Chapter Text
Lucy's fists thudded against the punching bag with unrelenting force, the dull rhythm echoing in the quiet Gym as she watched bag sway back and forth. Her breath came out in harsh, uneven gasps through her nose and sweat was trickling down her temples. Her muscles were screaming for her to slow down, her lungs begging to take a break and her throat dry, yearning for water, but Lucy ignored it.
She didn’t care what her body needed right now.
The only thing that mattered was hitting that damn bag until her knuckles screamed louder than the chaos in her head. It was her way of trying to drown out the suffocating emotions that she once had been able to reign over.
Until Rosalind happened. Caleb happened. The barrel happened.
The control over her own feelings had vanished into a black hole, and no amount of meditation or deep breathing could extinguish the anxiety now lodged permanently in her gut. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt it. Every time her breathing slowed, it surged. It was flaring like an inferno, scorching her from the inside out, yanking her violently back into the present, leaving her scared and breathless.
She had tried to sleep with her light on, she had tried to listen to a white noise machine, but it seemed as if the weight on the world was sitting on her chest and her body was permanently on high alert, afraid there was never going to be enough oxygen to circulate through her arteries to keep her alive.
Lucy let out a low growl, reared her arm back, and slammed her fist into the bag with everything she had. She was trying to picture Caleb, but the image wouldn’t hold. It blurred, twisted and suddenly, it was Tim’s face that surfaced.
She froze.
Staring at the worn leather as her chest was heaving, she drew in a shaky breath and closed her eyes, trying to rein in the storm gathering inside her. It wasn’t just anxiety anymore. It was anger clawing at her, pulsing through her and it caused hands to ball into fists.
She wasn’t just mad. She was furious.
At Caleb. At Rosalind. At herself.
And Tim.
Lucy landed another punch, her muscles trembling from the effort as she let out a loud growl.
How dare he?
After everything she’d been through and everything he knew about her, how could just drop her and let Harper take over? She was basically a stranger to her, a colleague who was training her friend. Harper was someone who was around, but not involved, someone who didn’t know her triggers, who didn’t know her. Someone who had no idea how hard it was for Lucy to breathe when her mind drifted back to that barrel.
What she needed was familiarity and despite Tim sometimes being a colossal jerk sometimes, he was the one she recognized as safety. But instead of giving her comfort he chose to just toss her aside. Lucy knew it was irrational, that he probably had good intentions, but her anger and anxiety clouded her brain and everything felt like betrayal.
A betrayal that cut deeper than she expected.
Tim knew her better than anyone else in her life, understood how she worked and often times he clocked what she needed before she even realized it. And still, he had thought Harper was the person who was going to help her through this?
Lucy’s jaw muscles bulged as she ground her teeth, and her fists clenched anew. Her eyes zeroed in on the bag and she raised her hands, taking a swing at the bag.
Thud.
Tim was the one who found her.
Thud.
Tim was the one who pulled her out.
Thud.
Tim was the one who held her as she dissolved into tears.
Thud.
Tim was the one who sat by her bedside at the hospital as she recovered and who witnessed her waking up screaming from nightmares.
Thud. Thud.
TIM was the one who had seen her flinch when someone came too close to touching her left side.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
TIM was the one who had been there when her breathing stopped in confined spaces.
Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
Her punches grew faster, more erratic, as she pummeled the bag. The thoughts twisted in her mind like a splinter she couldn’t remove, causing a dull ache that was a sharp reminder of everything she had gone though.
Thud.
Being kidnapped was one thing, but being shoved into a barrel, left to be buried under the blistering sun, with the intent that she’d slowly suffocate to death? That was something else entirely. It was cruel. Inhumane. A form of torture so personal, so visceral, it carved itself into her bones. And no matter how much time passed, Lucy wasn’t sure she’d ever truly get over it.
She raised her leg to kick the bag, and roared with the effort, nearly stumbling backwards. She caught herself as she felt the hot burn of tears behind her eyelids and she bit her cheeks so hard to remind her that now was not the time to cry, but all it did was remind her that this wasn’t just about Tim.
Lucy was mad at herself. Mostly, for not being able to let it go and for how much the memory of that barrel still had the power to choke her when she least expected it.
