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Tim squints, the hot California sun straining his eyes as it beats down relentlessly. A bead of sweat creeps down the back of his neck before absorbing into the collar of his shirt. He shifts his feet, trying to hide the buildup of nervous energy coursing through his system.
The radio at his belt crackles with static again. Lieutenant Pine shoots him a look and he reluctantly reaches for the dial, turning the volume down slightly. It doesn’t matter. He’s uncannily attuned to the sound of Lucy’s voice, especially after months of straining to hear it come through on the radio while she’d been riding solo.
And today he’s even more on edge than usual. Because someone is targeting cops—
Cops from Mid-Wilshire specifically.
And they’re so damn short staffed that Lucy is hunting down a potential lead on her own.
And Tim knows she’s fully capable of taking care of herself. She can hold her own better than half of the guys that he’d served with in Afghanistan. She’s smart and she’s strong and she can think on her feet faster than anyone he’s ever trained.
But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t worry.
And even though Luke Moran is a non-violent offender, so low on their priority list he barely even warranted a mention, it doesn’t mean she’s safe.
He knows he should be focused on the briefing right now. Pine keeps shooting steely looks in his direction. But he can’t help himself.
They’re right in the middle of the part of working with Metro that he hates the most - the waiting. The unpredictable amount of time where they have no idea how long it’ll be before they’re given the go ahead for their raid, and there’s nothing he can do to stop his mind from wandering to other priorities.
Lucy’s voice comes through the radio again, notifying dispatch that she’d arrived on location.
Tim discretely turns the volume back up, then tries to muffle the action by pressing his forearm against the speaker.
He can’t shake the feeling that nothing about this day feels right. And he’s aware that it’s largely a sick sense of deja vu. He’d read the report on Thorsen— knows how the shot was eerily nearly identical to the trajectory that had killed Jackson West. That it almost seemed staged to evoke something out of them. Some kind of emotional response. An acute sense of failure.
He’s unnerved by the way that Harper’s daughter was taken and inexplicably left unharmed in the bushes outside their house.
He’s downright chilled by the trap they’d nearly walked into earlier in the day. If the specs he’d been given were correct, they could have easily all been killed— torn to shreds by a shrapnel packed bomb.
And still—
All of this is part of something bigger. He knows, but he can’t see it.
And he wishes Lucy was by his side so he didn’t feel quite so off kilter. So he can focus.
Unconsciously, he turns the dial up another notch.
Lieutenant Pine snaps her fingers inches away from his nose, and Tim startles, blinking and falling a step back.
“Glad to see you’re still with us, Sergeant,” she bites out, the creases around her eyes harsh from the tension they’re all drowning in.
Tim shakes his head, finally recognizing that his entire team is staring at him. He scrubs his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Sorry, Ma’am. Won’t happen again.”
She appraises him with a lingering look. “I know you’re tired. We all are. But I need your head in the game, Bradford.”
He nods tightly, tucking his chin to examine the blueprint laid out on the hood of the vehicle in front of him. They’re waiting to move in on Keegan Ray, allowing patrol officers to discreetly clear out most of his apartment complex to limit potential casualties.
Seconds tick by, so loud he can practically hear them. He chews at the inside of his lip, his stomach churning as someone goes over the plan yet again.
Tim’s radio crackles, as piercing as a gunshot, his hand flinching away from it on instinct.
“7-L-19 to dispatch. I’m in an ambush. I’ve got a whole crowd coming toward me. Multiple armed suspects. I need help right now.”
Her words are sharp, edged with determination - but he can hear the undercurrent of fear in her voice.
His heart drops right through the sidewalk.
He doesn’t even stop to think. Let Pine reprimand him later - damn the consequences.
He sprints, unhooking his keys from the pocket of his utility belt and wrenching the door of his truck open. He rips out his ear piece, leaving it dangling and snatches up the radio instead. “Dispatch this is Sergeant Bradford, badge number 3483. Give me 7-L-19’s location, then clear all other traffic from this channel.”
The passenger door opens with a loud click. Tim doesn’t even glance up, too busy listening to the address being raddled off and plotting a course in his mind. “7-L-19 issued a help call at 52101 Santa Rosalia Dr—”
She’s almost 10 minutes away. That’s too far.
He slams the truck into gear, trying to think through any way that he can potentially shave off time.
His tires screech as he takes a corner way too fast, nearly clipping a parked car. The radio is back at his lips. “7-L-19 can you give me a sit rep?”
He clutches the hard plastic even tighter, hoping for a response - how many assailants she’s facing; what kind of weapons they have; what direction she wants backup to come from…
Nothing but static hisses through.
He knows she’s probably busy. He knows that distracting her for even a moment could be fatal.
But he still longs to hear her voice—
Letting him know that she’s still alive. That she isn’t already lying on the ground with a bullet in her head.
He rips down a back alley, hoping to cut across several blocks of busier streets.
“What’s our play here, Sarge?”
