Archive of Our Own ^beta

Adding the final item to her list—that she could think of for the moment—Lucy sat back on her heels and made a sound of satisfaction. There, all done she noted, quickly glancing at her watch, with time to spare. She could count that as a productive hour’s work. Setting her notebook aside, she got to her feet and stretched. Her back muscles tugged and she felt a satisfying pop in her neck as she tilted it one way, then another. 

The scent of spiced tomatoes drew her from the bedroom and she tiptoed on sock-clad feet into the kitchen. Tim stood with his back to her, chopping something on the counter, with a dishcloth tucked into his pocket.

She took a moment to admire how his navy henley clung to the plains of his back, the tapered waist dipping to narrow hips and long legs clad in jeans. Her fingers tingled and she curled them into fists to curb the urge to touch him. 

“I have finished.” 

“Packing?” Tim asked, not looking away from his chopping. 

“No,” Lucy scoffed, leaning against the counter beside him, “but I’ve completed my list of things I want to pack.” 

Grabbing a handful of finely chopped herbs, Tim spun to the stove and dropped them into the pot of simmering sauce, taking a moment to wipe his hands on the dishcloth before swinging it over his shoulder. “Luce, we are travelling in three days. You need to pack.” 

“And I will. This is part of my packing process. I create a list, let it sit in case I need to add to it, and if I don’t add anything I have it all down and I’m ready to pack. It’s foolproof.” 

Tim groaned and Lucy suppressed a grin. She knew that sound and she knew how anal he got about travel preparations. He was such a control freak, but he was her control freak. She slid up behind him and slipped her arms around his waist, splaying her hands over his abs through the thin cotton. 

She pressed a kiss against his spine as he continued stirring. The fridge hummed quietly behind them, the clock ticked, music crooned, soft and staticky, from the radio on the windowsill, while the sauce gently bubbled. The only light from the LEDs mounted on the overhead cupboards competed against the growing darkness outside as the afternoon eased into evening. 

She loved these comfortable, familiar moments. They imbued her with a sense of home. Though, in reality, she attributed that feeling to the man in her arms. They could be in the middle of a natural disaster and she would be fine if she could be with him.  

A few minutes later, Tim lifted the pot off the stove and set it aside, turning to her as he pried her hands off him, tangling their fingers in such an innately natural way that her heart turned over in her chest. 

Steely blue eyes swept over her face as she smiled up at him; his soft expression hardened at the edges. “You need to pack.” 

“Mm, but I’m hungry,” she protested with a pout, swaying into him and toying with the button on his henley. She glanced up at him from under her lashes, caught the way his throat bobbed, and she figured she could coax him into feeding her first.  

Tim dipped his head, eyes serious. “You can eat after you pack. Besides, the lasagnes aren’t ready yet.” 

“Ooh, lasagnes? Plural? Did you make me a vegetarian one?” 

His look bordered on contempt as if she really had to ask that question, and she inched closer, affection for him frothing up inside her until it filled every nook and cranny. “You’re so good to me.”

“Mmhmm, so be good to me and go pack.”  

“I have three days.” She flattened her hand over the firm heat of his left pec, the other hand drifting to his side to twist into the loose fabric. 

Three days before they flew to London with Genny and the boys to attend a Doctor Who convention, her treat, and visit Buckingham Palace, and see the sights and sounds of merry old England. It would be their first proper trip abroad as a couple and she was so excited to get away and spend some time with Tim that she could barely sleep. Concentrating on something as menial as packing was impossible.  

“Okay,” he said, nudging her out of his path to pluck two wine glasses from the cupboard beside the sink. “Have you at least printed the tickets?” 

She frowned down at herself, at the oversized sweater and yoga capris. Maybe the clothes weren’t the most attractive thing she could have worn, but… “Seriously?” 

“I know what you’re trying to do, Chen, and I’m not falling for it.” 

Her hand slapped against his chest. “Whoa, there’s your romantic streak coming out again.” When his brow arched, she knew what was coming. “Yes, I know. You’re not trying to be romantic.” She looked down at herself with an exaggerated sigh and toyed with the hem of her sweater as it brushed her thigh. “I suppose that’s what I get for not putting in the effort anymore.” 

She waited, wondering if he’d take the bait, biting her lip to prevent herself from grinning when he switched off the stove and stepped closer to her, caging her against the counter, all heat and toned muscle. Her skin hummed in anticipation. 

“If I kiss you, will you print out the tickets?” 