She cried out sharply, slamming her fist into the bag so hard it rocked on its chain, and she wrapped her arms around it to steady it. She let her forehead drop against it and she lost the fight as hot tears spilled from her, wetting her cheeks. Her fingers dug into the material, and she clenched her jaw as she hits her head against it repeatedly.
You’re weak.
Thud.
You’re pathetic.
Thud.
You’re a failure.
Thud.
She chokes on a sob and her knuckles turn white as her nails scrape against the material, tears spilling down her face and mixing with the sweat, burning her eyes and cheeks. She’s crumbling slowly, the anxiety chipping away the brave face she tried to put on.
She had managed to talk herself into believing she was okay, convinced her therapist she could do this, but feeling like Tim was abandoning her completely was suddenly derailing her.
“Chen,” a familiar voice called from behind her, low and calm.
Lucy froze for a moment, and she let her hands slide off the bag to the hem of her sweater, pulling it up to wipe her face clean. That’s when she hears the sharp intake of breath and she knows exactly what it had been about it.
The tattoo.
“You got no quit in you, do you, Boot?” he said, a touch softer than his usual gruffness, not commenting on what he just saw.
“No, Sir.” she snapped, not bothering to hide her irritation.
“I’m guessing you want to say something to me?” Tim raised his eyebrow and crossed his arms across his chest, leaning against one of the lockers.
Lucy stared at him, wiggling her fingers a little to loosen them. She wants to say something, actually no, she wants to scream at him, but the lump that forms in her throat prevents her from making a sound and she swallows frantically instead.
“What is it?” He asked as he raised an eyebrow and somehow the words trigger something in her.
Was he really that blind?
Her anger flared again, and Lucy bit the inside of her cheek as she stared at him, drawing in a deep breath to steady her voice before she spoke. “You shouldn’t have let Harper push herself on me like that.”
Her voice had a certain bite to it, but it didn’t seem to faze Tim, so she continued. “I don’t need her or her pity,” she spat out.
Tim pushed himself off the locker to step closer, his movements slow in order not to startle her. He could see how high-strung Lucy was and he could sense the anxiety radiating off her. What surprised him was the angry undertone directed at him, so he crossed his arms as he stood next to the boxing bag, looking down at Lucy as she wiped her forehead with her sleeve.
“You think I don’t know that?” He said slowly and Lucy hated how his words pierced her defenses, and she sighed, staring at him at him as he moved even closer. She held his gaze, and she curled her fingers around the edge of her sweater, her eyebrow knitting together.
“Then why didn’t you stop it? Why didn’t you…,” she trailed off and pursed her lips, Tim putting a hand on the bag as he tilted his head.
“Because you need to figure out how to get past this,” Tim interrupted his voice firm but not unkind. “I can’t do it for you. And Harper…she’s a good cop, and she has been through plenty of trauma to help you, but only if you let her.”
“So have you,” she retorted and gripped the soft material even harder, “and unlike her you have been working with me for the past six months. You know me. She doesn’t.”
“My trauma, whatever you think that is,” he said carefully, “is far from what you went through.”
“Trauma is trauma. It doesn’t matter what happened, just that it did,” Lucy argued, and Tim’s face fell a little. “All Harper achieved was making me feel ridiculous for not being able to move past this fast enough.”
“No one expects you to move past this quick, Lucy,” he says calmly, but somehow the words leave a bitter taste in her mouth. “And we want to help you.”
“Help me? By putting me into a triggering situation?” she mutters, her eyes finally lowering and roaming the mat as she wraps her arms around herself. He tilts his head and waits for her to look back up.
“I don’t think that was her intention,” Tim said after a while and Lucy’s head snaps up.
“It was wrong of her to even consider taking me speed dating. I literally was kidnapped after a date and was tattoo by a sadist who intended to kill me,” Lucy spat, and she shook her head frustratedly. “You know as well as I do I need my time to process and not be pushed into situations like this, yet you let it happen. So, tell me, how you guys are helping me?”
Her throat grows tighter, and Lucy struggles to draw in a breath. She closes her eyes and tries to calm herself, flinching when she hears Tim gasp, getting ready to say something. “Don’t. You sidelined me. You know how that makes me feel?”
“No,” he replied and her eyes fluttered.
“Hurt. You’re my training officer, you’re supposed to guide me,” she whispered, and Tim nodded thoughtfully.
