Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Oh, look at the stars! Ursa Major... so beautiful!"

Lucy paused just inside the doorway, watching her very large, very tipsy husband sway like a drunk scarecrow as he pointed dramatically at the ceiling.

"We're inside," she deadpanned, locking the door behind them. "Those are just ceiling lights."

Tim turned, swaying slightly, eyes wide with wonder. "You can't tell me those aren't stars, Lucy. Look how they twinkle. The cosmos is vast."

She snorted. "The cosmos is a Home Depot chandelier. Come on, space cadet. Couch."

They made it five steps before he gasped like she'd just announced she was moving to another country.

"Please don't leave me!"

Lucy blinked. "I’m just going to the toilet."

"Can I come with you?" he whispered like it was a secret mission.

"Absolutely not. Sit. Stay. Good boy."

He looked heartbroken. "You’re abandoning me in my time of need. How do you sleep at night?"

"On the left side of the bed. Next to a giant baby, apparently."

When she returned, he was sprawled across the couch like he’d just lost a duel with gravity. One arm dangled dramatically off the edge, twitching slightly.

"My arm is floppy," he informed her. "I’m like a puppet. A sexy puppet."

Lucy laughed. "A dramatic, heavy, slightly drooly puppet."

He stared up at her, blinking like he was trying to remember how she got so pretty. "You’re so good at this. My wife, the boot whisperer."

"Boot master, drunk disaster—same thing."

She yanked off his shoes with minimal cooperation, then hoisted him upright with the strength of a woman who regularly chased criminals for a living.

Halfway down the hall, Tim paused like he’d had an epiphany. He turned to her, deadly serious.

"Can you be my girlfriend?"

Lucy raised an eyebrow. "I already am. Actually, I’m your wife. Remember the tux? The cake? The vows where you cried?"

His eyes widened. "Oh. Lucky me!"

"Incredibly. Come on, Casanova."

Getting him changed was like trying to wrestle a sleepy toddler into pajamas, except the toddler was a 6'4" former Marine. He kept trying to help by sticking his head through armholes and laughing when he missed.

When she finally got him into sweats, he flopped backward onto the bed with a sigh of accomplishment.

"Let’s go play baseball," he slurred to the ceiling.

Lucy crossed her arms. "Your shoulder is dislocated."

He gasped. "It is?!"

"Not *currently*. But still—no baseball."

He nodded gravely. "Wise."

Lucy collapsed beside him, breathless with amusement. Tim turned to look at her like she was the only thing in the galaxy worth staring at.

"You look almost as pretty as this moon."

She followed his gaze. "That’s a street lamp."

"And you’re almost pretty."

Lucy gasped. "*Almost*?"

He reached out to poke her cheek. "Almost too pretty. Like... dangerous-pretty. Should come with a warning sign."

"I do. You ignored it."

Tim nodded sagely. "Reckless of me. No regrets."

A long pause passed. Lucy thought maybe he'd finally passed out. But then:

"Have you ever thought about penguins?"

She blinked. "I mean... not recently."

"We should. Think more about penguins. As a couple. Joint custody of penguin thoughts."

She laughed so hard she snorted. "I’ll pencil that into the calendar then."

Tim’s expression went misty, like he was genuinely touched. "You have a stupid face."

Lucy rolled onto her side to glare at him. "Excuse me?"

"It’s my favorite one to stare at."

She sighed. "I am *so* filming this next time."

"I will definitely remember this tomorrow," he mumbled. "How could I ever forget?"

The next morning:

Tim groaned, peeling open one bloodshot eye and immediately regretting it. The sun was far too cheerful for the hangover waging war in his skull.

Lucy sat in the corner, one leg curled under her, sipping coffee and scrolling through her phone. She looked up and grinned.

"Good morning, my little constellation."

He winced. "Oh God. What did I say?"

She stood and carried two Tylenol and a glass of water over to him, placing them on the nightstand with exaggerated care.

