Archive of Our Own ^beta

“You’re sure you’re going to be alright?”

Lucy is only half listening, her glazed eyes zoned out on the city lights shimmering through the window.

She shifts, readjusting the mound of blankets she’d buried herself in like some kind of fortress. A dull throb echoes through her chest but she ignores it. 

She’s been doing her best to ignore a lot of things lately.

The quiet that tries to sneak in whenever she’s alone with her thoughts. The feeling of impending doom that likes to crawl outward from her spine, wrapping its icy tendrils around her chest until she can’t breathe—

Fear of the crippling notion that she might feel this way forever…

Honestly she’s grateful that the painkillers leave her feeling detached. That layer of fuzzy numbness coating everything is like an added security blanket, protecting her from her own mind. Because now that she’s had a chance to actually process—

Jackson’s hand waves in front of her face, only a few inches from her nose.

Lucy startles and the hand immediately withdraws from her field of view.

She blinks, buying herself enough time to paste on a small smile. “Sorry?”

Jackson hovers, his eyes tightening with concern. He perches himself on the edge of the sofa beside her shin. “Maybe I should talk to Grey about—”

Her lips curl into a grimace, his earlier words finally bleeding through. She picks at the downy faux-fur between her fingers. “Rookies don’t get personal days.”

They don’t. 

And yet Jackson had spent the last 3 days getting her situated back at their apartment.

And she still has another week and a half before Grey had alluded she’d even be allowed to step foot in the building.

She still doesn’t understand how she hadn’t been bounced from the program entirely. Or at least held back.

Jackson had told her that that had been the main option the department had been considering— 6 months off until the latest batch of new recruits had had a chance to catch up. She’d graduate half a year behind the rest of her academy classmates. But at least if she could hack it, she’d get to keep her job.

And at least that made sense. 

What didn’t make sense was that instead she’d been given 2 weeks of leave, with a hint that there was the potential for an extension beyond that if she needed it. And the reason that she’d been granted that concession was apparently that Tim had fought for her.

That’s something that she’s still struggling to wrap her head around— The man who had threatened to wash her out more times than she could count, had actually gone into Grey’s office and fought on her behalf, not relenting until he’d had confirmation that she wouldn’t even have to make up any of her lost time.

She’s still struggling to grasp that.

Jackson leans in and she realizes she must have missed something. Again.

Her hands clench as she looks down into her lap. “I appreciate it, I do. But you can’t, Jackson.”

He raises an eyebrow. “If there’s anyone that could manage to swing taking some time off it’s me.”

Lucy scoffs, her lips twisting into a sardonic smirk. “Like you haven’t been given special treatment already? You can’t tell me anyone else would have gotten away with spending 3 days lazing around on the couch with their roommate.” She exhales, her eyes flickering down as she reaches her hand across the blanket, halving the distance to the side of his thigh. “I thought you said you weren’t going to ride your dad’s coattails anyway?”

She regrets the words the second they leave her mouth.

He leans back, shaking his head. “That’s not fair.”

Her heart clenches. She presses her lips together, shrinking back. “You’re right, it wasn’t.”

Jackson exhales, his shoulders relaxing. “I’m just worried about you,” he quietly implores.

She sucks at her bottom lip, letting her hair fall forward to shield her face. “And I appreciate that. But it’s still a no.” He’d messed up enough already in his time as a rookie. She wasn’t going to let him do it again on her behalf. “Grey’s got you and Lopez shifted to nights so that you can take me to appointments during the day. That’s already more than enough. I’ll be fine.”

He studies her for another long, silent moment, then shakes his head and pushes off from the couch. “That lotus root soup your aunt dropped off is still on the stove if you want some,” he shoots over his shoulder, changing the subject.

Lucy slouches further back into the cushions. “Not really hungry,” she answers for the umpteenth time.

She hears him mutter something under his breath, but it isn’t clear and she gets the sense that she doesn’t actually want to know.

So instead she rearranges herself, tucking her toes under the cushion where Jackson had just been sitting, and painstakingly shifting until she can lean her head back on the armrest.

The sudden crack of knuckles across the door startles her enough to make her jump. She sits back up, her brow creasing. “Are you expecting someone?” The last thing she’s in the mood for is psyching herself up to act like she’s fine in front of an unexpected guest, no matter who it is.

Jackson frowns back at her, drying his hands and dropping the towel on the counter as he makes his way to the door. “No, I…” he trails off as he glances through the peephole. His body language shifts, instantly tightening. 

He flips the latch, the door opening with a solid click. “Officer Bradford - I didn’t realize you were stopping by.”

“That’s because this isn’t an official visit.”

Lucy tenses, pushing up so that she can see better over the back of the couch. Jackson still mostly blocks her view of the doorway. There must be some sort of silent exchange between the two men, because a moment later, her roommate steps back. He shoots a quick, apologetic look at her over his shoulder, then retreats further into the apartment. “I’ll be in my room.”

Lucy just stares for a moment as her TO quietly shuts the door and then meets her gaze.

Then a sudden wave of panic washes over her.

Tim Bradford, her hard-ass, no nonsense training officer is standing in her apartment.

She becomes all too aware of the pile of blankets and pillows she’s surrounded herself with. The half used box of kleenex on the coffee table at her side. The way her greasy hair is piled in a messy bun on top of her head… And she becomes so self conscious she can barely even breathe.

Tim takes a few steps further into the room, his eyes scanning over their surroundings, and her cheeks start to burn. 

She has no idea why he’s here. The way Jackson had been talking, it sounded like Tim had been her advocate. And though she’d still been trying to reconcile that, she’d obviously started to believe it.

But with him here she can’t help but start to question everything. Her mind automatically goes on high alert, telling her that this must be some sort of test. One that she obviously has no chance at passing.

She pulls her knees into her chest, and scratches the back of her neck nervously, looking anywhere but at him. “I, umm…” she murmurs, stumbling over her words. “The department gave me a couple weeks off.”

He nods, his hands balled in his pockets beneath hunched shoulders. “I know.”

Her brow furrows in confusion. “Then what are you—”

Tim sighs, looking uncomfortable for a long moment before he gives a subtle jerk of his chin, like he’s trying to shake something off. “Can I sit?” He asks quietly, and she still doesn’t know what to make of anything.

He shuffles his feet awkwardly and it finally clicks that once again, she’s staring.

“Yeah,” she mumbles, then realizes that unless he perches himself on the sofa arm, there’s no actual space available. Blushing, she kicks the blankets around until a small sliver of real estate opens up for him.

He sinks down, still stiff, to rest his elbows on his thighs, his hands clenched tightly together between his knees. His tongue clicks like he’s about to say something, but the words die before they can go anywhere.

She looks away, fiddling with the edge of the cushion in her lap.

“I just wanted to know how you’re doing,” he finally blurts.

Lucy looks up sharply, a little taken aback.

“Never better.”

She doesn’t mean for it to come out the way that it does— with a bitter edge that doesn’t sound anything like her. She presses her lips together, tucking her chin and shuttering her eyes.

The couch shifts beside her. “Lucy, I—”

She squeezes her eyes shut. She’s still not used to hearing him use her actual name. She shakes her head “I’m sorry. That was inappropriate. I just wasn’t expecting to have to see anyone tod—”

His hand lands lightly on her knee, the touch barely there. But it’s enough to stop her apology in its tracks.

“I get it.” His hand withdraws again and she looks up hesitantly. There’s a sheepish cast to his eyes. One that she’s very unused to seeing. His expression pinches. “Okay, maybe I don’t get it , but I—” He shakes his head in frustration. “This isn’t some kind of evaluation. I know Jackson is going back to work tomorrow. I just wanted to make sure you’re going to be okay on your own.”

She recoils, an uncomfortable feeling prickling beneath her skin. It doesn’t matter that she’s had the exact same concern. The fact that her training officer is questioning whether she’ll be able to handle being alone at night in her own apartment instantly puts her on the defensive.

“I’m fine,” she manages to grit out, her expression a stone-cold mask. “I’m not a scared little kid. It’s not like I’m afraid that there’s some kind of monster hiding in the shadows. I’m capable of taking care of myself—”

He holds up a hand. “That’s not what I meant.”

Her mouth dries. Slowly she nods, giving him permission to go on.

He swallows. “I served 2 tours in country. I know what it can be like once everything catches up to you and you’re alone with your thoughts.”

Her eyes widen ever so slightly, a little surprised that he’s revealed that little tidbit about himself without her ever having to ask. 

But then she schools her features again, telling herself that she needs to at least appear like she’s got everything under control.

She sits up a little straighter, only remembering to cover her wince at the last second. It doesn’t matter, she sees Tim clock it anyway - but he doesn’t call her on it.

“I’m handling it. I’ve done my research. Booked appointments on top of the department mandated therapy.”

He nods, his incisor cutting into his lower lip. “I’m glad. But none of that is an instant fix. It takes time.”

The bridge of her nose starts to sear. She knows. She has a damn psych degree after all. She’s well aware that she’s trying to treat herself for PTSD while she’s still in the acute phase of her trauma. She knows how futile that is, even if she can’t admit it out loud.

But she just wants to put it all behind her.

She wipes the cuff of her sweater roughly against her cheek and clears her throat. “Then what are you suggesting?”

It takes him a minute, his eyes still roaming her face with a look she can’t quite put her finger on.

“I wanted to drop by and check in with you after my shift a couple of times… just until you’re back.”

Her eyebrows shoot up before she can stop them, shocked that he’s even offering.

“Only if you’re comfortable with that, of course,” he’s quick to add, leaning away almost as if he’s afraid to crowd her.

