Chapter Text
Things after waking up in the car to Tim hovering over her has been a bit of a blur, but Lucy thinks most of that is because she got dealt with a pretty heavy anaesthetic. Since she woke up and Tim had immediately gone to inform a nurse, she’s heard that she made it through surgery fine, that the bullet went clean through her shoulder, that her head injury is being monitored but isn’t looking as scary as it could have, and that every single Bradford is alive and accounted for. She’s also heard, several times now, that she needs to rest, which would be easier if Tim didn’t look like he was one bad update away from physically barricading the hospital door.
“You were bleeding,” he recalls, almost in a scolding tone.
Lucy tries to smile. “Little bit.”
His eyes drop to her shoulder, and his jaw tightens so hard she sees it jump. “That was not a little bit,” he gets out.
She follows his gaze, though she can’t see much past the bandage and the sling. She can feel it, though. It hurts like a bitch, even on whatever cocktail they have her on.
She looks at him, eyes a little unfocused now. “Why didn’t you warn me how much getting shot sucks?”
“I’ll make a note for next time,” Tim says, unamused.
“No next time,” she mutters.
“Damn right.”
She lets her eyes close for half a second, but his hand tightens around hers immediately.
“Hey,” he says.
She opens them again, giving him the smallest glare she can manage. “I’m allowed to blink.”
“You’ve been asleep for hours.”
“That was anesthesia. Doesn’t count.”
His mouth twitches, almost. It doesn’t quite become a smile, but it gets close enough that she counts it. He’s still standing beside the bed, though, too stiff and too watchful, like he’s afraid something will happen if he relaxes.
“Sit,” she whispers.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re hovering.”
“I’m standing.”
“Sit,” she repeats, softer this time.
He listens. That, more than anything, tells her how tired he is. The chair scrapes quietly against the floor as he pulls it closer, then he sits without letting go of her hand.
“I should’ve taken the hit,” Tim says quietly after a minute.
Lucy’s brow furrows. “What?”
“Everett wanted me,” he says, voice low. “The frame, the transfer, the jail hit. All of it was supposed to land on me. Then you found the dash cam, and Genny stayed, and everyone started pulling at threads, and he changed targets.”
“Tim—”
“He changed targets because I wouldn’t break,” he says, like the words have been sitting in his chest since the second he saw her in that car.
Lucy watches him for a moment, trying to blink through the heaviness pulling at her eyes. The medication makes everything softer around the edges, but not him. She can still see every line of fear he’s trying to hide, every place where the night has caught up to him and stayed.
She hates it.
Not him. Never him.
She hates that Everett managed to reach this far.
“You said no to him,” Lucy says firmly. “That’s all you did. You did your job. You kept your integrity. He’s the one who couldn’t live with that.”
His face tightens. “He targeted you because of me.”
“He targeted me because he’s a criminal,” she whispers. “He targeted Genny because he’s a criminal. He targeted your mom and the boys because he’s a criminal.”
His thumb drags once over the back of her hand, clearly at war with himself.
“He wanted you to think it was your fault,” she continues. “That was the point. Don’t give him that.”
Tim looks down at their joined hands. “I told you to go home.”
“And I went,” she says. “Then I saved your sister. So, honestly, great call.”
He looks away, and for a second, she thinks he’s going to shut down on her. (Not all the way, not like before—They’re past that, she thinks. She hopes they are.) But, he has that look, the one where all the guilt goes inwards, tucked somewhere behind his ribs, where he thinks no one can see it.
Lucy squeezes his hand as hard as she can.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
He shakes his head immediately. “No.”
“I left the scene.”
“You saved my sister,” he echoes.
“I didn’t call you.”
“Your phone was destroyed.”
“I scared you.”
His mouth pulls into something pained. “Yeah,” he says honestly. “You did.”
Lucy remembers enough to know why. She remembers Genny screaming her name in the car, the phone useless in her hand, dispatch telling her Joy and the boys were safe. She also remembers the thought, sharp and clear even as everything else slipped away, that Tim needed to know it wasn’t his fault.
She wishes she could have spared him those minutes.
“I’m here,” she says, because it is the only thing she can give him now.
“Yeah,” Tim says, allowing himself to smile. “You are.”
His smile barely lasts, but she still catches it, and smiles back.
Then, she asks, “Did we win?”
He exhales through his nose. “We’re getting there.”
Her eyes narrow. “That’s vague.”
“You’re concussed.”
“Not enough for vague.”
