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Tim Bradford saw love like fireworks. For most of his life that’s all he knew and believed it could be. He was built to endure and survive that type of love.
It first started, as most loves we all learn early on, within the home he grew up in. His father was a difficult man that doled out fists instead of hugs, condescension instead of compliments, and rage instead of compassion. Tim’s father loved him like a Chrysanthemum: explosive, better experienced from a distance, and leaving a trail of visible sparks (or in this case, scars both physical and emotional). Ask Tim about his mother and, truthfully, it felt akin to loving those tiny Hummer fireworks. As a child those were glorious as they spun and whizzed ever so quickly by. But as an adult, you realize how fleeting they were. Just temporary bursts of brightness.
When Tim started his career (and born his love for) the military and, eventually, the L.A.P.D., he fell into each respective lifestyle as hard and fast as a maroon rocket sailing into the Fourth of July sky. He quickly thrived in both environments. And both experiences resonating loudly enough to help define who he is now (beyond his strength, his loyalty, and overall being).
Then there was Isabel. His first real love. A fellow cadet in the Academy. His friend. His lover. The woman he married, once upon a time. Beautiful and bright Isabel. His Dahlia firework; a few years together spent that were no less supremely felt, despite a marriage contained in a suffocating shell, to become a love affair that eventually burned out. However their love dissipated, Tim doesn’t regret loving his Dahlia. Though loving her was fiery and dazzling, and despite how much the embers of that devotion left a scorch mark on his heart, Isabel taught Tim that sometimes the best way to love a firework was to walk away and allow it to burst and flourish on its own.
“What about Rachel?” Lucy Chen asked quietly. Her gaze was out towards the horizon where the light show at the Santa Monica Pier was anticipated to begin, yet her body leaned towards his own as it awaited for him to continue. The night wind danced faintly around them. A strand of her hair beckoned to be touched, causing Tim to pause as he fastened his hands deeper into his jean pockets.
Rachel. Tim hummed, contemplating a proper analogy to his feelings about his ex-girlfriend. It had been a few weeks after their amicable break-up. She had a job opportunity in another state that she couldn’t pass up. He couldn’t fault her for taking it up, just as she couldn’t fault him for not loving her enough to consider a long distance relationship.
Kind, smart, compassionate Rachel. A woman that, despite falling into because of a damn bet, became a force of light he didn’t realize he needed after Isabel. Her impact was immensely felt, but a piece of him knew that it would be short-lived. Tim smiled wistfully, “A beautiful waterfall.” He looked down at Lucy, a little mirthful as he explained, “Technically it’s a horsetail firework, but the effects are similar to a waterfall; long-burn explosion but only lasting a short distance before it broke free from its shell to fall back to earth.” He glanced back up, not wanting to see the pitying look in his Boot’s eyes.
Though he supposed that soon she’d no longer be his Boot. Colleague? Definitely. Partners? If he had any say but knew it’d be a hard sell to Grey. Friend? If Chen had any input on how she wanted to define themselves (and she does but he wasn’t about to give in so easily else she thinks he was a pushover for her, which sadly he might be if there’s any indication as to how she roped him into spending his free Saturday night watching fireworks).
When he looked back down at her, he was mildly surprised to see her looking at him not with pity but thoughtfulness. It was a good look on her, but he’s bore witness to it a few times on the job that it usually made him weary. “What, Chen?”
She stared at him a little longer than he admittedly was comfortable with. Almost as if warring with the words in her thoughts and the consequences once she’s allowed them out. Tim wasn’t about to squirm under her gaze anytime soon, but he wasn’t looking forward to hearing whatever psychoanalysis she was brewing inside that pretty head of hers.
Falling into a standard defense pose, he rolled his eyes and smirked at her, “Don’t make me regret opening up to you, Chen.”
Following with her own smirk, Lucy quipped, “I just asked you why you liked fireworks. Not give me a crash course of the Bradford Love Language.” She hummed, gave a short nod, then added, “At least now I know what to look for in finding the next, great love of your life.”
Tim chuckled at that before he shook his head. “Nope. Not happening, Chen.”
“Aw,” she pouted, “Why not?” Lucy grinned, “Did I not do an amazing job with Rachel?”
He conceded that she did. He even vocalized it as such. However, “I don’t need help falling in love, Chen.” Tim crossed his arms in a near defensive stance despite the teasing lilt in his voice.
“Well I know that it’ll be awhile before you date again!” Lucy nudged him with her body. He returned the nudge, causing her to giggle and call him a dork. “I’m just saying that now I know what kind of love you’re looking for!”
He raised his brow at her, amused that she believes to know him so well. Tim reached over to tuck a bit of her hair, a strand that continued to dance along the breeze, while she busily counted on her fingers that “You’re looking for a bold, passionate, all-consuming, explosive type of love!” Tim regarded her during her diatribe, bemused by the fact that despite her insistence on going without a jacket, her short sleeve blouse did little to hide the goosebumps caused by the California night air. Grateful that he had the foresight to wear a long sleeve henley, Tim barely paid mind to her words while removing his own jacket and placing it over her shoulder. “Oh, thanks,” she said, slipping her arms in its sleeves before continuing, “A love that will blindside you with how beautiful it is and knocking you on your ass!” A satisfied laugh escaped her lips as she asked, “Am I right?”
“Blindside, huh?” he mused. “Like how I blindsided you on our first patrol together?”
Lucy rolled her eyes despite returning Tim’s own teasing smirk. “Ha. Ha. Cute, Bradford.”
Tim nodded, “That I am,” he joked, earning another eye roll and a groan from her.
“Ugh,” she groused, “forget it!” Lucy glanced at her watch, “The show’s about to start soon.”
He quietly laughed at her exasperation towards him. Especially knowing that it won’t last long as she soon began bouncing on the balls of her feet like an eager child. Tim edged himself closer to her, serving as both barrier and protector from the crowd gathering to partake in that night’s activities. He knew that she didn’t need him to shield her from others, but it eased his own mind to know that he had her back should anything happen.
They stood together in companionable silence, the anticipation of the audience around them humming a prologue before the show itself. Tim took another chance to observe Lucy, unable to hide the smile on his face as he watched her excitement for the fireworks build.
She was twisting her pale oval-shaped ring on her finger, a twitch she had even before the events of He Who Shall Rot In Hell, as he likes to think of the asshole that nearly killed Lucy months back. He watched her toy with her ring a bit more before he fostered a heavy enough sigh to gain her attention. Just as Lucy was to question him, Tim reached out to grab her hand within his own.
He saw her tilt her head but he didn’t say a word. Tim half expected her to speak her mind (it was, after all, one of her more frustratingly endearing traits), but was relatively surprised when Lucy remained quiet…
“Not all love is like fireworks,” Lucy said finally, low enough for just the two of them. He could feel her barely concealed nerves as she spoke, which caused him to gently squeeze her hand in a comforting gesture.
“I know,” he replied, finding himself exhaling a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. And he did know. Sometimes love wasn’t loud fights, but concerned confrontation of hard truths to be said. Sometimes love wasn’t passionate courtship that struggled to breathe, but quiet trust and friendship being built through heartache and trauma. Sometimes love wasn’t meant to blaze the night sky, but to be that warm escape to someone’s dark abyss. Sometimes love isn’t a flower made of sulfur and magnesium, but one that blooms quietly until they’re ready to be embraced by tender hands.
Tim had known the heat, the boom, the wondrous feel of love like fireworks. He was built to endure and survive that type of love. But one that comes as softly as the night breeze caressing the face of the woman, his colleague, his friend, right next to him? Oh he would be lying if he said that he wasn’t scared of being brought to his knees by it.