Chapter Text
A little context with the dates
2026: Present
2024: They got together (1 year and a half ago)
2022: Until where Tim remembers
2021: Beginning of everything
Zoe Andersen and Jackson West are alive and well. Aaron Thorsen still works with them.
—
“Do you ever have that feeling where a moment is so perfect you try to memorize it while you are experiencing it?"
Her voice is soft, a quiet whisper meant only for them.
Tim lifts their intertwined hands into the air, and they both stare at them with wide smiles stretched across their faces.
"Yeah, I do.”
His voice comes out just as soft, and internally, he scolds himself for it.
But the woman doesn’t react to his tone at all. So this isn’t the first time that strange voice of his has made an appearance.
"This is one of those moments"
He knows she’s smiling without even seeing her face, just by her soothing voice.
Another thing that catches him off guard.
“Us in bed?” he asks, mockery laced through his tone as a smile spreads across his face.
That’s new to him too.
“We didn’t even get to the fun part yet.”
His voice is huskier now, far different from the soft sound that slipped out earlier, though the playful edge remains.
She giggles, gently smacking his arm with her free hand.
The sound of her laughter does something to his chest — something he can’t quite name yet — but whatever it is, it feels good.
Tim watches it all unfold like he’s only a spectator. He has no control over what he says or does, yet he feels everything.
It’s as if his body no longer belongs to him, and the strangest part is that he doesn’t seem to care, not as long as he can keep feeling whatever this is.
“Yes, this is perfect.”
She tucks her face between his neck and shoulder as she lies on her side, her other hand resting against his chest.
He hadn’t even noticed that his own free hand had settled on her back, pulling her closer.
“You are perfect.”
He looks down at her because somehow he already knows she’s going to glare at him, and she does exactly that.
She lifts her head, their eyes meeting for one fleeting moment, and he instantly knows it isn’t enough.
He needs more of this. More of her.
She tilts her face toward his, her movements unbearably slow, almost taunting him, even though she’s moving at a perfectly normal pace.
It’s just not fast enough for him.
He closes his eyes, waiting for her lips to meet his, but nothing happens. A confused frown pulls at his face, his eyes still shut.
Why can’t he open his eyes? His heartbeat starts to quicken. Is he panicking? No, it doesn’t feel like panic.
He goes against his own mind, forcing his eyes open. He blinks several times as a harsh light hits his face.
That can’t be sunlight spilling through his bedroom window… can it?
Tim catches fragments of a white ceiling above him, his brain scrambling to make sense of his surroundings.
He reaches for the woman instinctively, but there’s no one there anymore.
The warmth and weight of her body pressed against his has been replaced by a crushing heaviness in his own chest.
This doesn’t feel good anymore.
It hurts.
“Tim?”
A voice.
It sounds distant, but at least he isn’t alone anymore. Maybe it’s her. The woman’s voice had felt familiar. This one does too.
Still blinking, trying to adjust to the blinding light, he notices a blur entering his field of vision — the shape of a person hovering nearby.
“Tim, can you hear me?”
The voice grows louder now, pushing through the ringing in his ears and the muffled noises surrounding him.
That’s Angela’s voice. Not the same voice as the woman who had been in his bed.
“Get Lucy here.” Angela’s voice is shaky.
‘Why is she calling for my boot?’ That’s the only coherent thought Tim’s brain manages to form throughout the chaos.
Angela rushes back to his bedside, gripping his shoulders tightly.
“Tim, can you hear or see me?”
Tim nods. Speaking is evidently much harder. He tries anyway.
His brain remembers how to speak, how to move, but his body seems to have entirely different plans.
Nothing comes out except a strained groan.
“Tim, stay calm. Stop moving so much.”Angela’s voice is firm, but not harsh.
Worried. She’s worried.
He decides to listen to his friend. Slowly, his body begins to relax, his shoulders sinking back into the mattress.
