childcare. He's going to be begging for some alone time once we're done with him. Trust me."

Lucy smiles, feeling suddenly immensely grateful that Tim has such an incredible support system in his life. She tries not to think too much about the fact that hers has certainly seen better days.

"Are you sure?" She asks Angela, trying not to get her hopes too high about the prospect of having Kojo around for a bit.

"I'm positive," Angela reassures. "I think it'll help Tim, too — knowing you have him with you. Give him a chance to focus on himself, you know?"

And though Angela is treading carefully, the words still hurt her heart.

"Of course," she says softly, before reaching to take the bag of Kojo's belongings from Angela.

A moment of silence hangs in the air between them before Angela clears her throat, "Well, I'll get out of your hair then."

Angela reaches for the door handle but hesitates, turning back to face her. "Lucy, I hope you know how sorry I am about Jackson. I know it's not at all the same, but I really miss him, too."

Lucy swallows and nods, wondering if she's ever going to be able to hear his name without a massive lump spontaneously forming in her throat. "Thank you — he was really, really fond of you."

Angela offers her a sad smile in return, "The feeling was mutual. I only wish I could have had the chance to know him for longer.

"Listen, I know it maybe feels like you can't — but Genny and I — we're here for you too, Lucy. If you ever need anything, you don't have to worry about us running to report back to Tim, okay?

"This whole situation is just —" the other woman huffs a frustrated sigh, as if unsure of how best to put what she's thinking into words. "I'm just sorry — we both feel kind of responsible for how this all turned out — what you and Tim are going through — and we want to help however we can."

Lucy nods, swallowing back tears at both the unexpected kindness and the idea that maybe — there's no question in her mind that she is better off for having fallen in love with Tim, no matter how painful things may be right now — but maybe… she hadn't really considered that maybe Tim would have been better off if he'd never done the show. Never met her at all. The idea hurts.

Tim misses her every day. There's no denying that.

And he is so fucking sad. There's no denying that either.

But it's different from how things were after Isabel.

He isn't angry — not all of the time anyway. And not in the same way that had completely consumed him in the past.

Maybe because even in the darker moments when heisa little angry and questioning why everything had to happen the way it did, he doesn't ever question whether she actually loved him. Not really. She'd shown him over and over that she did. In so many ways.

Maybe because he knows exactly how it feels to really and truly fear for someone you love, especially when you feel like the ground has come out from under your feet and you can't do a damn thing about it — how it feels like it is going to destroy you from the inside out.

Or maybe it's because he's more worried about her than he is about himself.

When he and Isabel had ended things, he'd at least known she was finally going to get the help she so desperately needed in rehab. And so he'd focused more on his own pain than anything else in the days, weeks, and even months following the end of their relationship.

With Lucy, he can't stop thinking about what she'd shared after telling him about what Caleb had done to her — how everything in her life had changed, how so many of her friendships had faded, and how critical her relationships with Jackson and Tamara had been to her ability to keep going in the aftermath.

He can't stop thinking about how alone she must feel living in the apartment she had once shared with her best friend.

Maybe it's his concern for her that keeps him from spiraling into those darker places inside of himself again.

He is still who he is, of course, so he resists at first when Genny and Angela take it upon themselves to ensure he is almost never alone in the beginning. But despite his complaining, he finds himself genuinely appreciating how fortunate he is to be surrounded by people who love him as much as they do.

In the weeks after Decision Day, Lucy finds purpose (and distraction) in finishing the work Jackson had started. She's smarter about it this time —- more careful and meticulous, quietly cataloging all of the evidence and information he'd collected. She doesn't tip her hand about the investigation until she is certain a particular source can be trusted.

It doesn't take her long to realize it's so much bigger than Stanton. That he is, of course, only a symptom of the disease that has infected the entire system.

She tries to get excited about the fact that this has the potential to be a life-changing, career-making story that could really make a difference in their community. But she mostly just feels nothing.

It's only in the moments that she is too rundown and mentally exhausted to work that she feels it — how much she is hurting, how agonizingly empty and incomplete she feels so much of the time.

But she just keeps going. Forcing a smile and putting one foot in front of the other. The same way she always has.

On a Friday morning a few weeks later, a 2.9 magnitude earthquake rattles Lucy's office, registering just enough to wake everyone up, but not so much that anyone has all that much to say about it five minutes later.

It's the small aftershock, though, that ruins her morning. The flimsy shelf above her desk collapses unexpectedly, and, as her luck (or lack thereof), would have it, the corner of a falling plaque manages to nail Lucy right in the face.

An award she'd gotten for exposing a widespread failure to comply with workplace safety standards in a series of high-rise developments under construction in downtown.

She doesn't have much appreciation for the irony of it all.

Feeling like a bit of a dumbass for somehow getting injured during an earthquake that didn't even manage to knock over her coffee, Lucy tries to sneak into the break room for some ice, hoping to avoid anyone that will make a big deal about her cut.

But, of course, she almost runs smack into her editor, who is armed with her mid-morning latte as she exits the kitchen. Her boss takes one look at her, mutters something about Lucy being single-handedly responsible for their sky-high insurance rates, and orders her to the emergency room to get properly checked out.

When she arrives at Shaw Memorial, it's clear that something major is going on. There's law enforcement everywhere she looks.

Now a normal human in her situation would turn around and head to another hospital. But ace reporter that she is, Lucy manages to slip into the E.R. without anyone attempting to stop her.

She bends down to untie and then re-tie her shoe near where two officers are talking. One of them looks familiar to her, and she suspects he might be one of the people in charge based on the number of stripes on his uniform.

Her chest tightens when she realizes where she knows him from — he's a Watch Commander at Mid Wilshire. Sergeant Wade Grey. Tim's boss.

She remembers seeing him at Jackson's funeral and wake, though she hadn't interacted with him directly. She had also looked him up back when Tim had suggested he might be able to help Jackson with the Stanton situation.

Unfortunately, her shameless attempt to eavesdrop doesn't yield anything useful before the pair begins to walk away. Hmmph. How rude.

Apparently, she'll have to find some other way to figure out what's going on.

She mulls over just asking one of the nurses or orderlies as she climbs back to her feet, her eyes continuing to follow Sergeant Grey as he moves across the room.

Her breath catches when she spotshim. He's standing near a Nurse's Station that looks like it's been commandeered to serve as some kind of makeshift control center.

It's been nearly three weeks since she's seen him. Nineteen days, one hour, and approximately 22 minutes since she walked away from him on Decision Day.

She can't take her eyes off of him — observing as he barks orders at a few uniforms standing nearby. Her brow crinkles in confusion — becausehe'snot in his patrol uniform, but instead wearing a vest over a long sleeve shirt with the words "Metro Police" emblazoned down the arm and a pair of cargo pants.

Nineteen days, and he's already made a major change in his life? A heavy weight settles in her core — it hurts that she hadn't gotten to be a part of it. She wonders if it was something he wanted — something he was excited about. Wonders if the decision was easy or if he'd felt conflicted about no longer being on patrol.

Being confronted with such an obvious example of how he's moved on with his life since she'd ended things is making her feel a little sick. She misses him with every fiber of her being, and this — It just makes her feel even further from him when he already feels so impossibly far away.

Even still, she hopes he's happy in his new role. That's all she wants for him.

This is the first time she's gotten a chance to really see him work. And it's not like she hadn't assumed he was good at his job. She had.

But seeing him in action is something else entirely. Even though Lucy still doesn't have a clue about what they are actually doing, the command Tim has over the situation and his team is unmistakable.

