Archive of Our Own ^beta

Tim Bradford is a busy, busy man. He’s an overworked police sergeant, dog owner, avid sports fan, the cool uncle to his sister’s kids, and—though he might deny it—an attentive friend. 

Tim likes his life, but sometimes, his schedule can get in the way, and that means sometimes he can be hard to reach. Which is why he has a strict phone policy. 

“No calls unless it’s work-related, or someone is actually dying,” Tim tells Lucy, just like he tells all his rookies when he gives them his number for the first time. 

Lucy’s expression is caught somewhere between gleeful and exasperated as she hovers over his shoulder, watching him type the magic numbers into her phone. He’s starting to regret it more and more as Lucy’s grin grows wider with every number. 

“Of course Tim Bradford has a phone policy,” Lucy says.

Tim glares at her. “I’m serious, Boot.” He holds her phone out for her to take back. When she grabs it, he hangs on for just a second longer. “Not. Unless. You’re dying.” 

She rolls her eyes; an expression that is usually uncommon in his rookies but is becoming alarmingly familiar on Lucy Chen.

“Copy that, Officer Bradford. I hear you loud and clear.”

Lucy, of course, ignores Tim’s phone policy. It only takes three days before his phone rings as he’s heading out the door and on his way to work.

“Go for Bradford,” he answers. 

“Tim?”

“Chen,” Tim says, glancing at his phone. He hasn’t added her as a contact yet. She’s just a string of numbers on his phone even though they’ve spent almost every waking moment together for the last couple of months. His heart picks up a couple steps and he throws his gear into the truck, frowning so deeply he fears his face might get stuck that way. “You okay?”

“How do you like your coffee?”

“What?”

“Your coffee. Do you like it black or with cream?”

Tim stops. Lets his heart return back to its normal pace, takes a deep breath (so as not to murder anyone) and leans in so he is speaking directly into the phone. 

“Officer Chen. Are you bleeding out right now?”

A pause. “No, sir.”

“Is there a missile heading towards you at this moment? Is there a bomb at the station? How about an armed threat? Is there one of those in your immediate vicinity?”

“No…”

“Then why are you calling me on this line, Boot?”

“…because I care about your coffee order?”

Tim squeezes his eyes shut. Rookies. Tim is too old and too grumpy for this. He should have asked Grey to move him out of training when he had the chance.

“This line is for work and emergencies, Chen. You call me again without a good reason and I’ll block your number. If you need me, text me or talk to me at the station. Are we clear?”  

“Yes, sir.” Lucy at least does sound apologetic. “But, um…”

Tim sighs, seconds away from hanging up. “What?”

“You never told me your coffee order.”

Tim shakes his head. He’s suddenly glad Lucy isn’t here to see the exasperated way his lips twitch upwards. Expressing fondness would be a blow to his reputation, and it would encourage Lucy’s behaviour, who has already given his other rookies a run for their money in terms of backchat. 

“Coffee with cream,” he orders. “And don’t be late. I like it hot.”

Tim doesn’t really get many voicemails. It’s the twenty first century, everyone texts now. So when he glances at his phone and it reads: You have received one (1) voicemail from Lucy Chen, he frowns at it for a couple of long seconds. Probably too long. 

Tim picks up the phone and dials.

“Chen,” he says, when the line connects.

“Tim?” He can hear Lucy’s confusion through the phone. “Everything okay? I thought calling was for emergencies.”

“It is,” he says wryly. “You called me.”

“Ah,” Lucy says in a tone he has come to be intimately familiar with. One he can only describe as smug. “No I didn’t. I left a voicemail.”

“That’s still against the policy.”

“No it isn’t. You said no calling, and I don’t think it counts as a call if you never picked up and we never had a conversation.” Then, bright and proud of herself as he’s ever heard her, “I found a loophole!”

He sighs. “I didn’t create this rule so you could find a loophole, Chen.”

“I know,” says Lucy, still smug. “I’m just that good.”

“I’m going to delete it,” Tim says. Lucy makes an affronted noise.

“No, come on! Don’t you want to know what I said?”

“Send it in a text,” Tim says. “Like the rest of the world.”

“But texts are so boring. They have no character.” 

“How can you say that when you use a million emojis every other sentence?” he demands.

There’s rustling on the other end, which Tim immediately identifies as her trying her best not to laugh at him. His rookie. Laughing at him. Lopez and Bishop would never let him live this down if they found out. They still make fun of him for Lucy’s cute bar tab prank. 

“I’m deleting it,” Tim says again. 

“Fine,” Lucy says. “That’s your call. But you'll have to live with the fact that you'll never know what I said.” 

“Fine by me,” he says, and hangs up the phone. He goes to his notifications, where Lucy’s stupid voicemail alert is still sitting there in red. His thumb hovers over the delete button, determined to put an end to this before he loses all sense of respect as Lucy’s TO. Then he pauses. Sighs, long suffering.

Dammit, Chen.

He presses play. 

“Hi Tim!” Lucy’s voice says brightly. “I knew you would pick up the phone. I knew it! You think you’re so impossible to figure out, but we ride together everyday and I know you, and I know you wouldn’t be able to resist listening to my message. I don’t even have anything important to say. I just wanted to gloat. And I don’t even care how you choose to punish me tomorrow, because you will still be sulking in the knowledge that Lucy Chen was right about something.” There’s yelling in the background, and Lucy coughs. “Crap. Gotta go. Please-don’t-kill-me-tomorrow, okay, bye!”

Tim does not sulk over the message, because he’s a grown man. He does, however, scowl and thumb over to his text chain with Lucy.

You owe me 50 push-ups.

Lucy replies almost instantaneously.

Yes, sir, says the message, complete with the saluting emoji. 

For all her pride about discovering a supposed ‘loophole’, Lucy doesn’t immediately bombard him with voicemails. He’s almost expecting it from her, but she sticks to texting like a normal person, and they don’t really have that much contact outside of work anyway. 

Unfortunately for Tim, that means he lets his guard down. And even more unfortunately, it turns out Lucy hasn’t forgotten about her new method of contact. She’s just been saving it for the right moment.

“Uh, Chen—what are you doing?” Tim demands, after a particularly embarrassing takedown that may or may not have resulted in his pants splitting at the seams.

Lucy holds up a hand to silence him, her ear to the phone. “Just a second, hang on… Oh, hi Tim! This is Lucy. I’m just leaving a message to remind you about this really embarrassing time when you split your pants open on patrol and everyone caught a glimpse of your underwear. I didn’t peg you for a purple guy, by the way…”

“Okay,” Tim snaps, grabbing her phone out of her hand. “Fun’s over.”

She smiles at him, the picture of perfect innocence as she rests her hands on her duty belt. 

“Just creating memories, sir,” she says. 

He glares at her and ends the voicemail. 

“Uh huh.”