At least his lungs are still working; he can inhale and exhale without trouble. Focusing on that helps.
So he lies there, completely lost, with no idea what’s happening to him— but he trusts her. She’s always had his back.
Things are still foggy, but he catches the moment Lucy enters the room.
Her face immediately lights up when their eyes meet.
He frowns.
She barely even gave him a genuine smile during all the time they worked together… so why is she looking at him like that?
Lucy rushes to his bedside, cupping his face with both hands before pressing a soft slow kiss to his forehead.
Tim freezes, his body stiffening beneath her touch. But it’s not exactly because of her hands on him.
His body reacts in a completely different way than his brain does to her hands and lips against his skin.
“What are you doing, Chen?”
He finally finds his voice, and when the words leave him, they sound dry, rough, carrying something Lucy hasn’t heard from him in a long time.
Lucy pulls back to look at him, her brows drawing together. “Tim, what’s wrong?”.
Her voice is soothing as she studies him.
He can feel heat creeping up the back of his neck, spreading all the way to his ears.
“Why are you kissing me?”
They stare at each other for what feels like an eternity.
Lucy searches his face for something, and when she doesn’t find it, her expression falls.
“Angela,” she mumbles, her eyes fixing on the wall above him.
Angela is still standing by the door, giving them privacy, but she turns at the sound of Lucy’s voice.
“Yeah?”
“Call the doctor.”
There’s something terrifying in Lucy’s tone.
Angela immediately walks toward her.
By now, Lucy already seems far away from Tim, her eyes never leaving the wall.
“Is something wrong?” Angela asks, her gaze flickering between Lucy and Tim.
“Just get the doctor.”
Angela nods and quickly leaves the room.
Without looking at him, Lucy turns her back to him. “Excuse me.”
Her voice is shaky, quiet, fragile. She sounds like a child trying to hold back tears just to appear brave in front of her parents.
She doesn’t wait for his response. She just walks away.
Tim stays there, trying to understand what just happened. What is happening now.
He doesn’t know why, but guilt settles heavily inside his chest. Guilty for the way he spoke to her. Guilty for the way she reacted.
Outside the room, Lucy leans against the wall with her hands covering her face as Angela returns with the doctor.
“Is he awake? That’s marvelous.”
The doctor sounds genuinely cheerful at the news, but his smile fades the moment Lucy lifts her head to look at him.
“He is not there.”
Angela and the doctor frown.
They can both clearly see Tim inside the room, but Lucy’s voice is too serious to ignore.
Her lip trembles as she struggles to hold herself together.
“What are you talking about?” Angela asks softly.
“That’s not my Tim. There’s something wrong with him.” Lucy lowers her gaze to the floor, unable to face whatever is about to happen next.
Angela and the doctor exchange stunned looks, their mouths slightly parted, before both of them hurry into the room.
Not Lucy. She never leaves that wall. She doesn’t move a muscle. She can barely even breathe.
x
“What is happening?”
Tim wants answers. He’s still completely lost after everything that just happened.
He wants to know why he’s there, why his rookie kissed him, why everything suddenly feels so different.
“Hi, Tim. I’m Doctor Davis. I’ve been taking care of you. Do you remember being in a car accident?”
Tim’s mouth falls open. His eyes dart from the doctor to Angela.
And finally, panic crashes into him.
His chest tightens, his breathing quickening as the machines attached to him begin beeping rapidly.
“No. I don’t remember that.”
Tim notices the brief look exchanged between Angela and the doctor.
“What? What does that mean?” he demands.
“It’s possible you’re suffering from memory loss caused by the head trauma,” the doctor explains carefully.
“Tim, what’s the last thing you remember?” Angela asks, sitting down in the chair beside his bed.
Tim’s brows pull together as he tries to think, the effort alone enough to exhaust him.
“Went to work. Started my shift. Did paperwork. Ended my shift. Went home.”
“Tim, that could literally be any day of your life for the past ten years. Tell me something specific.”
