Chapter Text
Tim's hand was still on her stomach.
Lucy had placed it there moments ago, and he hadn't moved it. His palm was warm against the soft cotton of her hoodie, and underneath it was something he was still trying to absorb. Something that had rewritten every plan he'd ever made in the span of four words.
We're having a baby.
"You're doing the thing," Lucy said quietly.
He looked up. "What thing?"
"The thing where you get lost in your worries." She covered his hand with hers. "I can see it." Lucy moved closer, trying to eliminate any space between them. "Tim, I'm fine. The baby is fine. You're home." Her eyes held steady on his.
His eyes danced between her eyes and mouth for a beat before kissing her. He wasn't careful like before. Not the way he'd been kissing her since she launched herself off the couch. Those kisses had been filled with relief, gratitude for their reunion. This was something that had been coiling tighter since he'd walked through the door and seen the fire burning, the tree lit, and those ornament boxes still waiting. Lucy made a sound against his mouth and kissed him back just as hard.
She'd felt a shift in him. He'd seemed different all night. He was somehow present in a way she hadn't experienced before, like every layer of composure Tim had ever maintained had been stripped sometime during his flight home and not yet rebuilt. She'd felt it in every kiss, in how he couldn't stop looking at her, scared she might disappear like a mirage, in how his hands had shaken slightly when he'd held her.
But this was different. It was awe layered with desperation and hunger. He needed her, maybe even more than she needed him in this moment. So Lucy didn't waste another moment. She swung her leg over, straddling him on the couch and felt the groan vibrate through his chest and into hers.
"Babe," she said against his mouth.
"Hmm." His hands moved to her hips. His fingers curled and dug in. "I've been thinking about this every night since before I left."
She pulled back to look at him. "That's a long time."
"Yeah." His eyes were dark. "It was."
Lucy reached for the hem of her hoodie and pulled it over her head, slowly revealing her body to him, the body he'd been missing and craving for weeks.
His hands stilled on her hips when his eyes caught on his dog tags and how they lay against her bare chest. Tim's fingers ran along the chain, his knuckles caressing the valley between her breasts. Lucy's heart was racing so fast she was sure he could feel it against his skin.
He moved quickly when he stood up off the couch with her still wrapped around him, her legs locked at his back, and laid her down on the rug in front of the fireplace. The throws and pillows she'd accumulated over two months were already on the floor, soft wool and cotton, all of them hers. The fire was warm along her left side, and the tree lights made everything glow.
"Your turn," she said, and reached for his shirt.
Lucy took her time.
She got his shirt off and ran her hands over his chest and his arms, slowly inspecting him for damage and savouring the reality of him alive and well under her palms. Solid and warm. Her fingers traced down his stomach, his muscles tightening and breath shifting under her touch.
Two months, she thought. Two months and he's finally home.
Her kisses were deep and certain. Her tongue sliding against his, and he kissed her back with his hands threaded through her hair and his weight settling over her. She could feel how hard he was against her thigh, her body responding on instinct immediately. A rush of heat and want, so sharp it almost hurt.
Tim broke the kiss and started his journey down her body.
His mouth at her throat, open and hot. The curve of her neck where he bit gently, evoking tiny gasps. The inside of her collarbone, where he lingered. Her breasts, his mouth closing over one nipple while his hand found the other, his tongue circling slowly before he sucked hard enough to make her hips buck up against him. His name came out between moans.
He didn't answer. His response was the momentum to move lower. His mouth tracing her ribs, her hip bone, the soft skin below her navel. And then he stopped.
He spread both hands flat against her lower stomach and held them there. His thumbs pressed gently, exploring. She felt him find it, that faint new firmness, barely there, that she'd only started noticing herself in the last two weeks.
He pressed his lips against her stomach. Once. Held them there.
As Tim's breath warmed her skin, Lucy stared at the ceiling and felt her eyes fill with tears.
Tim's mind raced, thinking about how this moment nearly didn't happen. He thought about the close calls while he was gone. He briefly considered telling her right now, in this moment, but then he looked up at her face. Her eyes glistened with the tears she was trying to hold back. Her hand reached down to touch his hair.
Not tonight, he decided. She'll be furious with me for not telling her, and she'll be right. But not tonight.