She watches as he leans over to study a large sheet of paper another officer has spread out on the desk. Floor plans, perhaps? Tim points to multiple spots on the page before turning his focus to the other man to ask a question.

Once the man nods in response, Tim quickly turns to provide instruction to several members of his team and then picks up his radio to convey something to someone at another location.

Another officer approaches him and her eyes follow the movement as Tim pushes his sleeves further up his arms while they talk. Something stirs between her thighs, and, for a moment, she is completely fixated on his forearms. And those damn hands of his.

And good lord, why is every single thing about seeing him like this so ridiculously hot?

Her cheeks flame as she tries to reign her thoughts back into less salacious territory.

But nope… all she can think about is this man — so obviously respected, so completely competent, and so effortlessly authoritative as he leads — this man who had been completely and totally hers not so long ago — naked in her bed, every single inch of him hers for the taking night after glorious night…

Lucy freezes when he glances in her direction before almost immediately doing a double take, pausing to convey a final instruction to a nearby uniform before striding directly across the room toward her.

She opens her mouth, mentally preparing to explain why exactly she'd been gawking at him from across the room like some kind of overly hormonal schoolgirl, but he doesn't bother with any pleasantries, instead grabbing hold of her arm and pulling her with him down a nearby hallway.

He glances over his shoulder at her, and the irritation in his expression puts her a little on edge, "What are you doing, Lucy? You shouldn't be here."

"What do you mean? What's going on?" she tries, knowing full well that Tim isn't going to tell her a damn thing, but a girl's gotta eat, right?

He rolls his eyes as he opens the door to an empty exam room, and Lucy pauses to offer him her most angelic smile before he gently shoves her into the room and pulls the door closed behind them.

His eyes run over her from head to toe, zeroing in on the gash on her cheek once he's confirmed there are no other visible injuries to add to his inventory.

His jaw clenches and unclenches as he focuses his steely blue eyes on her. "Are you okay?"

She nods. "Yes. I'm fine."

His radio crackles, and it's clear from the message he ignores that he very likely has somewhere more important to be right now.

"What happened?"

Lucy's cheeks begin to burn, and she shrugs, "Nothing. It's dumb. Just a little accident at work."

He narrows his eyes and waits. And she kind of hates that he knows exactly how to work her.

She groans, "I got hit in the face by a stupid plaque, okay?"

His brow furrows, "Come again?"

She sighs, "I told you it was dumb."

"How the fu—" he pauses, seeming to think better of his question before settling on, "Well, erm… that's certainly a new one."

Lucy pouts, "It wasn't my fault, okay? There was an earthquake —"

"Earthquake? You mean that tiny tremor this morning?"

She glares at him; why does he have to be so insufferable sometimes? "As I wassaying… there was an earthquake and I was just sitting at my desk minding my business, but there was this shelf over my desk andclearlyno one bothered to secure it in place, because it must have come loose during the quake and then there was an aftershock and the shelf fell and,obviously, the plaque was on the shelf so—" Lucy pauses to take a breath, and she genuinely does not appreciate that Tim looks like he's seriously struggling not to laugh in her face.

"And who hung the shelf, Lucy?"

"I don't really see how that's relevant to this conversation."

"Uh-huh," he smirks knowingly.

"Shut up, Tim," she grouses, petulantly crossing her arms over her chest.

He snorts and shakes his head, "Can't leave you alone for a minute, huh?"

Lucy rolls her eyes, but, for a moment, as he gazes fondly down at her with laughter sparkling in his eyes, her heart feels lighter and happier than it has in weeks. Things feel so normal — so right — and she doesn't want this moment to end. Wishes she could bottle up the way he makes her feel (yes, even when he's being kind of an asshole) and take it with her whenever the moment does, inevitably, end.

He closes the little remaining distance between them, hand reaching up to tilt her chin back so he can take a closer look at the wound.

She feels her heart skip a beat, wholly unprepared for what it feels like to be this close to him again, and for a moment she is transported back to the last time they were in a hospital exam room together. It seems impossible that they could be farther apart now than they were back then, and yet, somehow, she still can't focus on anything other than how much she wants to be even closer.

She automatically leans into his touch as he tenderly brushes his thumb over the bruise that is forming around the cut on her cheek, her body craving the closeness with this man that she misses so damn much.

"You sure you're okay? This looks like it might need a few stitches," his voice is softer, huskier now, and Lucy just nods, feeling suddenly parched as his fingers trail further south down over her cheek.

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and she doesn't even realize what she's doing until his gaze drops to her mouth, his thumb just barely hovering over her bottom lip.

And why is there no oxygen left in this room?

The radio crackles again, and Lucy tears her eyes away from his, because what the hell are they even doing right now?

"Uh, yeah," a nervous laugh escapes her as she continues avoiding his gaze, "...anyway, I'm all right, Tim. I promise. You should get back to work."

And from the way he stiffens before pulling completely away from her, she immediately knows she's hurt him.Again. The soft concern in his expression disappears as his entire face closes off.

She fights back a wave of emotion, "I just — I meant you don't have to worry about me."

He nods, his gaze icy. "Yeah. Trust me — you've made that perfectly clear."

She sucks in a sharp breath, woefully unprepared for this sudden shift in his demeanor toward her.

Even though she knows — she knows he has every right to be mad at her, every right to hate her. But that doesn't make it hurt any less.

She blinks rapidly, willing herself not to make this situation any worse with her tears, and he shakes his head, pressing his eyes closed.

"I shouldn't have said that — fuck." He briefly turns away from her, pressing his palms against his eyes.

His eyes are tired and sad when they finally meet hers again, "I'm sorry. I know you're hurting, too, and I — this is all still just really hard. But you're right, I should get back to work. I'm glad you're okay, Lucy."

And it takes everything in her not to launch herself into his arms and beg him not to be angry with her, to tell him that she is still so completely in love with him that she can already feel the cold fear creeping up into her chest that she can't for the life of her figure out how to shake.

The emotion is so thick in her throat, she barely manages to get words out around it, "I'm sorry." And it's not nearly enough, but what else can she say at this point?

He offers her a final curt nod, before turning to leave the room.

"Tim, please — please just be careful," she says to his back.

He pauses, glancing back at her one last time, and the pain in his gaze cuts right through her.

Notes:

Lol, okay so I swear the Kojo thing was another thing that was written before canon surprised us all by doing it even better in 6x08, but I suppose this is just my penance for taking so damn long to finish this fic.

Anxiously awaiting your feedback (as always),

Lana

P.S. Happy(?) Finale Day!

Summary:

Lucy's story finally goes to print; Tim struggles in the wake of his father's death

Notes:

Final serving of angst for these two, I promise...

(See the end of the chapter formore notes.)

Chapter Text

Lost

September 2022

"I'm sorry, Lucy. I know how much you've put into this story. But there just aren't enough sources willing to go on the record for us to go to print. Not for a story of this magnitude."

Lucy feels numb as she leaves her editor's office, unable to fully process that everything she has poured into this story over the last few months — everything Jackson had done to set all of this into motion — may have been for nothing.

But the bigger the story had gotten, with people implicated at every level — from patrol officers all the way up to the Office of the Chief of Police — the more scrutiny the story had gotten from the paper's executive team.

And it's not like she doesn't get it — this isn't the type of swing you take unless you're certain you aren't going to miss.

Knowing that a code of silence exists — that an unwillingness to cross the thin blue line means routinely turning a blind eye toward unlawful discrimination and unconstitutional policing — is different from naming names and proving that it's an issue so insidious it's become embedded in the very fabric of the LAPD.

The story has to be bulletproof. It's not just her job on the line if things go sideways, but the reputations and livelihoods of everyone she works with. Not to mention the widespread ramifications for the department and the city.