When Tim gets home, he listens to the voicemail—just so he can clear the notification. Lucy’s laugh in it is loud and bright, somehow perfectly clear even through her shitty phone speaker that she refuses to upgrade. When he’s finished listening, he’s surprised to see that there’s another voicemail from Lucy, received just seven minutes ago. 

“Hi Tim. Listen, uh, I can’t prove that you split your pants on purpose to distract me from my personal issues today, and I have this feeling that if I ask you’re just gonna deny it anyway, so… If you did do it on purpose, thanks. It really helped. And if you didn’t… you have some seriously bad luck, man. Maybe invest in a larger size.”

There’s a little part of him that’s touched at the thought of Chen recording this message for him, probably in her room or her car. Her presence of mind to say thank you. Her observance as to even guess that he might have faked the whole thing. Her bravery as to actually call him out on it, where he knows Nolan or West would have kept their mouths shut. Whether he actually did or not doesn’t really matter. 

She’s going to be a good cop, Tim realises, now more than ever. He just has to be careful not to fuck it all up. Before he can really even think about it, his thumb moves of its own accord.

Message saved.

Tim wakes up to his phone flashing in the middle of the night. He checks the time—it’s just past one in the morning—and then swipes to see Lucy’s left him three messages. 

Rubbing at his eyes, Tim contemplates just leaving it. She’s probably fine, she knows the rules. If there’s really an emergency, she’ll call or ring the station. Against his better judgment, he accepts the messages anyway.

“Tim! Hello!” Lucy’s voice is loud in the darkness of Tim’s house. There’s a lot of background noise, cheering and talking and what Tim assumes is the latest top hits playing. “Where are you? Everyone’s here. If I had to guess, you’re probably… lifting weights. Or watching sports.”

“Memorising police codes,”  a voice he recognises as Jackson's interjects. 

“Good one!” Lucy says. “I’ll cheers to that.” 

The call ends, abrupt. They must be drinking. Lucy’s carefree tone and the background noise make more sense now, and Tim vaguely recalls being invited out for drinks for Bishop’s farewell and declining. He moves on to the next message, which is really just a drunken recording of Angela, Nolan and Lucy singing very sloppily to what he thinks is intended to be a Salt-N-Pepa song. Shaking his head, he moves into the third. 

“Tim. Hi, Tim.” Lucy’s much drunker in this message than her past two. Her voice is lower, slower, and there’s a slur at the end of her sentences. “Why aren’t you here? Everyone else is here. You don’t have to take this whole TO thing so seriously, you know. Lo—“ A hiccup. “—Lopez is here. And Bishop. Is it me? Why can’t we be friends? Why aren’t you here? I—Oh. Oh no. I don’t feel so good.”

The line goes dead, unexpectedly. Tim realises he’s gripping the phone a bit tighter than he should be and releases it, letting it drop into his lap. This is the problem with training rookies. And, he suspects, the problem with Lucy. They get attached. A good TO would leave it alone. Lucy’s surrounded with friends and cops who will keep her safe and stop her from doing anything too stupid. But it’s Lucy, and somehow, somewhere along the line, that’s come to matter. Tim is an idiot. He dials back. 

“Hello?” Lucy asks, still obviously drunk if her voice is anything to go by.

“Where are you, Boot?”

“Bradford? Are you—“ A fit of giggles that he’d make fun of her for in any other circumstance. He files it away for blackmail later anyway. “You’re breaking the rules!”

“What the hell are you on about, Chen?”

“You’re calling me. You’re talking to me on the phone. It’s not an emergency. I’m not at work. You, sir, are breaking the rules.”

“You’re drunk.”

“You’re drunk.” 

Tim looks to the heavens, pleading to whatever of whoever is up there for some guidance. Sadly for him, nothing ever comes. 

“Okay. Where are you? At the bar? Turn on your location,” he orders.

“Not without the magic word.”

Tim sighs and rubs his temple. “Why can’t you make this easy for me?”

“I’m not hearing the word…”

“Please, Chen.”

Lucy makes a satisfied sound, and there’s a noise that he makes out to be her fiddling with the phone. After a painstaking amount of time, Lucy’s location pops up on his phone and Tim blindly reaches for his shoes and keys. 

“Are you coming to get me?” she asks, sounding strangely young. Tim feels a sudden and extremely overwhelming urge to protect her, even though she’s in no apparent danger. It’s probably the rookie-TO thing. Isabel used to tease him about it all the time. Said he’d get too attached, even though he never acted like it. 

“Only because you’re not going to remember this in the morning,” he tells her. It’s cold outside, and Tim throws an extra sweater in the truck for Lucy. 

“Oh,” Lucy says, reverent, like she’s having some kind of epiphany. Jesus Christ, knowing Chen, she probably is. “You’re being nice. You think of me as a friend. We’re friends.”

“Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves,” Tim says dryly. There is something disconcerting about the word friend in Lucy Chen's mouth when it’s in relation to himself. “I’m your training officer, not your friend.”

“No, it’s too late now. You’ve shown your cards, Bradford. You actually have a heart, and we’re friends.” Lucy gives a happy little sigh, and Tim throws the truck into gear.

“Look, just stay on the line, alright? I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Lucy does as she’s told, thank god, and when Tim pulls up she’s sitting on the curb with her knees to her chest and what looks like Nolan’s jacket draped over her shoulders.

“You’re late,” she accuses as Tim gets out and helps her to her feet. Her cheeks are flushed from alcohol use and her breath smells sickly sweet, like strawberry syrup and vodka. 

“By two minutes.”

“One time I was thirty seconds late and you made me do laps around the station.”

Tim smirks. “Well, when you’re a TO, you can make your own rules. But until you pass your probationary year, you have to follow mine.”

Lucy turns, full body, so she is looking up at him. She’s leaning her whole weight on him, so that they are practically hugging. She’s very warm. And very short. 

“Do you think I’d be a good TO?”

Tim studies her. Actually thinks about it.

“I don’t think you’d be bad, if that’s what you wanted. But you don’t want that.”

She blinks at him. She’s dazed when she’s drunk, apparently. “Don’t I?”

“You’re too ambitious for that, Boot. We both know it.” He begins to move her, much like handling a sleepy puppy or an annoying clingy monkey, until finally she detaches and climbs clumsily into the truck. He leans into her side through the open window and watches as she puts her seatbelt on. 

“Am I taking anyone else home? Jackson? Lopez?”

“They’re still drinking,” Lucy says. “I felt sick.”

No wonder, if her state of inebriation is anything to go by. He shakes his head and passes her the bottle of water he always keeps in the glovebox. 

“Drink,” he orders. “If you puke in my car, you’re paying for a new one.”

