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amaradangeli · 2 years

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Chenford + it wasn't pretend for me...

"Ah, but see... it wasn't pretend for me, baby."

Lucy tries to control the warring feelings of panic and revulsion having Flint's putrid breath hot on her face as he trails the blunt side of a blade down her cheek.

On paper, this isn't the worst fix she's been in on an undercover op, but this is the first time she's been here while also restrained and injured enough that even if she did have a sudden surge of adrenaline, she wouldn't be able to do much to save herself.

No, at this point, her best bet is to stay alive until the cavalry can arrive.

She's still not sure how her cover had been blown. She'd been careful. For weeks she'd been so careful. She'd pretended to be interested in Flint to gain access to him. She'd pretended to be everything he'd want in a woman: a little dumb, a little submissive, and a lot sexy. He'd fallen for her hook, line, and sinker.

Then the jig was up and now she's here, pretty sure she's got more than a couple cracked ribs, definitely some fractures in her hand, and her wrist tied behind her back and hobbled to her feet.

Before everything had gone to hell in a handbasket, she'd gotten a single text off to Harper. But she didn't know if the message was received, understood, or if she could even be located. There were too many unknowns for her to just give up.

As Flint pants in her face, she remembers that she's survived far worse than this idiot. Still, she bites her tongue, swallowing her retort. Because if she tells him what she really thought about getting closer to him, to allowing him to kiss her with breath she could taste, he'd surely kill her in a fit of rage. But she can't appeal to him as a turned cop and try to convince him she'd actually been interested either. Because in some ways, Tim was right. She's not that good a liar. She's unwilling to commit to the bit.

Turns out that no answer is just as bad as the wrong one, though. He jams a knee into the ribs she's now fully convinced are broken. She can't swallow the scream. She hears the shuffling of fast-moving shoes on concrete and then the distinctive double-tap of two rapid-fire shots then she passes out.

She comes to and Tim's face is the only thing in her field of vision. There's a roaring in her ears and while she can't really hear anything she can see his mouth moving. He's definitely looking at her, his hands are moving over her swiftly, checking for damage, yanking at the ropes that bind her wrists, but she's pretty sure he's not actually talking to her. He jostles her broken hand wrong and the pain flares through her hot and wild. She passes out again.

Next time she wakes up she's in an ambulance. She's got an IV in the back of her not-broken hand. Tim's sitting next to her, boring a hole into her skull with the intensity of his gaze. "Hey, you found me." They must have given her something really good for the pain.

"Of course I found you." His words are typical, but his tone is not. It would be so easy to go back to sleep, to not overthink what she's hearing in his voice, to not be so damned grateful to see his handsome face after such a long break. So that's what she does.

She comes back around when they off-load her at the emergency room. She's with it long enough to use her non-dominant hand to sign paperwork for the surgery she'll need, give Tim a shortlist of things she wants from her house, and to ask Angela to please go with him - and not because she doesn't want him in her underwear drawer. Angela seems to understand her true function.

Next, she's in a hospital room, feeling groggy and cotton-filled, her hand heavy with the frame of external traction. Tim's once again sitting next to her, but it's dark outside and he's sprawled out in a more-comfortable looking chair watching football. They're different people this time. Different together this time. And yet so much is still exactly the same.

"I can't believe you've left Kojo home alone to fend for himself."

His eyes jerk her way, and she wonders if he could understand anything she'd just said. Her throat feels like they've reconstructed it out of sandpaper and she's not entirely sure she's just spoken English.

"I didn't leave your dog alone. Tamara's with him. It was either that or she'd still be sitting here waiting for you to wake up."

"She's got exams next week. She needs to be studying."

"I told her you'd say that and sent her home. God only knows what she's doing to my kitchen right now." He leans over, so long and stretched out - if she didn't know him she wouldn't see the exhaustion and tension in his frame - and passes her a pink cup of ice chips. "That'll feel good on your throat."

She eats some of the ice chips and feels the fire in her throat recede just a little. "She shouldn't have come up here at all."

He scoffs. "There was no keeping her away."

"Why did you call her?"

"I didn't. She called me. And as it turns out, when I'm worried about you, I don't hide it well."

"You were worried about me?" She's glad he'd swooped in for her rescue, but she hadn't intended to leave him worried.

"Every damn one of the past 38 days." He sounds tired. Worn out. Depleted.