Saying she’s a little bewildered is an understatement. She takes a flustered breath, her hands knitting in the blanket, and then she’s stammering a reply before she can even fully think it through. “Yeah— sure… I guess.”

He visibly exhales, the tension that had been thrumming through his body easing off as he relaxes back in his seat. “Good.”

She bites her lip, not sure what exactly she’d gotten herself into. But before she has the chance to get too into her head about it, Tim is speaking again.

“What are you watching?”

She has to do a complete 180 and it takes her longer than she’d like to admit to realize that the tv has been on the whole time.

She stares at the screen dumbly, trying to figure out an answer. An obnoxiously beautiful couple in bright, Nordic patterned sweaters argue in front of a low budget background with obviously fake snow.

She blushes— Jackson must have put on a Hallmark movie. Background noise that’s just pure fluff, without the risk of triggering her in any way.

In all honesty it hadn’t even crossed her mind that it’s almost Christmas.

But having Tim catch her watching something so cheesy and sickeningly sweet… even if she wasn’t actually the one that chose it—

“Uhh—” she stammers unhelpfully.

But the sarcastic remark she’s expecting never comes. Instead he appears to be lost in thought for a moment. Then he wipes his palms down the front of his jeans and stands up. “I should let you rest.”

Her eyebrows scrunch together. She feels about 10 steps behind whatever’s going on.

Tim pats his pockets, checking for his keys and wallet, then looks toward the door.

As an automatic, Lucy moves to stand up, doing her best to hold in a hiss when her ribs pull and throb.

“I’ve got it,” Tim stops her before she can get too far. “I’ll see you soon, Boot.”

The door clicks shut behind him.

Lucy blinks, then slumps back down, wondering what in the world just happened.

***

Her first night on her own is probably the most difficult of her adult life. She keeps every light in the living room turned on, the volume on the tv at a dull roar, and the air conditioning turned on high despite the fact that they’re in the midst of a rare cold snap. She needs the cool breeze against her cheeks. 

Anything to remind her that she’s not in the ground. 

The hours crawl by, but she doesn’t sleep. By the time Jackson comes home exhausted, she’s practically bouncing off the walls. And then she crashes hard. Only to wake up with an impending sense of dread that she’s going to have to do it all over again.

She puts on a brave face so that her roommate won’t second guess leaving for his shift.

Then she resets everything, overwhelming her senses with whatever stimulation she can. Light, sound, air… anything to prevent her from slipping into a nightmare.

Wrapping herself tightly in the thick comforter from her bed, she sinks back into her now well-worn spot on the sofa and zones out, staring blankly toward the windows.

The sun sets. Darkness tries to encroach upon her sanctuary, the shadows creeping and clawing further and further towards her—

She’s shaken from her reverie by an odd thump against the apartment door.

Blinking, she doesn’t move right away, wondering if her mind is playing tricks on her.

But then she hears it again.

Curious, she pushes to her feet and, with the blanket still wrapped around her shoulders, starts the slow trek to the other side of the apartment.

There’s something blocking the peephole when she peers through. Not fully— there’s still light coming through. But whatever it is is so close that it’s too obscured to make out. 

Frowning, she flips the latch and pulls the door open—

And is met by a mass of foliage.

She stares.

Tim pokes his head around the edge of a branch. “Hi.”

If anything her eyebrows climb even higher. “Uh— hi.”

If she was confused before, now she’s downright perplexed.

Tim shuffles his feet, the tree in his arms shaking enough to rain pine needles onto the welcome mat. “Can I come in?”

Still fully at a loss for words, Lucy stumbles a step back, clearing a path.

He edges his way inside then pauses, looking around the busy space. Finally he nods, seeming to have come to a decision. Hoisting the tree a little higher, he lumbers to the far side of the room. Pushing her end table to the side with his foot, he sets it down in the space he’d just created by her wicker chair.

She’s still struggling to come up with something coherent to say. She picks at the cuff of her sweater, her lips puzzling through words without a sound until she finally just forces something out. “What… is that?”

Tim straightens up just enough to meet her gaze. The look he gives her makes her feel like it’s her first day as a rookie officer all over again. “It’s a Christmas tree.”

It somehow makes so much sense… and yet no sense at all. She buys herself time by scratching her forehead. “Okay… but— why-?”

Tim looks just as uncomfortable as her for a moment, before he busies himself with opening the backpack he’d dropped at his feet and pulling out a tree stand, his expression once again hidden. “There’s no way West is gonna have time to pick one up, being a rookie. And considering the storage in this place, I’m willing to bet you don’t have an artificial tree hidden somewhere.”

Her mouth drops open. It’s incredibly sweet— Something that Officer Tim Bradford - pain in her ass since day one, could never be described as.

Tim assembles the pieces together with a clank, then starts manhandling the tree into place.

Lucy shuffles her feet, unable to stop herself from fidgeting. 

Tim doesn’t even glance up. “Got something to say, Boot?”

She bites her lip, popping the joints in her thumbs. She doesn’t want to ruin… whatever this is. But at the same time—

“I—” have never really celebrated Christmas.

She barely manages to stop herself before the words come spilling out, her cheeks flaring to a bright crimson.

There’s no point in ruining his gesture. And besides, the smell of fresh pine already settling in the apartment is nice— Almost grounding in a way. 

She twists her expression into a sheepish smile, hoping he hasn’t picked up on the weird pause in her statement. “— don’t have any lights or decorations.”

She can see the way he struggles to refrain from rolling his eyes, and it lights a small spark of amusement in her.

On a whim, she crosses the room to her closet and grabs a jacket. 

Tim straightens up, brushing needles from his hands. “Where are you going?”

She hurries back to him, hooking her arm through his and tugging him toward the door. “ We are going to the craft store to pick some up.”

His eyes pinch in exasperation, but he doesn’t say no. “Isn’t it closed by now?”

She shrugs a shoulder. “Holiday hours. But still, we should hurry.”

And that’s how she finds herself wandering the aisles at the Michaels on La Brea. She ends up picking out warm white lights, some glittery ribbon, and a package of blue and silver balls - nothing extravagant.

Tim raises an eyebrow, her choices not exactly matching the eclectic theme of the rest of her apartment. But still, he takes the items from her hands and insists on paying.

She freezes for half a second, suddenly wondering how much his actions are motivated by guilt. But that thought isn’t allowed to ruminate, because the annoyed-looking cashier motions them over.

Tim steps forward without a second thought, but Lucy has already snapped back to reality. She places a hand on his forearm, stopping him in his tracks. “Wait. There are coupons.”

She reaches for his phone, fumbling it free from his hand. She would have used her own, but she still doesn’t have one— Caleb had taken her old one and she was doubtful that she’d ever see it again. And she hadn’t yet managed to drum up the motivation to buy a replacement. 

Tim’s screen is already unlocked - he’d been using it when she grabbed it. She doesn’t deliberately mean to spy on what he’d been looking at, but some part of her mind reads through it anyway on autopilot.

She stops midway through opening a separate tab. “Why were you looking up ‘How to celebrate Christmas’?” She asks, a hint of a teasing lilt present in her voice.

But instead of responding with a snarky comment, Tim’s face goes pale, his jaw tightening.

Her heart gives an unpleasant thud in her chest. He still hasn’t answered. She touches his hand gently. “Tim—?”

The cashier makes an impatient noise and Tim blinks, shrugging her off. “Can we talk about this later?” He asks tightly. 

She nods and backs off, quickly looking back at the phone to find the company’s website.

Tim is quiet and closed off all the way back to the apartment, but surprisingly he sticks around to help her decorate the tree. 

She’s grateful. Her ribs pull every time she reaches too high, so she leaves the top half to him, and in the end they’re left with a simple, yet unmistakably festive, tree.

She waits until Tim is gathering up the empty boxes to put in the recycling before she broaches the subject again. “So… do you want to tell me what that was about earlier?”

His jaw ticks, and she’s sure she’s about to get shut down, but instead he shrugs stiffly. “I don’t have a ton of happy Christmas memories from growing up.” He provides cryptically. “Then I joined the army, my sister moved away, and with Isabel… we were both so busy with work that Christmas just wasn’t our thing.” He fiddles with the tape, trying to collapse the cardboard down to send it down the disposal. Anything to avoid seeing her reaction. “I needed a refresher.”

Lucy’s brow furrows as she sits down on the arm of the sofa. “But then why did you-?”

His face pinches. “It’s the holidays. I know it probably feels harder to get in the Christmas spirit right now, but especially after everything that happened, you deserve something nice.”

Her eyes mist over, though she does her best not to let it show. She swallows thickly, finding her voice. “Uh - Christmas has never really been a big thing for me either.” She admits.

He looks like he doesn’t believe her for a second. “You’re like the physical embodiment of holiday cheer.”

The corner of her lips quirks up. She shrugs. “My parents are Taoist. They didn’t really see the point in the holiday beyond volunteering at the local soup kitchen. Once I left for college it was a little different. But we never did much more than a gift exchange between roommates.”

He puts the boxes down, eying the tree in a new light. “Oh.”

“But this is great,” she’s quick to reassure him. Reaching out she touches his hand. “It gives the apartment this added warmth… And the lights…” She trails off, words failing her when her mind takes the opportunity to fixate on the oppressive darkness of the barrel. Her teeth clamp shut and she shakes her head as subtly as she can, trying to rid herself of the memory. Slowly but surely, it passes.

Tim’s shoulders deflate, the tension slowly dissipating from his frame.

Lucy lets her hand drop back into her lap, worrying her lips together as an idea starts to come to her. She rocks back and forth on her seat once, then just blurts it out before she can second guess herself.

“What if we figured it out together?”

Tim still looks a little dazed. “What?”