“That sounds like a bribe, Sergeant Bradford. IA would not be pleased…” she trailed off with a muffled laugh when his mouth covered hers. 

Tim might have intended to keep the kiss short and sweet, but Lucy drew it out. She relished in the soft press and tug of lips, the slick swipe of a tongue, the heated breaths. The way he groaned and cupped her jaw, with just the slightest pressure to angle her how he wanted.

She’d never been struck by lightning but she imagined kissing Tim was the equivalent. Electric jolted through her, frazzling her nerves and causing her whole body to vibrate. With a hum of delight, she hooked her arm around his back to draw him closer, pressing her body into his. His chest rumbled with a sound of pure desire and he leaned deeper into the kiss, one hand slipping under the hem of her jersey to find skin.

She sighed into his mouth as his calloused hand skimmed underneath her ribcage, over the tattoo that seemed to radiate heat whenever he touched it. Once upon a time, she might have shied away, now she arched into his touch, craving more. 

Her fingers curled into his shirt as she inched closer, greedily taking the kiss up a notch and the hand on her jaw shifted to fist in her hair, holding her in place as he sucked on her tongue. She breathed out a needy sound and her hips canted towards his seeking friction. His rough moan spilled into her mouth as he gathered her tighter against him. His chest, firm and hard, flattened her breasts; his heart beat raggedly in time with hers. 

Lungs burning, she drew back to catch her breath. Tim looked adorably wrecked and she preened knowing she could do that to him. This man who looked like a model, who controlled every situation he walked into with confidence and competency, who never balked from a confrontation, rendered utterly mindless in a few seconds. 

It was powerful and heady, to have this effect on him, to know he did the same for her.  

She took another moment, curving her hand over the hot skin of his nape, scratching lightly through the bristle of shorn hair from his recent buzz cut, and drew him back for another kiss just because she could.

He gave in again before ending it by pressing a quick kiss to the tip of her nose in a way that made her smile and then he removed his hand, setting her jersey back into place and tapping her hip. 

“Alright, stop trying to distract me if you want your lasagne.” 

“Distract you? Me? Well, maybe a little.” She nipped his lower lip and his pupils blew out, fingers digging into her thigh. She disentangled herself, rubbing her buzzing lips together. 

“You’re hilarious.” He reached up to his shoulder and frowned. “Where—Oh.” He stooped to pick up the dishcloth and Lucy tucked her tongue into her cheek as she tilted her head and admired the stretch of denim over his butt. Catching her, he flicked the cloth in her direction when she giggled, and swept it back over his shoulder. 

“Hey, did you say you wanted me to print the tickets?”

“Yes, we’ll need them when we go to the airport or to the convention centre,” he said, lifting a bag of flour onto the counter. 

Lucy pulled her phone out of her pocket and wiggled it. “I have them downloaded to my phone.” 

He paused in the middle reaching for another pot. “Okay, and what happens if the internet goes out? Or the electricity? Or your battery dies like it did two days ago.” 

All good questions that she had good answers for... except the last one. “Uh, well, I—“ At his arched brow, she pressed her toe into the floor to avoid stomping it and sighed. “I will print them but, just so you know, you are not beating the old man accusations.” 

“I’m not old, I’m prepared.” 

“That’s an old man thing to say,” she called over her shoulder as she moved to the couch and switched on the lamp on the side table.

“Uh-huh, you weren’t calling me an old man this morning.” 

No, no she was not. 

“You put them on your card, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

She made herself comfortable on the couch, placing the laptop on a cushion on her lap and she opened the browser.

As it loaded, she glanced over her shoulder to where he stood, hips slightly swaying to the music on the radio. Not that he’d ever admit to it. Tim Bradford could dance but only ever on a dance floor.

She basked in the domesticity of these lazy Sunday evenings. At one point she’d feared they’d lost it. It had taken time, conversation, and effort to bring them back to this place of peace and happiness. Sometimes the fear of being abandoned again reared up, caught her by the throat and threatened to drag her back into that dark parking lot but then she reminded herself that Tim walked away not because he didn’t love her, but because he did. Because he needed to protect her, not just from him, but from herself. In his eyes, she’d stay with him and that would destroy her. 

The way it destroyed him to stay with Isabel while she spiralled. 

Pushing Lucy away had been his attempt to throw her a lifesaver. 

Hearing that for the first time had given her some clarity and then it had infuriated her. Had galvanised her into proving that she and Tim were not any of their previous relationships, and if they wanted to be together they needed to fight for it. 