That gets another almost-smile out of him, but he looks down before she can enjoy it too much.
“They’re going to,” Tim says quickly. “Garza says the criminal case is gone. The account is being traced as fraudulent. The bank records were backdated. Monroe’s payments connect to Everett’s people, and one of the attackers at Genny’s house is talking.”
“That’s good.”
“It is.”
“But not done,” she points out.
His mouth tightens. “Not completely.”
She nods a little, because that part makes sense too. There’s always one more report, one more review, one more official sentence before anyone is allowed to call something over.
Still, it’s a lot closer than it was when Grey stood on their porch with a warrant.
“You’re coming back from this,” Lucy says.
His eyes soften slightly. “Yeah.”
“You are,” she says, more firmly. “And when they clear you, I’m going to be very gracious about the fact that I was right.”
That gets a quiet huff out of him. “Of course you are.”
His thumb moves over her hand again, slower this time, and she notices how tired he still looks. He needs to sleep, and it’ll be absolutely impossible to get him to do that while she’s awake.
Before she can point that out, however, the door opens. Angela walks in first, with Wesley just behind her
“You look terrible,” Angela greets.
Wesley leans around her. “She means that affectionately.”
“I mean it accurately,” Angela corrects, then looks at Tim. “And you look worse.”
“Good to see you too, Lopez,” Tim deadpans.
Lucy’s gaze shifts between them, trying to pull herself a little more upright. “What about the case?”
Angela shrugs. “I’m not on it,” she answers. “Too close, conflict of interest, all of that. IA has a detective assigned, and before you start trying to make a statement from a hospital bed, she doesn’t need to talk to you until after you’re discharged.”
Lucy exhales, though it doesn’t relax her much. “So there is an IA detective.”
“There was always going to be an IA detective,” Angela says. “You had an officer-involved shooting in your own house, with two dead suspects and an active threat spilling into three scenes. That part is automatic.”
Lucy’s mouth tightens.
Wesley steps closer to the bed, smiling gently. “For what it’s worth, your use of force review looks clean from the outside. The circumstances were extreme, the threat was ongoing, and your home camera backs the sequence of events.”
She hadn’t realized how badly she needed to hear that until he said it. She exhales. “Thank you.”
After gentle conversations, mostly filled with well-wishes more than anything else case related, Angela and Wesley bid their goodbyes.
“Now, show me pictures of my baby,” Lucy insists, making grabbing motions towards Tim as soon as they’re alone. “It’s been so long. He must miss me terribly.”
He pulls out his phone, navigating to his camera roll. “He’s fine,” he informs her, showing her pictures. There’s Kojo on the couch with Austin and Tyler, Kojo asleep on one of Lucy’s shirts, looking tragic, and Kojo with Joy, who seems far too pleased to have acquired temporary custody of a dog.
“He looks abandoned,” she pouts.
“He is being hand-fed chicken by my mother.”
“So, emotionally abandoned.”
Tim puts the phone away. “You’re ridiculous.”
But the kiss he then presses against her hair proves to Lucy that he loves her for it.
Grey finds him in the hallway a little after midnight.
Lucy is asleep again—actually asleep this time, according to the nurse—and Tim had only stepped out, because standing beside her bed staring at the monitors was apparently “not helping anyone”.
(He disagrees.)
Grey stops beside him with two paper cups of coffee, and offers one over.
Tim takes it. “Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Grey says. “It’s terrible.”
Tim looks down at the cup. “Hospital coffee.”
“Barely.”
For a minute, they just stand there in silence. Tim watches the elevator doors open and close down the hallway, bracing every time his phone buzzes, even though the worst of it is supposed to be over.
Then, Grey says, “Garza called.”
Tim looks over immediately. “And?”
“The surviving suspect from the attack on Genny gave up the broker,” he lists off. “Elena followed the payment chain. Monroe’s money connects to the same shell network used to open the account in your name.”
His hand tightens around the cup. “The bank?”
“Employee is in custody,” Grey confirms. “Already trying to cooperate.”
“Federal contact?”
“Identified,” he says. “Garza’s being careful, but they’ll move.”
“And Everett?” Tim asks.
Grey’s mouth presses into a hard line. “Everett’s being moved into a federal isolation unit tonight. No outside counsel contact until a clean attorney is appointed and monitored under the new orders, no private calls, no favors, no more messages moving through staff, and, most importantly, no money.”
Tim takes that in. For a man like Everett, this is the real prison sentence.
