Chapter Text
The drive back from Vegas is quiet.
Tim glances over at Lucy, who's fallen asleep against the passenger window, her face peaceful in a way it hasn't been for the past two days. Her hair falls across her cheek, and his fingers itch to brush it back, to feel the softness of her skin beneath his fingers.
He grips the steering wheel tighter instead.
For the first hour of their drive, they'd filled the car with mindless chatter, desperate small talk about the case, about food, about anything and everything except the thing they really needed to talk about. Lucy had even tried to make him listen to her playlist, threatening to hijack the radio if he didn't surrender control willingly. And normally, he would have argued, would have insisted on his superior taste in music, but today he'd just shrugged and said, "Whatever you want, Boot."
She'd given him a strange look at the old nickname, her brow furrowing slightly, but she hadn't pushed him on it. Maybe she was as afraid of a real conversation as he was.
And if she wanted to ignore it, then so would he.
By the second hour, they'd run out of safe topics, the silence growing heavier with each mile marker that passed. Lucy had lasted another forty-five minutes before her eyes started drooping, her head nodding forward slightly before jerking back up. He'd immediately suggested she get some sleep, and that he'd wake her up when they got close to LA. She'd protested at first—because of course she had, stubborn as always—but eventually surrendered to the exhaustion. Her head lolled against the passenger window, dark hair spilling across her face, and at first, every few minutes the uneven highway would force her head to drift toward his shoulder. Each time, she’d jerk awake, mumble a sleepy apology, and resettle against the window, pulling her jacket tighter around herself. It took another ten minutes before she fell asleep.
Now, with nothing but the hum of the engine and the occasional passing car for company, Tim is left alone with his thoughts. And that seems to be dangerous territory today.
Because he can't stop thinking about it. About her. About them. About how easily they'd slipped into the roles of Jake and Sava, how the line between acting and reality had blurred in that plane, in that casino, in those kisses that weren't supposed to mean anything but felt like everything.
His jaw clenches, a dull ache spreading through his temples as he stares at the endless stretch of highway ahead. It wasn't real. None of it was real. It was just a job. They were just playing parts.
Except parts of it had felt more real than anything he'd experienced in a long time.
Lucy shifts in her sleep, a small sound escaping her lips as her head slides back toward his shoulder before she corrects herself, settling against the window. Tim watches her for a moment before he exhales slowly, forcing his grip to loosen on the wheel.
This is ridiculous. He's being ridiculous. He has Ashley waiting for him back home. And Lucy has Chris. None of this actually meant anything; Lucy was right. Anything he might have felt could simply be explained away by a biological response. They're just professionals who did their job and did it well. End of story.
So why can't he stop replaying their practice kiss in her apartment? Why does his mind keep wandering back to the way Lucy had looked at him after that kiss in the back bedroom of the private plane, her eyes wide and questioning, like she was trying to figure out if it was still just an act?
The GPS announces their exit in twenty miles, effectively pulling him from his thoughts. They're getting closer to the city, closer to reality. To real life. Where he has Ashley. Where Lucy has Chris. Where they're Sergeant Bradford and Officer Chen, TO and former rookie. Nothing more.
The Los Angeles skyline appears on the horizon, city lights gleaming against the darkening sky, and Tim feels something twist in his chest. Their time in this strange bubble is almost over. Soon, they'll be back to their normal lives, back to their routines, back to pretending that nothing has changed.
Even if it feels like everything has.
Lucy stirs beside him, her eyes fluttering open as she straightens in her seat. "Are we almost there?" she asks, her voice rough with sleep.
"Yeah," he replies, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the road. "About fifteen minutes out."
She nods, stretching as much as the confines of the car will allow, and he tries not to notice the way her shirt rides up slightly, exposing a sliver of skin at her waist.
"I had the weirdest dream," she says, rubbing her eyes. "We were still undercover, but instead of drug dealers, Jake and Sava were actually professional poker players. And you—Dim—kept losing because you have the world's worst poker face."
He snorts, grateful for the easy shift in conversation. "I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have an excellent poker face."
"You really don't," she counters with a small laugh. "You get this little twitch right here—" She reaches over, her finger brushing the corner of his mouth, and Tim freezes, his breath catching in his throat.
Lucy seems to realize what she's doing at the same moment, her hand dropping away as if burned. "Anyway," she continues quickly, "you were terrible. I had to keep kicking you under the table."
"Sounds like I should be grateful it was just a dream, then," he says, aiming for lightness but missing it by a mile.
She huffs a quiet laugh before turning her head toward the window, and he can feel the awkwardness hanging in the air between them. The easy banter that had surfaced momentarily retreats, leaving them once again in that uncomfortable space they've been dancing around all day.
