Chapter Text
The station feels wrong without her.
It’s something Tim doesn’t say out loud - not to Nolan, not to Grey, not even to himself - but the absence has weight. For a month, every shift has been slightly off-balance. Her desk too clean. Her laugh missing from the bullpen. No sarcastic commentary in his ear after roll-call. No late-night arguments about takeout choices.
No Lucy.
She's coming back from undercover today.
He stations himself in the Watch Commander’s office.
He tells himself it’s procedural.
He’s lying.
He sits behind the desk, trying to look like he’s reading something important. The glass walls make the whole thing useless anyway - half the station can see him pretending not to watch the hallway.
He hasn’t seen her in a month.
Besides the drive-thru.
But it's been a month of coded check-ins. Of sleeping on one side of the bed because the other felt too empty. Of not being able to see her. Hold her.
He hears footsteps outside.
Then a knock.
Sharp. Familiar.
His head snaps up.
And his brain completely stops working.
Lucy stands in the doorway like she’s walked straight out of sunlight.
A turquoise jacket hangs off one shoulder, the other sleeve pushed back carelessly. Underneath, a flash of pink - a bikini top peeking out. Faded jeans hug her hips, scuffed boots grounding the whole look in something real.
Her hair - brown, brighter than the last time he saw her - falls in loose waves around her face.
And her face-
Freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks, more pronounced from the sun. Her skin lightly flushed. Her lips curved like she already knows exactly what she’s doing to him.
For one suspended second, Tim just stares.
He takes it in all at once.
She looks different.
But she’s still her.
Still Lucy.
Still the woman he’s missed so badly it’s felt like a physical ache.
She tilts her head slightly, one brow lifting.
“Are you just going to sit there and look at me… or-”
He’s on his feet before she can finish.
Three strides.
That’s all it takes to cross the room.
He pulls her into him without hesitation, arms wrapping tight around her like if he doesn’t hold on she might disappear again.
He doesn’t care that the bullpen can see straight through the glass walls.
Doesn’t care about raised eyebrows or smirks.
She’s here.
She’s solid.
She smells like salt and sunscreen and something faintly floral - like the ocean clung to her skin and followed her home.
Lucy lets out a soft laugh against his shoulder as his grip tightens.
“I missed you too,” she murmurs into his shirt.
He exhales shakily, burying his face briefly in her hair.
God.
He leans back just enough to look at her properly.
Up close, the freckles are even clearer. A faint line of sun across her collarbone. The tiniest crease at the corner of her eyes from squinting in bright light.
“You’re okay?” he asks quietly.
She nods.
“Yeah. I’m okay.”
He studies her like he’s checking for cracks. For shadows. For anything the job might have left behind.
All he sees is strength.
And exhaustion.
And something softer when she looks at him.
“I missed you,” he says again, because the words don’t feel big enough but they’re all he has.
Lucy’s expression melts.
“I missed you so much too.”
She rises onto her toes slightly and presses a light kiss to his lips.
It’s not urgent.
Not heated.
Just warm.
Real.
Home.
The station noise hums faintly around them, but it feels distant. Like they’re standing inside their own quiet bubble in the middle of everything.
When she pulls back, her fingers hook loosely into the front of his shirt.
“Can we go home now?” she asks softly.
There’s a vulnerability there she doesn’t show anyone else.
Tim nods immediately.
“Yeah. Yeah, we can.”
He keeps one hand on her waist as he turns to grab his bag off the chair. He doesn’t let go completely - just shifts enough to sling it over his shoulder.
When they step out into the bullpen, he doesn’t drop his hand either.
It slides naturally to the small of her back, protective, grounding.
A few officers glance up.
Tim ignores all of them.
Lucy leans into his side slightly as they walk, her jacket slipping a little further down her shoulder.
The late afternoon light spills through the station windows, catching in her hair.
For a month, he imagined this moment.
Replayed it in different versions.
In none of them did he quite capture how it feels to actually have her here again - warm under his hand, moving beside him.
He opens the passenger door of his truck for her.
She pauses before getting in, looking up at him.
“You good?” she asks gently.
He huffs a quiet laugh.
“Yeah,” he says. “I am now.”
She smiles at that.
Then she climbs in, and he closes the door carefully behind her.
When he walks around to the driver’s side, his chest feels lighter than it has in weeks.
The engine starts.
He reaches across the console automatically, finding her hand.
She laces their fingers together.
And as he pulls out of the station parking lot, heading home, Tim realises something simple and certain:
The house will finally feel like home again tonight.