#kw23

Kataang Week DAY 2 // Injured

He shouldn’t have looked.

Jamie knew he shouldn’t have looked.

Whatever papers spilled out of the folder when he accidentally kicked it off of Roy’s coffee table, he shouldn’t have looked at them. They’re Roy’s not his; he was just trying to use his toes to scratch his itchy calf.

But he did look.

And looking got him to here: sitting on the living room carpet, staring at Roy's contract renewal for AFC Richmond.

Roy’s contract renewal, promising him a bonus worth close to a third of Jamie’s annual salary, if they make it back to the FA Cup finals. Double that, if they win.

Of course.

It makes sense that Roy would make extra money if he coaches a winning team. And it makes sense that Roy would want them to win, so he can make the extra money.

Which means that he needs Jamie in top shape.

Jamie stares at the paper in his hand, and the last few months sharpen into perfect clarity.

I could train you. But only if you fucking mean it.

You’re not on fucking holiday from training.

Whistle.

Not the week for your Mister Fucking Humble, great teammate bullshit.

Wanna grab a beer later?

All the progress they’d made – the progress Jamie thought they’d made, anyway – was this why? Did Roy just take an investment in him as … an investment?

It makes sense.

Roy started training him so he’d be a better player. So they’ll win.

Roy tracked him down in Manchester so he’d be at his mental best. So they’ll win.

Roy invited him for a beer so he’d only have one. So they’ll win.

Roy let Jamie move into his house so he could keep an eye on his schedule. So they’ll win.

Roy cooks his meals so he’ll stay on his meal plan. So they’’ll win.

Roy kisses him and … it’s so Jamie won’t go out and find someone else. So they’ll win.

All of it, every single thing that’s happened between him and Roy, Roy’s done it so they’ll win.

And Jamie?

Jamie fell in love.

Kataang Week DAY 3 // Confessions & Whispers

Kataang Week DAY 1 // Wind & Rain

"It's fine, Tim. I'm fine." Lucy looks up and blinks several times before she focuses on his face.

"I never said you weren't. But it's 1:30 in the morning, and you haven't let that couch since dinner."

"I have so!"

"Getting up for coffee at 9 p.m. doesn't count."

"There's only like 200 pages left. I'm over halfway; I'll come to bed when I finish."

"Lucy. That's the entire book. In one night."

"It's really good."

"And it will be really good tomorrow too."

Lucy flips a few pages ahead. "Fine. I'll just finish this chapter."

"Fine." Tim takes a couple steps closer. "Sit up."

"What?"

"Sit up. I'll sit with you, and we'll go to bed together."

"I don't need a babysitter."

"I know. But our bed is better with you in it." Lucy's expression softens as she leans forward enough for him to slide in behind her. He wraps an arm around her chest as she settles back into his side and picks her book up from her lap.

It's not even two pages later that Tim is making good on his promise. The book drops back to Lucy's chest and her breathing evens out. Tim takes it gently and slides a receipt from the coffee table between the pages.

He carries Lucy down the hall, tucked against his chest. After he lays her down, he pulls her socks off, knowing she'll whine about her feet being too warm if they stay on all night. When he climbs into bed beside her, pulling the covers over them both, she shifts around until her body is pressed back against his.

Again, he wraps am arm around her torso, pulling her close. His eyes are already drooping, but he finds the top of her head anyway, pressing his face into her hair and dropping a kiss there.

She's going to complain in the morning, he's sure, but he stands by what he said earlier.

"Lucy, you're freezing." Tim rubs his hands up and down your arms.

"Tim, it's fine, really," she argues, but still pouts when he takes a step back.

"It's not. You don't have to lie to me about this." He adds or anything, but the words are muffled by the layers of sweatshirt material he's pulling over his head. "Here."

"It's fine, you don't have to be cold on my accou-"

"Arms up." Tim's voice drops into the sort of harsh command she's hardly heard since her days as his rookie. When she complies, he works the sleeves over her hands and helps keep her ponytail from snagging on the neckhole.

When his hands have smoothed the hem down across her waist, he moves away again. The fabric is still warm from his body, and the combined scent of his body wash and their laundry detergent envelop her.

The sleeves hang over her hands, the word METRO emblazoned down each arm.