“Christmas.” Lucy weighs her words, then goes on. “Since we both don’t really know what we’re doing, the way I see it, we’re on an equal playing field. And it’s a win-win. Hopefully we can create some better Christmas memories for you, and it’ll give me something to take my mind off of…”

She sees the moment she wins him over. He goes from poised on the brink of shooting her down, to giving in in an instant. And part of her realizes she should feel bad about that. It’s now impossible to deny that she’s playing into his guilt. 

But she also needs this.

Tim sighs, his eyes rolling to the ceiling, before he shrugs his shoulders. “Fine. I guess we can… wear ugly sweaters and watch the cooking channel or something.”

Lucy snorts, but she just shakes her head with a small grin. Because she knows he’ll put in more effort than that. And she’s going to too.

Without another word she goes into the kitchen and makes herself a mug of tea and Tim a cup of Jackson’s decaf.

Then she motions him over to the couch and they sit down to do a little more research and discuss ideas.

She’s not sure how long they talk, but eventually she must fall asleep.

She startles awake when Jackson’s keys clink against the lock. Tim is gone, but the mugs are sitting on the drying rack by the sink and there’s an extra blanket tucked tightly around her shoulders.

Her roommate raises an eyebrow when he sees the tree in the corner, but doesn’t comment, grumbling instead about drunken idiots and the way everyone seems to be functioning off of a single brain cell around the holidays as he stumbles toward his bed.

As his bedroom door closes, Lucy sits up and runs her fingers across the soft fabric that pools on her lap. It’s the first time she’s slept through until morning since leaving the hospital. A small smile curls along the corners of her lips.

***

If she’d thought that her anxiety had improved after a single night of quiet, she’s soon proven mistaken. 

Everything is too quiet. She’s alone with her thoughts far too often. She starts overthinking everything. Questioning her judgement— How had she let this happen? How had she not seen through Caleb, especially after everything she’d learned on the job?

She throws herself into her therapy appointments, hoping that she’ll find some answers. And when that proves to be relatively futile, she does more of her own research.

By the time that a few days have passed, and Tim finally has some time off, Lucy is eternally grateful that she’d taken him up on his original offer, even if it still feels a little awkward to be spending time with her TO outside of work. She needs a break from her own thoughts.

He shows up right on time - no surprise there - with a bag of takeout tucked under one arm, and an old DVD in his hand.

They’d decided to start with movies— both because it seemed almost impossible to screw up, and also in the hopes that they might find some added inspiration about what kind of activities they should be doing moving forward.

She takes the case from him, reading White Christmas spelled out in a curly font. She flips it over, examining the cover as he starts setting out boxes of Thai.

Her nose wrinkles. “This movie is even older than you.”

He doesn’t look up, his expression a careful stone mask. But he can’t hide the way the tips of his ears turn pink.

“We talked about this. I haven’t watched a lot of Christmas movies. But I remember my mom watching this one when I was home sick from school when I was a kid.”

Lucy continues to study his expression for a moment as she walks over to the tv, but he remains stubbornly stoic. She half shrugs. “I was just expecting you to try to show up with Die Hard.”

He only dignifies that with a humpf, but when she glances back at him over her shoulder, there’s a fond little smile playing at the corners of his lips.

He brings her a plate piled with more food than she could ever even imagine eating, then finds himself a place on the opposite end of the couch.

The tension rolling off of him for the first ten minutes of the film is almost palpable. She catches a few sideways glances in her direction, but when she still hasn’t made any mocking comments after the first song, he slowly starts to ease back.

And the truth is, she wouldn’t know what to say even if she tried. She never would have pegged her TO for the type of guy that would be into the golden age of Hollywood, let alone a musical starring Bing Crosby. But in a weird way, it also kind of works. And that tiny glimpse at a side of him that she didn’t know existed is something she just can’t tease him about.

So she snuggles into her blankets and watches - not just the screen, but Tim’s reactions as well.  Trying to figure him out keeps her mind busy, which is something she sorely needs.

And she can’t help but get invested in the movie as well. There’s something about the charm of it all.

As it comes to a close with the whole cast singing the titular song, she thinks she actually might finally feel warm for the first time in days.

After the credits, Tim insists on making popcorn the ‘only proper way’- in a pot on the stove with some oil. She rolls her eyes, but secretly she’s starting to love his curmudgeonly ways.

When he comes back with the biggest bowl that she owns, she pulls up Elf on a streaming service.

It’s his turn to snort.

“What?” She deadpans, sneaking a kernel and popping it into her mouth.

He shrugs a shoulder. “It’s just more than a little on-brand for you, don’t you think? Although I guess I should be surprised you didn’t pick something animated…”

She makes a face, nudging him with her blanket covered foot and he grins.

“My roommates used to quote this stupid movie all the time. I just want to finally be in on the joke.”

Throwing an arm across the back of the couch, he tosses another handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Sure.”

She kicks him again and spitefully hits the play button. He grins.

The movie is dumb, but in all of the best ways. She enjoys the levity of it, and gets even more of a kick out of the way that Tim seems to be doing everything in his power to keep a straight face— Like he can’t bring himself to allow someone to think he might actually laugh at a joke.

She relaxes, losing herself a little. Which is why it’s all the more disconcerting when it happens.

The kid on the screen is spouting off everyone’s wishes from Santa’s list and suddenly—

‘It’s the gift of something we rarely get in life- clarity—’

She hears his voice in her head, clear as day, and it makes her want to vomit. 

An icy rush floods her system, cold sweat breaking out across the small of her back.

She pulls her knees in a little closer and forces herself to work through one of her breathing exercises. 

Because everything is fine. She’s safe in her apartment, watching a movie about a grown man that thinks he’s an elf and Caleb is lying dead in some coroner’s drawer.

Her heart rate starts to slow, but her side itches . She knows she shouldn’t scratch it— the sooner the damn tattoo heals, the sooner she can get it removed and put it all behind her. But she can’t help herself.

Tim glances in her direction and she stills, her throat going tight. She pastes her lips into a smile, and it must be just believable enough, because he turns back to the screen.

Biting at the inside of her cheek until she tastes copper, she slides her hand under the fabric of her sweater and presses her palm against her ribs until the sensation fades.

And then exhaustion sweeps over her.

She sinks down into the cushions, her head lolling back against the armrest. Belatedly, she realizes that she missed the entire ending of the movie. The credits are rolling, overlaid with some jazzy Christmas music, and a fresh wave of anxiety washes over her. 

She may have managed to pull herself out of whatever doom spiral had been trying to drag her down for the time being, but it’s late… And after what she’s sure are about to be some awkward, stilted goodbyes, she’s going to be alone again.

Except that when Tim reaches over her feet and grabs the remote, he doesn’t turn the tv off. Instead he starts flipping through the other Christmas selections until he pulls up Home Alone.

She presses her thumb into her opposite hand, kneading it as her brow furrows. “Tim, it’s late.”

He doesn’t take his eyes off of the screen as he shrugs a shoulder. “I don’t have anything important to do tomorrow.”

She keeps staring at him. But he just slouches back against the backrest, ignoring her until she gives up.

The adrenalin crash hits her hard and fast, and within half an hour, she can’t seem to keep her eyes open, even if she tried. 

Tim lowers the volume on the TV, but he still doesn’t turn it off, and he doesn’t leave.

A few more slow blinks later, she loses the fight.

This time her sleep isn’t as peaceful. She keeps drifting in and out, though thankfully the nightmares are kept at bay. And through it all, little snippets of different movies weave themselves into the fuzzy, dreamlike state of her mind— The Grinch, and then Frosty the Snowman, and finally Die Hard.

The protective presence that her subconscious has latched onto, calm and steady on the other side of the sofa, is always there. It doesn’t leave until the room is bright again and she wakes up for real to find Jackson sitting at the kitchen counter drinking a coffee. 

He raises his eyebrows at her, a question clear in his eyes.

Running a hand through her tangled mass of curls, she shakes her head.

***

The next day, Tim shows up at her apartment in the middle of the afternoon. Which is a surprise, because Jackson is home and they hadn’t had anything planned.

Lucy fumbles. She’s dressed in only sweatpants and a ratty old shirt, having had the intention to spend the rest of the day watching trashy television after her morning therapy sessions had left her feeling particularly raw. 

Already in an irritable mood, she fails at checking herself before she can let out a less than gracious, “What are you doing here?”

For his part, Tim appears unfazed by her attitude. “Getting you out of your apartment,” he replies, shrugging with his hands in his pockets. 

Her shoulder blades tense together, already feeling defensive. “I’ve left my apartment.”

Tim gives her a look. “For something that wasn’t a scheduled appointment?” He challenges.

Lucy’s mouth opens, but then she snaps it closed and bites her tongue. She could argue back, bringing up the time they’d gone to the store, but they both know that that didn’t count.

Tim nods, knowing he’s won this round. He leans back against the wall beside the door. “Dress warm.”

Grudgingly, she stomps into her bedroom, grumbling under her breath the whole way. But the way she sees it, she doesn’t have much of a choice.

She’s once again wary of Tim’s motives.

That morning she’d received an email from Sergeant Grey, listing her tentative return to work date, pending her receiving clearance after a physical and psychological evaluation.

The date was a full 4 days later than what she’d been expecting.

And the only logical explanation that she could come up with is that Tim must have contacted the watch commander to tell him that she wasn’t ready.

Her little episode during the movie must have been more evident than she’d thought. Which just adds to her frustration.

After throwing on some thick socks over a pair of leggings, and the coziest sweater she owns, she stands there for an added moment, trying to collect herself. Leaning her forehead against the wall, she bumps it once against the plaster, immediately regretting it when the motion echoes with a throb in her swollen cheek.