But understanding her editor's decision doesn't make it any less disappointing. She drops her head into her hands when she reaches her desk, feeling like her life raft — the one thing that has been keeping her afloat — has been ripped away.

She feels like a zombie over the next few weeks — distant and detached. Going through the motions without really having an awareness that time is passing, that the world is continuing to shift and change around her.

The paper is still dedicating every possible resource to her article. Her colleagues are working hard to dig up more camera footage, find new sources, and convince existing sources to go on the record, but, for the first time in her career, Lucy's given up.

No one in their right mind is going to be willing to go on the record for this kind of story — it's career suicide. It had been hard enough finding people who were willing to contribute to the story in any capacity.

So, later that month, when a staff writer pokes her head into Lucy's cube, a bright smile lighting up the younger woman's face, Lucy doesn't read much into her excitement.

"Did you hear? You did it, Lucy! We're going to print!"

Lucy's head jerks up in surprise, "What — what are you talking about?"

The other woman's grin widens, "You know how we've been reaching out to everyone who agreed to be on background, right?"

Lucy nods.

"Well, we weren't having much luck, but then I got in touch with a…" she glances down at her notebook, "Sergeant Bradford from Mid-Wilshire. Do you know him?"

Lucy barely manages a nod as she waits for her colleague to continue; she'd completely forgotten that she'd jotted his name down in her notes when she'd first begun planning her article.

But something tightens in her chest —- because she had never intended for him to be named in the story. He'd already done so much to help Jackson collect evidence against Stanton, she hadn't expected or even wanted him to feel obligated to contribute more than he already had to the investigation.

"I explained the situation, and I couldn't believe it, but he agreed to go on record. Just like that. More than that, he said he'd talk to others in the department about doing the same.

"It's crazy, actually — we've been getting calls all morning from people who have agreed to be named in the article. Safety in numbers or something, I guess." The younger woman shrugs, "Who knows? But I figure we shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, right?"

Lucy stares at her in disbelief, offering the younger writer a distracted "thank you," as she tries to process everything she is feeling.

She should be happy — ecstatic, even — that her story is finally going to be published and could lead to very real, very impactful change.

But she isn't happy — her heart feels heavy with the knowledge of just how much Tim is putting on the line for her.Again.

This isn't what she wanted.

A huge part of her wants to protect him — to beg him to change his mind. To convince him that he doesn't have to do this. That they'll find another way to get the story to print.

Another part of her just wants to break down and cry. Because, how…howis he still finding ways to show her that he is always,alwayson her side — even after everything she's put him through? How is he still finding ways to make her fall that much more in love with him when they haven't seen or spoken to each other since that afternoon in the hospital?

The part of her that wins out is the part of her that knows this is so much bigger than them both — that if it really came down to it, he'd want to do the right thing whether it was her article or not.

But deep down, she knows it isn't that simple — that as much as Tim would want to be on the right side of this thing, he's doing this because he knows what this story means to her — knows how important it is for her to be able to honor Jackson's life in this way.

The dull ache of emptiness in his core isn't going away.

Not for a long time. Maybe not ever.

This is something Tim comes to eventually accept.

Because this had been her choice, not his.

And there's a kind of freedom in that — a tiny reprieve from the weight continuously crushing his chest — in knowing that this is the best way, theonlyway, that he can love her.

Because as much as he wishes things could be different, he would never choose to be in her life if he knew it would cause her pain.

So he does his very best to move forward — to do more than just move forward — to live his life in a way that honors everything she had seen in him, everything she had given him, and everything they'd been through together.

A testament to just how fundamentally she'd changed the way he sees the world.

And so when he's contacted by a staff writer from The L.A. Times about going on the record for Lucy's story, the decision isn't all that difficult for him to make.

What is difficult, however, is dealing with the fallout.

As much as he is sure he is doing the right thing — certain in his conviction that cops like Stanton and those who enable him have to be held accountable — it doesn't change the fact that the foundation of so much of what he believes in is being ripped away.

It doesn't make being disappointed by people he trusted and respected and even considered family hurt any less.

It doesn't make being ostracized and alienated in the one place he believed he truly belonged any easier.

But he does his best to soldier on.

October 2022

His abusive asshole of a father is dead.

He should probably feel something.

But he doesn't.

He just can't bring himself to care all that much, to feel much of anything beyond the dull buzz of anger continuously lurking just under the surface of his skin.

But Genny cares. She cares a lot, actually.

His baby sister — who has done so much to hold him up over the last few months — suddenly needs him to be there for her in the one way he can't be.

Because no amount of love for his sister can make him mourn the life of a monster.

He hadn't even wanted to go to the funeral.

But he'd known what that would do to Genny.

So he'd gone.

Andshe'dbeen there.

A flash of color in the corner of his eye he is pretty certain he was never meant to see. Clutching a beautiful bouquet of yellow and white flowers, the slightest tremble of her hands visible to him even at a distance.

Did she really think he wouldn't notice her? That she could be anywhere near him and the elemental pull between them wouldn't make him immediately aware of her presence?

Apparently. Because she was gone as quickly as she had appeared, hurriedly depositing the flowers alongside some other arrangements before turning on her heel and rushing away.

It's not a coincidence that the bar Tim ends up in that evening is within a few miles of her apartment.

It doesn't matter that she hadn't bothered to stay.

It only matters that she'd been there.

And he needs to knowwhy.

Lucy jerks the door open as soon as she spots Tim through the peephole, her heart leaping into her throat.

"Tim? What — are you okay?"

His eyes are red-rimmed and angry, and he scoffs in response to her question.

Becauseof coursehe's not okay.

She quickly steps back so he can enter the apartment.

He follows her in, not wasting any time once she's closed the door and turns to face him, "Why?"

And she knows what he's asking. But she isn't quite sure how to respond.

He's so close she could reach out and touch him. It's been so long since she's shared the same space with this beautiful man and inhaled his familiar scent and felt the intensity of his stormy blue stare — and it's all so overwhelming.

"Why were you there today?" he demands again when she doesn't immediately respond. His eyes are locked on hers, but she's having trouble holding his gaze.

She bites her lip, "I'm sorry. I know I — I shouldn't have — I guess I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

He nods slowly, lips twisting into a bitter smirk, "You think you get to do that? Just show up when you feel like it and walk away when you don't?"

The words have an icy edge that cut right through her, but she knows she's earned every bit of his anger.

Her eyes burn as the lump in her throat expands to the point that it feels almost impossible to squeeze any words out around it, so she just shakes her head. He's absolutely right — she has no right to insert herself now, not whensheis the one who decided they couldn't be in each other's lives. It had been wrong of her to show her face at the service.

She had agonized over her decision after Angela had called to tell her that Tim's dad had died. But it wasn't until she spotted Tim that afternoon and felt her heart skip a beat that she realized her mistake.

Because she may have convinced herself she was there for him, but she was really there for herself.

Shewas worried about him, and needed to know he was okay, and couldn't bear the idea of not being there for him, of not being able to take care of him the way he'd taken care of her at her lowest points.

And because, god, she missed him.

Butsheis the one who chose this for them both.

She shrugs helplessly, looking away from him again, unable to tolerate seeing so much coldness in eyes that had once looked at her like she hung the damn moon. That had looked at her with such complete and total love and adoration and trust.

And now every single one of those things is gone, and — she thought she had bottomed out on loss and heartbreak, that she couldn't possibly feel any more pain, but she'd been wrong about that, too.

She forces her eyes back to his, swallowing back her emotion, "You're right. Tim — I — I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to upset you —- that's thelastthing I wanted. But I should have known that it would. I'm really sorry..."