Still, it doesn’t undo Lucy in a hospital bed, pale and bruised, telling him it wasn’t his fault while she could barely keep her eyes open, or the trauma his civilian family faced.
Grey seems to read something on his face. “He’s not touching your family again.”
Tim looks up.
“Garza’s team has eyes on every route left to him,” Grey says. “LAPD has units watching your house and Genny’s. Joy and the boys are covered. Chen’s hospital detail stays until discharge. Elena managed to hack into the system and nullify the hit, so anyone out there will rightfully assume there’s no more money for the task.”
Tim nods.
“Criminal suspicion against you is being formally withdrawn,” Grey adds on.
“What’s that mean?” Tim asks, needing the full confirmation.
“It means...the FBI no longer considers you a suspect in Everett’s bribery allegation,” Grey confirms. The offshore account has been confirmed fraudulent. Everett’s accusation has been discredited. And, pending final administrative review, you’re cleared, Bradford.”
For a second, Tim doesn’t answer. There’s no immediate relief, no clean exhale, no sudden feeling that the last two days are over. Mostly, he feels tired.
“Bradford,” Grey says, quieter now.
Tim pulls in a breath. “Yeah. I heard you,” he confirms. Then, he looks over. “And Chen?”
“Chen’s OIS and scene departure are under review,” Grey starts, “but given the active threat, broken communications, living victims saved, and her own injury, no one is looking to hang her for it. She’ll get a medal and a lecture. Probably both.”
Tim’s shoulders loosen by a fraction. “Good.”
“Don’t look too relieved,” Grey says. “The lecture will be extensive.”
“I’d expect nothing less.” He’d give it to her himself if he weren’t so damn grateful and relieved. If it were any other random civilian that she’d gone out of her way to avoid a hospital to go protect, he’d probably be upset at her priorities. But, in the end, his family is alive, and so is Lucy.
“Go sit with her, “Grey orders. “There’ll be enough reports tomorrow.”
Tim nods once, but he doesn’t move immediately. “Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Grey says. “There’s still paperwork.”
Lucy is discharged two days later with a sling, concussion instructions, pain medication, antibiotics, a follow-up appointment, a list of restrictions she immediately dislikes, and Tim in full control of the discharge paperwork.
“You’re enjoying this too much,” she says as he signs something at the nurses’ station.
“I enjoy rules when they keep you from doing stupid things.”
“Remember when you were shot?” she reminds him. “You were doing stupid things right and left.”
“And I remember you put a stop to that,” he reminds her in turn. “Now, I’m paying back the favor.”
The wheelchair is non-negotiable, which is humiliating enough, but luckily, he doesn’t tease her about it. He does, however, read the discharge instructions with far too much focus. Lucy watches his eyes move down the page, and she can practically see him memorizing every restriction she is going to hate.
He gets her into the passenger seat slowly, one hand braced near the door, the other ready at her good side. She lets him help with the seatbelt because fighting him on it would take energy she does not currently have.
Only once he’s sure she’s settled does he close the door, walk around, and get in.
Tim keeps his eyes on the road as he starts to pull out of the hospital parking lot. “Going home?”
“Yeah.”
His hand tightens slightly on the wheel. “We don’t have to stay there.”
Lucy looks over at him.
“We can go to a hotel,” he continues. “Or Genny’s. Or Angela offered. My mom also offered, but that would come with conditions neither of us are emotionally prepared for.”
That pulls a small smile from her. “What kind of conditions?”
“Separate rooms.”
“Oh.”
“She’s very committed to your no-distraction healing journey,” he explains, making a face. “And she said something about making broth.”
She grimaces. “Home is good.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
The drive gets quieter after that. Lucy watches the streets pass, trying not to think too much about the last time she was behind the wheel, bleeding through her shirt and trying to stay conscious long enough to get to Genny.
When they turn onto their street, her stomach tightens. She’d been dreading going home last time, too, to see how the LAPD and FBI had torn apart their home. Instead, she’d come home to something even worse.
Now, she’s not exactly sure how to feel.
Except, as Tim rolls into the driveway, it doesn’t look as daunting as she expects.
Lucy turns her head slowly towards him. “What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything,” he responds innocently, but he seems to know exactly what she’s referring to.
“Tim.”
“I didn’t,” he insists, and then his mouth pulls slightly. “Genny did. They’re all inside.”
Getting out of the car takes more effort than she wants it to. Tim helps without making a thing of it, one hand at her good side, the other ready. The second she steps inside, Kojo loses his mind. Tim crouches and takes his collar himself, bringing him forwards in the most controlled version of a reunion possible. He presses his giant head carefully against Lucy’s thigh, whining again, and she reaches down with her good hand to scratch behind his ears.
