Chapter Text
Thirty-seven-year-old Tim Bradford languidly made his way to his silver four door truck one humid Friday evening. He'd just clocked out of work and saying he was exhausted would have been the understatement of the century. He felt like death run over this evening and he ached from his neck all the way down to the tips of his toes.
Tim was a police officer, he and Lucy both were, and they’d been living and working in L.A. for the last 10 years and at times, their job was extremely mentally and physically taxing, and well, today was one of those days.
Not that he minded. He loved his job. He loved the physicality of it, he’d never been the type of person who’d be content at a desk job. He loved the constant challenges it provided him with and how every day brought something new. He even loved the way it allowed him to help people in need.
But that didn’t mean that sometimes it didn’t take a toll on his body and mind, and over the years, he’d left work a few new scars on his body.
And his body held some old scars that were not so work related. Scars he preferred to forget.
He wouldn't complain, though. Even if he was worn out, he was grateful for this job. It paid decently. Not great, but decent enough it allowed him to put a down payment on that small three-bedroom house he and Lucy shared. Decent enough it allowed him to put food on the table and pay his bills each month. Decent enough that it provided him with health insurance.
Decent enough that his wife always told him how proud she was of him for having it. How proud she was of the level of work he did and how much of himself he put into his job. Mostly, how proud she was of him for how hard he worked and how much he sacrificed for her, for them.
Honestly, her being proud of him was worth more to him than any paycheck ever would be. More than any house they could live in. Than any amount of health insurance anyone could offer.
His wife meant more to him than anything in this world.
He'd do anything for her.
To know she was safe, to see her smile, to feel her arms wrapped around him at night.
Lucy was his world. Plain and simple. And she had been for the past fifteen years. She would be for the rest of his life, and beyond.
Having this job, busting his ass day in and day out, it was worth it all. Because it allowed him to give her all those things that seemed trivial in comparison to her overall importance to him.
But those seemingly trivial things, they were things she deserved. The house they lived in, the car she drove, the food in their refrigerator,, even the health insurance that made sure they were both able to stay as healthy as can be, they wouldn't be possible without this job.
So, he'd keep doing what he was doing, without complaint or hesitation, to make sure she got the life she deserved.
And truthfully, he wished he was able to give her more. So damn much more.
Even if she was part of the reason he was feeling a little more exhausted than normal today.
***Around 3:00 a.m., Friday morning***
Tim was sleeping soundly, resting on his side, one arm underneath his pillow and the other covering his face. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a loud retching noise startled him awake. He shook his head and popped up in bed, blinking rapidly in an attempt to adjust his eyes to the darkness. He scanned them to the spot on the bed next to him where his wife was laying when he'd fallen asleep. Now she was no longer there. The covers ruffled back, an indention still in her pillow, sheets still warm. His eyes flicked around the room and he noticed a faint light emitting from underneath the closed bathroom door.
He propped himself up on his elbows. "Lucy," he called out, his voice still husky with sleep."Are you all right?"
She retched again, and a loud splash echoed the room as she emptied more contents from her gut into the toilet. She moaned as an unpleasant pain coiled in her belly and bile threatened to rise in her throat again. Reaching for a hand towel, she wiped her mouth before answering her husband.
"In the bathroom," she cried out, eyes watering. It was an unfortunate reaction that seemed to occur any time she vomited. She wiped at the corner of her damp eyes and slowly peered up as the sound of the bathroom creaking open caught her attention.
Tim stood in front of her, only clad in a black pair of boxer briefs. A pair he'd just pulled on. He'd fallen asleep in the nude, they both had after a passionate moment between them only three or four hours before. She'd been just fine then. Just as eager and lively as he, and after they were done she cuddled against his chest, tracing sensual, slow circles just below his navel as he drifted off to dreamland with her in his arms. Now she was huddled next to the toilet wearing her black, floral kimono, looking every bit as miserable as she did pitiful.
"What's wrong, sweetheart?" he mumbled, rubbing at his eyes with his palms, his feet drifting him closer into her space. He moved behind her, taking a seat on the edge of their white, porcelain tub and began to massage the back of her neck.
She groaned as her stomach lurched. "Woke up feeling sick to my stomach. Tried to fight it off as long as I could and go back to sleep. Didn't work.”