“Harper cornered me, and she convinced me it was the right thing, that as a woman she could help you,” Tim explained, and Lucy’s fists slowly unclenched a little.
“You should have talked to me and not just decided for me. I think I know best for me and what I need,” she paused, looking back up at his face. “And deep down, in that thick skull of yours, you know that as well.”
“Lucy, I don’t know what you want from me?” he said. “I tried to help you, and nothing has worked so far. I feel like I keep making it worse no matter what I do.”
“Working through this is a process and as I said before, there’s no quick fix,” she murmured. “But at the moment, you’re the only one I trust to catch me when I fall. You were the one that found me, the one that pulled me out, the one that literally brough me back from the dead.”
The two remain silent as they stared at each other and Tim’s shoulder slumped a little. The guilt over pushing her towards Caleb already gnawed at him and knowing how he had fucked up again didn’t help either. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, exhaling before taking another step closer to Lucy.
“So, tell me, how can I help? What can I do?”
He can see the gears in her head shifting and the intensity of his look makes Lucy’s heart thump harder and faster. She takes a moment to think about her words carefully, swallowing hard before she speaks. “I….I…I need to be confronted with my trauma. I work best when exposed to whatever rattles me, but in a controlled environment, rewiring my thoughts and reactions to it,” she whispers.
Tim nods, but his eyebrows crinkle a little. “What do you want me to do?”
She can hear the sincerity in his voice, and Lucy draws in a long breath, lips parting to speak, but nothing comes out. He waits and they stare at each other, the air around them thick with tension. When she doesn’t say anything, he moves to cross his arms again and Lucy’s eyes widen.
How in the world was she going to explain exactly what she needed?
“I thought about it for a while,” she finally said. “You know what scared me the most in that barrel?” Her voice is soft, and Tim shakes his head no, “running out of air before anyone finds me.”
His eyes widened and Lucy’s gaze didn’t waver from him as Tim straightened a little. His brain was going a mile a minute, trying to figure out what she meant by that, but it only fueled Lucy with the courage to say the words that had been swirling around in her head. “I want you to choke me.”
“Lucy,” he murmured, and she shook her head.
“Let me explain,” she whispered and stepped closer. “I want you to cut off my air, make me feel like I’m suffocating……That was and is my biggest fear. Running out of oxygen.”
“I don’t think…..,” he tried, but she cut him off again. “It’ll be different. This time I won’t pass out, because before I do, I’ll breathe again. It’s all happening in a controlled manner, no fear of dying looming over me.”
Tim stares at her as her words sink in, and he feels a knot forming in his gut. “Lucy.”
“I know it’s a lot to ask, but I need this. It will help me deal with my fear. It will take my body out of the fight or flight mode,” she trails off.
Tim’s surprised at how confident she sounded. There is no hint of fear or reservation, and he doesn’t know what to do other than tell her what he’s feeling. “I don’t think I’m the right person to ask for this.”
“Maybe you’re not…but….,” she pauses, “you’re the only one I trust enough to do this.”
Tim stared at her, the weight of her words crashing into him like a tidal wave. His stomach churned, and the knot forming there only tightened with every second of silence that passed. Lucy stood across from him, the anger from before replaced by a calm sense of confidence.
"You trust me that much?" he asked, his voice low, almost disbelieving. Lucy tilted her head slightly as if the question surprised her. "Of course I do. I wouldn’t be here asking this if I didn’t."
That answer rattled him.
Lucy had many people in her life, friends, family, and coworkers. People who cared about her, who would do almost anything for her. And yet, when it came to this, she was ready to put her trust in him. The thought made him uneasy, not because he didn’t want her trust but because he wasn’t sure he deserved it.
"You know," Tim began, his voice rougher than he intended, "you’ve got Jackson. Rachel. Hell, even Nolan. People who…"
"None of them are you," Lucy interrupted, her tone determined. "Jackson, my best friend, Rachel’s my longest friend, and Nolan… well, he’s Nolan. But this? This isn’t about them. It’s about you. Because you’ve always seen me. You’ve always known how to push me when I needed it, how to pull back when I couldn’t take more. And… I had faith in you, Tim."
"Faith?" Tim swallowed hard, his chest tightening. Lucy nodded, her expression softening.