"Where to begin? You flirted with the ceiling. Accused me of abandoning you on a bathroom break. Called my face stupid—but in a *nice* way."

"Did I... mention penguins?"

She nodded solemnly. "We now have a 3pm brainstorming session about penguin-related couple activities."

He groaned and fell back against the pillows. "Why do you let me drink?"

"Because it’s funny."

He looked up at her with a squint. "Did I at least call you pretty?"

"You compared me to the moon. Then called me *almost* pretty."

He blinked. "I insulted you *and* compared you to space rocks?"

"Yup. But also said I’m your favorite face to stare at, so you sort of recovered."

Tim closed his eyes again. "I am never drinking again."

Lucy patted his chest. "Until next time."

He groaned. "Can I reschedule the penguin meeting?"

"Nope. Bring snacks."

Despite the pounding in his head, Tim chuckled and pulled her into the bed with him. She squeaked as he buried his face in her neck.

"You’re ridiculous," she murmured.

"You married me."

"Which makes me *more* ridiculous."

He smiled against her skin. "Still lucky, though."

She grinned. "Damn right you are. Now nap. You’ve got penguins at three."

Chapter Text

"Tim," Lucy said gravely from the couch, her head barely poking out of the burrito she had created from three blankets and a fuzzy robe. "I don’t think I have bones anymore."

Tim glanced up from the kitchen, where he was making her tea. "You do. I promise."

"Then explain why I feel like melted cheese."

"Because you’re high as balls on hospital-grade painkillers."

Lucy blinked slowly, then squinted at her hand like it was a cryptic map. "My fingers are doing bendy stuff. Are they supposed to do that?"

"They're literally designed for that."

"I might be a yoga witch."

Tim snorted into her mug. "Okay, what does that even mean?"

"It means I bend in mysterious ways."

He crossed the room, crouched in front of her burrito cocoon, and held out the tea. "You also cried when I moved the throw pillow."

"It had a face."
"It had a *pattern*."

Lucy cradled the mug like it was a fragile kitten. She stared at it for a long beat. "Tim."

"Yes, Luce."

"Is this... soup?"

"It’s chamomile tea."

She sipped it and frowned. "Tastes like wet flowers. But okay."

Tim perched on the edge of the couch, watching her navigate her cup like it was a particularly difficult puzzle. "How’s the pain?"

"Gone. Replaced by floaty vibes and a deep distrust of my own knees."

He chuckled. "Should I get you your ice pack?"

"No. Gary doesn’t like being cold."

Tim blinked. "...Who’s Gary?"

She held up her elbow. "This guy."

"You named your elbow?"

"Gary is a *survivor*."

Tim pressed a kiss to her temple. "I missed sober-you already."

"Don’t lie. I’m delightful."

She attempted a wink, missed entirely, and ended up blinking hard with both eyes.

"You’re *something*," he said, settling in beside her and pulling her into his lap with practiced ease. "God, you’re warm."

"I generate heat when emotionally unstable."

"That’s... incredibly on brand."

She hummed contentedly and laid her cheek against his shoulder. "Did you know the toaster is a time machine?"

He didn’t even blink. "Oh yeah? Where does it send you?"

"Back to the smell of childhood breakfasts."

"Okay, that one’s kind of poetic."

"I contain multitudes, Timothy."

He kissed the top of her head. "Yeah, you do."

She looked up at him, eyes unfocused but soft. "You have good ears."

He paused. "Like... for listening?"

"No. Like... aesthetically. Symmetrical. Nice lobes."

Tim burst out laughing. "You’re evaluating my *ear lobes* now?"

"They’re underrated. You have elite side-profile architecture."

"You’re going to forget all of this tomorrow, aren’t you?"

Lucy nodded solemnly. "Probably. But right now it’s all true."

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, Lucy tracing lazy circles on his arm with her index finger. She seemed completely at peace, her high finally mellowing out.

"Hey Tim?"

"Yeah, babe?"

