Chapter Text
“You’re ready to go home?”
Home.
His home for now, but their home soon.
He didn’t expect it, or maybe hadn’t allowed himself to imagine that she’d react this way: agreeing to move in right away, happy and excited to move in right away instead of asking for time. And Tim would have given her all the time in the world. Weeks, months; he’d have waited patiently, because he knew that eventually the moment would come.
This is an unexpected gift, and it doesn’t feel like his mind has completely caught up yet. Then again, maybe that’s not that surprising, considering how much has happened in the last twenty-four hours: car chases, stakeouts, getting shot at.
(And thinking for one endless and terrifying moment that Lucy had been hit, and how cruel that would have been after getting her back, after getting everything. But he won’t go there now, because she wasn’t hit; she’s fine, and she’s slipping her arm in his the way she’s done a hundred times before—but not recently. And in thismoment, having her this close, in front of everyone, acknowledging that they’re them again, is all that matters.)
“Although it’s not really my home yet,” Lucy is saying now as they head toward the elevator. (Together. They’re going home together, and part of him can’t wrap his head around it.) “I still have to plan a move and…”
“Shh.” He smiles at her, because how can he not smile at her hearing those words. “Just say yes.”
And there’s a smile on her face too as she looks up at him, that soft and happy smile that he missed so very much.
“Yes.”
Yes.
~~~
She can’t stop touching him.
Even though it’s late afternoon, they stop at a breakfast place they discovered a few weeks before he blew things up; he hasn’t been back since. Not because he avoided it, but because there wasn’t really a point. Now they step through the door together, and again there’s this moment—where Tim can’t quite believe that this is real. Maybe they’re still staking out Wegner’s crew, and he nodded off.
(But he’s never fallen asleep during a stakeout or while he’s on nights, not like some people he knows; somewhere he’s still got one of the T-shirts he had printed, although now he sometimes wonders if he went overboard with the hazing. But then, he knows he’s long past pretending he’s objective when it comes to Lucy.)
So this must be real: her hand on his arm, her head resting on his shoulder as they wait in line. Tim can’t remember the last time he was this happy—definitely not while they were broken up, and maybe not even before. Not like this. He hadn’t realised how some of the stuff he thought he’d dealt with—but hadn’t, not really, not in any way that would have allowed him to truly move on—had weighed him down until the weight was gone.
She’s moving in with him.
She’s moving in with him.
Tim smiles at her as she scans the selection, and she must have sensed it; she glances up, a smile of her own breaking out on her face like the rising sun: bright and radiant. The smile that annoyed him when they first met. And now the smile that makes him want to smile at her in return, because it sparks something in him, like she’s his sun.
And it’s a smile he hasn’t seen in a long time, except perhaps on April Fool’s Day. It’s not entirely his fault, because there were other things too: the failed detective’s exam, dealing with Ridley. But partially, he is to blame.
(And it’s not that he didn’t know breaking up with her would hurt her. He knows heartbreak; it’s the cruellest kind of pain. But he hadn’t expected how much—and when he drove home that night, part of him believed he was doing her a kindness: because she deserved better, deserved someone who wasn’t as broken as he was, someone who wouldn’t inevitably drag her down with him. And because, in that moment, he hadn’t yet understood the real reason, the real why; and only when it was pointed out to him did he recognise it for what it was: punishment. Lucy might have forgiven him for what he’d done, but it would take him a little while longer to fully forgive himself.)
“You look happy,” she says softly.
“I am happy.” And then he presses a gentle kiss to the crown of her head and closes his eyes, inhaling her familiar scent.
~~~
Tim clears away the empty plates while Lucy’s in the bathroom. She must have left the door open; he can hear the water running and, occasionally, her humming. He took a quick shower earlier while the coffee was brewing; after over twenty-four hours on duty he’d wanted to wash the day, and the op, away.
The water stops, but not the humming, and it’s nice: just knowing that she’s here again, in his space, soon to be their space, doing something as mundane as taking a shower. He can’t wait for her to move in and for their lives to become interwoven.
