The disadvantages of the LAPD

The following morning, the office was quiet. Tim hadn't shown up for work, and Grey didn't expect him to. After everything that had happened, after losing Lucy, Tim deserved the time off. Grey had given him the rest of the week—he didn't even have to ask. Tim had always been a rock for the team, a steady presence, but this—this loss was more than anyone could handle.

Tim had woken up early, his body aching from the grief that had consumed him the night before. His heart was heavy, and the house felt too big, too empty. Lucy had been the one person who made it feel like home. Her laughter, her strength, the way she always found a way to make him smile even in the darkest moments—it was gone.

The weight of it hit him hard. The house was silent, save for the faint sound of rain tapping against the window. Tim didn't know how to start his day. He didn't want to face anyone. Not yet. Not now. So he stayed home, locked in his thoughts. He tried to busy himself with small tasks, but it all felt pointless.

Later that morning, Tim found himself in the small study room in his house. It was a space he had rarely used, but now, it felt like the only place he could escape. He sat down at the desk, staring blankly at the papers scattered around, and that's when he noticed the notebook on the corner of the desk.

It was a small, black leather-bound notebook. He had seen it before, many times. It was Lucy's. She had always kept it on her, especially when they were working together, but she never let anyone see what was inside.

Tim hesitated for a moment, his fingers hovering over the cover. It felt almost wrong to touch it, to open it. But something deep inside urged him to do it. Slowly, he opened the notebook, his heart heavy with anticipation.

The first few pages were filled with lists—things Lucy had kept track of, details about cases she had worked on, reminders, and notes. But as Tim flipped through the pages, he began to notice something different.

Lucy had written down a lot of personal things. Her thoughts, her feelings, things she had never said aloud. Some pages were filled with little sketches, things she had seen on her way to work or something that had made her laugh. Others were filled with quotes she found meaningful, quotes that spoke to her soul. Tim's fingers trembled as he traced her handwriting, reading the words that had meant something to her.

But then, near the back of the notebook, he found something that made his heart stop—a letter.

It was addressed to him.

Tim held the letter in his hands, his breath catching in his throat. The paper felt soft and fragile, like it had been written with care, meant to be read only in the most painful of circumstances. He unfolded it carefully, almost afraid of what he might read.

The letter was written in Lucy's familiar handwriting, neat and precise, but there was something different about it. The words seemed to reach out to him, to soothe the ache that had settled in his chest.

"Tim," the letter began, and he could almost hear her voice saying it.

If you're reading this, then something has happened. I know you. I know you'll blame yourself, but I need you to know that none of this is your fault. You've always been there for me, in ways no one else could ever be. I couldn't have asked for a better partner, a better friend... a better man to share my life with, even if it wasn't as much time as we both deserved.

I want you to know that I love you, Tim. I always have. And I will always carry a piece of you with me, no matter where I go.

Please, don't live in regret. Don't let my death destroy you. I know you will mourn, I know you will grieve, but you have to keep going. For me. For us. There are so many people who depend on you, who look to you for strength. Don't let them down.

I know you don't think you're a hero, but you are. You've always been. You've saved so many lives, including mine. Don't ever forget that.

I hope that when you read this, you've found some peace. And if not, I'll be waiting for you when you do.

Tim's breath hitched in his throat. He could barely finish reading the letter before the tears came, blurring the words on the paper. The pain of it all was unbearable. Lucy had always been so strong, so fearless, and yet here she was, offering him her forgiveness, her love, even in death.

Tim let the letter fall to the desk, his hands shaking violently. He knew this was it—the goodbye he had never wanted to say. Lucy had left him with a piece of her, a part of her heart that would always be his.

He leaned back in the chair, tears streaming down his face as the weight of everything crashed down on him. The silence in the room was deafening, but his mind was consumed with memories of Lucy. The laughter they shared, the quiet moments, the unspoken understanding that had bound them together. It all felt so far away now.

Tim wiped his eyes, taking deep breaths to steady himself. He had promised Lucy that he would stay strong, that he would keep going. But it was hard. It was so damn hard.

As the day wore on, Tim couldn't stay in the house any longer. The walls felt like they were closing in on him. He had to get out, to move, to feel something besides the crushing grief that consumed him.

He stood up, grabbed his jacket, and headed for the door. Before he left, though, he paused. He glanced back at the notebook on the desk, at the letter that had just changed everything.

"I'll do it for you, Lucy," he whispered. "I'll keep going, just like you said. For us."

Later that afternoon, Tim sat in his car, staring out the windshield. He wasn't sure where he was going, but he knew he couldn't stay home. The phone rang, breaking his thoughts. It was Jackson.

"Hey," Tim answered, his voice low.

"Hey, man," Jackson said softly, "How are you doing?"

Tim didn't answer at first. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel as he thought about what to say.

"I'm... I'm getting by, Jackson," Tim finally said. "I'm taking it one day at a time."

Jackson didn't push. "You know we're all here for you, right?"

Tim nodded, even though Jackson couldn't see it. "I know," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Thanks."

"Call me if you need anything, Tim. Anytime."

"I will," Tim said quietly, then hung up.

As he sat in the car, the rain began to fall again, softly tapping against the windows. Tim closed his eyes, remembering Lucy's words—remembering how she had told him to keep going, to live, to not give up.

It was hard, but he knew what he had to do. For her. For them.

With one last look at the house, he put the car in gear and drove away, the sound of the rain mingling with the pain in his chest. He wasn't sure where he was going, but he knew he couldn't stay still. He had to keep moving.

And for the first time in days, Tim felt a small flicker of hope. He would carry Lucy's memory with him, just as she had asked. One step at a time.