Lucy nods, so gravely it’s comical, but she does good. She doesn’t puke the whole way to her house, or in the car park, or even in the elevator. But as soon as she wrangles her apartment door open, she goes faintly green and makes a dash for what he assumes is the bathroom. Tim, standing at the doorway of her apartment, curses whatever higher power is punishing him at this moment, and reluctantly follows after her. Pulls her hair back and ties it with a clip, like he used to do in Genny’s party animal days. He waits it out, makes her brush her teeth, and then watches, arms folded, as she climbs into bed and sinks into her pillows. 

“Goodnight, Tim,” she mumbles. 

He nods. “Goodnight, Lucy.” 

Her smile is small, lazy. But definitely there. “Hey. You called me Lucy. We really are friends.”

Tim pins her with a look. “I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow, Boot. Don’t be late.”

There’s no voicemail from Lucy in the morning (he suspects she’s probably too busy trying to drag herself to work on a massive hangover), but there is a text. Just two simple words that almost make his lack of sleep last night worth it. 

Thanks, Tim.

After that night, Lucy seems to take to leaving him voicemails, because they start appearing with more frequency. They are almost always of a mundane nature; things she notices about him or a case or a colleague during the day, or a story she thinks he’ll find funny told in an extremely Lucy way. She doesn’t really seem to have any kind of rhythm or reason for leaving them either. Sometimes they’re early morning, sometimes after a shift. Rarely, in the middle of the night. He notices whenever they have days off or the rare occasion they’re not working a shift together, the voicemails tend to up in frequency and length. 

Tim does try to stop it. He does. It’s unprofessional conduct, really. Especially when he picks up the phone one morning and spends three minutes listening to Lucy tell him about a family of ducks that waddled into the car park that morning.

“Chen,” he says, striding into roll call and leaning over her table. She’s nursing a coffee thermos and grinning at him. “Do I look like a man who cares about bird life?”

“You don’t have to listen to them,” Lucy says, innocent as always. He scowls at her. Beside them, Nolan looks back and forth like he isn’t sure whether to intervene or not. 

“If this is your idea of a prank, it’s not funny,” he warns. 

“I’m just keeping you informed,” Lucy says. “Don’t you want to be informed?”

“Not really.”

Her lips twitch, head tilts. Oh, she knows he’s lying. 

“Uh huh. We’re friends now, remember? I know it’s a foreign concept to you as a proud robot with no feelings, but friends share things.”

“Woah, hang on,” Lopez interrupts, swinging to a stop next to them. Tim grunts. Perfect. He loves when Angela gets involved. “Tim openly admitted to being your friend? He still refers to me as a colleague.” 

“No I don’t,” Tim grouses, just as Lucy nods and says, “I’m his favourite rookie.”

Angela fixes him with a look akin to that one the cat gave the canary, or whatever the damned saying is. 

“Is that so?”

Tim glares at Angela. Then Lucy. Then Nolan, just in case he gets any ideas. 

“Definitely not. I never said that.”

“Oh, really?” Angela crosses her arms. West has appeared at her shoulder, because apparently the whole station is involved now. “Who’s your favourite then?”

“…Gonzalez.”

Angela scoffs. “You said he had the worst takedowns you’d ever seen.”

“Yes, but at least he knew when to keep his mouth shut.” Another glare at Lucy, who is doing a poor attempt of hiding her smile behind her hands. “No more voicemails, Boot. I mean it. Else you’re joining the long list of rookies who washed out under my command.” 

Lucy nods. “You got it, sir.”

(Tim is, of course, not the slightest bit surprised when he gets home and there’s a voicemail from her waiting in his inbox. Actually, he thinks he might have been disappointed if there hadn’t been. Her lack of quit is one of the things that will make her a great cop. And—though he’d only ever admit it under extreme levels of duress—also a good friend.) 

“Hey, Tim. Can we get donuts for lunch tomorrow? I know it’s kind of giving into the whole cops love donuts cliche but Grace told me about this amazing bakery the other day…”

“Uh, hello, please tell me why I had to hear from Rachel that your favourite TV show is Sex and the City? We will be talking about this in the shop tomorrow. Get ready to be relentlessly mocked…”

“Check your messages right now, Bradford! I need your opinion on which gift is better for Angela’s birthday and you know her better. And don’t even think about putting your name on my gift…”

“Tim?” 

He turns his phone off hastily. Angela’s holding two cups of coffee and a bag of Cheetos, and her expression makes him feel a little raw and deeply uncomfortable.  

“Lopez,” he says, accepting the cup she passes him. 

“You okay?” Angela asks, settling down next to him. 

“I’ll be fine once one of these damned doctors update us on Chen’s condition.”

Angela’s got sympathy written all over her face. “You know they’re doing the best they can,” she chides. “Lucy will be fine. You saved her, Tim. She's going to be okay.”

Tim buries his head in his hands and tries to block out the sound of nurses rushing past and monitors going off. People are talking about things that are probably to do with saving lives but seem grandly unimportant to Tim because they don’t concern Lucy, who’s lying in a hospital bed twenty feet away and just out of his reach. He needs to know she’s okay. 

“She could have brain damage,” Tim says. “She might have to quit. She loves this job, Lopez. I should have been faster. Thirty seconds earlier and she might have been fine.”

“Thirty seconds later and she might have been dead,” Angela says, her voice close to his ear. Her hand comes up to rub at his shoulder, reassuring in her touch. “You don’t get to beat yourself up about this, Tim. You saved her life. You pulled her out of that barrel. That’s what matters. That she lives to see another day.”

Tim knows she’s making sense. He shakes his head, leans back in his seat and suddenly feels extremely, overwhelmingly tired.

“You’re annoying when you’re right, Lopez,” he says, and Angela exhales in laughter. 

They sit in silence for a bit, Angela picking through the bag of Cheetos until finally she seems to give in to some internal struggle, nodding at the phone. 

“What was that?”

“Uh—it’s dumb. Just… Chen leaves me messages sometimes. That’s all.”

“And you saved them? All of them?”

The softness on Angela’s face is unbearable. He looks away, suddenly feeling exposed. Vulnerable. He’s revealed too much. 

“Maybe one or two,” he says. Angela knows him well enough not to believe him, and well enough not to push it. 

“Can I hear one?” she asks, surprising him. Sometimes Tim forgets that Lucy’s endearment stretches beyond him and the confines of the shop, that she is cared for and looked after by most of the people who are fortunate enough to have her in their lives.

“Sure,” he agrees, because it’s Angela and she loves Lucy too. He scrolls until he finds one of his favourites. 