Tim’s heart skips a beat. He’d forgotten he wasn’t alone. Mad Dog is sitting beside him, leaning forward in anticipation, his eyes set. And Tim knows that the rest of Metro won’t be far behind— not on a call like this.
But the thing is, he doesn’t have a plan. He has no idea what they’re running into.
His thumb depresses the speaker yet again. “7-L-19 report.” He grits out, darting riskily across a major boulevard with only a short blast of the siren.
The radio crackles, but it’s not the voice he wants to hear.
“Backup units en route. ETA 8 minutes. Aide car and RA on standby. Bomb squad and additional tactical units have been advised to be prepared for a potential situation,” the dispatcher’s voice drones on.
Tim’s jaw clenches. He’s not panicking. His adrenaline is spiking far too high for that. But his chest is still tight. He wishes she could find a way to give him some sort of sign. “Lucy—” He tries again, all thoughts of protocol flying out the window.
A semi backs into the alley right in front of them and Tim is forced to slam on the brakes, the seatbelt burning as it slices across the base of his neck.
“Damnit!” Tim curses, punching the horn sharply. He feels a scream building in his throat.
Mad Dog uses the handle on the door to boost himself up, pulling his upper body out the open window. “By order of the LAPD, clear this roadway - Right the fuck now!” He shouts, locking eyes with the truck's startled driver.
After a second, the truck reverses directions, and Tim is swerving around it, before the way is even fully clear. “We’re coming, Luce,” he grits into the mic, trying to reassure her, gunning the engine as they break free onto the next street.
“Sarge?” His colleague asks again, concern starting to seep into his voice as they near their destination without even the barest inkling of a plan in place.
Tim’s lips part, but he’s still got nothing. And even if he did, he’s not sure he’d be able to find enough focus to summon the words. Because they’re only two blocks out. He can literally see the building she’d called in from.
His eyes frantically scan the facade, searching every window for a clue—
But instead he finds a commotion at the side of the building. A blur of motion on the fire escape.
Tim’s foot grinds unconsciously into the accelerator as he tries to assess the situation.
A flare of pride goes off deep within his chest as soon as he sees her. She’s taken the high ground, created her own version of a fatal funnel, forcing her attackers to come at her more or less in a single file and rendering their riot shields more cumbersome than helpful.
There are already a few bodies sprawled around her feet, but there’s at least five more still coming at her and it’s obvious that she’s taken some heavy hits too. Blood is pouring from her nose, and she keeps one elbow braced tightly against her side as she continues to swing her baton.
The tires squeal and the the smell of burning rubber clogs his throat as he throws the truck into park.
For the barest moment he’s frozen, paralyzed by indecision as he weighs his immediate need to get to her with the logic that grabbing his rifle from the back of the vehicle will allow him to take out her attackers faster and could potentially save her life.
Luckily, Mad Dog makes the decision for him. He’s already out of the truck, opening the AR case and loading the weapon. “Go. I’ll cover you.”
That’s all the permission he needs. Tim jumps down, running for the fence and scaling it in two easy bounds. The rifle cracks behind him and one of the masked men goes down hard.
Tim vaults the railing, his feet flying as he powers his way up the stairs.
Lucy lets out a startled cry and Tim looks up just in time to see a metal pipe come down hard across her shoulder, a sickening crunch ringing out as she falls to her knees, the baton slipping from her hand.
Another shot rings out, her attacker going down in a spray of blood, but the next man is on her in an instant. And somehow there seems to be more. More masked terrors pouring through the doorways of the other floors, coming straight for her.
Lucy scrabbles at her side, pulling her gun free from its holster. But the man on top of her already has his forearm wedged against her throat. Tim is close enough to see the way her eyes widen when her airway is cut off. She struggles, firing wildly. The man just pushes harder, putting his full weight into it.
Tim finally finds himself in the midst of the fray. He grabs the closest assailant, bashing his spine against the metal railing before tipping him over the edge. Then he grabs his gun, firing two quick shots into the next, hitting center mass, not even pausing long enough to watch him fall.
The rifle goes off, then cracks again, bodies falling left and right—
Until the last one standing in his way is the man strangling Lucy. Tim can’t shoot. Not without risking hitting her. Shoving his weapon back into his holster, he grabs the man by his collar and his belt and hauls him back with an amount of strength that surprises even himself. Using one foot, he sweeps the guy's legs out from underneath him and simultaneously shoves him back, sending him tumbling headfirst down the steel steps.
And then Tim is dropping to his knees, the sharp metal of the fire escape biting into his skin, but he doesn’t even feel it.
“Lucy—”
She’s flat on her back, her chest straining up and the muscles in her neck popping out as a high pitched wheeze whistles through her lips. She can’t breathe, her trachea crushed and already swelling to the point that it’s too narrow for her to take in enough air.
Tangling their fingers together, he squeezes tightly, grabbing his radio and pressing the button frantically. “Officer down. Her airway is compromised. We need that RA right now.”
Distantly, he can hear the wail of sirens closing in from all directions and he hopes that one of them is an ambulance. That it’s close enough to save her life.