"That’s why I took off my ring. That’s why I threw it on the ground before Caleb made me climb into the barrel." Her voice wavered slightly, but she pushed through. "I knew you’d find it, and I knew you’d find me. No one else. Just you."
He sucked in a breath as his hand patted his jean pocket, her words cutting through him with an accuracy he wasn’t prepared for. He still remembered the moment vividly when he spotted the ring in the sunlight, how his gut told him it must belong to her. He still feels the sheer desperation that had fueled him as he fell to his knees and clawed at the sand to get to her.
But hearing her say it, hearing that she had placed that kind of trust in him, was overwhelming. "Lucy…" he began, but she cut him off again.
"You can say no," she said quietly, leaning forward. "I won’t hold it against you if you don’t want to do this. It’s a lot to ask, and I get that."
"It’s not that I don’t want to help. It’s… what if I mess this up? What if I hurt you? Or make it worse somehow?" He shook his head, frustration bubbling to the surface.
"You won’t," Lucy said firmly, her eyes locking onto his. "I know you won’t. You’re careful. You’re deliberate. And you care about me too much to let anything happen to me. I trust you. Completely."
Her words hit him like a punch to the gut, but this time, it wasn’t fear or hesitation he felt. It was something like resolve. If she trusted him this much, he had to find a way to trust himself, too.
"Okay," he said finally, his voice steady. "We’ll do this. But you have to promise me something."
"What?" Lucy raised an eyebrow.
"That if it gets too much, you’ll tell me. No trying to tough it out or prove a point. I know you and I know you like to push yourself, but in this case it’s not the time to do so," he said, and she finally smiled, a small, genuine curve of her lips that told him she understood.
“Okay,” she agreed, and her stomach twisted as Tim pushed the bag aside and took another step towards Lucy to tower over her. “How do you want to do this?”
His voice was barely above a whisper and Lucy blinks her eyes a few times, something inside her clenching. The hot ball of lava that was burning through her gut suddenly dissolved, his words like a bucket of water that got poured over it, the anxiety puffing into hot steam. She inhaled slowly and reached for his wrists, wrapping her nimble fingers around them.
“Just like this,” she murmurs and guides his hands to her shoulders. Tim watches her and his fingers curl around her, thumbs extending to gently brush over her collar bone. He runs them up to her neck and he places his thumbs over her pulse point, taking a moment to count the beats while looking at the wall clock.
He counts 24 beats in 15 seconds.
96 beats per minute.
A number that told him Lucy was nervous, that her heart was racing, but somehow, she exhibited no fear. His eyes find hers again and Lucy’s lips curl into a soft smile as she nods, Tim slowly running his hands up her shoulders. His fingers dug into the muscles of her neck and his thumbs trace the soft skin of her jaw, the tips meeting underneath her chin.
Tim's heart raced as well, and he noticed the slight increase of her pulse underneath his fingers. It was a steady thumping and he watched as Lucy closed her eyes, steadying herself against the memories that threatened to overwhelm her.
Her hands are still wrapped around his wrists, and she pressed her pointer fingers against his pulse. His presence was a grounding force, his touch a reassurance that she wasn't alone in this struggle.
“Are you ready?” He asked and Lucy drew in a deep breath as she nodded slightly, his gaze unwaveringly fixed on her face, searching for any sign of discomfort or hesitation, but Lucy remained calm. “Tap me if it’s too much.”
Very slowly, Tim’s grip shifted. His thumbs pressed inward just enough to restrict the flow of air. Not enough to hurt her, but enough that she noticed the change. She gasps a little as it becomes more difficult to breathe and she immediately held her breath.
Seconds pass and Lucy’s feel her lungs burning and her eyes widen, so Tim dug the tips of their fingers into the base of her skull. “Breathe, Lucy. There’s enough air here,” he reassures her, and she exhales slowly. She’s focused on him, her eyes closing as she concentrates on breathing in.
It’s hard to do so and for a moment it seems to work, but as her oxygen levels lower, her brain jumps back in time. Suddenly she is back in the barrel and the air is hot and stuffy, making her feel like a led blanket was wrapped around her.
Her eyes snap open and he can see the panic as her eyes flutter. Their gazes connect and Lucy opens her mouth, trying to remind herself that she wasn’t in the barrel. She was in the gym, and she was with Tim.