Angela scolds him, though it doesn’t stop a smile from tugging at her lips.
“Funny,” he mocks back before forcing himself to concentrate again.
“Me and Chen responded to a call. Domestic violence. Chen took it pretty hard, so I let her drive for a few hours. At the end of the shift, I told her I wasn’t leaving yet because I wasn’t done training her. She left with West. I went home. That’s it.”
Angela’s eyes widen, her mouth falling slightly open. She glances at the doctor, but his expression remains neutral.
“It appears I was correct. He lost the memories from the past few years. Those memories may return with time, or he may never recover them. In cases like this, we simply don’t know,” the doctor explains.
“Years? How many?”
Tim starts shifting restlessly in the bed, fear of the unknown spreading through his bones.
Angela reaches for his hand. The simple touch calms him slightly, enough for him to turn and face her, bracing himself for the truth.
“If I’m not mistaken, that happened about four years ago. But I’m sure Chen could give you a more precise answer than I can.”
Tim’s eyes widen even further. “Four years?”
Angela nods, pressing her lips into a thin line. “Let me call Lucy. She’ll be able to explain everything.”
She starts to rise from the chair, but Tim quickly catches her hand, stopping her.
Angela pauses and turns back to him, confusion flickering across her face.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to talk to my boot right now,” Tim grumbles.
“She’s not your rookie anymore.”
“I don’t see how that’s relevant for this moment.”
Angela hesitates. “About that…” she begins before stopping herself. “Just—” She lifts a hand, silently asking him to wait.
Then she turns toward the doorway.
“Lucy.”
Silence.
“Lucy… I know you’re still there. Come here.”
A few seconds later, Lucy finally appears in the doorway, still holding herself rigidly, as she hasn’t moved since she walked out.
Tim immediately notices the fading bruise on her forehead, nearly healed but still visible beneath the harsh hospital lights. Dark circles sit under her eyes, and exhaustion clings to every inch of her.
Then she looks at him fully, and he notices how red her eyes are.
She’d been crying.
Something painful twists inside his chest, and he doesn’t understand why.
Of course he doesn’t want to see her cry— he hates seeing anyone cry. But this feels different somehow.
“Lucy, tell him.”
Lucy stiffens near the doorway, her fingers curling tightly around the sleeve of her hoodie.
She looks vulnerable, insecure, hurt— so different from the rookie he remembers. The confident spark he used to know is nowhere to be found.
She clears her throat quietly before speaking. “I’m your girlfriend now.”
Tim lets out a disbelieving breath, the corner of his mouth twitching upward automatically.
“You’re joking.” He shakes his head weakly against the pillow. “Funny, boot.”
Lucy’s eyes immediately drop to the floor. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, arms wrapping around herself as if she’s trying to physically hold herself together.
Beside the bed, Angela fixes Tim with a dead stare.
The mocking smile slowly disappears from his face as he notices neither of them is laughing.
“Wait…” His voice comes out quieter this time. “Are you serious? We’re together?”
Lucy nods once, still unable to look directly at him.
“There’s no way I’m dating her,” he exhales again, more stunned than cruel, though the words still land like a slap.
Lucy physically recoils at that, subtle enough that most people probably wouldn’t notice it.
But Tim does.
Angela closes her eyes for a brief second, clearly catching the heaviness of his words.
“Angela, I should go,” Lucy says quickly, finally lifting her gaze— though only toward Angela, never him.
She swallows hard, trying desperately to keep herself composed. “I’ll give you guys some time alone.”
“Luc—”
But Lucy doesn’t wait for her to finish.
She’s already turning away, walking out before anyone can stop her.
Tim watches her disappear through the doorway, confused by the strange ache growing heavier in his chest.
Crossing the hall, Lucy presses a trembling hand over her mouth as she keeps walking.
She knows the moment she leaves that room, she may also be walking out of Tim’s life.