He continued rubbing the back of her neck tenderly. He stifled a yawn and blinked hard, fighting with himself not to pass out and fall backwards into the tub. "Probably got what Jack and Erin had. I figured one of us would."
Jack and Erin belonged to their friends, Angela and Wesley. Angela worked with them as a detective with the L.A.P.D. and Wesley was an assistant district attorney.
Their friends had asked Lucy if they could watch the kids while they went to some sort of charity event that Wesley’s mom was hosting. Lucy readily agreed without even consulting Tim on the matter. She adored Jack and Erin. Hell, she loved children in general. But those two kids had a special place in her heart. Truthfully, Tim was quite fond of them himself, even if he didn’t openly admit it.
Problem was, two hours into babysitting both kids started puking their guts out. Angela and Wesley high-tailed it home, but the damage had been done by the time they got there. Lucy had been working clean-up duty, and despite using so much Lysol their home smelled lemony fresh for days, Timl had a feeling the bug those kids had was gonna hit their home sooner or later. That feeling only intensified when Angela and Wesley came down with the same symptoms over the next two days.
"You're probably right," she weakly agreed. Her stomach knotted again, and she lunged herself forward, wrapping her arms tightly around the base of the toilet as she heaved.
"Sorry you feel bad. I wish it was me," he told her softly, moving his hand down to her back and circling it over the outside of her kimono. And he meant what he said. Seeing her in pain, seeing her suffer in any way, it ripped at his heart. He'd rather be the one hugging the toilet right now. "Can I do anything for you?"
She grabbed the hand towel and wiped her mouth again before looking up at him. "Cup of water and mouthwash?" She asked with weary eyes.
"Mmmhmm. On it," he replied, moving to stand. He bent down and kissed the top of her head. "Then I'm gonna start a hot shower and get you some Pepto." He paused before turning to walk off, realizing he wasn't the one in charge of purchases like that and finding himself unsure of whether-or-not they actually had any on hand. "Uhhh—we have some of that, don't we?"
She forced a faint smile at her husband. "In the medicine cabinet. Grab the tablets, please."
He nodded. "Be right back."
()()()()()()()()()()
After rinsing her mouth out, downing the tablets, and soaking in a hot shower, Lucy was finally comfortable enough to crawl back in bed and drift off to sleep. Tim cradled her next to him, ready and willing to do anything she wanted or needed him to if she woke up sick again. He found he wasn't able to fall back asleep himself, and he'd been right next to her when she woke up again at 6, repeating the same process she'd gone through at 3.
When it was over she actually tried to get dressed and go to work.
"Nu-uh," Tim insisted firmly as he gently pushed her back into bed. "You're calling in. No way you’re going in like this.”
"I'll be fine," she tried to argue, her voice not conveying the enthusiasm she was trying to pull off. "It was just a little bug. I'm over it."
"No, you aren't. Baby, you were literally just hurling again. You can't work like that.”
She flitted her eyes down to their silky, queen comforter. "It might not be a bug..."
"No?" He bit back a laugh at her seemingly feeble attempt to talk him into thinking it was a good idea for her to go work. "What do you think it is then?"
Her glassy brown eyes met his amused blue ones, an almost terrified sort of hope hidden behind them. She gnawed nervously at her bottom lip. "It could be..."
"Lucy..." He cut her off, swiping a hand over his face when he realized how harsh his tone had been. "Don't. Please?" His voice dipped below a whisper and he could feel it threatening to crack. "Please–just–don't, baby.." He moved to sit beside her on the bed and pulled her into a tight embrace, her head fell on his shoulder and he rested his cheek on top of her head. "I love you."
"I love you, too," She choked out, and he could tell she was fighting back tears. "Thank you for taking care of me while I'm all pukey and gross."
"I’m always gonna take care of you." He kissed the top of her head again. "You need to rest today. Get over this bug as quickly as you can. Stay home. Watch some of those True Crime Docs you love. Sleep. Just focus on feeling better. I'll see if Tamara can stop by and check on you around lunch."
"I know you will and you're right," she reluctantly agreed, tightening her grip around him. "But I'll be fine on my own. Tamara doesn't have to stop by."