You’re okay. You’re safe.
It’s a mantra that repeats itself, and she focuses on the closeness of his body, the warmth he radiates, and the hands around her neck controlling her breathing. She feels a flutter deep in her body and a tingling sensation that starts in her fingers and travels all the way up her arms, and for a split second, she wonders if it was the lack of oxygen or the hyperawareness of him being so close.
“Breathe,” he repeats, and Lucy realizes she has been holding her breath again. She exhales too quickly and feels a little dizzy, tapping his wrist. Tim immediately loosens his hold, and she sucks in a breath, the rush of oxygen making her head spin. Tim steadies her as she sways a little, and Lucy closes her eyes momentarily.
One hand leaves her neck and comes around her hips, hand on her lower back to pull her closer. The touch is soft, and it ignites a whole different feeling in her, one she had been repressing since the first day she met him. She opens her eyes, and then she realizes how close he is, face only mere inches from hers.
“How are you?” He checks in, and Lucy’s heart flutters at the softness in his voice.
“Okay? I had a moment of panic, but I forced my eyes open, and it lessened when I realized I was here and not in the barrel” she whispers, and Tim nods, his thumb pressing into her spine to comfort her.
“Good,” he says and tilts his head, the question on his tongue showing on his face.
“Keep going,” she murmurs, and Tim holds her against him. He slid the hand around her neck, so he was cupping her, his hands big enough to wrap around her. Tim counts down a few seconds in his head and he gently rubs this thumb against her side before he tightens his hold.
Lucy feels the pressure increase and her breath hitched as he pinched her windpipe off. The oxygen intake lowered, and she struggled to keep the flow going. A warm, buzzing feeling began to creep through her chest and crawl up and down her spine, causing her head to spin a little.
But this time it didn’t feel like panic rooting from the barrel. This was something else. Her body was reacting to the absence and the deprivation of oxygen being transported through her. She suddenly felt tired and her eyes fluttered as she gasped for air, but Tim hadn’t loosened his hold yet.
You’re okay. You’re safe.
In the barrel, there had been nothing. No light. No sound. No control. Just the terrifying, hollow panic of air running out and hoping someone would find her in time. She had tried to stay calm, conserve her breath, but every gasp had felt like her last.
But with Tim’s hands cradling her throat, it was different.
Here, she chose the edge.
Her lungs ached gently, and the tingling in her fingers started again. Pins and needles danced at the tips, and she could hear her pulse throb in her ears. Her face was growing red and her eyes found him. Tim watched her and suddenly the pleasant feeling she had switched into sheer terror of panic as her body felt heavy.
Too much. Not enough.
Lucy gasped and her fingers weakly dug into him, which made Tim loosen his grip, the arm around her tightening to press her flush against him. Lucy kept staring at him, tears burning behind her eyes as she kept holding her breath against her will. That’s when Tim blew against and his hand slid up to cup her cheek, looking deep into her eyes.
“Breathe Lucy, you’re safe. You’re okay,” he whispers, and Lucy shakes her head, opens her mouth, but somehow, her body seems to have forgotten what to do.
The panic intensifies and more anxiety claws at her, tears starting to spill down her cheeks. Her eyes are wide, and she looks like she had seen a ghost, but Tim remained calm. He tried to soothe her, moving his hand to chest. He tapped it a few times before he gently pushed against her sternum and blows against her once more.
“It’s okay, breathe,” he reminds her and finally Lucy chokes out a sob, her vegetative system kicking back in. She sucks in several shaky breaths and despite the restored flow of oxygen, her brain was set on taunting her.
You’re weak.
You’re a failure.
“Hey, hey,” Tim said as her legs wobbled, and she blinked furiously. He held her and made her look up while Lucy heaved against him. “It’s okay. You’re doing so great. Hey.”
She doesn’t reply, her throat dry and her body feeling sluggish, the room spinning as Tim held her upright, walking them backwards so she could lean against the cool concrete of the wall. That shocks Lucy back to the presence and she manages to keep her eyes open, trying to clear the heavy fog that had settled in her brain.
She sucked in another breath, but it was jagged and too fast, then another, and another, until her lungs burned in a different way. Her body was remembering the trauma but simultaneously tried recalibrating. Tim simply held her while he soothed her and after a few minutes the room wasn’t spinning anymore.