“Happy Birthday, Tim! Since you refused to listen to my astrology reading of you in the shop today, I’m going to do it here, where you can’t be annoying and interrupt me. Let’s see… You are a Cancer, which means you are a natural born caregiver, deeply feeling, compassionate and… sensitive.” Past-Lucy snorts. “Are you sure your parents got your birthday right? Oh, no, hang on! It also says Cancers have a tendency to be snappy and moody, are quick to brood and often retreat into their shells. Okay. Yes. I’m starting to see this now. This is due to your intense emotions, which means you are often worked up and drowning in your feelings. Wow. This explains so much. So when you yell at me for… doing literally anything, it’s just because you care? Aww, Officer Bradford. That’s sweet. Oh my god, psychoanalysing you is going to be so much fun. I’m going to bring this book with me in the shop, and if you make me do any push-ups tomorrow, I swear I’ll start reading the part about your sex life. Don’t test me, Tim! I’ll do it. Anyway, uh, happy birthday. Hope riding with me today wasn’t the worst way to spend it. Have a good night, okay? I'll see you tomorrow.”

Angela’s giving him a watery smile. “Is that why there’s a crab sticker on your locker?”

“I couldn’t scrape it off,” Tim says, but it’s a weak defence and they both know it. 

“Lucy’s good, and she’s brave,” Angela says. “And she knows that we were looking for her the whole time.”

“How can you be sure?”

Angela meets his eyes. “Cause it’s you, Tim. Because you’re always looking out for her. She knows that, and she knows you. More than you probably give her credit for.” 

“I—“

Tim’s phone chimes. He lunges for it. 

You have received one (1) voicemail from Lucy Chen. 

Fingers trembling, he presses the button.

“Tim?” Weak, hoarse, but unmistakably Lucy. “You gonna come visit me or what?” 

Tim’s heart starts thumping wildly. He glances at Angela, who nods and tells him to go, and then he’s making his way down the hallway at an impressive speed, looking for the number he knows is hers. 

He finds her, finally. She looks painfully small in the hospital bed, her hair down, face mottled with scrapes and bruises. Her eyes are so lidded he half thinks she’s fallen asleep, but then her lips twitch in a tired smile.

“Hey, you.”

Tim lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and takes a step, then another, until he’s standing at her bedside and close enough to make sure her chest is actually rising and falling. 

“Gave us quite a scare, Boot,” he says, without any of his usual bite.

Her smile just gets a bit wider. “I’m sure you’ll think of a suitable punishment,” she murmurs. He can tell she’s fighting off the urge to fall asleep. 

Tim draws up a chair and settles in, leans over and pulls the hair out of her eyes so it’s more comfortable for her. And maybe a little part for selfish reasons. 

“Get some rest, Lucy. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Her eyes are already drifting shut. “Will you stay for a bit?” she mumbles. He has to lean in to hear her. “I like you here.” 

Tim thinks that after today, she’s probably going to have to stay within his line of sight until the rest of her life. 

“I’ll be right here,” he promises, not sure if she actually hears him before she drifts off. 

Angela comes in a few moments later, goes straight to Lucy and squeezes her hand, gentle.

“The doctor says she’ll make a full recovery, but she’s gotta stay for at least a day or two,” she says. “I assume you’re staying?”

He clears his throat. “She needs someone here.”

Angela’s voice softens. “I know, Tim. Look, I’m gonna go out, grab her stuff from home. Do you want anything?”

“Yeah, uh,” Tim glanced at Lucy, sleeping peacefully. “Think you can hit Greer’s on the way back?”

“Yeah, sure,” Angela says easily. “You know her order?”

“Veggie burger and fries, extra pickles,” Tim says on autopilot. “Thanks, Ang.” 

“Got it. Text me if you need anything,” Angela says on her way out. “Don’t worry, I know the phone policy.”

Tim smiles as Lopez leaves, and it fades as his gaze falls back on Lucy. Now that the fear and adrenaline has worn off, all he can think about is the way she’d sobbed in his arms. He’s never been so grateful to find someone alive, but he knows this next part is going to be even harder for her. 

Without really thinking about it, he picks up the phone. Her number is on speed dial, and he lets the phone ring until it hits voicemail. 

“Hi, this is Lucy Chen! I can’t come to the phone right now, but leave me a message after the tone and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” 

The phone beeps. 

“Hey Lucy.” God it feels weird, talking to himself. He doesn’t know how she does it. “It’s Tim. Bradford. Listen, uh… I don’t know what it’s going to be like for you moving forward. I wish I could tell you that it’s going to be easy, but the reality is that it probably won’t be. It might be really hard. You might want to give up. But you’re strong, Lucy, and I know you’re gonna make it through. You demonstrated that today. You tell anyone in the station, and I’ll deny it, but, you know, I—I’m proud to have you as my boot. So just focus on getting better. You’ve made it this far, Chen. You’re not washing out on my account.”

Tim pauses. He feels like there’s something more he needs to say, something else he needs to make sure he understands. But he either won’t say it or a part of him doesn’t know how to. 

“I’ll talk to you soon, Lucy,” he says instead, and ends the message. 

In the hospital bed, Lucy’s breathing goes in, and out, in and out. Tim watches, counting the seconds between each inhale, and settles back into his chair for a long night. 

After the kidnapping, Tim waits for Lucy's inevitable voicemails. Waits for the return back to normalcy. But it never comes. 

At work, Lucy is the picture of 'okay'. She's chipper, she makes jokes. She gets a little jumpy when its dark, and she's more suspicious now than she was before. But for the most part, to the casual observer, Lucy seems okay, especially after whatever Harper said to her on their shift together. But Tim's voicemail box remains empty, and if he were a bigger man, he might admit that this worries him. 

Tim tries to go about it in a subtle way. He leaves his phone out in obvious places. He mentions things that are perfect opportunities for her to poke fun at him. But she never seems to take the bait. Eventually, one night as their shift draws to a close, Tim decides he just has to bite the bullet. He pulls the shop over and puts it into park. Lucy's frowning in confusion even as he turns to look at her.

"Chen. Listen, uh... you okay?"

She's not looking at him. 

"I'm fine."

"That's what you've been saying."

Her frown grows a bit deeper. "You don't believe me?"

"I don't think you even believe yourself."

Lucy turns away and looks at the window, chewing at her lip. "You hate talking about personal stuff."

"It's different now." 

She scoffs. "Because I got kidnapped."

"Because-" Because something shifted that day and now he can't see her the way he did before. Because that day he'd been seconds away from losing her and he'd had to think about living in a world where Lucy Chen didn't anymore. Because he realised he'd grown to like listening to her stupid voicemails. "Because you got kidnapped," he echoes, for lack of being able to verbalise anything else. 

"I don't want to be treated any differently," Lucy says.

"But you are different now. Look, I told you the other day. You're a survivor," he says. Lucy's eyes drift down and her thumb rubs along the finger where he knows she normally wears her ring. "Survivors look at the world differently than they did before. Take it from me. I know it feels like no one will ever understand what you went through. And in a way, no one ever will. I won't deny that. You're allowed to be scared, or have bad thoughts, or dangerous thoughts. But you shouldn't keep them to yourself. You can talk to someone." He pauses. "You can talk to me."