Tim stares at her, jaw clenching as he tries to hang on to his rage. And god, he wishes he could hate her. It would make everything so much easier.

He is so damn mad at her. Needs her to know that she hasno rightto pop in and out of his life, that she has no right to keepcaringso much about him. He wants to yell and scream and mourn what she's taken from them both.

But all it takes is one look at those fucking eyes that had ruined him right from the start — filled with such genuine sorrow and a sadness so intense he can feel the weight of it in his own chest.

And maybe — maybe hedoeshate her.

For being who she is and existing and making it so damn impossible for him not to love her.

She is the best thing that ever happened to him. On most days — even despite the pain of losing her — he wholeheartedly believes that.

But today — in this moment when he is crumbling under the weight of emotions he doesn't understand and can't quite figure out how to feel — today, it kind of feels like she might be the worst.

And he can't find that noble, self-sacrificing piece of himself that has kept him going over the last few months. The part that had let her walk away from him on Decision Day because he really and truly believed that it was what she wanted —needed— to be happy in the long run.

And that may be what upsets him most of all. Because there is not even a flicker of happiness in those sad brown eyes.

She isn't evenpretendingto be happy anymore.

What the fuck is the point if they are both still so completely and utterly broken?

He doesn't know what he's doing, doesn't even realize he's moving until every single one of his senses is overwhelmed by her. He grips her face, something primal inside of him responding to her sharp intake of breath, and the way her head tips back and her lips automatically part despite her surprise. Her wide eyes don't stray from his as she waits for his next move.

He half expects her to come to her senses and back away from him, but she stays rooted in place, her hand slipping onto his chest, the tips of her fingers curling into him, like she is fighting against an urge to pull him closer.

"Tim…?" And it's barely even a flicker — likely nothing more than a habitual response honed from their time together — but when her gaze drops to his lips, it's all the permission he needs.

And it doesn't seem to matter that they've now been apart for longer than they'd been together. Because everything just clicks into place — the way her full lips fit so perfectly against his, the taste of her tongue, the feel of her small frame pressing against his as she launches up on her toes to meet him.

And she is just as intoxicating and all-consuming as she's always been to him — even more so, now that he has had to live without her. The only thing he can feel is how much he wants her, and it is such a welcome reprieve from the heaviness crushing his chest and the chaos invading his mind that he can't even be bothered to care that everything about this — what they are doing — is wrong.

He knows — heknows— that she deserves so much better from him, no matter how hurt or confused or frustrated he might be by her actions in this moment.

But he can't stop himself — every bit of restraint and self-control abandons him as something inside of him seems to realize he's been starving to death without this. Withouther.

And it's not like she bothers to help. Not one fucking bit. With her wandering hands and breathy pleas and ridiculous curves molding themselves into his hands in ways that have his dick straining against his jeans.

It all happens so fast…

His hand slips under her blouse, tiny crackles of electricity erupting when the tips of his fingers brush over the bare skin of her waist. He feels her breath hitch at the same time his does, as if they both know how precariously close they are to reaching the point of no return.

And then their hands are colliding as they both reach for the hem of her shirt. He pulls back, watching as she pulls it over her head. He doesn't get a chance to properly take her in because she's already reaching for his shirt and in the next moment it's a puddle of fabric on the floor.

He sucks in a breath as her hands slide up his chest to loop around his neck and then they are crashing into each other again.

Frantic kisses in the living room give way to something more desperate plastering their bodies together as they stumble backwards through the apartment and into her room.

She gasps, the sweet sound of her surprised giggle filling his ears when he accidentally backs her into the bed and she ends up looking up at him from where she's landed on her butt on the edge of the mattress.

He gazes down at her as he attempts to catch his breath, the unexpected moment of levity jarring him out of his hormone-fueled haze.

The sparkle of laughter fades from her eyes almost as quickly as it appears, but it's too late. Something softer and warmer is spreading through his core, making him ache for her and the way even the tiniest spark of her joy makes him feel like light can exist even in the darkest places.

Heneedsher — all of her — wants to be with her in every possible way.

She reaches for his belt, and he's finding it harder to breathe because he isn't sure he has ever wanted anything more than he wants her to touch him right now.

Tim's hand closes over hers just as her fingers take hold of his zipper, and she glances up at him in confusion.

"Where are your condoms?"

Lucy freezes, feeling as if she's been doused with a bucket of ice-cold water.

Because of course they need a condom. There are no promises between them. No expectations of fidelity. Not anymore.

But the idea of it — the thought that he could have been with any number of people since she'd ended things — maybe back with the beautiful lifeguard or even Isabel or someone else brand new she knows nothing about.

It distresses her to her very core.

They had belonged to each other, and now they don't anymore.

And this is on her.Shechose this.

Lucy gestures to the nightstand, looking away from him as she tries to collect herself.

She climbs to her knees on the bed, throwing her arms around his neck and latching onto him without warning when he turns back to face her, condom in hand.

His arms immediately wrap around her, probably more to prevent her from toppling off of the bed than to hold her, but she doesn't care, burying her face into his neck and breathing in his comforting scent until she's able to swallow back the wave of nausea, set aside the feelings of misery and jealousy and loss to focus on the present moment. To focus on what's right in front of her.Him.

Because everything is a mess, and she doesn't have any idea what they are doing. But the one thing she is certain of is how much she still loves this man — that all she wants is to give him as much of herself as he is willing to accept.

She tightens her hold on him as she pulls back to look at him, but she can already feel that something has shifted — the heady fog of arousal has dissipated, and suddenly they are just two heartbroken people about to make a very questionable decision.

He's as keyed in on her emotional state as he's always been, shaking his head and gently gripping her by the arms to steady her as he attempts to create more space between their bodies.

His eyes search hers; the anger and passion from earlier replaced by a softness that makes her ache. Because somehow, after everything, he is still looking at her like she is the most precious thing in the world to him.

How could she have given this up? Givenhimup?

"We shouldn't be doing this," he says softly.

Lucy nods, because he's right. There are a million reasons this isn't a good idea. And yet not a single one of them matters to her more than her need to be with him right now. Not in this moment.

His expression is pained as he holds her gaze, looking like he wants to say more, but instead he simply shakes his head. "I should go."

He grips her arms more firmly, attempting to stabilize her before he retreats, and she knows — sheknows— she has absolutely no right to ask anything of him, but she can't bear the idea of him leaving, of leaving yet another part of her empty and incomplete.

And so she does possibly one of the most selfish things she's ever done, only second to what she'd done to this man on Decision Day when she'd been willing to crush his heart to spare her own even the chance of yet another debilitating loss.

Lucy doesn't let him pull away, instead breaking free of his hold and slipping her arms back around his neck, her eyes watery and pleading, "Don't go."

Tim stares back at her, his hands automatically moving back to her hips to steady her as she leans toward him. And god, he thinks that not a single thing has changed. He isn't able to deny this woman anything.

Even if it costs him everything.

He swallows, before nodding, shifting one hand to the back of her head to pull her back to him, kissing her hungrily because god, he wants this too.

Her hands feel so damn good on his body — cradling his face, gripping his bicep, tangling into his hair.

And her body feels so damn good in his hands — the perfect flare of her hips, the roundness of her ass, the fullness of her breasts — as he ruthlessly claims parts of her for himself.

He shoves her silky waves back over one shoulder, nuzzling his face into the hollow of her neck as his lips and tongue work over her sensitive skin. His other hand glides over her exposed side and back, savoring every bit of the contact before pausing to unhook her bra.

He shifts back to take her in as she works the straps down her arms, before tossing the garment onto the floor.