"So," she starts after a couple minutes pass, her voice a little too casual, "what's the first thing you're going to do when you get home?"
He takes a moment to consider. About his empty apartment. About the groceries he needs to buy. The dog he needs to pick up from his sister. And about Ashley, who's probably texted him a dozen times by now. There’s a lot of things he needs to do when he gets back. "Shower," is what he says instead. "Wash off all this disgusting gel in my hair. I still feel ridiculous."
"God, yes," Lucy agrees, a little too enthusiastically. "I swear I can still smell cigarette smoke in my hair. And don’t even get me started on this weave. It itches. "
She runs her fingers through the extensions, wincing slightly as they catch on a tangle. Tim tries not to watch the movement from the corner of his eye, tries not to think about how different she looked as Sava—all sharp edges and smoky eyes—compared to the Lucy he knows.
"I don't know," he says, clearing his throat. "I thought Sava's look kinda worked for you."
The words are out before he can stop them, and he immediately wishes he could take them back. Lucy's head turns toward him, her eyebrows raising slightly.
"Oh?" There's a hint of something in her voice that he can't quite place. "And what about Jake? Did you enjoy being a sleazy drug dealer for two days?"
Tim snorts, grateful for the redirect. "Hardly. The guy was a class-A jackass."
"He wasn't all bad," she says, her voice softer now. "He was protective of what was his, at least."
There's a weight to her words that neither of them acknowledges. His fingers flex on the steering wheel, and he forces himself to focus on the road ahead, on the exit sign they're approaching, on anything except the implication hanging in the air between them.
"Yeah, well," he mutters finally, "doesn't make up for the rest of his personality. Or his wardrobe choices."
Lucy laughs at that, the sound genuine this time. "Those shirts were pretty terrible."
"The worst," he agrees. "I'm pretty sure half of them were made out of actual plastic."
"And those ridiculous gold chains? I'm shocked you didn't get a rash."
"Don't remind me. Every time I turned my head too fast, I thought I was going to take an eye out."
They're both laughing now, the tension easing just a fraction, and Tim feels something loosen in his chest. This is better. This is how they should be—partners who can joke and tease and not get caught up in... whatever this other thing is.
"Seriously though," she says after a moment, "I'm glad we pulled it off. Grey seemed pretty pleased with the outcome."
"We got the job done," he nods, his voice a little more professional now. "That's what matters."
Her smile fades slightly, and she turns back toward the window. "Right," she says quietly. "That's what matters."
They don't talk for the rest of the drive to Lucy's apartment. The silence drifts back in, heavier this time, charged with all the things they're not saying. Tim keeps his eyes fixed on the road, but he can feel Lucy's presence beside him like a physical weight, impossible to ignore. Soon though he finds the words forming at the seam of his lips again, pushing to be released. And he suddenly wants to throw caution to the wind, to finally bring up the topic they've been steadfastly ignoring for the entire drive. For the entire operation, really. And he almost does it. His grip tightens on the steering wheel, his breath catching as he opens his mouth—
But then they're pulling into the lot in front of her apartment complex, and all the confidence he's been building in the last ten minutes evaporates. The moment slips away, like it always seems to do with them. Still, something lingers—a fragment of whatever courage he'd been gathering—because when she unbuckles her seatbelt and reaches for the door handle, Tim finds himself cutting the engine and stepping out too.
Lucy pauses, her bag slung over her shoulder, a question in her eyes. "What are you doing?"
He shrugs, closing his door and walking around the front of the car to join her. "Walking you up."
"You know, I'm a cop too. I think I can make it to my front door alone."
"Humor me, Chen."
She studies him for a brief second before a shy smile spreads across her face. "Come on, then."
He returns her smile before he falls in step beside her as they cross the lot. Their shoulders brush with each step, and he knows he should create some distance, but instead he simply jams his hands into his pockets and lets himself stay close. Too close, probably. Close enough that he can feel the heat radiating off her, even through his jacket.
At her door, Lucy rummages through her bag for her keys while he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. His pulse quickens for no good reason—or for a reason he's not ready to name yet.
"Look, I was thinking—" The words barely leave his mouth when a car horn cuts through the night air. Tim glances toward the sound, and his expression hardens instantly. Because two rows down, through the dim parking lot lights, he can make out Ashley's familiar black SUV. The woman's face remains hidden in shadow, but he'd recognize that blonde hair anywhere.
What the hell is she doing here?
"Is that Ashley?" Lucy's gaze has followed his, and he turns to see her staring at the car with a small frown on her face.