"Yeah? Well, she isn't gonna mind and I'd feel better if she did." He let go of her and reached over her to where her night stand was. She always kept a notepad there. Jotting down stuff she'd think of they needed for the house. Planning short vacations. Getting the grocery list ready. Whatever she was thinking at the moment, she jotted it down, so she wouldn't let it slip her mind. He retrieved her note pad and pen and handed them to her.
"I'm gonna get ready for work. Make me a list of anything you think you'll need. I'll stop by the store and pick it up on my way home." He scratched at his head, not exactly sure what sort of things she might need. She was usually the one that took care of him while he was sick because she was almost never sick herself. "Just– uh–whatever you think you might be able to eat, stuff like that."
()()()()()()()()()()()()()
Tim called Lucy on his lunch break to check up on her, and he had to admit, the overall tone in her voice sounded much brighter than it had this morning. She told him she hadn't had another episode since he left this morning and that she'd been taking it easy today, knowing he'd scold her if she said anything less.
Lucy wasn't the type to stay laid up in bed all day. Even when she was sick. Cleaning, cooking, painting, reading, tending to her plants, she was the kind of person who always had to be doing something.
But she promised him on the phone that today was one of the rare occasions she'd actually taken a day off and done nothing at all. Other than focus on feeling better, just like he'd wanted her to do. Tamara had still been at their place when he called, and he could hear her yelling in the background to corroborate Lucy’s story. He'd chuckled at that and let his wife go so he could finish his lunch.
He pulled the door of his truck open and climbed in the driver's seat, eager to get home. He wanted to crawl in bed next to Lucy and relax some himself. Three hours of sleep just wasn't sufficient enough to get through a work day like his.
He moved the key into the ignition, having every intention of driving himself home as soon as he slipped the truck into drive. "Shit," he mumbled to himself before moving the truck out of park. He'd almost forgotten that list he'd told Lucy to make him before he left for work. Good thing he wound up remembering.
He slipped his left hand off the steering wheel and into the pocket of his jeans to retrieve the folded slip of paper. He slowly unfolded the now wrinkled slip of paper and scanned his eyes over the few items she'd jotted down in her impeccable cursive manuscript that put his chicken scratch to shame. He began to quietly read them off to himself, one by one. "Ginger Ale or Sprite, chicken broth, chicken noodle or veggie soup, bananas, garlic," he paused as he reached the last item and his own voice was troubled when he finally read the words aloud, "EPT?"
He stared blankly at the last word for a moment before crumbling the piece of paper into a ball and throwing it at the other end of the truck in a fit of anger. Both hands gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white and he let his head fall on the horn. A loud honk filled the parking lot, but the sound fell deaf on Tim's ears. He was too preoccupied by the sharp pain in his gut. It was like a hot knife was being jabbed into him, twisted and turned.
Why the hell had she put that on there?
She knew better.
He'd known that was what she was thinking earlier. When she tried to suggest it could be something else. And he'd told her not to. Almost begged her to stop. But she'd put it on there anyway.
It wasn't that he was angry at her for thinking it. It wasn't that he didn't want a baby. It was the simple fact that they both knew how that test was gonna turn out and he knew that the result was going to crush her. It always did. A little more each time.
See, to understand what he was feeling right now you'd have to understand their story. And the start of that story began a little over 15 years ago.
He'd met Lucy when he was only 22 years old. He was in a bad way back then. In a terrible place emotionally and financially.
****Roughly 15 years ago****
Tim walked into the diner, eyes trained on the tile floor as he slipped himself into a pale, yellow booth. He grabbed a menu that was sitting in a spice rack at the end of the booth and started thumbing through it.
"Hi there. What can I get you to drink?" A sweet female voice asked.
"Coffee," he muttered, not bothering to look away from his menu and up towards the pleasant-sounding voice that had spoken to him.
The waitress jotted the coffee down and hovered next to him. "Anything else? Do you know what you want yet? If you aren't sure, I'd recommend our Patty Melt."
"Yeah. Whatever," he muttered, still not bothering to look up at her.
The waitress arched a brow, pausing her hand, the tip of her pen centimeters above the pad. "So…you do want a Patty Melt?"