They're silent for a while. He watches her, waiting, until Lucy finally meets his eyes. She has a small smile on her face, even though it's still a bit reluctant.

"You miss my voicemails."

Tim scoffs. "Not likely, Chen. I'm just being a good person. Don’t go getting all full of yourself just yet."

"Uh huh," Lucy says. She's still looking at him, and her gaze is too knowing for his liking. "Well, thanks. You know. For being a good person." 

Tim swallows. The air is suddenly thicker than it really has any right to be.

”Anytime,” he tells her, and means it.

A couple days later, Tim picks up the phone to find a voicemail waiting for him. Feeling some inexplicable warmth settle in his stomach that he’s too afraid to properly dissect, Tim plugs in his earphones and presses play.  

It’s a couple of nights later when he wakes to a message from Lucy. 

“Tim. Hi. Sorry, it’s really late, I just…” A shaky breath from her end that makes Tim tense automatically. “I had a nightmare, and I wanted to talk about it but I didn’t want to talk about it. You know? That’s why I like leaving you these messages. Not just cause it annoys you and that’s funny, but because I know you might listen to them, even if you don’t talk back. Kind of like therapy, I guess.” She snorts a little, and it’s a little sniffly, like she’s been crying. Something funny kicks in Tim’s gut that he ignores. It’s been doing that lately. “Anyway. Sorry for calling. Phone policy, I know. Have a good night, okay?”

The message has barely ended before he’s calling her. Lucy picks up on the second ring, even though it’s too early in the morning for her to realistically be awake.

”Hi,” she says softly. “Ignoring the phone policy again?”

Tim sucks in a breath. “Listen, Lucy. Your nightmares. They count as an emergency.”

A blink. She’s confused. 

“What?”

He sighs. “You get a nightmare, it falls under emergency in the phone policy. You can call me. If you want.” 

“Tim, you don’t have to—“

”I know.”

There’s a short pause.

 “Okay,” she says finally. “Thanks, Tim. I… Thanks.”

”You’re welcome.” He takes comfort in her steady breathing for a couple of seconds, then clears his throat. “Do you want me to stay on the line now?”

”Do you mind?” 

Tim shakes his head. “I don’t mind,” he says, gentle. He stays on the line.

“I’m sorry, did I hear you correctly?” Angela says, wandering after him as he turns down the pet food aisle. “You got a dog?” 

Tim throws a bag of treats into his trolley. 

“Yes, Lopez. It’s not a big deal.”

”I thought you hated dogs,” Angela says, eyeing his choice of dog food with apprehension.

”Nobody hates dogs, Ang. I’m not heartless.” Tim settles on a plain black collar for Kojo. When Angela doesn’t say anything more, he stops the cart and sighs, turning to face her. “Look, I’m doing Chen a favour, alright? She clearly got it as some kind of coping mechanism after what happened to her, and she can’t look after a dog right now.”

Angela just shakes her head at him, mirth dancing in her eyes. 

“So you get a dog, and as an added bonus, Lucy comes and visits every other weekend.”

”I feel like you’re trying to suggest something,” Tim warns, following Angela down the aisle once more. 

“Hey, I’m not suggesting anything,” she says innocently. “Just making a statement. You share a dog with your rookie now. What’s weird about that?”

Tim rolls his eyes and opens his mouth, about to argue back, when his phone dings. It’s another message from Lucy. He clears his throat. 

“Uh, just a second. I should get this.”

He leaves Angela to watch the cart, pressing the phone close to his ear. There’s a part of him that worries more now when he gets that notification, that she’s had another nightmare, or a panic attack, or something’s made her afraid. But she sounds happy enough in her message, even cheerful. 

“Hi Tim. You’re about to judge me but I don’t care. I’m recording this message for Kojo so he doesn’t forget what I sound like. I need you to play this to his ear, okay? Okay, you have three seconds. One, two, three… Hi, Kojo! How’s my good boy! Is Tim treating you well? I bet he is..." 

The message carries on in similar fashion for a couple of minutes. Tim, for some unfathomable reason, listens to the whole thing and judges her intensely for it. She’s ridiculous. But there’s also a part of him that knows he’s going to go home and play it for Kojo anyway.

The days pass by. Lucy keeps leaving voicemails and he keeps listening to them, and one day he blinks and her last shift as his rookie is over. 

Tim lies in bed that night and tries not to think about Lucy, her stupid IED gift and the simple fact that she won’t be in the seat next to him tomorrow. He told her the truth, in that evaluation. He’ll miss her. Her and her dumb voicemails. 

His phone rings, and Tim picks up.

”Go for Bradford.”

”What are you doing?” It’s Lucy. 

“…Answering the phone.”

”What happened to your dumb phone policy?” she demands.

”That’s for rookies. You’re a P2 now, Officer Chen. You get to talk to me.”

”I feel so privileged,” she says. “Now hang up.”

”What?”

”I want to leave you a voicemail! Hang up!”

He chuckles. “You know you can literally just tell me whatever it is right now.”

”I know,” she says, indignant. “Hang up, Officer Bradford.”

Tim knows now when he can win his battles against her. He hangs up. Ignores the phone when it rings, and picks it up only when a new voicemail comes in.

”Hi Tim. You’re annoying, by the way,” Lucy starts. “I’m just calling to say thanks. For everything. I know we gave each other a hard time, and there were days I could have murdered you without a guilty conscience, but you were a good TO. You helped shape me into the cop I am today, and I’m grateful for that. Seriously. Whoever you have as your next rookie is lucky to have you. But I will also be sending them an apology card. And don’t think just because you’re done training me that these voicemails are over, Bradford. You can’t get rid of me that easily.” 

Tim grins at his phone. No, he admits. He really can’t.

Jackson dies. 

It’s difficult watching them lower his casket into the ground. It’s even harder watching Lucy bury her head into Nolan’s shoulder and cry.

He finds her after the ceremony with a plate of cold appetisers in her hand, staring at a picture of Jackson. Tim eases the plate from her grip and she doesn’t resist when he sets it down on the table, doesn’t even blink.

”Lucy,” Tim says, and that seems to startle her into looking at him, her eyes wide and red. 

“He can’t be gone,” she says, voice cracking. “Two days ago he was right here. I made him toast. He complained because I over-toasted it, which is dumb cause you can’t really over-toast toast, that’s the whole point of toast, and I—“

Tim draws her into a hug, not unlike the one they shared the other day in his living room. She presses into his chest, fingers curling into his shirt. He has nothing to say, but he doesn’t think it matters.

Eventually, after a length of time he couldn’t guess even if you held him at gunpoint, Lucy sniffles and pulls back to look up at him. She lets out a watery laugh.

”Would it be totally stupid to leave him a voicemail?”

Tim manages a smile, suddenly overtaken by his affection for her. A selfish, awful part of him is grateful Lucy’s the one standing here and not lying in that coffin. 

“I don’t think that would be stupid at all.”