The only thing she can do is prove him wrong. Show him that - for the most part - she’s handling things. That she’s still herself and she’s still fully capable of being a cop.

On the bright side, it’s easier to feel like herself when she’s actually got something to do.

Pushing off from the wall, she runs her fingers through her hair, pulling it back from her face. She takes a quick glance in the mirror to assure herself she looks at least somewhat put together. The bruises on her temple and cheek have faded to a mottled yellow-green. They’re at a point now that she could cover them up if she wanted to, and for a second, she considers it—

But ultimately, she decides against it.

Let Tim see that it doesn’t bother her. She can deal with people staring at her in public. It isn’t a big deal. She’s ended up battered and bruised from work before.

It’s nothing out of the ordinary.

Just looking at her, no one would suspect that only a little over a week ago she’d allowed herself to fall into the clutches of a psychopath.

She grimaces, shaking her head to clear those thoughts.

She’s fine.

Tim raises an eyebrow when she finally makes her way back out to the main room. “You ready?” He asks, straightening up when she comes into view.

She nods, breezing past him on the way to his truck.

She remains stubbornly silent throughout the drive, despite the fact that she’s itching to ask where they’re going.

But when he pulls into the parking lot of a local animal rescue, everything else melts away in an instant.

She sits up taller in her seat, pulling at the strap of her seatbelt as if that will somehow help her see inside the building. She loves dogs, and just the thought of staring into a pair of big, innocent eyes while she gets the best furry snuggles she could ask for already has her nearly dancing in place.

“You’re not getting me a puppy are you?” She jokes. Obviously that isn’t it. She doubts that Tim would trust her with a goldfish.

A weird look flashes across his face, but it’s easily forgotten when a new idea crosses her mind.

“Wait— Are we getting you a puppy?” She can’t really see it. But at the same time, it feels like a good idea. A dog could soften Tim up in so many ways.

He makes a face, dashing her dreams. “Relax boot. They have a program where you can take one of the dogs out for a few hours and show them a really good day. Animals deserve a little extra joy around the holidays too. And honestly I’d rather hang out with them than people most of the time.”

She rolls her eyes, because that last part is just so Tim . But even his attitude can’t dampen the excitement that she’s feeling for the first time in weeks.

She springs down out of the truck and nearly skips all the way to the front door.

The puppies are sweet, but she knows that they’ll get adopted easily, so she bypasses the playroom and keeps looking.

There are so many dogs to choose from, at first she feels a little overwhelmed. Most of the kennels are full and part of her wishes she could take every single one of them home with her, even though she recognizes how insane that would be.

But then a pair of big brown eyes looking at her from over top of a pair of droopy jowls tug particularly hard on her heartstrings, and she knows that she’s found the one.

Tentatively, she opens the door to his room, then crouches down to make herself as non-threatening as possible.

He looks at her, still curled up glumly on his sleeping mat. But as she gets closer, his little nub of a tail slowly begins to wag.

She grins, holding out her hand for him to sniff.

Tim scoffs from the doorway, looking over the dog’s intake papers. “What - did the person who named him not know how to spell?”

She shoots him a glare over her shoulder. “What’s wrong with Kojo? I think it’s a great name.” She scratches him behind his ears, and he slowly starts to open up, lifting his giant head to give her better access to his chin.

Tim’s nose crinkles, but he just shakes his head, letting the clipboard fall back down on its string. He puts his hands in his pockets, looking out towards the rooms across the hall.

She sits back on her heels, letting Kojo crawl closer to her. He nudges her with his snout, then licks her cheek.

She laughs, reaching an arm around him to scratch his side and he starts to wiggle in place. “Can we take him for a walk?”

Tim whirls back, his surprise clear. “I always pegged you for more of a Shih Tzu type of person. Maybe a Frenchie.”

She holds in a snort. “Did I actually just hear you say the word ‘Frenchie’?”

He doesn’t dignify that with a response. Instead he folds his arms across his chest, looking at her sceptically. “That dog probably weighs as much as you do.”

“He’s been here for 189 days, Tim.”

He shrugs. “People are intimidated by bully breeds.”

She stares him down, unrelenting.

Looking to the ceiling as if he’s praying for patience, he shakes his head. “Fine. I’ll be back.”

Her cheeks start to ache from how widely she’s smiling, but she couldn’t care less. “Did you hear that, Kojo? We’re going to take you on an adventure !”

For his part, once they leave the rescue grounds, Kojo gets excited. He pulls at his lead insistently, making it plain that they’ll be going for a walk before they go anywhere in a vehicle.

Lucy does her best to dig in her heels and lean back anytime he pulls hard, but she’s still sent stumbling at least a few times.

“Chen,” Tim barks, his voice like a low rumble of thunder.

Ahead of him by at least 20 feet, Lucy pretends she doesn’t hear him, allowing Kojo to take her in the direction of a row of palm trees to sniff.

She strolls along lazily for another couple blocks, enjoying the fresh air and the cool breeze on her skin.

But then a cyclist whizzes past with a cat in her backpack and Kojo lunges .

She just barely manages to stay on her feet, hooking her arm around a light post for added leverage.

“Kojo, bad!” She yelps. He keeps barking so loud that there’s no way he could have heard her.

Tim’s shadow looms over her. She bristles, her shoulder blades tensing together.

“Give me the leash.”

“I’m fine,” she grits out, refusing to admit defeat. She gives the grip another futile tug, but Kojo pays her no mind, still bonkers over the feline scent that must be lingering in the air.

“Lucy, unless you want those broken ribs to keep you out for another two weeks, let me take the dog.”

She freezes. She knows Tim had stayed by her side all night at the hospital - Jackson had confirmed as much. But it’s not like he could have been in the room for her actual x-rays. And the doctors hadn’t discussed any of her diagnoses with her while he’d been around.

So either she’s looking at a massive HIPAA violation, or—

She swallows down the burning sensation in her throat. Of course it would all be in her LAPD personnel file. It made perfect sense…

She slowly turns around, her expression tightly shuttered.

Tim is right behind her, so close she almost jumps. She takes a step back, gripping the leash even tighter as she waits.

Tim shifts his feet uncomfortably, appearing to be chewing something over. Eventually he shakes his head.

“I felt them cracking under my hands,” he explains stiffly. And if she didn’t know better, she could swear that his voice wavers ever so slightly as he says it.

Her eyes widen, the implication of his words landing like a blow. But once the sting fades, it brings some clarity.

She instantly softens, her eyes starting to water with a searing burn. He hadn’t talked to her about any of that. About how he had to give her CPR. About what it must have been like searching for her in that barren expanse of desert, knowing that time was running out.

All she’s had to go on up until this point is the look that was on his face when she’d finally opened her eyes, and the way he’d been shaking as he’d lifted her into his lap and crushed her against his chest. 

Tim clears his throat, and any display of emotion that might have been there vanishes, once again hidden behind his stoic mask. Gently, he removes the leash from her hand. A little bolt of electricity tingles through her palm where their skin touches. Letting go, she clenches it into a fist.

And then the moment disappears, as if it never happened.

Tim starts walking again and, taking his lead, Kojo tries to throw himself into a fresh gallop. Tim holds firm, letting out a sharp, low whistle, and the dog instantly stops, looking up at him and waiting.

Lucy would be shocked and impressed, but she’s still reeling.

She’s not sure what she was expecting. One of the things she’s appreciated about these visits from Tim is that he hasn’t made her talk about what happened— At all. It’s been a welcome reprieve from what the rest of her days tended to contain.

But it feels like whatever chance they’d had to maybe connect over their shared experience has already faded like mist under the hot California sun. And the hollow space beneath her sternum aches with an odd sort of longing that she never would have expected would be there.

Tim looks back at her over his shoulder and she shakes herself out of it, blowing out a breath and rolling her shoulders back. Jogging to catch up, she reaches them in only a few strides. 

Kojo trots over to her, leaning against her thigh and pressing his head into her hand and she can’t help but smile. Her chest loosens up and she can breathe again.

“So I know I’m kind of putting you on the spot,” Tim goes on casually, as if nothing had even happened. “But where do you want to take this guy?”

Her grin turns sly. She gives Kojo’s head an affectionate nudge. “Oh, I have ideas.”

Their first stop is the pet store. She takes him to the self-service baths at the back of the shop, and looks up which products will leave his coat feeling the most soft and shiny. 

Then it’s on to a shopping spree.

Lucy doesn’t stop at a new collar. She also grabs an adorable knit sweater and a pair of reindeer antlers on an elasticized headband, because how could anyone pass up on adopting him when he looks that cute?

Then she insists on letting Kojo wander every single aisle of the store, letting him pick out his own toy and a big bone that he can chew on back at the rescue.

Tim watches it all with an amused little smile that she’s sure he thinks he’s kept concealed. But she sees it.

Next, they stop at a food truck. They get Kojo a plain cheeseburger that he devours in 2 big bites, then lies down between their feet as they munch on a basket of fries. 

The final stop she suggests is a fenced in dog park that Tim has pointed out a couple of times while they’ve been on patrol. They let Kojo chase squirrels for a couple of hours until he’s so exhausted he can’t even walk straight.

Once they’re done, he’s so tired that Tim has to physically help him up into the back seat of the truck. Lucy crawls in after him, allowing Kojo to curl up with his head in her lap, his eyes already drifting closed. She runs her fingers along his soft fur, biting into the inside of her lip. She’s already dreading dropping him back off at the shelter. After only a short period of time, she’s already grown attached and she can’t imagine letting him feel abandoned once again.

But she also recognizes that she’s not in a place to take him home. Not now at least. Maybe in a few months once she’s in a better place and things have stabilized at work—

Tim takes a left, in what she’s pretty sure is the opposite direction from the animal rescue and her brow furrows.