Immediately, she's warmer and cozier than she's been since their shared stakeout began.

But the warmest thing of all is the smile on Tim's face, watching her relax into his sweatshirt.

Tim proposes to Lucy with a diamond ring.

They’ve been dating two years, five months and 17 days when he takes her back to the food truck and recreates their first date.

(Except the kid breaking into the car.)

He rests his hand up high on her leg, and it still makes her heart race and her skin tingle. He smiles at her, the easy grin she knows he’s powerless to stop once it starts breaking across his face, and she smiles back. And he leans in and kisses her, his free hand sliding up into her hair, just like he had that very first night.

Then he pulls away, still smiling, and slides off of the bench, dropping down until he’s got one knee resting on the ground.

“Lucy,” he says, a serious, heartfelt edge to his voice. “You make me happy in a way I never thought I would be again. I love you more and more every day, and you know speeches aren’t my thing so I’m going to quit while I’m ahead and get to the good part.” He shifts his weight and reaches into his pocket for a little velvet box. When he flips it open, Lucy presses her right hand over her mouth, tears shining in her eyes.

“Will you marry me?”

---

It takes two days for Lucy to start missing the weight of her ring on her finger.

It only lasts eight or 12 hours at a time, depending on the shift, but as soon as she slips it off, something feels a little off balance until she can put it on again.

She gets it. She knows why officers don’t wear their rings in the field. There’s risk of injury and damage, on top of all the dangers they already face every day. They’d discussed it the day after Tim slid it onto her hand for the first time: don’t wear it at work.

But she misses it. It’s the last thing she takes off every morning, the first thing she puts on in the evening, and when Tim takes her hand outside the locker room, she can always feel him run his thumb along the slim gold band. And for every minute in between, something is missing.

---

The answer hits almost three weeks to the day after Tim slid the ring onto her finger for the first time.

“So you put the softener in there, close the lid, we’ll set the dial to cold, and then … start!” Lucy pushes the button and claps her hands together when the washing machine starts whirring. “See? It’s not so bad.”

“Yeah, you know what I usually do to start my laundry? Give it to the doorman, and he takes it to the dry cleaner. Then in three days, it’s hanging back outside my door. All I have to do is bag up the dirty clothes and pay the bill at the end of the month.”

“You said you wanted to learn how us ‘normal people’ live,” Lucy spins around, pulling a couple of wine glasses out of the cabinet. “Besides, now you have 47 minutes to regale me with more stories from your upper-crust lifestyle.”

“Well first of all, my wine doesn't come out of the same fridge as my lunch meat.” But he takes a glass anyway, when Lucy offers it, and follows her to share the sofa.

By the time the buzzer goes off on the washing machine, signaling the end of the cycle, they’ve almost forgotten there were clothes tumbling at all. Aaron startles, sloshing the last swallow of his wine up the sides of the glass. Mercifully, it clings to the edges but doesn’t spill as Lucy starts laughing.

“God, it’s been ages since that buzzer has scared someone. It used to get Jacks –” She cuts herself off and backtracks. Some memories aren’t for Tuesday afternoons. “Anyway, that means the washer is done. Or you can turn it off and just set a timer on your phone or whatever.”

“OK, but it just went off. Why would I set a timer for something that’s already finished?”

“No, you – if you don’t like using the buzzer, you can set a timer next time instead.”

“You like that thing?”

“I like that it holds me accountable for actually getting up to start the dryer.” Lucy leads him back to the laundry room and walks him through transferring the clothes from one machine to the next. A couple of times, she stops him and explains that sweaters dry flat, jackets dry best hung up and blankets lose their fluff if you’re not gentle with them in the wash.

Then they’re back on the couch, wine glasses refilled, debating the merits of watching Legally Blonde versus The Parent Trap and considering a takeout order.

“OK, what about this: Ethiopian food, Legally Blonde, maybe we make cupcakes after?” Lucy looks over her shoulder, like she’ll be able to X-ray-vision her way into the cabinets. “I’m pretty sure I have a mix.”

“Or we skip the cupcakes, order Greek and get baklava. While we watch Parent Trap.”

“Greek. Baklava. Legally Blonde.” Lucy counters.