"You smell like home."

His heart squeezed. "You *are* home."

She smiled sleepily. "Ugh. That’s so unfair. I can’t even sass you when you say things like that."

"You can sass me tomorrow. When you remember naming your elbow."

Her eyes fluttered shut. "Gary is a warrior."

The next morning:

Lucy sat at the kitchen table, sipping her coffee cautiously while Tim watched her over his own mug, barely suppressing a grin.

She frowned. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

He slid his phone across the table. On it, a short video: Lucy, wrapped in blankets, cradling her elbow.

"Gary doesn’t like ice," she whispered dramatically. "He’s traumatized."

Lucy covered her face with both hands. "Oh my *God*."

tim grinned. "You were a delight."

"Delete that."

"Not a chance. Gary and I have bonded."

Lucy groaned. "I am never taking another painkiller again."

Tim leaned in and kissed her nose. "Until next time."

"Gary says no."

"Tell Gary I said bring it."

Chapter Text

Angela did not sign up for this.

She stood outside the bar, hands on her hips, glaring at the couple currently trying—and failing—to walk in a straight line.

"I swear to God, if you both throw up in my car—"

"Angela!" Lucy cried, flinging her arms out like Angela was a long-lost lover. "You're here! I missed you so much!"

Angela sidestepped the incoming hug. "We saw each other *this morning*, Chen."

"But emotionally," Lucy insisted, stumbling sideways into Tim. "It’s been *years*."

Tim caught her and gave Angela an apologetic look. His eyes were glassy, and he was definitely *buzzed*, but still coherent. "She’s... a little past tipsy."

"A little?" Angela raised an eyebrow.

"Okay. Very," Tim admitted, adjusting Lucy so she leaned on him instead of the nearest parked scooter. "I cut her off two tequila sunrises ago. Didn’t help."

"Of course not. She's tiny and stubborn. Get in the car."

Tim saluted. "Yes, Detective."

Angela groaned and opened the back door. "Both of you. In. Now."

---

They were in the back seat for all of three seconds before chaos resumed.

"Did you know," Lucy said solemnly, leaning across Tim's chest, "that Tim has knees like *marble statues*?"

Tim sighed. "She poked them for ten minutes inside. The bartender was concerned."

Angela shook her head. "Why are you even drunk, Bradford? You’re usually the designated adult."

"Peer pressure," he said flatly, giving Lucy a look. "She bullied me into doing shots. Said I wasn’t ‘fun’ anymore."

Lucy gasped. "I stand by it. You’re very fun now. Like... a big tree."

"A *tree*?"

"Strong and tall. With like... roots and stuff."

Angela choked on a laugh. "Oh, this is gold. I’m recording you."

"No!" Lucy tried to dive across the seat but only succeeded in flopping onto Tim’s lap like a sleepy cat. "I’m gonna delete the cloud."

"That’s not how—"

"Shhh." Lucy patted Tim’s face gently. "You're so *warm*. You smell like... soap and justice."

Tim looked at Angela. "Kill me."

"Oh, absolutely not. I’m enjoying this."

---

By the time they reached Lucy and Tim’s house, Lucy was halfway asleep in Tim’s arms, mumbling something about how her feet felt like “adorable bricks.”

"I’ll help you get her inside," Angela offered, mostly because she wanted this over with.

"Thanks. And thanks for coming out, seriously," Tim said, gently nudging Lucy upright.

"Anything for you two idiots. But next time? Call Nolan."

Lucy perked up. "I *love* Nolan. He looks like a dolphin."

Angela blinked. "What?"

"Friendly! And shiny!"

Tim snorted. "I’m telling him you said that."

"Do it. I have no shame."

Angela opened the door and waved them in. "Goodnight, you chaos gremlins."

"Love youuu!" Lucy called as Tim carried her over the threshold.

"Tell your knees I said hi!"

Angela shut the door and shook her head. "I’m never being the sober friend again."

---