She sits up, barely remembering to hold in a dry joke about kidnapping that would have fallen flat for everyone involved.

Tim meets her eyes through the rearview mirror. “Figured we’d hit two birds with one stone today.”

She quirks a challenging eyebrow - considering they hadn’t planned to meet today at all.

Tim goes on as if she hadn’t reacted. “We’ve still got an hour and a half before the rescue closes. Should be just enough time for what I have in mind.”

She tries to shoot a look right through the back of his head. “And what is it you have in mind?”

She could kick him when he just smirks. “You’ll see.”

But then he makes a couple more quick turns and she doesn’t need to ask any more questions— The lights lining the Venice Canals, do all of the explaining themselves.

He finds a parking spot along a side street and Lucy nudges Kojo awake. He totters on his legs dopily for a minute once he’s back on the pavement, but he seems to garner just enough energy to follow along at their sides as they start walking.

Lucy is mezmerized. The lights twinkle off of the water like thousands of blinking stars, far brighter than anything that she’s seen in a city sky. It’s almost magical. She finds herself drawing closer, leaning over the railing of one of the bridges once they stop for a break.

“It really is something, isn’t it?” Tim’s voice rumbles beside her.

She shivers, having almost forgotten he was there. The corners of her lips drift upwards, a wistful feeling spreading warmth along her skin. “Do they do this every year?”

Tim nods, his gaze just as far off as she’s sure hers was a moment ago.

“I had no idea.”

The corner of his lips twitches higher. “One of the perks of working a beat in LA for upwards of twelve years— You get to learn about the little things that make this city special.”

He shrugs. “It’s not like this is a hidden gem, really. But it’s busier earlier in December. This close to the holidays, it’s quiet enough to go for a walk, clear your head… appreciate the beauty of this city even when our job can make it hard to see.”

Her lips part. This is a side of Tim she’s not sure she’s ever seen before. Hanging onto the railing, she rocks her weight from her heels to her toes once, then climbs up onto the bottom wrung, fully leaning out over the barrier. 

Tim lets out a disgruntled huff, and out of the corner of her eye she sees him reach out to steady her before managing to rein himself in. She smirks, then closes her eyes, enjoying the feeling of the breeze ruffling her hair. It really is a gorgeous night, chilly weather notwithstanding.

“I’m glad you brought me here,” she murmurs, turning her chin to look up at him.

He nods, his expression becoming almost shy. 

She’s in the midst of biting down her urge to tease him about it when Kojo lets out a quiet whine. He sits down, leaning over so he can use his back leg to scratch behind his shoulder, and ends up falling over.

Tim laughs under his breath as Lucy hops down, reaching over to help.

“Too lazy to even scratch your own back, huh?”

Lucy shoots him a playful glare. “He’s exhausted.” She turns to Kojo, shifting to cup his face and massage into his thick cheeks. “Going on adventures is hard for a good boy when you’re not used to it, isn’t it?”

Tim shakes his head, but there’s a subtle twist to his lips as he pulls his phone from his back pocket to snap a picture of the two of them.

“What are you doing?”

He gives her a look. “Don’t even try to pretend you don’t want a photo with him. You’ve been making gooey eyes at him all day.”

Heat floods her cheeks, but she doesn’t argue, shifting instead to wrap her arms around his massive body and smile up at Tim as he takes a shot.

He takes a couple of steps back to get a few pictures of them better framed by the lights, but just as he’s finishing up, he mutters a curse. He shakes his head, turning his phone screen so she can see the time. “We’ve got to go.”

A month ago, she never would have believed she’d see the day when she’d see Tim Bradford late for anything. But as they screech into the parking lot 5 minutes after the rescue’s scheduled closing, Tim already hopping out of the vehicle to go sweet talk the front desk as Lucy sneaks past with the dog, she can’t help but chuckle.

But then as she’s bringing Kojo back to his sterile little room, her heart sinks. She places his toy and his bone on his cot, along with the antlers, and then she squats down, opening her arms to him.

He wanders closer, looking up at her with his big, soulful eyes, not understanding, and the bridge of her nose burns. She sniffs, trying to swallow it all down.

It was a losing battle from the get go.

Wiping her eyes on the shoulder of her sweater, she gives Kojo’s side a gentle rub. “I’m sorry.”

She lets out a shuddering breath and keeps petting him until Tim’s shadow looms in the doorway.

Whispering her goodbyes into his neck, Lucy kisses his temple and gives him a final scratch under the chin. Then she drags herself away, knowing it won’t get any easier the longer she stays.

Tim bumps her shoulder with his own as they head to the front door. “He’ll end up in a good home,” he assures her quietly.

Lucy nods, her lips tightly pressed together. That doesn’t make it any less hard.

“Thank you,” she whispers, reaching out to squeeze his elbow.

***

Their next outing is all Lucy’s plan, and it takes a lot of persuading before Tim even agrees.

She wants to go skating .

She’s never been. She’s willing to bet that most people that were born and raised in LA haven’t either - Tim included.

She’d be wrong.

Apparently he’d gone through a hockey phase in his youth, along with every other team sport known to man. 

Whatever small, petty part of her that had wanted to needle Tim, pushing him out of his comfort zone, has to make peace with disappointment really quickly.

But she’s still determined to go for herself . It’s important for her to prove that she can still take risks. That she’s still strong and capable, and Caleb didn’t take anything away from her.

So no matter how much Tim tries to object that it’s a terrible idea and she’s just asking to aggravate her injuries, he eventually caves.

But not before he runs her through a series of tests to ‘check the integrity of her ribs’ that he supposedly learned in the army.

She’s pretty sure he just misses torturing her as her TO. But she wouldn’t dare say that out loud.

Once he’s mostly satisfied, she’s finally able to drag him downtown to check out the holiday rink that’s set up outside the Staples Center (though he grumbles about parking and traffic the whole way).

Lucy has never so much as tried on a pair of skates before. At the rental booth, she automatically gravitates toward the pretty white figure skates that she’s always admired when she’s seen them on tv during the olympics.

Tim grabs her by the arm and steers her over to the hockey skates with a shake of his head. “You’re getting a pair of these. Even if they have to dig to the very back to find your size.”

She pouts. “But figure skates have a pick. I can use that to help me stop. Which seems kind of important when I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“That pick will also send you flying onto your face when ‘you don’t know what you’re doing’. You’re going to learn how to stop properly.”

She sticks her tongue out at him when his back is turned.

Lacing them up seems like a huge hassle, but she bites her tongue and eventually finds a fit that she can live with.

But as soon as she stands up, she realizes that this whole idea might have been a little more challenging than she’d given it credit for. Her ankles shake like she’s trying to walk through a high magnitude earthquake. She’s never had to try to balance on a ⅛” blade before and it shows.

Tim smirks at her, striding past her easily in his own expertly donned gear. “You coming?” He shoots teasingly over his shoulder.

She scuffs her heel in irritation, then wobbles harder, having to reach for the wall for support. Clenching her jaw, she vows not to let him rile her up. It’s pointless, and all it will do is dampen her ability to have a good time.

The first thing Tim teaches her to do is fall and get back up again. The ice bites through the fabric of her jeans, and she ends up with quite a few bruises around her knees that she’s sure are going to smart the next day. But once she can confidently get up without immediately ending up sprawled in a heap again, she understands why it was such an important step.

Next Tim takes her by the forearms and guides her through some swizzles. He skates backwards with an enviable practiced ease, and she bites her bottom lip, a hint of a blush heating the top of her cheeks.

Eventually Tim lets her graduate to pushing off with one foot, and gliding with the other as he guides her around, dodging the other merrymakers as they circle the gigantic tree in the middle of the rink.

Her arches start to cramp, her thighs burning from just trying to keep her upright. But she remains determined.

Tim squeezes her wrists. “You know, all of this would probably feel so much easier to you if you just relaxed.”

She shoots him a withering look, because if she relaxes, the next logical step is her legs are going to immediately fly out in different directions and she’ll go down with all of the grace of a newborn baby giraffe.

But on her next stride, she exhales, forcing some of the tension from her body. And to her surprise it is much easier. After a few more strides, she starts to get the rhythm of it and it all becomes more natural.

Tim lets go, a hint of pride in his eyes, and something flares in the center of her chest. 

She keeps going, speeding up a little, her newfound confidence buoying her—

Until she gets close to the boards and realizes that she still hasn’t learned how to turn or stop.

Her eyes widen, her hands flying out in every direction.

At the last second, she throws herself onto her ass in a panic, letting out a quiet ‘oof’ as she skids until she lightly bumps into the side of the rink.

Tim laughs - a rich sound that she’s certainly not used to hearing, but it warms her. Without much of a fuss, she pushes herself back to her feet and finds her balance again. “Teach me more.”

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but then the corner of his mouth ticks up. “Alright, then.”

Tim is an excellent teacher - which makes sense, given his profession. And he’s much more patient with her than she would have expected. It’s not long before she learns how to hockey stop. Then do forward crossovers. He even makes her try skating backwards a bit, and though she finds that particular skill a little awkward, she enjoys it all.

Within an hour, she’s going off on her own, dodging around couples and kids and revelling in the wind whipping through her hair as she experiences a type of freedom that she’d thought she’d lost forever.

Gliding in a wide arc, she thinks she’s really starting to get the hang of it. She crosses over her feet, managing not to trip in the process, her arms still held out to the side for balance. Then she leans into the curve of the rink a little more, the jazzy bass of the music piping through the speakers seeming to propel her from within.

