The disadvantages of the LAPD

The news hit Grey like a sledgehammer, a sudden, unbearable force that shattered everything in his world. Jackson had barely finished speaking when Grey felt his heart drop into his stomach. Lucy was gone. Gone.

His instincts immediately kicked in, as they always did in times of crisis. He had to do something. He had to act. But even as the words echoed in his head, the weight of them suffocated him. It didn't matter how many times he heard them; they still didn't feel real. How could they? Lucy was one of his own. She wasn't supposed to be the one who didn't make it out of the field. She was supposed to be the one who got the job done, came back safe, and had another joke to crack, another story to tell. She was supposed to be there.

Instead, she was gone.

Grey took a deep breath, fighting the wave of emotion that was threatening to take him under. He had to hold it together, at least for now. For the others. For the team. He couldn't afford to fall apart, not yet. They needed leadership, and as much as he wanted to scream and rage against the unfairness of it all, he couldn't let the flood of grief swallow him whole. Not yet.

"Take the rest of the day off," he muttered, his voice barely a whisper as he looked at Jackson. "Anyone who needs it—go. I'll hold down the fort."

Jackson nodded, his face a mix of exhaustion and grief. He didn't argue, didn't protest. He knew Grey needed this time to process. The whole team needed time, but it wasn't just the people directly involved in the tragedy who were hurting. The loss of Lucy had shaken everyone to their core.

As Jackson left, Grey stood there, staring at the empty space where Lucy's desk once sat, where her voice had filled the room, where her laughter had echoed off the walls. The silence now felt oppressive, too loud in its emptiness. How could this be real?

He walked to his office, trying to push the emotions down. He couldn't afford to break down in front of anyone. But as he rounded the corner, he saw him—Tim. Tim Bradford was standing at the entrance to the hallway, his face pale, eyes red-rimmed. He looked lost, hollow, as though someone had ripped out his soul.

Tim looked up as Grey approached. The look in his eyes said it all: Tim wasn't okay. None of them were okay.

"Grey," Tim's voice cracked, and Grey immediately knew he wasn't ready for this conversation. None of them were. But they needed to talk about what had happened, needed to find some sort of explanation for why this was real.

Before Grey could say anything, Tim's fist slammed into the wall, the force of it making Grey jump. "Who the hell thought it was a good idea to send Lucy into that goddamn shooting war alone?" Tim's voice shook with barely contained fury, his chest heaving with the force of his anger. "What the hell were they thinking?"

Grey felt the words like a punch to the gut. He had seen Tim angry before, but this was different. This was grief, raw and unfiltered, tearing through Tim like a storm.

"She didn't deserve this," Tim continued, his voice trembling with emotion. "She was always so goddamn good at her job. She always had it under control. And now—now she's gone. I can't—I can't—"

The words caught in his throat, and Grey could see how much it hurt. Tim was unraveling, his walls crumbling in front of him. The professional façade, the one that always kept him so composed, had completely shattered. And Grey couldn't blame him. They had all failed Lucy, in some way or another. This wasn't just a random accident. They had made a mistake, and it had cost them dearly.

Without thinking, Grey stepped forward, his hand landing firmly on Tim's shoulder. The younger man stiffened at the touch, but Grey didn't let go.

"Tim," he said quietly, his voice soft but firm. "I don't have answers. No one does. But you can't keep blaming yourself for this. It's not your fault."

Tim's shoulders trembled beneath Grey's hand, and for a moment, Grey thought Tim might collapse right there. But instead, he shook his head violently, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"I should have been there," Tim muttered, his voice barely audible. "I should have gone with her. I should have..."

"You don't get to do this to yourself," Grey said, his voice hard now. "This wasn't your fault, Tim. You don't have control over everything. You can't save everyone."

Tim let out a shaky breath, the weight of those words settling in. But even though he heard them, it didn't seem to ease the crushing pressure in his chest. The guilt, the anger, the overwhelming grief—it was all too much.

"I just..." Tim trailed off, his words coming out in a soft sob. "I never got to tell her. I never got to tell her how much she meant to me. That I—I loved her. And now she's gone."

Grey's heart twisted at the words. He had never seen Tim this vulnerable, this broken. It was hard to reconcile the image of the tough, unflappable Tim Bradford with the man standing before him now, completely undone by the loss of someone he had loved in a way that no one had truly understood. Tim wasn't just mourning a partner or a colleague—he was mourning the loss of someone he had cared for deeply.

And now, all the words left unsaid would remain just that—unspoken, lost to time.

"I'm sorry," Tim whispered, his voice ragged as he wiped at his face, trying to keep the tears at bay. "I'm so damn sorry."

"You don't need to apologize," Grey replied quietly. "This is not your fault. None of us saw this coming. But you can't keep blaming yourself. You have to be there for the others. For Lucy's family. For yourself."

Tim nodded, but it was clear he wasn't ready to let go of the guilt. He wasn't ready to forgive himself, not yet. And Grey didn't know if he ever would. But he couldn't let Tim spiral further into the darkness of his grief.

The silence that fell between them was heavy, broken only by the occasional sniffle from Tim as he tried to pull himself together. Finally, Grey spoke again, his voice soft.

"You need to take some time, Tim. You can't do this alone. We're all here for you, but you have to let us in. Don't shut us out. Don't shut her out."

Tim looked up at him then, his face a mixture of sorrow and resolve. "I don't know how to do that," he admitted, his voice raw. "I don't know how to keep going without her."

"I don't either," Grey said, his own voice thick with emotion. "But we don't have a choice. We keep going. We make sure Lucy didn't die for nothing."

Tim didn't respond. Instead, he looked down at the floor, his shoulders slumping as though the weight of his grief was pulling him further down. Grey could see it in his eyes—he was lost. But maybe, just maybe, talking about it, being allowed to grieve in this moment, would help him start to heal. Or at least, it would give him the space to begin.

After a long moment, Grey stepped away. "Come on," he said quietly. "I'm going to sit in the Watch Commander's chair. Take a minute. It's okay. Just let it out."

Tim didn't protest. He simply nodded and slumped down into the chair, his hands hanging limply by his sides as he exhaled a shaky breath. Grey gave him a moment, his eyes fixed on Tim as he allowed himself to break down.

And for the first time in a long time, Grey let himself feel it too. The emptiness. The pain. The loss.

He was angry, too. Angry at the world for taking Lucy from them, angry that they hadn't been able to protect her, angry that they couldn't save her. But in that moment, as he stood there watching Tim cry, Grey allowed himself the rare luxury of feeling. He allowed the tears to slip down his face, the grief consuming him, but he knew he couldn't stay like this forever.

Because there was still work to be done. Lucy's death couldn't be in vain. Not if he could help it.