Tim doesn’t really mean to keep it a secret, but Ashley doesn’t know about Lucy’s voice messages until they’ve been dating for several weeks.

He blinks hazily when Ashley prods him awake. It’s the middle of the night. 

“Ash? You okay?”

”Your phone’s going,” she says, sounding worried. “It’s Lucy.”

Tim sits up, trying to think blearily through the fog of sleep. 

“Where…”

“Here.” Ashley presses the phone into his hand. He glances at her, hesitates, and then pulls a shirt on and gets out of bed, making a beeline for the living room. He shuts the door softly behind him before pressing play. 

“Tim,” says Lucy’s voice. “Sorry it’s late. You don’t have to listen to this one. Tamara and I had a fight, and I just need to vent.” A pause, like she’s waiting for him to end the message. He doesn’t. “She’s just so stubborn, and she thinks she knows what’s best for her. But she’s just a kid, and sometimes she gets herself in these—these reckless situations and I’m so, so scared something’s going to happen to her. I can’t—I can’t let anything happen to her. Not after Jackson. What am I supposed to do, Tim? How am I supposed to keep her safe?”

The message ends. Tim pulls up her contact and starts typing.

You know, Tamara reminds me of someone else we both know.

Lucys respond is almost immediate. Yeah? 

Yeah. Pain in the ass, always getting into dangerous situations no matter how often you yell at her? Sounds pretty familiar.

Ha ha. Very funny.

Tim’s lips twitch down at his phone.

Look, my point is, you turned out fine. Tamara is smart. Give her some credit. If she’s anything like you, she’ll be okay. And if you need someone to scare her straight, I still have a couple Tim Tests up my sleeve.

Lucy’s typing bubble floats on screen for a long time. Then it disappears, and Lucy just says, Thanks, Tim. I really appreciate that.

When he makes his way back to bed, Ashley’s peering anxiously at him.

”Everything okay?”

Tim blinks in surprise. “Yeah. Fine. Just some personal stuff with Lucy.”

”Oh.” Ashley’s voice takes on a funny quality. “So that was nothing to do with the station?”

He frowns at her. “No, the station’s fine. You okay?”

Ashley hesitates. “I don’t know, just… I mean, isn’t it a little weird that Lucy’s calling you at this hour?”

”I don’t—“

”I mean, I don’t know. Maybe Lucy has a little bit of a crush on you? It makes sense. She’s so bright around you, and you spent every day together, and you look like—well, you, so…”

Tim splutters. “Lucy does not have a crush on me. I’m her superior officer. We’re colleagues.”

Ashley looks dubious. “I don’t call my colleagues in the middle of the night with personal issues.”

”We’re friends,” Tim amends. “We’ve been through a lot. We’re… close. I have this rule, for rookies, about using my number. She leaves voicemails instead. It’s—It’s a whole thing,” he finishes lamely. No explanation for whatever he and Lucy have seems appropriate enough to explain to Ashley, no matter how hard he seems to try. 

She seems to read something in his expression that stops her from questioning him any further.

”Okay,” she says finally. “I believe you. You’re a good person, Tim. Let’s just… go back to sleep.”

”Okay,” Tim agrees. They lie there for a while, both pretending like they don’t know the other one isn’t asleep, both pretending like they’re not each thinking hard about the elephant in the room named Lucy Chen.

Lucy hasn’t left Tim a voicemail since they kissed. Since they were Sava and Jake and he had her jaw under his thumb and her soft mouth pliant against his. Since she invited him in—invited him in—and they found Chris on the couch. The fear in her voice will forever be burned into his memories, he knows. Just as the feel of her body pressed against his will be too. 

She’s in Sacramento now, over five hours and four hundred miles away, undergoing a training course he urged her to take. He’s proud of her for going and simultaneously upset that she’s not here, even though it’s selfish. He hadn’t realised how much he wanted Lucy until they kissed that night and now he can’t stop thinking about it, thinking about her. It’s not professional. He’s her superior, and crossing that line goes against every moral or promise he’s ever made for himself. What he’s allowed himself to have already—her friendship, the voicemails, stepping through that door when she asked him to come in—has already been a gross violation of his personal code.

It needs to stop. Yet he’s still here, going through her old voicemails like some sad character in one of those rom-coms Rachel used to make him watch. 

Like some miracle or orchestrated move by God, a notification from Lucy appears on his phone. Tim hits it embarrassingly quickly.

Hi Tim. I know things between us are a little weird right now. But can I leave you a voicemail?

Something in his stomach jumps at the sheer thought that Lucy might be thinking of him at the same time he’s thinking about her. He stares at the phone for a minute before he replies, trying to get his feelings under control before he says anything he can’t take back. 

You never have to ask, Lucy.

Tim takes Kojo for a walk to get his mind off Lucy, which doesn’t really work because it was her damned dog. He has a shower afterwards, which doesn’t really work either, because it makes her think of her taking her shirt off in that Las Vegas hotel bathroom. Finally, after dinner (which annoyingly happened to be Lucy’s favourite food) Tim checks his phone. There’s a voicemail from her.

“Hey Tim.” She sounds a little hesitant, which is quite unlike her. “I hope you’re doing well. UC school is… it’s interesting. I think. I don’t know, everything here is different and the other trainees are really fun, but I—I don’t know. I know it’s a really big opportunity and it feels silly to waste it, but being undercover for my whole life? Only seeing the people I love every couple of months? I don’t know. It just hit me what that would be like. I don’t know if that’s really me.” A pause. “Is this what it was like for Isabel? I don’t know, I think I understand her a little better now. It’s easy to get sucked into this world. I guess I’m just scared that there won’t be anything waiting for me when I eventually make it out. Anyway, uh, sorry for unloading on you. I miss—Kojo. And, you know. Everyone. Don’t let him forget me, okay? I’ll be home soon.” 

Tim wants to pick up the phone and hear her voice in real time. He wants to tell her he’s proud of her and he’s sorry and that he misses her. He wants to tell her that he hates UC work but if she really wanted it he’d do it all again for her, the waiting and praying for her to come home safe, the months without seeing her and the blissful days in between. He’s done it before, for Isabel. He thinks he could stand it again for Lucy, if it makes her happy.

But he told her to move on, and he’s a man of his word. 

Instead, he flicks over to Harper’s contact. 

Hey, can I call in a favour? Will you talk to Lucy about UC work? Think she could use some advice. 

Lucy comes home and things are stilted, in a way. They don’t talk about it, them, and it takes an emergency spinal surgery and a stolen radio for them to finally get back to their normal banter. 

Tim sits in his truck, staring at the radio she’d handed back to him, and tries not to think about Chris and Lucy out at dinner together tonight. 

There is, to his surprise, a voicemail that pops into his inbox. Lucy, of course.