Glancing over her shoulder, she finds Tim smirking at her. For half a second she thinks maybe he’s about to prank her, but then she notices the way his eyes are glowing with the softest expression she’s ever seen on his face.

It takes her a second, but then she realizes that she’s singing, the lilting lyrics of Silver Bells streaming quietly from her lips—

And a chill rolls down her spine.

She stumbles, her legs suddenly feeling boneless. The next thing she knows, she’s on the ice, the cold piercing through the stiff fabric of her jeans like daggers, but she can barely even feel it.

Because she can’t breathe.

The air is too thin. She gasps and strains, but it’s useless. She can’t pull in oxygen that just isn’t there.

She hears her name like it’s being called from miles away, the sound muffled and distant. Clenching her sweaty hands into fists, she balls them up under her chin, hugging herself tightly as dread settles deep in her bones.

There’s no escape.

Arms wrap underneath her armpits, hauling her back onto her skates. “Up you go,” a soothing voice resonates from over her shoulder. She can feel the vibration of it reverberate in her body.

She blinks, confusion clawing through. She should be alone. The barrel was dark and stifling and cramped… but utterly isolating —

And right now her senses are trying to tell her that she’s none of those things.

“Lock your knees and hang on.”

Reality starts to bleed back into her awareness. Despite his request, Tim is the one that slings her arm around his shoulders, holding it in place while he wraps his other arm securely around her waist, pushing off with a quick, even stride.

The next thing she knows, he’s boosting her over the lip of the rink and half carrying her down the narrow path back to the benches.

He deposits her on a seat, then makes quick work of taking off his own skates before he moves on to unlacing hers.

She becomes more and more aware of her surroundings by the moment. She’s not in the desert, she’s in downtown LA, surrounded by couples and kids and her training officer is untying her skates like she’s 5.

She recoils, mortification racing through her as she pulls her foot back sharply, almost tipping the bench back in the process.

“Lucy.” His hand lands on her knee, solid and firm.

She meets his eyes, even though she doesn’t want to. His expression is nothing but earnest as he looks back at her, and she wants to scream.

“Your hands are shaking. I can do it faster,” he states calmly.

Her gaze flickers down to see that he’s right— An unmistakable tremor is running through her limbs. She clenches her hands back into fists, willing herself to stop even though she knows it’s futile. 

Reluctantly she releases her leg back into his grip, but remains just as tense in every other way.

Sitting back on his heels, he pries her first foot free.

“I’m fine,” she finally manages to grit out, her voice nearly passing for steady.

He doesn’t respond, and that’s almost worse than if he’d berated her.

Her chest tightens, and she finds herself fighting to hold back tears, embarrassing herself even further.

Her second skate added to the pile, Tim pulls away, though the sensation of his touch remains like a burning brand. He swallows, his throat clicking quietly as he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “I can recognize a flashback,” he murmurs, just loud enough for her to hear. “I don’t need an explanation.”

But the thing is, that he does. If she’s going to be back on the street, training under him in a week, he absolutely needs an explanation.

Unless he’s changed his mind— seen how much she’s struggling and decided to wash her out after all.

Even the idea of that makes her want to vomit. If that happens, Caleb may have failed to kill her, but he still will have effectively ended the life she’d been building for herself.

If she wants to have any hope of Tim believing she still might be capable, she needs to start talking. But she doesn’t want to do it here. 

Shoving her feet back into her boots, she stands up on wobbly knees and starts walking. She has no idea where she’s going. Her mind is racing at a thousand miles an hour, an uncomfortable buzz surging beneath the surface of her skin. Her side burns, but she forces herself not to touch it until she can’t stand it any longer, pressing her elbow against the base of her ribs. She knows Tim is following behind her, a protective shadow, intentionally giving her space. Her nails bite into her palms, the sting both sharp and dull at the same time.

Tim veers to the right. She catches the motion out of the corner of her eye, the movement finally snapping her out of her panicked haze enough that she can actually acknowledge her surroundings.

Tim is holding open the door to a quaint, warmly lit cafe. He nods her inside and she finally lets out a breath, her shoulders slumping in a sudden wave of exhaustion that hits her so heavily it’s a struggle to even take the few steps to get her inside.

The place is quiet. She’d wandered to a side street far enough away from the square that it had avoided the crowds. Probably not great for business, but it suits her needs perfectly. 

She’s able to walk right up to the counter without having to wait in line, ordering a hot chocolate and adding a shot of amaretto when she sees the fully stocked shelf of liquor above the coffee bar.

The barista comes back with a mug piled high with whipped cream and topped with tiny curled chocolate shavings. She sees Tim cringe as she’s handed the sugary monstrosity and somehow that manages to win the tiniest uptick in the corners of her lips.

He orders a plain black coffee.

He once again reaches for his wallet, but this time she stops him, holding his wrist firmly as she takes out her own card and swipes it. She’s still having trouble looking at him, so without a word she leads him to a couple of armchairs beside a fake fireplace and sits down, her hands clutched tightly around her mug, trying to absorb its warmth.

Staring into the dark liquid in his cup, Tim waits her out, showing a level of patience she didn’t even think he was capable of outside of a stakeout.

The rich chocolate soothes her from the inside, the buzz of the alcohol mellowing her out just enough to loosen her tongue.

She lets out a quiet huff, running her fingers through her hair and starting to tuck it behind her ear, before she changes her mind and lets it fall forward to shield her face again. Swallowing almost painfully, she tries to find her voice. “I sang.”

Everything stands still for a silent moment. Her vision prisms, and she blinks, a single tear falling heavily to her cheek where it carves a burning path all the way down to her chin. She hopes with everything that she has that he doesn’t see it.

Clearing her throat, she forces herself to go on, her gaze fixed squarely on the wood grain of the table in front of her. “In the barrel— I sang. It… I knew everyone was looking for me and I hoped you would…” She exhales harshly, frustrated with herself. “But the air was getting thin. And I was getting tired. Singing helped me regulate my breathing… Keep track of time… Try to stay awake. And it cut through the oppressive silence .”

She scrubs the heel of her hand across her cheek, then pulls the sleeves of the sweater down over her palms, fiddling with the cuffs under the table. “I don’t know what that was back there. But I swear I’ve been working through all of this. I’ve been doing various forms of exposure therapy and eye movement desensitization and reprocessing, even though it leaves me feeling awful. And mindful breathing has helped pull me out of whatever brief flashbacks I’ve had so far—”

He reaches across the table, halting just short of touching her. But it’s enough to get her attention. She stops rambling, chewing into the inside of her bottom lip instead.

“You don’t owe me an explanation, Chen.”

She finally looks up, her eyes flashing. “I do.” She shakes her head disbelievingly. “You expect me to believe that you’re not going to go back to Grey and tell him about everything you just witnessed? I’ll be lucky if I only get held back 6 months. You’re not going to get back in a shop with a boot you’re afraid could wig out at any second.”

His expression pinches. “Lucy, that isn’t what’s going to happen.”

“Really?” She can’t help but scoff. “You - Tim Bradford - the same guy that lost it at me for failing to report your suicidal ideations that weren’t even real — Aren’t going to march straight into the captain’s office to report that I can’t even hum a Christmas carol without ending up in the fetal position? Right.”

He leans back in his chair. “Nothing happened on duty. There’s no incident report to file. Whatever goes on in your personal life is irrelevant until it actually affects you on the job.”

She shakes her head indignantly, her mouth twisting into a sardonic grin that’s a sharp contrast to the emptiness in her eyes. “Stop. I know that you don’t want a liability dragging you down on patrol. And you shouldn’t—”

“You’re putting in the work. Once you’ve gotten approval from a department shrink, it’s not my place to question that.”

“But you will!” She snaps. “You already are. Don’t try to deny it, Tim. My return to work has already been delayed once since you started your ’check-ins’. You expect me to believe that you didn’t have anything to do with that?”

A muscle in his jaw twitches. His shoulders hunch, drawing into himself slightly. “That wasn’t me. Not fully at least. And it didn’t have anything to do with how you’re coping.”

She lets her hands slap down on the table, both of their mugs rattling on their saucers.

Tim doesn’t rise to the bait, letting her continue to stew for a long beat before he shifts in his seat, his gaze now lowered and firmly fixed on the table in front of him. “If you’re worried that all of this has made me question your suitability to stay in the program, you can stop. If anything, you’ve proven your grit, Chen. 95% of the rookies I’ve trained would have handed in their resignation letters the next morning if they’d gone through what you did. But if anything, you’ve doubled down, pushing yourself even harder to get back on the job. I admire that.

“But I also recognize that this is going to be a process. PTSD is a reality for a lot of people in our profession. It doesn’t mean that they can’t do their jobs and be damn good at them. What’s important is that you learn how to manage it, and that’s going to take time.”

He shakes his head, drumming his fingers along his mug. “Triggers aren’t always rational. They can sneak up on you, especially early on when you’re still figuring everything out. So - you got triggered from singing a song… It makes sense, given your explanation, but now that you’re aware of it, you can flip it on its head.”

She recoils slightly. It’s not that easy, but obviously he knows that. It’s not the right time to get defensive and ignore whatever advice he has to give just because he could use a little more tact.

He shrugs a shoulder, a spark lighting in his eye. “Do you honestly expect me to believe that you, Lucy Chen - ray of sunshine personified, are never going to sing again? Fat chance. So turn it into an act of power. The next time you sing, remind yourself that you’re doing it because you can . And do it deliberately. Hell, you can even hum in the shop for all I care.”

The inner corners of her eyebrows raise as she shoots him a disbelieving look. But he’s won a hint of a smile out of her, which she suspects was the point of that assertion in the first place.