He cups her breasts, holding their weight in his palms, his fingertips brushing over her nipples in a way that has her sucking in a breath as the sensitive tips respond to his touch.

And how many times has he fantasized about this over the last few months — getting to be with her like this, getting to explore and worship every inch of her, getting to feel what it's like to be inside of her again?

It's unreal. He is never going to get over how beautiful she is, how completely obsessed and enamored with her he still is.

Her hands come up to tenderly cradle his face when he leans in to take one of the taut peaks into his mouth, his tongue swirling around one as his thumb works over the other. She moans softly, and the sound sends a jolt of arousal straight to his crotch.

He switches sides, only stopping when her moans have transitioned into soft pleading whimpers for more. She grabs hold of his chin, pulling him back up for a kiss as her free hand slips into his jeans and he groans in response to her groping his hardened length through the fabric of his boxer briefs.

He lifts her without warning, her touch making him realize just how little it will take for her to distract him from his end goal. He lays her back on the bed and turns his attention to undoing her pants, pulling them off of her when she lifts her hips.

He can feel her eyes on him as he drinks in every bit of bare skin now that she's down to nothing but a simple pair of cotton panties — no snarky sass or provocative lace this time around, and still the sexiest thing he's ever seen.

His gaze lingers between her legs — she is so wet for him that the small strip of fabric is completely soaked through, and the skin of her inner thighs is glistening with her arousal.

He bends to peel the panties off of her, pausing to slide his fingers over the slickness coating her center. She inhales sharply and goosebumps prickle over her skin, despite the fevered flush that has spread over her body.

He straightens, pulling away from her to rid himself of the rest of his own clothing and grab the condom before climbing onto the bed to join her.

And then everything slows down.

He relishes the feel of her naked body pressed up against his as he wraps her up in his arms, pulling her as close as possible, dipping his head to kiss her even as she tugs him closer with a hand on the back of his neck.

She reaches down between their bodies to touch him, and he closes his eyes, allowing himself to fully experience the pleasure this time, focusing on nothing other than the physical sensation of her fingers wrapped around his cock.

He holds on for a few more strokes, waiting for her to roll on the condom before retrieving her hand and pinning it to the mattress beneath his own, her fingers automatically interlacing with his as he shifts her onto his back.

Their eyes lock, and they both stop breathing at the exact moment he begins to ease his length inside of her. And for a second, he is completely consumed by the pleasure of being surrounded by her wet, welcoming warmth.

And then it's suddenly all too intimate —too emotionally vulnerable to stare into sweet brown eyes that make him feel too damn much.

He drops his gaze, turning his focus to establishing a rhythm. Lucy whimpers softly, hands hooking under his arms and nails digging into his back as she pleads for more. Her strong thighs wrap around him, the sound of his body penetrating hers intensifying as she urges him closer, deeper, faster.

He turns everything else off — focusing only on the act of fucking her and his animalistic need to possess her in every way that he can.

He doesn't stop when he feels her body begin to shudder around his as she comes apart, instead allowing her to take him with her until he is drowning in his own pleasure.

And then there's just the sound of their breathing as they lie tangled together, attempting to recover.

The familiar scent of her skin, of her hair, of their bodies joined together in the most intimate possible way.

The sound of his name on her lips, as the physicality of sex fades to something more raw. Something more vulnerable.

The confusion and hurt and overwhelm that floods his entire system all at once.

The intensity of the emotion in her eyes as she refuses to let him turn away from her.

The comfort of her arms sliding around him.

The tender brush of her fingers over his cheek, even as he struggles to meet her gaze.

The press of her lips against his forehead as he gives in — to the gravitational pull of her loving warmth and to his exhaustion — finally drifting off to sleep.

Lucy cradles Tim against her body, mesmerized by the simple act of being able to touch him as she soothingly strokes his back.

He is everything to her.

He is warmth and safety and home and all she could ever possibly dream of wanting in a partner.

And as she holds him, the excruciating decision that had felt so clear to her — her certainty that she just wasn't strong enough to be with him knowing the risks he would continue to take day after day — doesn't feel so clear anymore.

It's cloudy and confusing and making her feel a little sick.

Because, yes, she is still terrified. She can still viscerally feel the pit of ice-cold fear that had opened up in her stomach that afternoon in the hospital at just the idea of something happening to him, can still feel the wave of it that had practically drowned her when he'd been called into work for his emergency shift during their last week together.

But he is still here — living and breathing and hurting in her arms.

And seeing him like this — the pain that he's in — and knowing that she can't be there for him — worse, knowing that she is part of the reason he's hurting — has her starting to seriously question why the fuck she is continuing to put them both through this.

It's been months since Decision Day. But she's been so wrapped up in herself and her grief or, more accurately, in avoiding it — that in a lot of ways it's like no time has passed at all.

She hasn't been able to think beyond simply making it through each day, hasn't even begun to think about the future — of where she goes from here, what her life is going to look like with two giant gaping holes in it.

Sure, there's a possibility that she'll meet someone new with a career that doesn't make her feel like she's constantly one phone call from living her worst nightmareagain.

Someone she could start a life with.

Maybe even someone she could eventually love.

None of that seems impossible or even implausible.

But as much of all of that might be true, as she studies the inherent vulnerability in his sleeping features, and experiences the intensity of her feelings for him flooding her chest, she is absolutely certain she is never going to love anyone the way she loves him. And that she is never going to find anyone that loves her the way that he does.

Perhaps the cruelest part of this all is that she is even more alone now than she was when she'd confessed her reasons for wanting to do the show in the first place.

I don't want to be alone forever.

She can practically still hear the sounds of Jackson's laughter and teasing as they'd discussed the future that day.

A future that Jackson won't ever get to have.

And she's not sure she'll ever stop mourning that.

But it's not just his future she's mourning… it's hers. The one that was taken from her.

But also the one she'd willingly chosen to give up. A choice she is really struggling to understand in this moment.

They've reversed positions by the time Tim wakes in the early hours of the morning. He remembers falling asleep as she'd held him — the tenderness of her touch, the steady rise and fall of her chest beneath his cheek, the familiar comfort and warmth of simply being surrounded byher— all lulling him to sleep in record time.

But at some point they'd shifted, and he'd taken her into his arms, holding the softness of her curves tightly against his own body and breathing in the flowery scent of her shampoo as he'd drifted back to sleep. She is curled into him — her face nestled into the crook of his neck, her lips just barely grazing his throat as she breathes, her hand resting on his stomach with her fingers curled posessively around his side.

It doesn't take him long to realize just how royally he's fucked up.

Because he is doing all of the things he can't do — feeling all of the things he can't feel.

He can't do this.

Not when he would giveanythingto have this back — this closeness, this intimacy, this connection with her.

But none of this —none of this— is his. Not anymore.

He has to get out of here.

She doesn't wake as he carefully disentangles himself, but something catches in his throat when she rolls toward his vacated spot on the bed, automatically reaching for him in her sleep.

He forces himself to keep moving, to quickly pull on his boxers and jeans, but he pauses when he almost steps on a plush toy —- the little turtle he'd gotten Lucy for her birthday is lying on its side on the floor. They must have knocked it off of her bed at some point.

He picks it up, staring at the silly stuffed animal until the burning in his eyes turns to a blur.

He blinks rapidly to clear his vision, gently tucking the stuffed animal in next to her and allowing his gaze to linger on her for a few final moments before he quietly leaves the apartment.

She feels his absence even before she opens her eyes the next morning.

She knows that he's gone. She's not sure when he crept out of the apartment — maybe as soon as she'd finally fallen asleep — but she aches at the idea that he hadn't wanted to be there when she woke up.