“Hi,” she whispers. “I missed you, too.”
After that, she looks up, and sees the Bradfords waiting for them. There’s a banner, and some decor, but nothing that would be tedious to clean up. It’s tasteful, and beyond that, her home looks like home again, mostly.
Home.
The word lands strangely, because the last time she walked through that door, she left behind a warranted house, two bodies, and a pool of her own blood—and, also, she assumes the bullet that had shot her through the shoulder.
Now, it shows evidence of exactly none of that.
She must go still, because Tim’s hand settles at her lower back.
“We had professionals clean after forensics went through,” he says quietly, just for her. “Angela handled it. You don’t have to see anything.”
Genny comes to stand beside her. “We didn’t know where everything went.”
Lucy looks at her.
“So, some stuff is probably wrong,” Genny continues. “But, we figured...you did all that work for dinner, and then everything got...” She stops, swallowing. “We wanted you guys to come home to something that felt like home.”
The house is clean, but not untouched. She can tell that much immediately. There is a new table in the hallway, close enough to the old one that someone clearly tried, but not the same. The wall has been patched where the bullet went in, though the paint is just slightly off if she looks too closely. The drawer by the entryway is closed, the rug replaced, the floor spotless. There are flowers on the dining table now, and the candles from the dinner that had never finished are gone.
“Thank you, guys,” Lucy says, emotional. “Really.”
“Yeah, thank you,” Tim echoes.
Joy comes up to her, arms outstretched. “Oh, sweetie, can I hug you?”
“Carefully,” Lucy agrees, leaning in. Joy is so gentle that she almost cries, extremely delicate as to not put pressure anywhere, especially her shoulder.
Austin immediately blurts, “You look way better than Mom said you looked.”
Genny closes her eyes. “Austin!”
“What?” he protests. “That’s good.”
“You look better,” Genny comments to Lucy, trying to soften the blow.
She gives her a dry look.
“I mean, compared to the last time I saw you,” Genny corrects quickly. “Which, admittedly, is not a high bar.”
Lucy smiles despite herself. “You look better, too.”
“I wasn’t shot,” Genny points out.
“No, but you did tuck and roll out of a moving car.”
Tyler’s head snaps toward his mother. “You did what?”
Genny points at Lucy. “Later.”
Austin looks delighted. “That sounds awesome.”
“It was not awesome,” Genny says quickly. “It was terrifying and very bad for my knees.”
“Did you guys know your mom is a total badass?” Lucy fills in. At the boys’ total wonder, she adds, “Yeah. She had that guy handled before I even got there. I just did the easy part.”
“She’s exaggerating,” Genny says quickly. “I managed to knock him down, but that’s about it. It would’ve turned out very bad if Lucy hadn’t shown up.”
“Don’t listen to her,” Lucy waves off, looking at the boys. “Your mom was very brave.”
For a second, Genny doesn’t answer. She just nods once, holding back emotions, and Joy reaches for her hand without looking away from Lucy.
Then, Tyler pulls out a card, looking a little eager. “We made you something!”
Tim reaches for the card before Tyler can shove it into her injured side, and the kid immediately looks offended.
“I was being careful,” he insists, pouting slightly.
“You were moving fast,” Tim says. Then, he opens the card, and holds it out to Lucy. It’s a basic “Get Well Soon” type card, with only a short message scribbled inside.
THANK YOU FOR NOT DYING AND SAVING OUR MOM
Lucy stares at it for a beat, then looks at both boys. “This is incredible.”
That seems to catch Tim’s attention, and he glances inside, before his shoulders drop. “Seriously?”
“I told them it was a little direct,” Genny defends.
Tyler looks down at the card, suddenly less confident. “Is it bad?”
Lucy reaches for it with her good hand, careful not to jostle the sling. “No,” she says, and she means it. “It’s perfect.”
Austin looks relieved. “We wanted to write thank you for saving our mom, but Tyler said that wasn’t specific enough.”
“It wasn’t,” Tyler says. “She also didn’t die.”
Tim closes his eyes for a second. “Okay. Both of you, go set the table.”
He escorts them away from the front entrance, towards the kitchen, and Genny sends over an apologetic look to Lucy before following.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” Joy says shakily, once they’re alone.
When Lucy looks over, the woman’s eyes are wet. Her brow furrows. “For what?”
