#tim-lucy

She considers what it would look like to watch the life leave his eyes, what it would be like to know how his body felt without breath, what it would feel like to touch his cold skin, to not feel his fingers grip hers back. She tries to figure out what she would do if it happened, just to be prepared, just in case.

She doesn't think about it often, but sometimes – especially when they're on separate shifts, and especially when she's trying not to let her mind wander.

Either way: it's never been like this in the dozens of times she's imagined it. It's never been them, dressed up in a floor-length dress and suit, on their way to a restaurant she's had a reservation at for over six months. It's never been them, in a hit and run just outside of the city, shattered glass still sticking into her skin. It's never been this, and she doesn't know what to do. She's ill-prepared for something she never actually thought she'd have to be prepared for.

"No," she hears herself gasp, though she doesn't actually recall saying the words. "No, no, no," her fingers are trembling, grasping onto Tim's collar, pulling him up in an unnatural way that causes his head to loll back. "No, no, no, no, come on baby. Come on, Tim," one of her hands slides to his cheek, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth and down the side of his face, dribbling over her fingers as she touches him, "don't do this."

He feels too limp. Lucy sucks in a hard breath and surveys the area again, though she knows nothing has changd. They're in the middle of nowhere, the ambulance is twelve minutes out, and he's bleeding more than she's ever seen another person bleed. "Wake up," she says, her voice harsh, hard in her ears. She doesn't like the sound of it. "Wake up," she repeats, an edge of desperation eeking into her voice as she presses one hand to his neck, pressing down on his laceration firmly. "Please, please don't do this."

His breathing his weak, but it's there. If she can get him to hold on, just for a little, things could be fine. She wouldn't have to know the answers to any of her morbid questions. She shuts her eyes and lowers herself a bit closer to him, swallowing hard as she listens to his uneven breaths and the wheeze in his chest, wet and gurgling in a way she knows doesn't mean anything good.

When she blinks her eyes open, he's looking back at her. "Hey," she manages, her voice too loud and too shocked and too much as he blinks up at her. "Hey, hey, hey. Baby," she brushes her bloody thumb along his cheek, her throat tight. "Look at me, can you look at me?"

Tim's eyes are open and glassy, but he looks at her. She's wondering if he's looking through her until he finds her eyes and blinks slowly. He presses his lips together, wincing. "Don't do what?"

His voice is thin, deep, scratchy, but his. Lucy takes a shaky breath as she keeps her hand firm against his neck. "Don't you dare die on me right now," she says, not bothering to try and sugar coat things for him. "The ambulance is on its way and we have a dinner to reschedule, you don't get to die on me tonight."

He laughs, a thick hoarse sound that she barely recognizes, far too wet and far too sweet. She tries her best to commit the sound to memory, just in case it's his last one. "We'll reschedule it," he breathes, and she can tell he's trying to grab one of her hands. She leans her face down, pressing her forehead to his. "Promise. I have to show you off in this dress."

"You do," she nods, lightly kissing his face wherever she can reach. "You're not allowed to go anywhere. You're not allowed to do this."

"I know," he murmurs, and she can tell he's fading out but doesn't move, just feels his skin against her own, listens to the sound of his breath, feels his pulse, weak against her hand. "Might have to break your rule, though."

"Tim." She stops herself, shaking her head lightly. She's not going to yell at him, now – she's going to let him feel like this, the most abnormal situation they've ever encountered, is just another night. She'll deal with herself later – it's about him right now. "You know that just means I'm going to have to punish you."

His laugh is craggy and slow. "I'll allow it," he murmurs, then coughs. "It's your playbook, love."

Lucy drapes herself further over him, doing her best not to jostle him too hard. "Oh, yeah? You don't want to make any amendments to it, coach?"

"You've got it," he mumbles after a long few moments. "You've got this."

"What if I don't?" She finds his mouth with her own and speaks against it, then kisses his lower lip gently, the metallic taste of his blood harsh on her tongue. "What if I need you?"

Tim hums gently. "I'm here," he shrugs almost imperceptibly. "I'm right behind you."

She clocks a few things before it all goes black.

It's another forty seconds before his breath goes still.

It's another two minutes before she pulls her hand from the wet, bloody slash on his neck.