She reaches over to grab his abandoned pillow, hugging it tightly to her chest and burying her face into the softness as she breathes in the only piece of himself he's left behind, futilely fighting back the avalanche of emotion she knows is about to overwhelm her.

Notes:

Apparently I'm getting sick because I feel like hot garbage so please forgive any atrocious editing errors (more atrocious than my usual anyway lol).

As always, love to hear your thoughts!

Summary:

The morning after, Thanksgiving, Tim and Lucy are over... mostly. Six months after getting married at first sight, everyone gets back together to film the reunion show in New York.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter fornotes.)

Chapter Text

The Reunion

October 2022

In the days, weeks, and months following Decision Day, Lucy had forced herself not to keep tabs on Tim via social media. Not because she wasn't desperate to know how he was doing every minute of every day, but precisely because shewasdesperate to know how he was doing every minute of every day. For the sake of her mental health, she'd known she couldn't continue to cling to whatever remnants of him she could still access online (though that certainly hadn't stopped her from continuing to cling to certain physical remnants of their relationship).

But after Lucy wakes to discover that Tim is gone, she finds herself feeling desperate to understand how he could have simply left without a word when she had spent most of the night struggling with even theideaof having to spend another night without him.

Sure, they hadn't exactly had an opportunity to talk things out, but the love between them had been almost tangible — alive in every look and every touch. She had poured everything she had to offer into him.

And he had just…left.

She tries not to think too much about the fact that he had wanted to leave yesterday, and she had practically begged him to stay. Tries not to wonder about whether he sees their night together as a mistake, seesheras a mistake — a painful echo of a place she can't go back to — not now, not after everything. The weight of all the things she is so desperately trying to not to feel threatens to crush her chest. It's debilitating.

And it's in those moments of weakness that she finds herself scouring Instagram for traces of him on the pages of his family and friends (because of course Tim couldn't be bothered with creating a page of his own).

He may have been at a low point yesterday, but the images of him she's able to find tell a different story. He's a different man than the one whohad turned up at her door last night, a different man than the one she'd met at the alter. Lighter and less haunted. He looks…happier.

She has to stop when she sees a picture of Tim and Emmett playing volleyball on the beach, each partnered up with beautiful lifeguards in LAFD gear. And,wow, the universe certainly has a sick sense of humor. As if she could possibly need another reason to hate volleyball even more.

She tosses the tablet aside, swiping at the tears pouring down her cheeks.

There is nothing —nothing— she wants more in this world than for Tim to find happiness. She can't think of anyone more deserving of love.

So why does the idea of him finding it with somebody else have to hurt so damn much?

She presses her eyes closed until the wave of nausea that's threatening to overtake her finally fades and all that is left is a deep, aching emptiness in her chest.

She can't be selfish anymore — she's put him through enough. She has to take solace in the fact that he is really and truly doing okay without her — that he is surrounded by people who love him and he is moving forward with his life. No matter what fleeting thoughts of reconciliation had filled her brain last night, she knows now.

She has to let him go.

November 2022

Lucy expects Thanksgiving will be quiet this year, but she doesn't find herself putting up much resistance when Tamara talks her into hosting a Friendsgiving celebration at the apartment. Or when Tamara convinces her to deck the apartment in holiday decor weeks before it should be socially acceptable.

She even finds herself getting more and more excited in the days leading up to the holiday as she experiments with different recipes she's been wanting to try for ages.

She's always loved the holidays — even if everything feels a little dimmed this year. She still feels the warm buzz that comes with the reminder that sheisloved when they receive enthusiastic acceptances from just about everyone they decide to invite. A reminder that there are still people in her life who care deeply for her — evenifshe hasn't been all that great about letting them help her through her hard times. The opportunity to acknowledge and return that care fills her up in a way she hasn't felt in far too long.

She glances at herself in the mirror the afternoon of their Friendsgiving celebration, feeling as if something is missing from her simple outfit of skinny jeans, booties, and an oversized maroon v-neck sweater. She reaches toward her jewelry stand, hesitating for only a second before choosing a necklace that's been hanging on the rack front and center for months — one she hasn't been able to bring herself to wear. But today she feels drawn toward the symbol of the strength she'd once found in her hope.

She smiles at her reflection once the compass is properly centered on her chest — it's perfect.

The afternoon extends late into the evening, filled with delicious food, good company, and more laughter than the apartment has seen in months.

Megan and Alejandro are two of the last people she hugs goodbye later that night, and, as much as Lucy has enjoyed reuniting with them both again, she'd be lying if she didn't admit that seeing how obviously in love and happily married the two of them are months after the end of the social experiment is painful. It makes her heart ache for what could have been.

The day had been wonderful, but there's not a question in her mind that it would have been even more amazing had Tim been by her side.

Everythingwould be better with Tim by her side.

She shakes herself out of her reverie, turning her focus to her one remaining guest, who is busy piling dishes into the sink.

"I want to help clean up," Tamara insists as Lucy leans around her to turn off the faucet.

"Your friends said they were going out dancing tonight; there is no way I am letting you waste your youth hanging here with me. "

Her former roommate frowns, "What if I want to waste my youth, though?"

"Nope. Non-negotiable. Get out of here. Be a normal teenager for once, and go have some fun!" Lucy laughs and shakes her head as she shoos Tamara toward the door.

"I'm really glad you suggested this. I don't think I realized how much I needed it," she confesses as she pulls Tamara in for a final hug.

The next morning Lucy is re-shelving the cookbooks she'd consulted as she'd prepared parts of their Thanksgiving feast when she glimpses a beaten-up paperback haphazardly placed on one of the higher shelves.

She arches up on her toes without thinking, automatically reaching for the novel that had been dragged everywhere with her over the course of her reality TV marriage. And yet somehow she had never even managed to make a dent.

She opens the book and flips through the pages until she finds what she's looking for on page 152. She pulls the thin strip of photo paper out from between the pages before replacing the novel on the shelf.

Turning her attention to the images, a soft smile touches her lips at the memory of that night. Her 30th birthday celebration had been a night full of joy — a night of being surrounded and celebrated by people she loved.

For the first time since his death, she thinks about Jackson without being emotionally overwhelmed. The grief is still there, of course, but there's something else there now, too. Perhaps it's the spirit of the holiday that has her feeling an intense wave of gratitude as she remembers her friend and how he always made her feel like there was somebody in this world who really saw her, really understood her, and would always have her back.

That night had certainly not been an exception, she realizes as she thinks back on the conversation they'd had in the photo booth when she'd gushed over howwonderfulTim was and confessed her concerns about how serious things had gotten between them.

He'd warned her then about letting fear get in the way of her happiness,"I don't want to see you break any more hearts because you're scared; I definitely don't want to see you break your own."

She feels a twinge in her chest, because, god, isn't that just exactly what she did anyway? Of course he was even more aware of her self-destructive tendencies than she was. No one in the world knew her like he did, and she just knows that he's out there somewhere shaking his head in full on judgment at her practically sprinting away from the happiest she'd ever been. It still rankles her a bit to admit it, but she supposes he always was the wiser one when it came to the choices she made in her personal life.

She lets her finger linger over an image of them grinning at each other like drunken idiots while tussling over a prop mustache on a stick, and feels another wave of thankfulness wash over her as her eyes begin to burn.

She had gotten to tell him she loved and appreciated him. Their last moments together had been full of laughter and joy and bad karaoke. She will never stop wishing he was still here, but that night had really and truly been a gift. She can see that clearly now.