“For saving my children,” she says obviously. “Genny told me all about it. You saved Tim by finding the evidence to release him. And then you saved Genny.”
“It was nothing,” Lucy insists immediately.
Joy ignores her, eyes still on Lucy. “You were hurt. You could have gone for help. You should have gone for help. Instead, you went after my daughter. Then, you came for me and the boys.”
Lucy’s throat tightens. “They’re your family.”
Joy’s mouth trembles. “They’re yours, too.”
The words catch Lucy by surprise. She’s had people she’s considered family, of course, but on a different level than her actual family. Because she has her parents, who she loves dearly, and knows they love her, despite their judgement on how she’s chosen to live her life. She has her grandmother, and Aunt Amy, who still check in regularly and are proud of her career. That’s the family she’s known. She’s never really thought fully about expanding it.
She glances at Tim over by the dining table, not meaning to, but he’s already looking at her. There is something gentle in his face, like this is what he wanted her to understand at dinner, before everything got ripped apart.
“You are not almost family,” Joy says, her voice trembling despite the firmness of it. “You are family. I hope you know that now.”
“Yeah,” Lucy whispers, meaning it. “I do.”
Everett is brought into the federal interview room just after sunrise.
Tim doesn’t need to be there; Garza says as much before they leave the station, but he wants to see the man dealt his punishment anyway. He needs to see Everett’s face once he’s realized he’s lost. For good.
“Sergeant Bradford,” Everett greets as they step in. “I wondered if you’d come back.”
Tim says nothing.
Everett studies him more closely. “No visible injuries. That’s disappointing.”
Garza drops a file onto the table. “Careful.”
“You keep bringing paper like it changes anything,” Everett comments, amused.
“It does when people start signing statements,” Garza says.
Everett pauses slightly, waiting for him to continue.
He does. “Monroe’s dead.”
Everett doesn’t react. “Which one’s he?”
“Hitman for hire,” the agent answers. “Luckily for me, his financials aren’t dead. Neither is the surviving attacker.”
Everett’s fingers flex against the cuffs.
“The bank employee is in custody,” Garza continues. “The transfer records were backdated. The offshore account is confirmed fraudulent. The federal employee who pushed Bradford’s transfer is being detained.”
Everett leans back slightly. “You seem very proud of yourself.”
“Not proud,” Garza says. “Thorough.”
Everett looks at Tim again, trying to find a way in. “And how is the pretty little cop girlfriend?”
Tim’s jaw tightens, but nothing else moves.
Everett smiles faintly. “Ah. Alive, then.”
Tim says nothing.
“That must feel like a victory,” he continues, watching him closely. “I suppose it is, in a way. She survived because I underestimated her, and because one of the people I paid made a mess of a simple instruction. Not because of anything noble. Not because your little code protected her.” His smile sharpens. “Luck saved her, Sergeant. Not you.”
“No,” Tim says. “She lived because of who she is. You’re finished because of who you are.”
Everett’s smile thins.
It’s the smallest shift, but it’s enough. For the first time since Tim met him, Everett looks less entertained than he wants to appear.
Garza notices too, and presses. “Conspiracy to commit murder. Attempted murder of law enforcement and protected witnesses. Witness intimidation. Obstruction. Bribery of federal personnel. Fraudulent financial instruments. False statements. Retaliation against an officer. That’s before we add what your original case already had.”
Everett leans back. “You think charges scare me?”
“No, I think losing access does,” Garza says. “No calls, no private counsel visits until the tainted attorney issue is resolved, no staff you picked, no money moving, no messages, no favors. Every person who thought you were worth the risk is currently deciding whether you’re still useful enough to protect.”
Everett’s eyes sharpen. “You can’t isolate me forever.”
“No,” Tim says. “Just long enough for everyone you bought to save themselves.”
His jaw shifts, finally very clearly unsettled.
“There it is,” Tim says quietly.
Everett looks at him.
Tim does not smile. “That’s the first honest thing I’ve seen from you,” he echoes, from the last time they spoke.
For once, Everett has no immediate answer.
Good.
Tim stands.
Everett tilts his head. “Walking away again, Sergeant?”
He pauses at the door.
For a second, he thinks about answering. He thinks about telling him exactly what Lucy survived, exactly what Genny did, exactly how badly he miscalculated by assuming the people Tim loved would be easy collateral. He thinks about giving Everett one final detail to prove he lost.
He decides that Everett doesn’t deserve even that.
“Yeah,” Tim answers. “I’m going home.”
He leaves before Everett can say another word.