She's barely twitched her hand to reach out for him when he's uncharacteristically reaching for her. The grip he takes on her good left hand is strong but gentle like maybe she's got sympathy pain mirrored across her body.

Suddenly his phone is playing the tone for an incoming video call. He reaches across his body with his free hand instead of releasing his hold on her. The smile on his face is involuntary and deep and when he picks it up and turns the phone to face her, she sees Tamara's face fill the screen. "Look who's up." Tamara can't see the relief around his eyes, now that his face is nowhere in the frame of the camera, but Lucy can.

"Are you okay?" Tamara's voice isn't as strong or sharp as it usually is. If anything, she sounds scared, like maybe she's on shaky ground.

"I'm so much better now," Lucy reassures her, she hasn't seen or spoken to the doctor yet, and she's got some pain — hell, she's got some painkillers — but can tell that the injuries aren't a long-term threat. "You're not missing any study sessions for being here, are you?"

"Just history and I've got like the highest grade in the section."

"Okay."

"You're not going to make me go back?"

"Not tonight."

Tim turns the phone back so he can see Tamara, and more accurately so Tamara can see him switch to his serious face. "Tomorrow."

Tamara huffs, but there's no power behind it. "Move so I can see you both at the same time."

It's been a while since Lucy has heard that injured-teen pitch in Tamara's voice.

Tim doesn't attempt to slide the big recliner, but he does get up and move to sit on the edge of the bed. She tries not to be put out that he'd had to drop her hand to do it. Right now, her needs are secondary to Tamara's. She's sure Tim feels the same.

Tamara calls out to Kojo and he situates himself squarely in her lap, his square head and smiling mug filling half the screen, obscuring the right side of her face.

"He's not supposed to be on the couch," Tim grouses, but there's no real censure behind it. Tamara's been able to get away with a lot for a little while now, ever since she'd started reaching out to him without going through Lucy.

"These are stressful times," she says, "none of us can be held responsible for our actions."

Tim presses backwards into Lucy, his lower back making warm contact with her hip. "It's been a long day."

"It's been a long month. When are you coming home?"

Lucy tries not to react to how it feels for Tamara to be sitting in Tim's house asking when she's coming home. It's too clear a glimpse at something she wants more than she can articulate. "I don't know. I haven't seen a doctor yet."

"It'll be another few days at least," Tim offers. "You're going to have to have the external traction removed before you get re-casted for home."

"How do you know that? What ever happened to HIPAA laws?"

He blushes a deep crimson, almost immediately. "I think they think we're related."

"Mhmm," Tamara says, a knowing smirk on her face. "I'm sure they do."

"Go walk the dog, huh? A nice, long walk."

"Fine," she grouses, but the look on her face is warmth and fullness and Lucy's not sure she's ever seen Tamara look that way before.

"Goodnight, sweetheart," Lucy says, not quite sure where the endearment came from, but she's also never felt so much like someone's family as she does right now.

"I'll be home late," Tim offers.

"Okay. Dinner's in the microwave. Love you guys," she says, and then disconnects the call.

Lucy thinks they must be doing okay with Tamara, whatever it is they're actually doing. She's thriving now, and she's come so far, using all that glorious potential she'd shown up with. "You're going to stay for a while?" she says when she's afraid she's going to say something she shouldn't to Tim.

"Until they kick me out," he affirms. He doesn't move from the bed, but he does shift to face her. "You scared the hell out of me today, you know that?"

"You're pretty old," she teases. "I'll try not to do that."

He narrows his gaze, but there's no heat in it, or at least not the kind there might have been when she met him. Now the heat is warmth and hearth and kindling, something stoking for her own fire. She wants to keep battling his gaze, but instead she yawns, and feels an injury on her face pulling.

"Are you tired?"

"Very tired."

He pushes some hair off her forehead. "I can go, and let you get some sleep."

"Or you can stay, and I can still sleep."

"Yeah. I can do that too."

As she closes her eyes and feels herself start to drift, pulled under by the remnants of her anesthesia and the painkillers coursing through her system, she hears him move to the recliner and he drops the sound even further on the television. She falls asleep feeling safe and content.

#chenford #did you think I wouldn't possibly be able to 'misinterpret' this prompt?#did you think you'd backed me into a corner?#ha!#watch as I bob and weave my friend #this is not at all what I expected to write for this #but I actually kind of love it #so don't burst my bubble #okay?#this did get pretty long #but I'm going to count it as #comment fic #anyway #what are you going to do?#fire me?

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