The excitement in her voice, her giddiness when she asked for his keys!
She hasn’t looked at him like this in months, and he smiles at the memory. It’s that new smile, the one he didn’t even know he was capable of—because he didn’t know he was capable of this much happiness. Of feeling this free.
And this relieved.
(For a long, long time he wasn’t sure if there even was a chance. He’d broken her trust and her heart—what if there were no second chances, no hope for reconciliation? Valentine’s Day didn’t bring them closer in the way he so desperately wanted, but—even though he didn’t notice until some time later—it did shift something between them. It might have been miles away from how it used to be, but it started feeling familiar. And then, after their talk in the shop, after hearing her say that she wasn’t looking to see anyone else, that she hadn’t forgiven him yet but eventually would, and after April Fool’s, there was finally a reason to hope.)
And now they’re here.
Tim shuts the dishwasher and starts the cycle, then goes to open the patio doors, picking up a mangled chew toy on the way; Kojo is at Genny’s. Tim isn’t sure who’ll be more excited about Lucy moving in: him or Kojo. The dog loves Lucy, fully and completely—the way only animals and children are capable of. Kojo might only have been with Lucy for a few days, but she’s his favourite—and Tim has a feeling that all of his rules about what his dog (their dog, their dog) should and shouldn’t do are about to go out the window.
And, surprisingly, he doesn’t care at all. Not right now anyway, though he’s pretty sure he will at some point; he’s not a big fan of dog hair on his pillow. Living together will be an adjustment—it always is. Tim’s lived alone long enough to know he’s used to, and likes, living his life a certain way, and that change doesn’t come easy. But he’s determined to make it work: to make space for the woman he loves in every aspect of his life.
It's still warm outside, the sun slanting across the backyard. The grass is too long, and the patio furniture needs power-washing too. Maybe that’s something they can work on together—and slowly turn this place from his home into theirs.
It’s so easy to imagine: sitting out on the patio in the evening as the sky slowly turns dark, her head in his lap and Kojo snoring at their feet.
Lucy is trying to be quiet; maybe she’s trying to catch him by surprise. But he catches the sound of her bare feet moving over the hardwood floor just moments before her arms come around him, her cheek against his back.
“Hey,” she murmurs.
“Hey.”
The sun reflects off the droplets on her still-damp skin; but as he watches, the water slowly evaporates. She splays her hands on his abs, the gesture possessive and intimate and, above all, easy. And how he’s missed these easy touches.
(Valentine’s Day was a gift—but it was also torture. He poured everything he felt but couldn’t say, not then, into the way he held her and touched her—and made love to her that night. It was never just a hook-up in his mind, and maybe that made it worse afterwards when the guilt started creeping in: that he was undeserving, that he hadn’t earned her affection, let alone this even though she’d offered, even though she’d started it. On April Fool’s Day there was no such guilt, just surprise—and urgency because they had a deadline. It was rough, it was messy, it was impatient. And of course he missed having this degree of physical intimacy—but he missed the familiarity between them more. Those easy touches: when she’d pat his arm or his back just because she wanted to, because it’s what they did. And could.)
Now he threads his fingers through hers, smiling, because of course he is; he can’t seem to stop. And he doesn’t want to stop. He turns to kiss her—because he loves kissing her, because finally, finally he can kiss her again. They kissed before getting into their respective cars at the station, they kissed as they stood in line at the breakfast place, they kissed as they set the table: both soft and gentle pecks and deep, deep kisses, the kind that leaves you both satisfied and breathless—and wanting for so much more.
There is a vague idea of how to spend the rest of the day, but Tim doesn’t want to assume anything (he’ll never assume anything again). And it’s not like he cares, not much anyway; she’s here, she’s moving in with him, and that’s all that matters.
But then he truly looks at her, and his breath catches in his throat: she’s looking up at him, that smile pulling softly at her lips, the smile that’s both a tease and a promise—and her hair, still dry, spills down her naked body in dark, sensual waves.