“I’m here,” he said, low and firm, and it wasn’t just words. It was a vow. “You’re not alone. I’ve got you.”
She let her eyes drift to his face, and the shame crept up fast, coiling in her gut like smoke. Her lips parted, but the words got caught. “I shouldn’t….” she tried, her voice hoarse and nearly gone. “God, I shouldn’t need this.”
Tim’s brows pulled together, eyes narrowing like he had heard something physically painful. He shook his head. “Don’t,” he said, voice steel now. “Don’t do that. Don’t turn this against yourself.”
“But I do need it,” she rasped, “I need you to choke me, so I don’t feel like I’m drowning in my own head, Tim. What kind of fucked up situation is this?”
“That’s trauma,” he said simply. “That’s your brain trying to find a way to make sense of what happened to you. You didn’t choose this to give someone else power over you, but right now you are choosing how to take it back.”
Lucy blinked again and her tears slowed. Her chest still rose and fell too quickly, but it wasn’t as ragged now. His words wrapped around her, offering a lifeline, and she clung to it. “I’m so broken,” she murmured, and Tim shook his head vehemently.
“You’re not broken,” he told her. “You’re surviving. And you’re doing it with more strength than anyone I’ve ever met.”
Her chin trembled at his words, and she closed her eyes, her forehead falling against his chest. She took a moment to soak up the presence of him, trying to rid herself of the flood of images that were pestering her still.
“I hate that I still feel it,” she whispered. “The barrel. The air is running out. Every time I close my eyes it’s like I’m being transported back there.”
“Then don’t close your eyes. Look at me,” he replied, and Lucy tilted her head back, her eyes finding his. She studies them, half expecting to see pity, but instead she sees pride and worry.
“What now?” She whispered and Tim moves his hand back to her throat, gently running his knuckles over the tender spots where he had dug in.
“That’s up to you, what do you want?” He arches an eyebrow and Lucy licks her lips, her body trembling a little at the thought of going again, but she knew she had to. So, she guided his hand back around her, eyes still glued to his.
“One more time.”
Tim nods and he takes ahold of her, fingers slowly gliding over her. He grips her and Lucy moves her hands from his wrists to his arms, finger curling into his jean jacket. Tim increases the pressure much quicker than before and cuts off the airflow.
Her chest tightened almost immediately, screaming for air, but still she held onto the sensation. Her body wanted to panic, to flail, to give in to the feeling of her lungs collapsing, but Lucy kept her grip on Tim’s arms, anchoring herself to the one person who could lead her through this.
His touch wasn’t rough, wasn’t cruel. It was firm, even came across as protective. Every second of denied breath, every flicker of numbness in her toes and fingers was bookended by him. She stared at Tim, and she reminded herself that she had nothing to fear, that she was safe.
Her pulse roared in her ears and the tingles grew heavier, like sand draining down her limbs, weightless and intense. Her face burned with heat, her skin prickling with pressure and still, his eyes never left hers, but when the pull into unconsciousness loomed over her, Lucy couldn’t fight it anymore and closed her eyes.
“Lucy,” he said, his voice ringing through the static in her brain, even as her vision began to tunnel at the edges. “Open your eyes again. Look at me.”
His voice sounded distant, but she still forced them open, fluttering against the tightness in her head. His eyes were glistening with something, and Lucy tried to draw in a breath, but her chest didn’t expand. She suddenly felt lightheaded, like the ground was shaking and she knew she was about to pass out, so she tapped his arms.
Almost immediately he lets go of her throat and he presses her harder against the wall. Her lips had a tinge of blue and somehow her brain hadn’t registered he had let go, so Tim moved his hand back to her chest. He gives her a few taps and Lucy’s eyes narrow.
“Breathe…there’s air here. You can do this,” he reminds her and suddenly her lungs expanded, and her chest puffed, dragging in a massive gulp of air. Her knees buckled at the rush of oxygen, but Tim caught her before gravity could.
Lucy choked on the first breath, then another, and then she was coughing against his chest, gasping like a swimmer who’d breached the surface just in time. She clung to him, fingers fisted tight in his jacket. Her whole body shivered, and the noise she made wasn’t quite a sob, but not quite relief either.