He sits back in his chair, getting more comfortable now that the worst of her distress has visibly passed. He takes a drawn out sip of his coffee then rests the mug on his knee.

“Now, as for your return to work date, it was Grey’s suggestion, but I’ll admit that I backed it. Christmas is always a sea of ugly domestics and wellness checks that end in heartbreak more often than not. I don’t think anyone wanted you to have to deal with that on your first day back. Better to let you have a chance to get your feet wet again before throwing you in deep end headfirst with a cement block tied around your waist. And if you’re worried about missing out on experiencing that as a rookie, believe me— You’ll get more than your fair share of insanity to deal with on New Years.”

Despite herself, she breathes out a laugh, rolling her eyes at his tone.

He smirks, his gaze lowered to shutter the expression in his eyes. After a pause, he sits up taller, looking over his shoulder as if to check to make sure that no one is listening in. Then he leans forward.

“I’m not letting you wash out, Lucy. You have way too much potential for that. So, the only way you’re getting out of the program is if you make that choice.”

Her hands tense, nails scraping against the worn fabric of her armchair. “That isn’t what I want.”

He nods solemnly. “I know it isn’t. So that’s settled.” He downs the rest of his drink, placing the empty cup back on the table, and scrubbing his hands down the outsides of his thighs. “But if you try to tell anyone that I said any of that, I’ll deny it with every fiber of my being.”

She snorts lightly. “I wouldn’t expect anything less, Sir.”

His expression turns almost fond, so brief that if she would have blinked, she would have missed it. “Good.” He starts to stand. “You ready to head back?”

She nods, tidying up before returning their mugs to the counter.

When they arrive back at her apartment, Tim puts the truck in park, but then he pauses, his hand still on the gear shift. He chews into his lips, appearing deep in thought until he finally speaks.

“I work every day from now until the 25th.”

Lucy nods slowly. She hadn’t been fully apprised of his schedule, but it made sense that he’d be working consecutive shifts, followed by a day or two off right before she returned to the station.

“I’ll be fine,” she states calmly. And this time she knows she will be. 

The skin around his eyes creases even further. He swallows. “I know you will be. But we didn’t get to everything that you wanted to do.”

She has to hide her surprise. It had been the last thing on her mind, and she didn’t think that he’d really cared about the trivial list they’d put together.

Her lips part, but she’s not really sure what to say.

He picks at the edge of the stitching on the e-brake for a moment, before stopping himself and balling his hands together between his knees. “I can come by on the 23rd. It might be late by the time I get here, but we can probably get some baking done.”

“You don’t need t—” She trails off when he finally looks at her, his dark eyes seeming to pierce right through her. She searches his face. Whatever protest her brain had been concocting evaporates away when she sees nothing but care in his expression.

“Okay,” she whispers instead.

His shoulders deflate. “Alright then.”

She smiles, and it actually feels genuine. “See you on the 23rd.”

***

She gets started on her own. Tim is working 8 to 8 which means that he probably won’t make it to her apartment before 9, and they’d be lucky if they got anything into the oven before midnight.

So she looks up a couple of recipes (nothing too fancy), then goes to the store to pick up ingredients. 

When she gets back, she starts with the simplest recipe first - just melting candy kisses on pretzels and topping them with an M&M. When that goes off without a hitch, she moves on with a little more confidence.

She’d found supposedly foolproof instructions for peanut brittle, so she whips it together, but then she wavers, thinking. It seemed like a pretty boring recipe, with no real redeeming qualities…

On a whim, she wanders over to her spices.

Half an hour later, she’s a little wary that she might have somehow altered the chemistry of her concoction, ruining it. But when she pulls it out of the fridge and it cracks into jagged shapes just as easily as it should, she breathes out a sigh of relief.

Popping a piece into her mouth, she chews it idly, tilting her head from side to side. It probably came out a little more savory than people would be expecting, but as far as she’s concerned, the flavors work.

Her next project is peppermint brownies.

She eyes the mounds of butter and sugar in her kitchen and ponders what other changes she might be able to include to make things more healthy.

Out comes her newly purchased phone to do some research.

She’s so engrossed in what she’s doing, that she almost misses the knock on her door.

She glances at the clock on her way to open it, a little surprised to see it’s only shortly after 7. Tim gives her a once over as he comes into view, the corner of his lips twitching up when he sees the smear of cocoa powder on her sweater.

“Getting started without me?”

She shrugs, already making her way back to the mixing bowl as he drops his bag by the entryway. “I wanted to have enough time to make a decent spread.” She adds a dash of vanilla. “How’d you get here so early anyway?”

It’s his turn to shrug. “Wade decided to give me a little extra time off before the coming madness I guess,” he answers, though there’s something about his tone that suggests that that’s not quite the truth.

He pops a pretzel into his mouth, chewing methodically for a second before he continues to speak. “What’s still on the to-do list?”

She purses her lips. The batter isn’t as smooth as she’d like it to be. She tries mashing it a bit with the flat of her spoon. “Nothing is set in stone really. But I’ve got all of the basics when it comes to ingredients, so if there’s something you want to try out, we can probably make it work.”

She hears him crunch into a piece of the brittle—

And then try to cover up a cough.

Holding the bowl under her arm, she turns around, cringing a little apologetically. “I should have warned you—”

He holds up a hand, his face slightly red. He forces himself to swallow, his eyes watering. “New recipe?” He manages to rasp.

Her nose wrinkles, the heat of a blush creeping up her neck. “I just added some ginger and turmeric. They’re really good for inflammation and studies have shown turmeric might help with anxiety—”

He steps closer, his eyes roaming over the mess of food littering the counter around her before finally landing on what’s in the bowl.

“God, Chen - what are you doing?”

She makes a face at him, but continues to stir, putting more muscle into it to try to get the ingredients to incorporate. “Making peppermint brownies. They sounded nice.”

He continues to stare at her concoction in mild horror. “Those are not brownie ingredients.”

She stops, setting the bowl down on the counter and putting her hands on her hips. “They might not be traditional, but I looked it up. Black beans can be used as a substitute for flour and avocado is a healthier fat than—”

He reaches around her, snatching up the bowl. “You’re making a brownie , Boot. Not something that’s served with chips and salsa. There should be no redeeming qualities. Period.”

She tries to take it back, but he easily holds it out of her reach, walking it straight to the garbage can and dumping the entirety of the contents in one fell swoop.

She folds her arms over her chest. “What’s so wrong with trying to add a few beneficial ingredients here and there?”

He sets the bowl in the sink with a clack, turning on the hot water at its highest setting to try to blast away any remainder of the offending mixture. “You want something with medicinal properties? Try sugar. Chocolate . Release some dopamine and make yourself feel good. That’s literally the whole point of holiday baking.”

She rocks onto her toes, about to argue some more, but he’s clearly made his point and moved on.

He pulls his phone out of his back pocket, still shaking his head in exasperation as he clicks through various screens. 

“What are you doing?”

He barely glances up, the device already at his ear. “Calling my sister for my mom’s sugar cookie recipe. I figure if she let us help her when I was 5, it must be pretty hard to screw up.”

Her mouth opens again, but he holds up a hand, already turning away.

“Tim!” She all but growls.

“Gen, hi. Listen - I need something…”

He walks away, rifling through her drawers, looking for a pad of paper and a pen.

She stands there silently fuming. It’s been a while since Tim has been able to rile her up this badly. She clenches and unclenches her fists a few times, counting to 10.

Once she’s able to unclench her jaw and she can no longer feel the vein throbbing in her temple, something occurs to her—

A key component of nearly every Christmas movie was family dysfunction. She and Tim may not be family, but they could certainly check that off the list. 

She snorts to herself, then shakes her head derisively. It’s stupid. But then again, so is holding a grudge about some brownies that probably wouldn’t have turned out anyway.

Tim returns, tossing his notes onto the counter. “Eggs, butter, sugar, flour, and vanilla. Also a bit of salt and baking powder. We should be able to scrounge that together, right?”

She raises her eyebrows at him, staring him down.

He does a double take. “What?”

She doesn’t budge. “Really?”

His nostrils flare, but he stands his ground. “You want me to apologize for saving you from yourself?”

She ticks an eyebrow even higher.

He rolls his eyes, pressing his lips together. Sighing in aggravation, he shakes his head. “Fine. I’m sorry I barged in here and barely let you get a word in before I started mocking what you were doing and took over. But I’m not sorry for what I did to that abomination you tried to pass off as a dessert. It was trash.” He leans into his hands on the island. “Good enough?”

Despite herself, the corners of her lips twitch into a smile. “Sure.” She reaches for the paper. “Now let’s see what—”

Shaking his head, he pushes the recipe out of her reach. “Nuh-uh. Your baking privileges have been revoked.” He rounds the counter and takes her by the shoulders, steering her towards a stool and plonking her down firmly. “You can supervise but not touch.”

She pouts at him, but she can feel the wicked twinkle in her eye, eliminating any chance of Tim taking the expression seriously.

He half-assedly clears himself a space, then starts working.

She drums her fingers on the counter, enjoying herself a little too much as she gives him directions to find everything he needs without ever getting up to actually help. She can take malicious compliance to a whole new level when she wants to.

Eventually Tim gives up, his shoulders slumping as he looks to the heavens as if begging for mercy. He levels her with a look. “You can decorate them.”

She grins, bouncing excitedly in place.

He scoffs out a laugh. “That was always going to be your job anyway. If I did it, they’d look worse than if they’d been iced by my 7 year old nephew.”

She doesn’t let that dampen the little flare of triumph that she feels as she dances over to help him put the dough in the fridge.

He works on thumbprint cookies next, then watches her with a fond smile as she pipes elaborate snowflakes onto the sugar cookies once they’ve been baked and cooled. Ostensibly, he’s supposed to be making rum balls, but she catches his eyes on her more often than they’re not.