"Yeah. I didn't tell her I was dropping you off, though," he explains, his brow furrowing deeper. "I honestly have no idea what she's doing here."
And that's true. He hadn't even told Ashley that they were back in town yet. He'd texted her before they left Vegas, saying he'd call when they got back to LA, but that was it. He hadn't mentioned Lucy or where he'd be or when exactly they'd be arriving.
He’s not exactly proud of the disappointment that settles low in his gut. The moment—whatever it was going to be—is gone now, shattered by the intrusion of reality in the form of his girlfriend waiting for him in the parking lot.
"I should probably go see what she's doing here. I, uh..." The sentence hangs incomplete between them. Tim catches the flash of disappointment in Lucy's eyes, a mirror to his own, and it makes him feel both worse and vindicated. "I'll see you on Monday?"
Lucy forces a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "See you on Monday. Have a good weekend, Tim."
Then she's pulling the door open and disappearing inside, leaving him standing alone in front of her building. He takes another moment to compose himself, to wipe the disappointment and annoyance he’s sure is showing on his face, before he turns on his heels and begins to make his way toward Ashely’s car.
He rounds the SUV to the passenger side, his mind already crafting excuses for why he’s at Lucy's apartment, why he hadn't called first. Tim taps on the window twice before he's opening the door and sliding inside. The doors lock behind him with a soft click.
“What are you doing here?" he sighs, fatigue from the long drive and the emotional whiplash of the last few minutes catching up to him all at once.
The woman turns, and for half a second, she does look like Ashley. The blonde hair, the clothes, the shape of her silhouette in the dim light. But then she smiles as she faces him fully, and his heart promptly sinks into his chest.
"Don't sound so disappointed, Tim. Aren't you happy to see me?"
The voice slides through the air between them. Not Ashley's voice.
Shit.
This is bad.
This is so fucking bad.
Rosalind Dyer sits beside him, wearing his girlfriend's smile on a face that's both familiar and alien. The blonde wig frames her features just enough to have deceived him from across the lot, but those eyes—those are unmistakable. Cold. Patient. Amused. The eyes of a predator who's just watched her trap snap shut.
Tim's hand flies to his hip, fingers closing around his service weapon, but Rosalind tuts softly, shaking her head. She lifts her hand from her lap just enough for him to see the glint of metal—a small revolver pointed directly at his stomach.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," she says, her voice almost gentle. "We both know how messy that would get."
His mind races through his options, each one worse than the last. He could try to grab the gun, but at this distance, she'd put a bullet in him before he could reach it. He could call for help, but Lucy's already inside her building, too far to hear him. He could—
"You're wondering about Lucy," Rosalind says, reading his thoughts with unnerving accuracy. "Don't worry. She's not on tonight's agenda. That honor is reserved just for you."
His jaw clenches. "How did you get out?"
"Oh, that's not important right now." She waves her free hand dismissively. "What matters is that I'm here, and you're here, and we're going to have such an interesting evening together."
"People will notice I'm missing," he says, his voice steady despite the hammering of his heart. "Chen thinks that Ashley just picked me up. It won't take long for them to figure out something's wrong."
Rosalind's smile widens. "That's the beauty of it. No one's going to be looking for you, at least not for days. Lucy thinks you're with your girlfriend. Your girlfriend—the real Ashley—thinks you're still in Vegas. And by the time anyone starts asking questions..." She trails off, her eyes gleaming. "Well, let's just say I've planned this quite carefully."
Tim studies her face, looking for any sign of weakness, any opening he might exploit. But all he sees is that same calm confidence, that same controlled madness that's made her one of the most terrifying serial killers he's ever encountered.
"What do you want?" he asks finally.
"Lucy Chen took something from me," Rosalind says, her voice hardening just slightly. "My freedom. My chance to finish what I started. And I always finish what I start, Tim. So I'm going to take something from her." Her eyes flick over his face. "You."
Everything clicks into place. This isn't about him. He's just a means to an end—a way to hurt Lucy.
"Put your seatbelt on," Rosalind directs, gesturing with the gun. "We're going for a drive."
He doesn't move. "And if I refuse?"
"Then I make a call," she says simply, pulling a phone from her pocket with her free hand. "And the people watching Lucy's apartment will pay her a visit instead. Your choice, Tim. You or her."
Him.
That’s not even a choice he has to make.
He will always put Lucy first.
Tim reaches for the seatbelt and pulls it across his chest, his decision made before Rosalind even finished speaking. And as the engine rumbles to life, he takes one last glance at Lucy's building, committing it to memory. Whatever Rosalind has planned for him, whatever happens next, at least Lucy will be safe.
For now, that's enough.