"I said whatever," he growled. "Patty Melt's fine. Just take my order and leave me alone." He heard her clear her throat and after a moment, he assumed she was jotting his order down, she'd told him, "Be right back with that, sir."
He'd pushed the menu to the side and folded his arms on top of the table, resting his head atop them. His eyes darted around the diner, noticing it was completely empty other than him and whoever the hell was working here. That was just fine and dandy, because the mood he was in wasn't one where he was up for hearing much noise and racket from other people. He just wanted to get his belly full and go pass the fuck out in that shitty motel. Maybe he'd find a liquor store when he left here and help himself along with that passing out part, sleep hadn't been coming easy for him these days.
Ten minutes later the waitress had returned. "Order's ready," she informed him. First slipping his cup of coffee in front of him and then the plate with his Pattymelt. He hadn't asked for fries, but the plate was loaded down with them.
Tim still hadn't bothered looking at the woman, only catching a glimpse of the pale blue outfit she had on out of his peripherals. He didn't bother to tell her thank you and he'd made up his mind to not lift his head and dig in until she was gone. He wasn't sure why he was being such a dick to her, she hadn't done anything to him, but people had treated him like shit ever since they found out what his father had done, and he was over being nice. Especially to someone he was likely to never see again.
He was surprised when, instead of leaving, he caught a glimpse of her slipping into the seat in front of him.
"I don't know you and I don't know what's wrong," she said softly, reaching out and placing a comforting hand over his forearm. "But whatever it is, it'll get better. It won't always be like this." She pulled her arm away once she felt him tense and placed her hands in her lap.
"The hell do you know about it," he snapped, popping his head up, finally seeing this woman for the first time. This woman with flawless skin and long curls that were pulled back into a ponytail, and shimmering brown eyes that bore an unfamiliar kindness in them. He was struck by how beautiful she was, and he regretted his tone now that he was actually looking at her. Acknowledging her presence as a person. She'd done nothing to him. She hadn't deserved to be talked to the way he had spoken to her. But she hadn't flinched, she hadn't backed away, she sat there in front of him, staring deep into his eyes, and he almost thought that her gaze would be able to penetrate all the way to his soul.
"I know because I've been there," she told him tenderly. "I once reached a point in my life when I lost everything. EVERYTHING," she repeated for emphasis. "I had nothing. I thought I was nothing. I was angry and sad, and I had nowhere to turn. No one to run to. No money. No job. No...," She trailed off and her voice cracked. She paused to steady it. "That part doesn't matter. What does matter is that it got better. You just, you’ve gotta have hope. If you don't, what are you really living for?"
"Don't know that I am," he muttered, propping his elbows up and resting his head in his hands. "Hey, uh, sorry I yelled at you and acted like a dick. It’s been a shitty few weeks for me. But that isn’t your fault."
"No, it's not," she agreed. "But you're human. We all make mistakes."
"Yeah, sometimes ones we can't come back from," he muttered ruefully, feeling anger at his father for his poor choices and how those choices have always affected him.
"You can always come back. Whatever you did–you can always come back from it. Make it right."
"What about when it's something someone else did?"
She pursed her lips. "Then that's not on you," she simply said. "Take it from someone who spent far too long blaming herself for someone else's issues, what other people do isn't on you." She glanced up at the clock and then around the diner, which was still empty. "I get off in fifteen minutes, but it doesn't look like anyone's coming in between now and then. Would you like me to keep you company while you eat? Sometimes, well, sometimes I think you just need somebody to talk to. Somebody to listen. Even if you don't wanna say anything–-sometimes it's just nice to have someone there."
Tim picked up a French Fry and fiddled it between his fingers. "You aren't gonna get in trouble, are you?"
She shook her head. "It'll be fine. The manager's a friend of mine. Besides, customer satisfaction is our top priority," she grinned.
Her smile was radiant, intoxicating even, and it caused a reaction in him he hadn't experienced in a long, long time. His stomach flip-flopped and filled with butterflies as the corner of his lip twitched into a half grin.
"I'm Lucy, by the way," she extended her hand to him. "Figure if I'm gonna keep sitting with you, you may as well know my name."
He gave her a firm shake and nodded. "Tim."
***End of Flashback***