She brushes away her tears, smiling one last time at the ridiculous images before pausing to scan the shelves, her smile getting just the tiniest bit bigger as she balances the photo strip so that it is perfectly situated in the open arms of Baby Yoda.

The papers are sitting on his coffee table. Still sealed in their official manilla envelope. They've been there since August.

For someone who can't stand the sight of clutter, it's really quite the feat.

But he just can't bring himself todoanything with them — a physical manifestation of the same limbo his heart has been stuck in for months.

Things are over with Lucy.

He knows that.

At least he's pretty sure he knows that.

Mostly.

Andyet… he also knows that Lucy would have received an identical envelope containing an identical set of papers.

Copies of the same standard divorce paperwork provided by the show.

All one of them has to do is sign. Then production will have a courier collect the second signature before handing the signed papers off to the network's legal team to file.

Simple.Easy.Just like Genny had promised.

They do some paperwork and move on.

That's how this is supposed to go.

Sowhyhasn't she signed the papers?

December 2022

She's going to see him today.

It's pretty much all Lucy can think about as she nervously readies herself in her hotel room for the reunion show — exactly six months from the day she'd married a stranger.

Production on the show's next season is already well underway in New York, and it's wild to think that a whole new group of people have already embarked on the same insane journey.

Normally, she'd love any excuse to be in the city at this time of year, but she's just too damn nervous to appreciate a single thing about the festive atmosphere or the luxury hotel suite or the opportunity to reunite with her castmates.

She hasn't seen or spoken to Tim since their night together at the end of October, and her insides feel like they are twisting into knots with her uncertainty over what to expect.

Is he dreading seeing her, or does he have the same flutter of nervous excitement Lucy does in her belly?

Is he feeling angry or ambivalent or altogether indifferent toward her, or is it possible he's missed her as desperately as she's missed him?

It's ridiculous to hope for anything.

Things with Tim are over.

She knows that.

At least she's pretty sure she knows that.

Mostly.

His silence following their night together had been painfully loud and clear.

And yet… she must be some kind of masochist because that relentless optimism of hers seems to have found its way home, foolishly planting seeds it absolutely should not be planting in a drought, but somehow still always,alwaysholding out for the chance of rain, no matter how remote the possibility.

He's going to see her today.

Tim finds himself struggling to follow what Michael is saying, despite being genuinely curious to know how he and his unlikely other half have been doing since filming wrapped on the show.

But his focus keeps straying to the huddle of women standing together on the opposite side of the studio stage.Where is she?

He's so damn nervous. He feels fucking awful about how he'd behaved the last time they'd seen each other. He'd been a complete and total mess that night. And she had been who she's always been — endlessly supportive and loving toward him.

And he'd repaid that kindness by creeping out of her bed in the wee hours of the morning without so much as a note or a text to explain.

At the time it had felt like a matter of emotional survival — it was too damn hard to be back in the glow of her warmth knowing that it couldn't last. But he's more than a little ashamed that he hadn't mustered the courage in the weeks that followed to apologize for showing her the very worst of himself.Again.

His eyes gravitate to her the moment she enters the studio, and god, she isbeautiful. His eyes automatically trail up the length of her leg exposed by a thigh-high slit, his mouth going dry as he imagines his hands following the route of his gaze, how easy it would be to part the folds of the forest green wrap dress1and slip his fingers between her perfect thighs.

His cheeks flame when he realizes her eyes are on him, too, and he narrowly avoids choking on his own spit as he struggles to reel his mind out from under her dress. Something stutters in his chest, the hopeful warmth in her sweet brown eyes tugging on something above and beyond the surge of physical desire. They stare at each other.

It's been so long since he's seen her radiate this irresistible combination of unapologetic optimism and openness that he's come to think of as her trademark, and he is in no way prepared for what it does to his insides.

But there's also an edge of uncertainty creeping into her gaze that makes his stomach ache.

She finally offers him a wobbly smile and an awkward wave, but instead of returning the smile and wave like a normal human, he defaults to being kind of an asshole, too overwhelmed by the sight of her and all of the emotions it's conjuring to offer her much of anything in return.

Her smile falters and her gaze drops away from his before she quickly turns to join the conversation the other women are having around her.

The ache in his stomach deepens.

In a ploy to build the audience's anticipation, production seats the women on one side of the studio and the men on the other, only bringing each pair together when it's their turn to be on the hot seat.

Lucy tries to focus on the interviews, despite feeling a strong compulsion to spiral over Tim's reaction to her. Or maybe lack of reaction would be more accurate. It takes everything in her not to just straight up stare at him from across the stage, but she reminds herself that this is being filmed for millions of people to view and that it's in her best interest to act more like a normal human and less like a stereotypical psycho ex-girlfriend.

Chad and Elyse had been up first; no one was surprised by the revelation that the pairing had gone their separate ways. Lucy had been happy to hear that Elyse was in a new relationship, and less than impressed to hear that Chad was enjoying the influx of DMs coming out of his newfound stardom as a reality TV villain.

Her favorite part of the segment, though, was the dressing down he'd gotten from their host for signing up to do the show for the wrong reasons, thereby making a mockery of the experiment and disrespecting everyone else who had chosen to participate. She'd enjoyed the booing from the studio audience even more.

Arjun and Sonia are up next.

"The two of you decided to stay together because you wanted to give yourselves more time. Can you update us on what's happened since Decision Day?"

"We really tried to make it work," Arjun begins, "but…"

"Divorce isn't something that's generally accepted in our culture," Sonia fills in. "My parents had an arranged marriage. They didn't support me signing up for this at all, but after I was matched and they got to meet Arjun and his family, everything changed.

"And I don't know — it just felt like so much additional pressure on top of the show. Everyone expected us to make it work, but…" Sonia glances toward Arjun.

"There was just something missing," Arjun finishes. "I still consider Sonia a dear friend, but that's exactly what it was. Two friends that tried really hard to make a marriage work, but we weren't in love."

"How have you been since deciding to call things off with Arjun?" the host asks Sonia.

The dark-haired beauty shakes her head, "I don't know. I know we made the right decision, but I just felt horrible after we ended things. I felt like there was something wrong with me — why couldn't I make this work with this really wonderful guy? The experts thought we were perfect for each other. Our families thought we were perfect for each other. It made me feel like a failure, and it really made me question if I was ever going to find anybody."

"And now?"

"Well, it's still really early, but I recently started seeing someone, and I don't know… we'll see where it goes. But for now, it's exciting and new and I'm in a good place."

"That's great, Sonia; we're happy to hear that! How does hearing that make you feel, Arjun?"

Lucy has to press her lips together to stop from laughing out loud at Arjun's discreet eye roll in response to their host's attempt to find drama where there is none to be found.

"I think it's great," he says earnestly, "Like I said, I consider Sonia a friend and I want her to be happy. I haven't found my person yet, but —-"

"The girls are lining up to meet him," Sonia interjects with a laugh. "Pretty sure he's going to be just fine."

Their host finds the drama she didn't find with Sonia and Arjun in spades with Malcolm and Camila. So much so that Tim finds himself feeling grateful that, no matter how awkward and confusing things are with Lucy, he can't imagine them ever flinging insults and accusations the way the heartbroken couple on stage is doing right now.

"You know what I think? I think you used the fact that I didn't want kids as an excuse for your shitty behavior. I think it was an easy out for you — you wereneverreally ready to commit," Camila fumes.

Malcom's face flushes, the hurt unmistakable in his voice, "How can you say that? How can you even think that? I loved you, Camila, and I wanted it to work."

"What else am I supposed to think, Malcolm? It took you all of five minutes to start dating a twenty-two-year-old influencer after we broke up. How muchcouldI have meant to you if you found it so easy to move on?"