Not because she would ever give up on him— she never could. But because Tim Bradford has never done anything he didn’t want to do.
And right now… he doesn’t want her there.
x
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
Angela crosses her arms tightly over her chest, staring at him in disbelief.
Tim drags a hand over his face, exhaustion and frustration weighing heavily on him.
“I’m sorry for being a little shocked by the news.”
“That wasn’t shock.” Angela steps closer to the bed, lowering her voice, but the disappointment in it hits harder than if she had yelled. “That was you mocking the woman who’s been by your side this entire time.”
Tim looks away, jaw tightening.
“Tim…” Angela takes a deep breath, clearly trying to calm herself before continuing. “You were in a coma for two weeks, and she hasn’t left this hospital since.”
The words hit him hard enough to steal the air from his lungs.
Two weeks.
But somehow, the only part his brain truly focuses on is her.
The image of Lucy sitting outside his room for days. Sleeping in uncomfortable hospital chairs. Waiting for him to wake up. Crying over him. And the first thing he did was make her look at him like that.
Guilt crashes over him so suddenly that it makes his stomach twist.
“I—”
But no explanation comes. Nothing he says right now will make any of this better.
Angela watches him carefully, some of her anger softening when she notices the regret settling across his face.
“You better apologize to her tomorrow.”
Tim swallows hard before nodding once.
He knows she’s right.
He may not remember Lucy, but Lucy remembers him. She stayed beside him while he was unconscious, while nobody knew if he would even wake up again.
She was there for him. It isn’t fair to push her away just because his memories are gone.
Angela squeezes his shoulder gently before finally stepping back toward the door.
“I’m going to rest for a few hours,” she says more softly now. “If your exams come back clean and the doctors clears you, I’ll pick you up tomorrow to take you home.”
Tim nods again, still distracted by the heaviness in his chest.
x
Home.
That’s what Lucy thought she had. A home. With him.
But walking into their house knowing it would never feel the same again stirs something painful deep inside her chest.
The silence greets her immediately, heavy and unfamiliar, despite the place being filled with traces of them.
Slowly, she walks through every room. Her fingers trail across walls, furniture, picture frames.
She pauses in doorways longer than necessary, memorizing every corner as if she’s preparing herself to never see any of it again.
Just in case she has to leave in the morning.
That night, she doesn’t sleep.
She lies in bed staring at the ceiling, tears slipping silently into her hairline as she mourns the life she thought she had.
The future she had built around them. Around him.
Eventually, the crying stops— not because she feels better, but because she simply runs out of energy.
So she gets up.
The house is dark and painfully quiet as she starts gathering her things.
Clothes. Toiletries. A few personal items scattered around the bathroom and bedroom.
She moves mechanically, folding and packing whatever she can fit into two duffel bags.
When she’s done, she just stands there staring at them.
That’s it. Her entire life reduced to two bags sitting by the floor. The future that once belonged to that house suddenly has nowhere left to call it home.
After packing, she makes herself a cup of coffee more out of habit than desire and sits down on the couch.
The same couch where they had laughed together, argued together, fallen asleep together.
She wonders if this is the last time she’ll ever sit there. Her last night in this house.
Hours pass without her noticing.
By the time the sun begins rising through the windows, pale golden light spilling across the living room floor, Lucy is still curled up on the couch with the mug resting between her hands, the coffee inside long gone cold.
She doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do now. Go to the hospital? Wait here until Tim decides what happens to her future?
In the end, she settles on a compromise. She’ll go to the hospital. But she’ll wait outside.
Two hours later, Lucy spots Angela pushing Tim through the hospital parking lot in a wheelchair.
Tim looks deeply offended by the entire situation.
“I don’t need this stupid chair,” he grumbles, gripping the armrests with irritation. “I can walk on my own.”
Angela keeps pushing him forward without even acknowledging the complaint.
“I’m not an invalid, Angela.”
Still, she ignores him completely, her expression calm and entirely unimpressed by his attitude.