”Hey Tim. Reporting in from the bathroom of a very dodgy looking Mediterranean place. If I’m not in tomorrow, I’ve probably died from food poisoning.” Tim chuckles at her, shaking his head. He hooks his phone up to the radio and lets her voice float through his car as he pulls out of the lot. “Listen, uh, I really am sorry about Ashley. You seemed to really like her. It’s her loss! I hear Tim Bradford is kind of a catch,” she teases. “Anyway, I know it’s not the same, but you’ve always listened to me rant about my problems, and my boyfriends, and my personal issues. So if you want to leave me some voicemails doing the same thing, I won’t tell. It’s really therapeutic, I promise. Or if you want to get a drink and trash-talk Ashley for a while, I’m here for that too. I guess I’m just trying to say… I’m here for you, Tim. The way you always are for me. Just a phone call or a voicemail away. No phone policy required. No ulterior motives attached, I swear. So… yeah. Um, have a good night. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

Tim’s hands falter a little on the steering wheel. It’s a voicemail that sums Lucy up perfectly. Empathetic, a little teasing, hints of awkwardness. From a public bathroom, no less. He swallows, overcome by a swell of sudden affection for her. For Lucy. His old rookie, who somehow wormed his way into his heart and made a home there. 

He pulls over with an odd sense of calmness, reaching for his phone, finding her familiar contact.

Do you want to leave Ofc Lucy Chen a voicemail? his phone asks. Tim hits yes. 

There’s two unread voicemails on his phone this evening when he checks it during the ads for the latest Dodgers game. One from Lucy, and another a couple of hours later, from an unknown number. Something cold settles into Tim’s gut. He knows something is wrong. 

“Hi Tim,” Lucy says. She’s whispering. The fear in her voice has Tim jumping up and searching for his keys instantly. He needs to get to wherever she is. “I don’t know how to say this in a way that won’t make you worry, but I—I’m in a situation right now and it’s looking like it might go south. The bomb squad’s on their way, but I—“

Lucy’s breath hitches and Tim’s suddenly blinded by fear. Bomb squad. He never got any alerts on his phone, nobody contacted him. What the hell is Lucy doing with a bomb, and that was hours ago, and—

“Don’t panic, okay? By the time you’re listening to this, I’m either safe or—or I’m not. However this plays out today, I just want to tell you that—“ A strangled laugh. “I’ve had a blast with you, Tim. You mean something to me. Even the worst parts, where you yelled at me or made me feel small, I wouldn’t give it up for the world. Not a single moment. Not even a second. I love you, Tim. I’ve never loved anyone before, but I think this is what it feels like. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. I’m sorry it’s over voicemail. But you know, I think it’s kind of fitting, and I—“ There’s noise in the background. Lucy’s voice cuts in and out, and when she speaks again her voice is shaking, cracking at all the corners like it does when she’s trying to be strong. “I think I’m out of time. Tell Tamara I love her, okay? And—“

The line goes dead. Tim stares at his phone, horrified, the world spinning in slow motion. 

Lucy. Not Lucy. 

Tim wants to hurl his phone across the room, but there’s another voicemail waiting. His thumb moves on autopilot, his brain and body numb.

“Mr. Bradford, this is the service desk at Shaw Memorial Hospital. We have you listed as an emergency contact for a patient that was admitted today…”

Tim just about kicks down the hospital door when he locates Lucy’s room.

“‘I’ve had a blast with you’?” he barks, aware that his voice into ascending into yelling territory and yet completely unable to stop himself. “Is that supposed to be funny?”

”I thought it was,” Lucy says. “Just trying to lighten the mood, you know.”

She’s sitting on a hospital bed, vaguely covered in dirt but thankfully, miraculously alive. Breathing. Giving him a hard time, like usual. Tim wants to drink in the fact that she’s still alive, but he’s still seeing red and his fingers are still trembling from that damned phone call, and he knows he’s going to be hearing that stupid message in his nightmares for years to come.

”Lighten the mood? You want to lighten the mood when you’re in a building with an explosive? You can’t do that, Chen, you can’t just leave a voicemail—“ His voice cracks. 

“Tim. Tim, look at me.”

He shakes his head. ”No, I can’t, I—“

”Tim,” Lucy says firmly. He looks at her, reluctant. She holds his gaze. His heart rate starts to climb down, closer to its normal resting rate. “I’m sorry,” she says, hoarse. 

Tim breaks. “You can’t do that to me, Lucy.  You know?”

”I know,” she says softly. 

“I’m serious.”

“I know,” she says again. “Do you forgive me?” 

Tim lets out a frustrated noise. “No.”

Lucy smiles, because they both know that he’s lying.

”I am too old, and too at risk of a heart attack, to be worrying about you like that,” Tim tells her. “You pull a stunt like that again, and I’ll…”

She arches an eyebrow at him. “You’ll... what?” she asks, grinning when he doesn’t say anything. “Oh, you’re not that old, Bradford. You’ve got some life in you yet.”

”Not at this rate,” Tim grumbles, wondering just how many grey hairs today has prematurely given him. He crosses his arms, looks away.

”Hey,” Lucy says. “Hey, Tim, I’m okay. Look. I’m alive and well.” His lips thin, and she’s still looking at him. “Touch me,” she says, and Tim's heart stutters for the second time that day.

”Lucy…”

She holds out her arms. “Come here,” she says, quiet. Tim looks at her, really looks at her, and then takes a step in. Another step. Then another, until he’s between her legs. He swallows, throat thick, and his hand comes up and hovers over her shoulder. Lucy grabs it, slides her small fingers in-between his and holds his hand against her cheek. She’s blinking up at him.

”See?” she says, impossibly soft. “I’m here. I’m okay.”

Tim dips his head and knocks it against her forehead. “That voicemail…”

”I know,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

”You should have called,” he tells her. “For that, you call.”

”You wouldn’t have been able to do anything,” Lucy reassures. 

Tim shakes his head. “I don’t want you to say goodbye in a voicemail. If there’s time for me to try and get to you, to be there and do something, anything, I want the opportunity. I don’t want to have to hear about it hours later, knowing that I was watching a game or playing with Kojo while you were in trouble. That’s not how this works. I want to be there, Lucy.” 

“Okay,” Lucy says, eyes searching his for something undefinable. “Next time I’ll call.”

“Just follow the damn phone policy, Chen,” he says, and they both huff in laughter. 

“Your phone policy is stupid,” she says, which he knows is her way of agreeing. He doesn’t say anything, and she frowns at him. “Wow, no comeback? Really?”

Tim reaches up and tucks her hair behind her ear. 

“Lucy. You can give me hell in whatever way, and for however long as you like, as long as you’re alive and here to do it.”

”Oh, you are so gonna regret saying that,” she says, but her eyes are watering. 

Tim finds Lucy in the parking lot, leaning against his car, peering at her phone.

“Don’t scratch the paintwork,” he says, and she looks up, her smile bright when she spots him.

”Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry, I haven’t even left a fingerprint on your baby,” she says.

Tim huffs a small laugh and hoists his bag higher on his shoulder. Looks at her, with her hair down and her plain clothes on, a long skirt he’s seen her wear a couple of times before. 

“Congratulations on the promotion, Detective Chen,” he says. “Wow. That’s gonna take some getting used to.”

”Don’t get too used to it,” Lucy says, coy. “It’s going to be Captain Chen soon.”

“I have no doubt,” he says. It’s clearly not what she was expecting from him, because her smile turns warmer, a little less playful and more touched. “You worked hard, Lucy. You deserve this.”

”Thanks, Tim,” Lucy says. “I look forward to ordering you around the station.”

”Not likely. And also not how ranking works. I still technically have seniority. Boot,” he adds, just for good measure. 

Lucy grins at him. “Who said I was talking about ranking?”

Tim rolls his eyes. Shifts his weight on one foot to the other.

”Look, uh—you want to grab a drink to celebrate?”

“I think you owe me one or five,” Lucy agrees. 

“Bring Chris if you want,” Tim suggests against his better judgement, throwing his bag in the car and putting his phone on the centre console. Lucy coughs a little as she gets into the passenger seat.

”We, uh, we broke up.”

Tim stills. He’s thinking about Lucy’s voicemail, the one that haunts him at night. Her voice telling her she loves him. His mouth goes dry.

”I’m sorry.”

Lucy nods, her lips thinning. She looks out the window and puts her seatbelt on. Tim feels like she’s waiting for him to say something, but there’s no part of him that knows what or how to say it. 

“Crap,” Tim says instead. “I left my license in my locker. I’ll be back in a second. Look after the truck?”

Lucy’s eyes feel heavy watching him. “Okay,” she says. 

Tim thinks about Lucy the whole way to his locker and back. Her and Chris aren’t together anymore. She’s a detective now. She told him she loved him. But Tim knows fear and adrenaline make people say crazy things, and she never mentioned whether she broke up with Chris or it was the other way around. Their professional life might not be on the line anymore, but their personal one is. 

Tim knows he’s lucky to have Lucy in his life. In any capacity. Feelings are dangerous. Feelings might jeopardise that if she doesn’t reciprocate. If she changes her mind. It has to be her move, it has to be her choice…

Tim registers that he’s back at the truck. He shoves those thoughts into the over spilling box in his head reserved specifically for Lucy and climbs in.

”How do you feel about burg—Lucy? You okay?”

Lucy’s staring at him, her fingers clenched around his phone, her eyes wide and mouth slightly ajar.

“You saved them.”

”What?”

”Angela told me to check your save files. My old voicemails. You kept them.”

He shakes his head. Curses Angela for respecting his lack of privacy. ”It’s not a big deal, Chen.”

”Don’t. Don’t call me Chen right now.”

”Lucy…”

”Why?” she interrupts.

”I don’t know,” he says, struggling for an explanation that will make sense other than I love you. “They’re important. I mean… They’re yours. Your words.” 

“You hate it when I talk too much.”

”I don’t know. Guess you grew on me. Like mould.”

”Tim.”

”Come on, Lucy. You don’t want to play this game.”

She shakes her head, still in disbelief. Pretty slow for a newly minted detective, Tim thinks. “Half the time I didn’t even know if you were listening.”

“I was listening.”

Lucy seems to brace herself. She looks at him.

”Tim.”

”Yes, Lucy.” 

“Do you have feelings for me?” she blurts out. “I mean, I feel like you might have feelings for me. You’re overprotective, and you know me too well, and you’ve saved every voicemail I’ve left you over the last two years. Who even does that?”

”Lucy—“

”But I told you I love you and you didn’t say anything. We kissed, I invited you in, and then you told me to move on. Am I getting mixed signals, or should I reconsider my career as a detective, because—“

”Lucy.” She falls silent. “Give me back my phone.”

”I—What?” 

“My phone, Chen,” he orders, holding out his hand. Lucy stares at him and then slowly presses it into his grip. He flicks it on and presses the top number on his speed dial.

“Tim, what are you—“ Lucy’s phone starts to vibrate in her lap. Her eyes are shining.

”Tim, are you—“

”Don’t answer that,” he interrupts. Her mouth parts; he can tell there’s the beginnings of a huge, watery smile creeping onto her face.

His phone buzzes. “Hi, this is Lucy Chen!” it says. “I can’t come to the phone right now, but leave me a message after the tone and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” 

“Hi Lucy,” Tim says into the phone, but his vision has narrowed down to Lucy. Just Lucy. “This is Tim. I’m just calling to say that I love you. I’m proud of you. I saved all your voicemails, and I’ll continue to save them for as long as you’re still willing to leave them for me. And that you should clear your schedule for tonight.”

Tim hangs up the phone. Lucy’s still staring at him, lips parted. His raises his eyebrows at him, pretending like his heart’s not in his throat. 

“Cat got your tongue, Boot?”

Lucy shakes her head. Seems to find her voice. “No,” she says. 

“No?” he teases. 

“Tim,” she says.

“Yes, Lucy,” he says, going for more patience than he actually feels. 

Lucy looks at him. 

“Are you going to kiss me, or do I have to leave a voicemail?”

Tim smiles at her, only her, and knows maybe Isabel was right all those years ago. He does get attached to his rookies. But none like this one, none like Lucy. Because she ignored his phone policy. She found a loophole, and that was as frustrating and endearing to him then as everything she does for him is now. 

“No,” Tim tells her. “You can leave me one later.”

Lucy smiles at him, wide and bright. He leans in over the gearstick. Their first kiss isn’t very good; she’s laughing and he’s smiling a bit too wide and it’s all teeth. But then he ticks two fingers under her chin and draws her in close, bites at her bottom lip, and she’s not laughing anymore. She’s pliant under his touch, she tastes like the Belgian chocolates Nolan gifted her for her promotion and the little responsive noises she makes to his touch are breathy and sweet. He wants more, instantly and forever. But probably not in the car park of their place of employment.

Lucy’s flushed when they pull away. Her hair is a bit messy. 

“Can I have your phone?” she asks. Her lips are swollen. Tim tears his gaze away long enough to give it to her.

“Another voicemail?” he teases.

She shakes her head, taps a few buttons and hands it back to him.

”Nope,” she says.

He glances down at the screen.

Your phone has been set to Do Not Disturb.

He gives Lucy a look, and she shrugs, expression playful.

”Hey, it took us long enough to get here. We can’t chance any interruptions.” She looks up at him and touches his shoulder, just briefly, but meaningful. He feels a little bit hot all over. “Take me home, Tim.”

”So demanding,” he teases, because he can’t help himself. “What if someone needs to reach me?”

Lucy grins at him. “Don’t worry,” she says. “They can leave a voicemail.”