When they wrap things up for the night, the kitchen looks like a bomb went off in it. He insists on sticking around to help her clean up despite the fact that she knows that he’s due back on shift in only a few hours.

He fights back a yawn as he surveys their bounty. “I think that finally might be enough sugar.”

She bumps him with her hip as she reaches into a drawer to pull out a Tupperware container. “Here. You can take some home to Rachel. That way we’ll be less likely to give ourselves permanent liver damage.”

She freezes. Rachel. She’d barely even thought about her friend in the last two weeks. Hadn’t even tried to reach out to her. 

And she’d been monopolizing nearly every available minute of Tim’s free time.

“Shit. Tell Rach I’m sorry. I never even thought about how I was stealing you away from her during the holidays. I shouldn’t have—” 

Tim lays a hand on her arm, causing her to trail off mid rambled-apology. “Relax. Rachel’s in Sweet Home visiting her folks. And I wouldn’t have been here if I didn’t want to be. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

She sighs in relief, sinking back on her heels. Then she resumes packing up the desserts, her brain still working through the implications.

“If Rachel’s gone, then who are you spending Christmas with?”

He looks at her like she’s crazy. “I’ll be spending it at the station. I have full shifts both today and tomorrow, plus overtime already approved. It’s the right thing to do when everyone else has families to go home to.”

She stares at him, a mixture of sorrow and empathy making a home in the pit of her stomach. She can’t imagine him spending Christmas alone. Especially not after the year he’s had.

Chewing into the chapped skin of her lower lip, she maneuvers a few more cookies into the box.

Then she pauses, keeping her eyes downcast, her expression hidden by the loose locks of hair framing her face. “You should come here.”

It’s his turn to tense, dropping a spatula back into the soapy water in the sink. “What?”

She shrugs, going for nonchalance. “Yeah. I mean— neither one of us is going to get the whole holiday experience if we don’t have Christmas dinner, right? Jackson is spending the night with his family. It’s just going to be me here.”

Technically the Wests had invited her too, but she hadn’t really wanted to go in the first place, and this just gave her a better excuse.

Tim rests his hands on the edge of the sink. “I’ll be lucky if I get off before midnight.”

Lucy shrugs, picking up a towel to start helping with drying. “So it’ll be a late dinner.”

He’s still incredulous. “You’re gonna roast a whole turkey for two people?”

She grimaces. She hadn’t really thought ahead to a menu yet. “Maybe just a chicken.”

He rocks there for a moment apparently thinking it through. But then something almost mirthful crosses his face. “What the heck.” He shakes his head, the skin around his eyes crinkling. “Let’s do it.”

She grins to herself. “Alright then.”

He reaches for the next bowl, then freezes, “Wait - is your cooking anything like your baking?”

She elbows him in the ribs. “No”

He chuckles, the water sloshing as he stumbles half a step to the side. He washes a couple more dishes.

“I think I’ll have DoorDash on standby just in case.”

“Tim!”

***

He makes it to her apartment just shy of 1am. Technically it’s not even Christmas anymore, but it doesn’t matter.

Lucy’s gone all out. She’s lit candles all over her apartment for a warm glow, and added more decorations— a garland over the window and fairy lights anywhere she can manage to put them.

She’d even borrowed a small dining table from her elderly neighbor to create the right, cozy atmosphere.

For dinner she’d found a recipe for a roasted turkey breast that promised it wouldn’t come out dry, and made smaller portions of all of the other staples too— mashed potatoes and gravy, stuffing and a green bean casserole, dinner rolls and brussel sprouts fried with bacon.

Tim had texted her before he left the station, so she’s able to have everything warmed up and ready to serve by the time he walks in the door carrying a bottle of wine.

He looks around, unable to hide the surprise in his expression as he surveys the room and the spread on the table. “It smells amazing in here.”

Heat climbs up the back of her neck. She takes the bottle from him so he can take off his jacket. “Well, hopefully the taste lives up to the hype.”

They tuck in right away. There’s no doubt in her mind that Tim would be starving after such a long shift, and she doesn’t want to waylay him any further.

He lets out an appreciative moan after the first bite. “That’s it - I take back everything that I said. This is delicious.”

She smirks around her own mouthful, her eyes twinkling. “Everything?”

He nudges her foot underneath the table, pursing his lips in mock consternation. “Okay. Not everything.”

She just laughs, taking another sip of her wine.

Once he’s eaten enough to actually take a breath between forkfuls, he begins regaling her with tales about his day (riding with Smitty of all people)—

The man who cut down his neighbor’s prized desert willow, hoping to surprise his new girlfriend with a last minute Christmas tree, and hadn’t even bothered to check if said tree would even fit through his front door.

The entire family that came down with a serious case of food poisoning, that evolved into accusations of deliberate poisoning… When in reality, aunt Phyllis’ jello tuna salad recipe should have just stayed in the 1960s where it belonged.

And finally, the man who had dressed up as Santa then somehow got himself stuck half inside a window while rappelling down from the roof of the wrong house.

That last one has her laughing so hard she ends up with a stitch in her side.

She knows that he’s shielding her from stories of the more emotional calls he’d been on, and a part of her is grateful.

But at the same time, it brings up something else that they still need to talk about. She fiddles with the stem of her empty wine glass, twirling it idly. Chewing into the side of her tongue, she sets it back down. “Tim.”

He looks up, the laugh lines around his eyes still in full effect.

She exhales, trying to find the right words. “Now that I’m going to be back at the station the day after tomorrow, there’s one thing that I still wanted to make sure of.”

Placing his napkin down, he sits back in his chair and gives her his full attention.

She bites into her bottom lip, searching his eyes one last time before diving right in. “These last couple weeks you’ve been amazing to me, and I really can’t thank you enough. I don’t know if I would be ready yet if I hadn’t had you coming by, keeping me grounded. But at the same time—”

Pausing, she takes a deep breath, pressing the the nails of the hand that’s hidden in her lap into her palm until she can feel a sting. “Part of me is worried that on the job you’re going to treat me differently now. That you won’t push me the way you did before. And I don’t want that. No matter how much you piss me off sometimes, I know your methods work, and I need you to push me to be the best cop that I can be.”

His expression is unreadable for a long, tense moment. But then his lips twitch, and he shakes his head, something akin to pride glowing in his eyes. “You’re right. Things are different now. It’s probably going to take us both some time to adjust and figure out how to get back into the right dynamic.”

He shifts, leaning in, his voice going low and teasing. “But do I strike you as someone who would let someone too soft for the job risk their own life and the lives of everyone around them because I’m afraid to hurt their feelings? You step back out on those streets in uniform, I’m still going to have the same expectations I’d have for any other boot.” He nudges her foot again, his expression turning a little wicked. “Knowing that you can’t bake to save your life doesn’t change anything.”

She balls up her napkin, throwing it at his head, her face scrunching up in feigned offense.

He catches it mid air and chuckles, the sound low and smooth. Putting it down beside his own, his expression sobers. “Jokes aside, I understand where you’re coming from, and I appreciate you having the guts to be up front about it. But you don’t have anything to worry about.” He smiles slyly. “You better be on your toes for your first shift, Officer Chen. You’re not going to know what hit you.”

She grins bashfully, feeling the ache in her cheeks. “Good.”

He rocks onto the back legs of his chair, before clunking back down. “Now that that’s settled, can I help you clean up?”

She stands up abruptly, snatching up their plates. “Oh… no— You’ve been on your feet all day. I’ve got it.”

He gets up anyway, at the very least helping her carry the leftovers closer to the fridge. Wiping his hands on his pants, he stands awkwardly for a moment, his eyes skirting to the door and then back to her.

“Dinner really was excellent, Lucy.” He starts, then smirks at his own private joke. “Best Christmas dinner I ever had in fact. But it’s really late and I don’t want to keep you up any later than I already ha—”

She cuts him off, holding up a finger. “Wait.”

She scurries into her bedroom, hurrying back with a large bundle in her arms.

“It’s not Christmas without presents.”

His face goes slack, his mouth forming words though no sound comes out. He runs a hand over his hair. “But I didn’t get you anything.”

She shrugs, not even slightly bothered. “Everything that you’ve done for me over the last two weeks has been the enough of a gift in itself - believe me.”

His eyes soften, the slightest whisper of a blush creeping into his cheeks. “Okay,” he allows softly, his hand still clutching at the back of his neck.

She springs into action before he can get in his head. Stepping forward, she offers what she’d been holding.

It’s a beautiful knit stocking, his name embroidered across the top in large, swooping letters. She’d filled it with a few small things— various Rams and Dodgers Christmas baubles, some chocolate to ‘boost his dopamine’, and a couple of audio books that she thought he might enjoy.

But none of that was the point.

With a timid smile, she ducks forward to try to catch his eyes. “I thought maybe you could use it to start your own traditions… Hang it on your mantle every Christmas. And then one day, when you’re surrounded by your family with stockings of their own, you can look at it and remember your favorite rookie.”

A wistful smile graces his lips, fleeting, before it fades back to his normal, neutral expression. But the glow in his eyes doesn’t fade, no matter how much he might want to hide it. Without a word, he pulls her into a hug. It’s brief, but his arms are strong across her back, cocooning her into his warmth. She melts into it for as long as she dares before they’re both pulling back.

He squeezes her upper arm once before dropping it back down to his side.

“Merry Christmas, Tim.”

He nods, clearing his throat as he juggles his jacket back on and opens the door.

“See you on Friday, Boot.”

She smiles softly, leaning her head against the door frame as she watches him go. “See you Friday, Sir.”