But at the same time, his world narrows down until it’s only her. Nothing else matters.
Hurriedly, he rips open the Velcro tabs on her vest, trying to take the extra weight off her chest. Then he gathers her into his arms, dragging her into his lap.
“It’s okay, Luce,” he soothes. “Everything is going to be okay. Just hang on.”
Her eyelids flutter then blink back open. But they don’t focus, her pupils blown wide. “-im?” She coughs, flecks of crimson landing on her lips.
He weaves their fingers back together, lifting them to brush a kiss along the back of her hand. “I’m right here, Baby.” He has no idea how his voice sounds so steady, when inside he feels like a supernova is exploding right in the center of his chest.
She licks at her lips, trying to strengthen the raspy croak of her voice. “Kept… my han— s’up.” One corner of her lips quirks up and he can’t help but return the smile, even if it feels like his heart is tearing apart.
“I know you did.” He brushes the loose wisps of her hair back with the tips of his fingers, then leans in and presses his dry lips to her clammy forehead. “You did so good, Luce. I’m proud of you.”
Her eyes glow softly at the praise. She squeezes his hand back weakly. “Love you…”
He nods, his vision blurring as he kisses her cheeks, the tip of her nose. “I love you too, Luce. But you’re not going anywhere, you hear me? Help is on the way. You’ve gotta hang on.”
He shouldn’t have let her go alone. He should have been by her side this whole time. He’d known. Deep down in his bones, some part of him had known.
The stridor of her breathing is so loud in his ears that he notices immediately when it stops. “Lucy?” She’s unnaturally still, her skin paling more by the second, her lips a frightening shade of blue. “No.” He lowers her back to the ground, turning his head to hover over her parted lips on autopilot, watching her chest even though he already knows what he’ll see. “No, Baby. Please don’t do this—”
His next breath catches in his throat. He can’t do this again. Not now. Not when they’ve just started their life together.
But he has to.
He tilts her head back, pinches her nose, shuts down any negative thoughts when his rescue breaths don’t go anywhere - blocked by the swelling in her throat. He locks his elbows, finds the center of her sternum, and starts pumping.
A tear trickles down his cheek, landing heavily near her collar bone and rolling across her skin. “Come on, Lucy,” he pants between compressions. “Come on.”
The heavy clomp of boots echoes around him. He doesn’t know if they belong to friends or foes. It doesn’t matter. All he can do is keep going - keep her heart beating when she can’t do it herself.
“Tim.”
His jaw clenches until his teeth feel like they’re going to splinter, his hands starting to slip in his own sweat, but still he works, pumping her chest like it’s his singular purpose.
“Tim—” Hands hook under his armpits, hauling him back, and his fists clench, ready to start swinging. But when he blinks, he recognizes faces— Nolan’s concerned eyes staring back at him; Harper calling in a mass casualty incident; Bailey and her partner cutting away Lucy’s clothes and placing the AED pads on her chest.
He scrabbles forward, reaching for her limp hand, but John’s arms lock around him, holding him back just as Bailey calls clear.
They all wait. No one moves.
Bailey shakes her head, resuming compressions. They try again.
“We’ve got her.”
Tim sags— Would have collapsed if Nolan hadn’t been propping him up. “Her throat’s been crushed,” he stumbles over his words, frantic to explain. “You need to secure her airway—”
Bailey doesn’t look back or acknowledge him, but she grabs an ET tube from her jump bag, efficiently working to get it in place. Once Lucy has been properly bagged and loaded onto a backboard, they start the difficult task of getting her down the stairs while still keeping her breathing.
Tim lunges to follow, but Nolan’s grip only tightens, refusing to let him go. “They need the room to work.” The older man steadies Tim’s elbow, guiding him to one of the shops haphazardly strewn half on the sidewalk. “I’ll drive you.”
Tim spends the next few weeks glued to Lucy’s side… through surgeries and doctor’s rounds and long, lonely, sleepless nights.
He knows he should be worried that the group that they’d been trying to trace went suddenly silent. That it should bother him that they still don’t know the endgame.
Instead, all he has room for is a feeling of terror.
He’s heard it so many times before— That once a ventilator goes in, there’s a significant chance that it’ll never come back out.
That even though she fought and survived and has been receiving amazing care, he could still lose her.
But he still hopes. Lucy is young. She’s resilient. She’s a fighter through and through. He knows she’ll pull through. No other outcome makes sense.
So he waits.
And he holds her hand.
And as he’s sitting there, examining the almost garishly bright rainbow of colors that Tamara had painted across Lucy’s nails despite the nurses’ protests, she finally starts to wake.
It takes a while for her to fully reach consciousness. When she does, he’s expecting panic or confusion or maybe even a blank stare.
Instead, as they lock eyes, the corners of her lips twitch up and he feels a rush of warmth wash over him as he sinks into their dark, sparkling depths.
And it’s like every cell in his body exhales.
Because he can finally breathe again.