And now here they were. Strong, happy, steady. 

She smiled, full of fondness and logged into Tim’s email account. She sighed. Right. Tim had everything filed away, but where did plane tickets fit into his system? There wasn’t a handy ‘Holiday’ folder and his ‘Lucy’ folder had subfolders. 

To the search bar, it was.

She began to type in the first letters for England since she couldn’t remember what airport they would fly into and heard Kojo’s rough bark at the door. 

“Can you let him in before he scratches the door? I’m working on the béchamel.” 

“On it,” she replied, setting the laptop aside and skipping over to the backdoor to let her best boy in. 

Kojo padded inside and immediately sat on her foot for head scritches; then he gave her knee a furtive lick, glancing over at Tim to check if he was watching, then licked again for good measure. Lucy chuckled and closed the door, scanning the overcast sky above that had darkened to pewter grey.

“Looks like that storm is going to hit soon.” 

“Time to find out if that new generator Nolan recommended is any good. If not, at least we have fourteen thousand candles.” 

She grimaced in his direction. “I do not have fourteen thousand candles. At most, I have thirty because you need different ones for different seasons, and, also, they’re soothing.” 

“Well, your box of soothing candles on the top shelf of the closet nearly knocked me unconscious.” 

She chuckled under her breath at his dry retort and shuffled back to the couch as Kojo followed his nose to hover at Tim’s side hoping for scraps. Tim immediately ordered him back to his bed. With a sigh of deep misfortune, Kojo slunk into the corner.

Lucy smiled and pulled the laptop onto her lap intending to change the search parameters because, honestly, while they were going to England, it was doubtful the ticket would mention England specifically. London was a more specific search term. 

Her eyes caught on a subject line and her fingers froze, her whole body going cold and then hot in milliseconds. 

Confirmation receipt… Engagement Ring… 

Lucy’s eyes widened and she shoved the laptop aside, jumping to her feet. 

Oh. 

Thunder rumbled in the distance. 

“Everything okay? Don’t tell me you deleted the tickets.” 

“No—no, I didn’t—everything’s fine.” 

“Uh-huh. What did you do, Lucy?” She heard Tim set the pot aside as he crossed to stand behind the sofa. 

Lucy reached for the laptop but Tim moved faster, gaze darting over the screen. 

Her breath caught, her heartbeat rabbiting in her throat as she watched his face intently, wondering what he’d say. It wasn’t like the email could surprise him. He already knew about it. He’d bought it. A ring. He’d bought her a ring. 

That was a blatant symbol of permanency.

Did he realise—of course, he realised. 

His gaze lifted to hers and a muscle ticked in his cheek. The moment hung between them, strung taut as they gauged each other’s expression. Tim’s was stone, the frustrating yet familiar barrier he erected when he needed to protect himself. She didn’t know what her expression said. 

Was she scared? No, but she was nervous.

Did she want this? Yes, with everything she was. 

For better or worse, Tim was her everything. He was the man she wanted to share her life with, grow old with, make a family with in whatever shape that came. 

So if he asked, she would say yes. 

Oh. 

Oh no. 

With his control freak personality, he had probably planned the perfect engagement and—

Oh no. 

The amusement bubbled in her stomach and expanded through her body threatening to burst.  Her lips trembled and her eyes burned. 

“Lucy?” 

The panic in his tone flipped the switch and she burst out laughing. 

“Seriously? Are you kidding me? You’re laughing. You see that, and you laugh?” 

“No, no. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Wait—wait—“ 

She tried to cover her mouth, tried to keep the giggles inside but she couldn’t. And she couldn’t get the words out to explain that she was so happy, giddy with delight because… he wanted to marry her! He never wanted to leave her!

Instead, he looked at her with a flash of betrayal and suddenly they were back on her last shift as a rookie: confessing her feelings as an attempt to show him that she could, and would, pull the wool over his eyes, that she could lie with the best of them. 

She staggered to the couch just as Tim whipped the laptop away, slamming it closed and tucking it under his arm. His expression closed off but Lucy caught the glitter of stemmed pain in his gaze. That sobered her enough to chase after him when he attempted to leave the room. 

She caught his arm, curling her fingers around his bicep, and stopped him. 

“I’m not laughing at—I would say yes. In a heartbeat.” 

His shoulders relaxed and he tentatively tilted his head to meet her gaze, to read the truth in her words. She hated that he doubted her, even for a second. Of course, she would say yes. It was a no-brainer but… this was the weirdest non-proposal she’d ever experienced, and it was so perfectly them. 