"Is that true, Malcolm?" Their host is practically salivating over the tea Camila has just dished up as an image of Malcolm and his scantily-clad new friend conveniently pops up on the large screen behind them.

"Well, yeah, but —"

Camila scoffs, "Does she want kids, Malcolm? Do you even know? Does it even matter?"

And though he can see the entertainment value, the entire exchange leaves him feeling a little sick. Because he knows how deeply the two had cared for each other at one point, and seeing them like this… it's just sad.

Fortunately, the next two segments include happier updates.

Michael and Gianna shock everyone with the announcement that they are expecting and are in full-on nesting mode in the new home they just bought together in Eagle Rock.

And Megan and Alejandro are still practically oozing newlywedded bliss, which makes him feel kind of nauseous in an entirely different way, though he couldn't be happier for a man that he now counts amongst his closest friends.

"Welcome back, everyone. We just had a chance to catch up with the couple that stole America's heart, but now it's time to catch up with the couple that left all of us heartbroken on Decision Day."

Lucy frowns at the awful segue; as if it's not bad enough that she broke Tim's heart and her own, now she's gotta carry disappointing all of America?

"We know you've all been waiting for an update on these two, and I have to admit I'm just about dying of curiosity myself, but first, let's take a look back at Lucy and Tim's journey."

The lights in the studio dim as the reel compressing eight of the best and worst weeks of her life into two minutes begins to play.

It's a different story than the one they saw the night of their monthiversary when she had been so upset over the narrative the show had chosen. Of course, a starry-eyed Lucy and a dickish Tim still make appearances, but as the recap unfolds, it's clear that their story is so much bigger than just what had happened in their first days together.

She can feel the swell of joyful laughter in her chest as she watches clips of them racing through the jungle on ATVs, flying through the air on a rope swing at the cenote, and absolutely dominating at Partner's Pictionary. God, they'd hadfuntogether.

She slaps a hand to her mouth when she can't stop the laughter from bursting out of her as she watches grumpy Tim stumble into a pile of goat shit, glancing guiltily over at him to see his response to the guffaws echoing through the studio.

His face has reddened and his expression is grouchy as he crosses his arms over his chest and shakes his head, but there's a spark of something lighter and good-humored in his eyes when he meets her gaze.

Heat floods her cheeks as she watches their oceanside dinner conversation take a risqué turn, the heat of Tim's on-screen gaze igniting the same tingles of anticipation she'd felt course through her that night all over again.

She almost has to look away at the clip of her collecting on their bet at the nightclub — their bodies moving together on the dance floor, the chemistry and tension between them almost palpable — a precursor to the way they'd moved together off-camera in their bungalow shortly after.

How either of them had been dumb enough to believe they could fight that kind of attraction for any amount of time is absolutely beyond her.

Then there are the moments of unexpected tenderness and raw vulnerability — Tim reaching over to wipe her tears at the altar, a glimpse of their joined hands under their table during their emotional dinner with Genny, and Tim's unexpected declaration after Lucy's questions about the bet left them both stumbling through the intensity of their feelings for each other.

And there are so many moments that Lucy had forgotten about or moments she'd never even realized had been captured — naps together on the couch with Kojo sprawled over them, stolen kisses and cuddles in moments they'd been so drawn to each other they'd forgotten their audience, and even a drunken ITM from the night of her birthday that Lucy doesn't recall filming.

"He is the most wonderful boy — I mean, man — no, person. I mean person — he is the most wonderful person I have ever met. He's my favorite person. And I love him. I love him so much I can't stand it, but shhhh you can't tell anyone that, okay? It's a secret."

She can feel Tim's eyes on her as she realizes that apparentlyshehad been the first to declare her love to the world.

She's a complete and total mess by the end, tears streaming uncontrollably down her cheeks as she watches clips from the interviews Tim had traded to make the week leading into Decision Day easier for her.

"Why do you think you fell in love with Lucy?"

"I don't know how to explain it. She is this annoying ball of sunshine that just popped right into the middle of my life and she — she changed everything. It's like I didn't know how much I needed her until she just appeared like this tiny, superpowered forklift or something and suddenly it was like all this weight was just — it wasn't crushing me anymore. She makes everything so much brighter and lighter and just hearing her laugh or seeing her smile makes me happy, too. She's the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Lucy snorts with laughter through her tears at the description — somehow equal parts ineloquent and incredibly touching.

And then there are their final moments — their goodbye the morning after their last night together and his words on Decision Day.

He'd said the words to her over and over again, on camera and off, but for the first time she feels like she is really and truly hearing them…

"I care about you. I care about us. That's all that matters to me, okay? I love you… We'll figure it out. No matter what happens."

"I want to be with you in whatever way feels right for you, Lucy. I love you… I'm committed to figuring this out with you. Whatever that ends up looking like."

He had been so willing to fight for what they had, so committed to their relationship and building a life together. He'd known before Decision Day that she was struggling with his job, and he had still chosenher.

"Lucy, this is clearly getting pretty emotional for you. Can you tell us how you're feeling?" their host asks her once the screen has faded to black.

Her hands are shaking. Somehow she feels cold, even underneath the studio lights.

She feels Tim shift next to her, can feel the tension in his forearm even as he moves to slide his hand over hers, automatically gearing up to protect and comfort her.

It makes her tears fall faster, because how could she possibly have walked away from this man?

Tim begins to interject when she doesn't immediately respond, but she stops him, her own instinctual need to prevent him from having to take on even more in a situation she knows he already hates winning out.

"I'm sorry," she says softly. "It's just a lot. To see it all back like that. After so much time."

Their host glances down toward where Tim's hand is still resting protectively over her own.

"We saw how hard it was for you to make the choice you did on Decision Day, Lucy. It was heartbreaking to watch, so I can't imagine what it must have been like to live through. Do you have any regrets?"

She swallows, feeling as if her heart might beat right out of her chest. She can't meet Tim's eyes — can't bear to look at the man who is somehow still standing up for her, with her, even after she'd hurt him in the worst possible way.

She wonders if it would be selfish — to answer the question honestly, to admit that if she could have a million do-overs, she'd choose differently every time.

Maybe it would be.

But she owes him the truth. Owes herself the truth, too. "I do," she admits quietly.

Their host's eyes widen in surprise, long accustomed to platitudes from contestants rarely willing to admit a mistake, instead yammering on about growth and things happening for a reason, and living life without regrets

She feels Tim reposition himself beside her.

"What do you regret, Lucy?"

She nervously presses a hand down over the front of her dress in an attempt to smooth nonexistent wrinkles in the fabric. "I — I regret letting my fear get in the way of something really incredible, something real and beautiful," her voice breaks as she finally turns to face him, needing him to know just how sorry she is for ruining what they'd had. "I regret walking away when the person I love more than anything was so willing to fight."

She blinks away her tears so she can see him. His expression gives very little away, but she can see the storm of emotion behind his blue eyes.

"Is that why you haven't filed for divorce yet?" their host prods.

Lucy sucks in a breath as Tim shifts uncomfortably again, pulling back his hand.

She glances toward him, but his face is even more closed off now, as if the mention of divorce is the reminder he needed to put his guard firmly back in place. A reminder of what she put him through, what she isstillputting him through.

So she just shrugs, realizing that any words she has to offer him now are far too little and months too late.

Their host gives a knowing nod; apparently it was a rhetorical question.

"Tim, Lucy, I want to thank you both for being here, and for sharing your journey with us all. I know I'm not the only one rooting for a reconciliation, so you know I have to ask — is there any chance the two of you might be willing to give things another try?"

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