Lucy tries but fails to hold back a smile.
That’s so Tim Bradford. Memory loss or not.
For a brief second, the familiarity of it warms something inside her chest. But the smile quickly fades into a thin line the moment his eyes meet hers again.
She bites the inside of her cheek hard enough to ground herself before forcing her feet to move closer.
“Hi,” she says softly. “How are you feeling?”
“Good.” His answer is short, but not cold this time.
Tim shifts slightly in the wheelchair before looking at her again, awkwardness flickering across his face.
“I’m sorry for how I acted yesterday,” he says quietly. “That wasn’t very polite of me.”
Lucy instinctively wraps her arms tighter around herself.
“Don’t worry about it,” she replies, shaking her head gently. “You’re still processing everything.”
Tim nods, a small smile tugging briefly at the corner of his mouth.
He genuinely appreciates how understanding she’s being with him, especially after the way he treated her.
Angela helps Tim into the passenger seat while Lucy walks toward her own car parked nearby.
Tim notices it immediately. Then he notices she’s following them.
The thought presses uncomfortably against his chest, but he immediately shoves it aside.
He doesn’t want to deal with that right now.
The drive passes mostly in silence.
When Angela finally pulls into the driveway, she parks and gets out first, helping Tim carefully out of the car.
He’s steadier on his feet now, though still slower than usual.
A few minutes later, Lucy’s car pulls in behind them.
Tim watches through narrowed eyes as she steps out of the vehicle, exhaustion still written all over her face.
Tim opens the door wider and looks between both women.
Angela’s expression is neutral, though there’s something almost sympathetic hidden behind it.
Lucy, on the other hand, looks visibly nervous.
She keeps biting her lip, shifting her weight from foot to foot, her fingers tightening around the hem of her shirt like she’s bracing herself for impact.
“I appreciate the escort, but I’d really love to take a shower and go to bed.”
The words fall into complete silence. Neither of the women says anything.
Tim glances between them, immediately growing suspicious at the tension thickening at the entrance of the house.
“What now?” he asks, already half annoyed.
Angela shifts her weight and looks toward Lucy.
“Lucy?”
She closes her eyes briefly before taking a slow, steadying breath. “I live here too.”
Tim stares at her. Then he lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head once in disbelief.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Angela scoffs loudly next to him while Lucy exhales another shaky breath, her fingers tightening around her own arm now.
“Don’t worry,” she says quickly, almost too quickly. “I already packed some things, and I can stay with friends for a while. Give you some space.”
Angela immediately turns to Tim, side-eyeing him hard, clearly waiting for him to say Lucy should stay.
But nothing comes out.
Tim stands there awkwardly, exhaustion clouding his thoughts, emotions pulling in directions he doesn’t understand anymore.
“Thank you,” is all he manages to say.
The words visibly hurt her.
Lucy nods once anyway and walks further into the house.
Tim watches her disappear down the hallway before she returns a moment later carrying her bags, one of his hoodies thrown over her shoulder.
His eyes instantly catch on it.
“That’s mine, isn’t it?” he asks, pointing weakly toward the hoodie.
Angela immediately smacks his arm.
“Ow—”
Lucy stops walking.
For the first time since he woke up, something in her expression changes completely. The sadness is still there, but now there’s something sharper underneath it.
Something stronger.
She slowly turns to face him.
“The house was mine too,” she says quietly. “And I have to leave it, so I think you’ll survive without your hoodie.”
Then she walks past him without another glance.
Angela snorts loudly behind him. “You deserved that.”
Tim watches the front door close behind Lucy, guilt settling heavily in his chest once again.
But outside, Lucy keeps walking without stopping.
Because she’s done apologizing for existing in his life. Done shrinking herself back into the role of a rookie just because that’s all he remembers her as.
Yeah, she still loves him. Yeah, she still wants a future with him. But she refuses to let herself be treated like she’s still his subordinate.
Because now, they are equals.