It was everything crashing down on her at once.
“I’ve got you,” Tim murmured and before he could think, he pressed his lips to her sticky temple, trying to calm her down. Neither acknowledge the moment and Lucy gasped when her legs steadied a little, her body still humming from the high of oxygen starvation. “You did so damn good, Lucy.”
She didn’t answer right away. Just breathed. In. Out. In. Out. Slow, deep, grounding. Her body still buzzed, the tingles lingering like ghosts under her skin, but for the first time in weeks her head was clear. Her face is buried in his chest, and she lets out a sigh of relief, hands letting go of his arms to wrap around his torso.
Tim doesn’t back away, he holds her in his arms, cheek pressed against her head, hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. When her breathing finally returned to normal, she slowly peeled herself away from him to look up at his face.
“Thank you,” she croaks a little and Tim shrugs his shoulders.
“No need to thank me,” he replies and takes a step away. He checks if she’s steady on her feet and Lucy shakes out her limbs, her body thrumming and tired, but her mind is feeling lighter. There’s a silence between them and Lucy doesn’t quite know what to say, but Tim created some more space, his hands sliding into his jean pockets as he looked at her.
“You riding with me tomorrow?” He asked and Lucy stared at him, confused for a moment, seeing the twinkle in his eyes. She blows out a breath and puts a hand on her hip, nodding her head. “War bags need restocking.”
“Yes, Sir,” she said, and Tim pursed his lips, turning to leave. He then stops and spins around again, pulling his hand out of his pocket. Lucy’s breath stutters and her eyes widen, as Tim holds her moonstone ring and tosses it over to her.
“Get in early,” he simply said and finally turned to leave, Lucy catching the piece of jewelry before she watched him leave. Her heart was beating frantically in her chest and Lucy lifted her hand to brush her neck, licking her lips at what all this meant.
Tim's footsteps echoed down the hall like distant thunder, but the room still buzzed around her. Her lungs ached, not painfully, but in the way they do after a long, hard run or a sudden dive into deep water. She was still catching her breath, but somehow it didn’t rattle her, just reminded her she survived.
She flexed her fingers and looked at the ring again.
He had kept it.
All this time Tim had held onto this piece of her. Had chosen now to give it back. Right after she asked him to help her combat her trauma. Right after helping her face the single worst, most paralyzing fear of her life.
Lucy exhaled and sat down on the bench behind her, muscles shaky, sweat cooling on her skin. She stared at the spot where he had stood just minutes before, where his hands had been wrapped around her neck. Her heart thudded again, traitorous and too loud and not entirely because she had asked him to do it.
Lucy shakes her head, and she bit her lower lip at her thoughts.
This wasn’t about attraction. It wasn’t. It was about safety. Control. Healing. Tim was her training officer, her protector, her guide. He had pulled her back from the brink without hesitation. He had stayed with her until he could make sure she was okay. He never had pitied her. He hadn’t treated her like glass.
And yeah, maybe there’d been a moment, when his breath hit her skin, when his eyes bored into hers, when her body shuddered under his touch not from anxiety and panic, but the sheer closeness.
But she told herself it was all in her head, it was nothing more than a friends helping another friend.
She blew out a breath and stood, wiping her palms on her leggings. Her reflection caught in the mirror across the room. She noticed her flushed cheeks, her wide eyes, the pink and red spots where his hand had been. She touched it lightly and tilted her head. There was no bruise, no pain, just the memory of pressure and the surprising comfort it had brought.
This wasn’t about Tim. Not like that.
It was about the way he knew how to be there for her, without making it about him. The way he always saw her strength, even when she couldn’t. The way he trusted her to come back, even when she wasn’t sure she could.
“Don’t do this,” she muttered to herself, sliding the ring onto her finger. She squared her shoulders and headed for the showers, determined to wash away the lingering tremble in her body, the heat in her chest and the thoughts trying to take shape in the corners of her mind.
It wasn’t attraction. It was gratitude.
She wouldn’t cross that line.
He wouldn’t cross that line.
But even as the water rushed over her, Lucy couldn’t stop thinking about how perfectly his hands had fit around her throat and how completely safe she had felt in the moment she couldn’t breathe and a part of her wondered.
What if?
TBC