Her lips twitched again and Tim’s shoulders tensed back up. She placed her hand between his shoulder blades, felt the rigidity residing there. 

Thunder boomed.

“I’m sorry, I just—you had a plan for that, right?” 

He clenched his jaw before saying, “Maybe.” 

Okay, so that was a yes. 

She had ruined it. 

“I’m sorry, I—I didn’t mean to see it.” 

“I know, I should have… I should have got the tickets myself.” 

All innocence, she eased closer and peered up at him, studying the line of his jaw, the scrunched crow's feet at the corners of his eyes, his pinched lips. He was disappointed but trying not to show it. She loved him so much. “Was the plan to do it in London?” 

“At the Dr Who convention?” When she nodded, he scoffed. “No. That’s the kind of nerdy thing you would do.” 

“No! Wait, was it—”

He clamped his free hand over her mouth, rough and hot. “Stop trying to guess. It’s not happening now anyway.” 

She staggered back; lanced through her heart. “What do you mean it’s not happening?” 

A flash of lightning shattered the sky. 

“Wait, Lucy, no. I mean—“ He set the laptop aside, cupped her shoulders, thumb smoothing gentle circles over the light fabric. “It will happen. I just need to figure out a new time and place. It’s not going to be abroad because that would be a cliche. And you’re going to say yes.” 

His face lit up with an incandescent smile, the one he used when he got something he wasn’t sure he could have. 

“Of course, I will,” she said, cupping his face, stroking over the faint five o’clock shadow. “But it doesn’t have to be planned. You could ask now.”

He rolled his eyes, drawing back. “Not happening. That’s clearly a test and you’d hold it over me for the rest of our life.” 

Rest of our life, that sounded so good. 

“Wait—is it in the house now?” 

“Is it—No!” He dropped his hands to hold up a finger. “Absolutely not, Lucy.” 

“Which means it is! Where?” 

“Forget about it.” 

“We could play hot and cold.” She glanced around, noting the various cupboards in the lounge. “Am I cold right now?”  

“Freezing. It’s not in the house. I’m not an idiot, Chen.” 

“Oh, so you stashed it somewhere else?” 

She pressed her palms together, mind frantically scrambling a list of places where he could potentially hide something of this calibre. Angela’s house topped the list—not his locker because she had the combination so that she could grab his go bag when she needed to. Genny’s was another option. Less likely though. 

Tim folded his arms, braced his hips, and stared her down. “Seriously? Do you want me to just throw it to you?” 

“No! No. But… I know about it now. I can’t just not know.” 

“Well, I don’t have a neuralyzer so you’re going to have to think of a way to forget.” 

“That’s not a Dr Who thing, is it?” 

“No, Chen, it's not.” 

She grinned, giddiness spilling over. “Better use all those Chens now, because sooner or later, I’m not gonna be a Chen.” 

He stilled, the crow's feet deepening as he peered at her. “You’d take my name? You don’t have to.” 

“Well, obviously, right? I mean, I’d still be Chen at work. It’d be too confusing to have two Bradfords, but, for the kids, I’d want to have the same last name. Oh, maybe I could double barrel? Chen-Bradford? Bradford-Chen?”

A fork of lightning speared the sky followed by a jagged crash. 

“Let’s put a pin in that discussion. I haven’t asked yet.”

“But you will,” she said, swaying into him and his hands clamped on her hips, steadying her. 

“I will.”

They grinned at each other, illuminated with happiness. 

Kojo's rough bark broke the silence.

Tim straightened, looking around the house, holding her still against him. “Did the electricity go out?” 

Lucy followed his gaze to where the stove sat silently with no blinking timer, to the shadows by the counter, to the dead lamp on the side table. Rain pelted the windows, running in rivulets down the glass, creating strange shapes out of the gloomy darkness lurking outside. “Looks like, do you want to try the generator?” 

“How about we order in since you’re so hungry, and then I light the fire and we can work on a way to make you forget?”

“That doesn’t involve packing, does it?” 

“No,” he drawled, fingers dipping into the waistband of her leggings. “That can be for tomorrow; tonight we’ll come up with another way. Something a little more physically demanding.” 

Fire ignited in her veins. “I like that idea.” 

“See,” he said, voice deep and soft as he pressed his lips against hers, "my romantic streak is fine. And when the time comes, you’ll see it was worth the wait.” 

She smiled into the kiss. “We’ve always been worth the wait.”