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48. — i called you at 2 am because i need you [prompt list]
It’s not a good picture, the one Felix set as her contact in Adam’s phone. Inasmuch as Lucy can take a bad photo. Half-bitten into a french fry at some restaurant over the summer, looking straight into the camera in response to an ambush, “Hey, Lucy!”
Not a good picture, but... an endearing one, maybe. One that makes him almost want to smile whenever he sees it. Maybe.
No, not whenever. Not when he glances at the lit screen and sees the time in the top left is 2:17. His brows knit with worry as he picks it up, because her calling at this hour, her even being awake at this hour, means something is wrong.
He answers with a neutral tone, “Detective.”
The other end is silent for a beat too long before she says anything. “Hi, Adam.” She sounds... empty. His concern doesn’t quite ebb. She adds in a bit of a rush, “I’m not in danger.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
He hears her inhale on the other end. “My... car. It won’t start. It’s too cold.”
“Why are you out?”
“I was in the city --”
“This late? Alone? Without telling any of us where you were?”
There’s another long pause where all he can hear is her breathing crackling in the receiver. And he realizes with a wince that she’s crying, given the rhythm of it. Had she already been crying? Or was this his fault?
“It’s okay, never mind,” she manages. “I’ll figure something out.”
“No. Where are you?” He makes a point, as he gets up, of shuffling his paperwork around so that it carries through the receiver.
“The train station. Do you know where it is?”
“Wait inside your car with the doors locked. I’ll be there soon.”
Her car sits lonesome in an otherwise empty parking lot, a field of streetlamps lighting up the flurrying snow in dull orange. He hears her car door slam, muted, and watches her scurry across the distance between their vehicles. And when she slips into the passenger seat, she radiates cold long after the door has shut and he’s pulled back onto the road.
He watches out of the corner of his eye as she holds her fingers in front of the heat vents in the dashboard. The silence hangs between them for a few moments before she clears her throat. “Thank you for coming,” she says, and her voice still wavers a little, thick with tears. “You were the only person I knew would be awake.”
He nods an acknowledgment. When he glances at her again, he finds her looking at him, and so he turns his attention squarely back to the snowy road. “What were you doing in the city so late?”
“My... friend’s mother passed.”
“Condolences.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
Silence again. It’s uncommon for him to have to do the talking -- an indication that all is not well if ever there was one. “You were close with her, I take it?”
Lucy nods. “She was more a mother to me than Rebecca was, at least. She always... made me a priority. She always thought about me -- maybe not first. She had her own kids. But I was always an afterthought with Rebecca. I was never an afterthought with her.”
She squeaks out the last sentence, a high anguished noise. Orange lamp light catching in the new-formed tear tracks on her cheeks. And her hand in front of the center vent trembles a little.
He’s a careful driver, normally. Ten-and-two, at the speed limit and never over. But it’s icy and dark so he’s barely doing fifteen right now, and he decides, just this once, he can afford not to keep both hands on the wheel.
He reaches for her cautiously, giving her time to pull her hand back if she’d rather not be touched. She doesn’t, and so they linger in deep, still silence the rest of the drive back to her apartment, fingers intertwined, palm-to-palm.