He pressed his lips to her stomach once more, soft and deliberate, and then he kept moving.
When his mouth found her, all of Lucy's thoughts scattered leaves in the wind.
He spread her thighs with both hands and settled between them, and his tongue dragged flat through her folds, and the sound she made was so loud she quickly followed it up with a curse. "Fuck." Her hand found his hair and gripped. "Tiiiim"
He groaned against her. The vibration sent a jolt through her core, and her hips rolled up into his face. He pressed them back down with one hand, holding her steady, and licked into her again, slow and thorough, his tongue working her clit in circles that tightened until she was panting.
He slid two fingers inside her while his mouth stayed where it was, curling them forward, finding that spot that made her whole body twitch.
"Right there." She was barely coherent. "Don't stop. Right there, Tim, please!"
He didn't stop. He couldn't have stopped even if he wanted to. His fingers fucked into her steadily while his tongue flattened against her clit and pressed, and Lucy felt the orgasm building from somewhere deep and fast, her thighs trembling around his head, her grip in his hair tightening until she knew it had to hurt.
"I'm going to—Tim, I'm—"
She came hard. Her back arched off the throws as she cried out his name. She felt her pussy clamp down on his fingers, pulsing, and he kept his mouth on her through all of it, drawing it out until she was shaking and oversensitive, pulling at his hair to make him stop.
His wrecked gaze met hers. His chin was wet and his expression smug.
"Don't you dare look so smug," she managed.
He pressed a few kisses to her inner thigh and moved back up her body.
Lucy reached between them before he'd finished settling over her, guiding him to lie back on the blankets. She'd missed him so much that she now understood the physical ache women talked about when missing their lovers.
Her hand wrapped around his cock, and he exhaled sharply at the contact, his jaw going tight. Lucy stroked him once, slowly, root to tip, watching his face. The way his eyes went half-closed. The way his whole body went taut under her hand. The way he breathed her name like a prayer.
"Lu-cy." Her name came out rough.
"I know." She kept stroking. "I know what you need."
"Then stop teasing me." His voice was wrecked, and she loved it.
She shifted her hips and guided him to her entrance and held there for a moment, just the tip of his cock pressed against her, the heat of him, the anticipation almost better than the act and watched his jaw clench with the effort of staying still.
"Lucy." A note of warning in his strangled voice.
She sank onto him.
One slow, deliberate stroke, taking all of him, and they both groaned. Lucy dropped her forehead to his, breathing hard, feeling him stretch her, fill her, and suddenly she was overcome with a more intense rush of desire. She'd missed this; she'd missed the feeling of Tim inside her, and two months of longing for this exact thing had done nothing to prepare her or her body for the reality of it.
"Fuck." She breathed against his mouth. "I forgot how good you feel."
Tim's hands gripped her hips hard. His voice came out broken. "You feel amazing."
Once Lucy started to move, Tim lost every shred of composure he had left.
His grip on her hips tightened, and he drove up into her. Lucy gasped, bracing herself against his chest, both finding their rhythm, hard and urgent. Her hips rolled to meet each thrust, neither of them paying too close attention to how feral and loud they'd become.
This, Tim thought, his face against her throat. This woman. She owns me.
His mouth found her breast, causing Lucy to arch into him. Sucking her nipple into his mouth, he felt her pussy clench around his cock in response, tight, wet, and so perfect. The sound that clawed its way up her throat was so desperate, he could only growl back in return.
"Look at me!"
Lucy's eyes snapped up to lock with his. Her eyes were blown dark and wide, her lips parted, her hair everywhere, and Tim thought about the photo in his wallet with her in his Dodgers shirt, half-smiling at the camera. He'd looked at that photo a hundred times in the last two months, and it had nothing on the real thing currently wrapped around him. No comparison to her, flushed, wrecked and riding him in the firelight with their baby growing inside her.
I'm going to marry this woman, he thought with absolute clarity. And I'm not waiting long.
He moaned against her mouth, thrusting up into her, adjusting the angle, and when he hit that spot edging on her cervix, Lucy cried out, raking her nails down his chest.
"T-there," she gasped. "Right there. Don't stop."
He didn't. He drove into her again and again, hitting the same spot, his hand sliding between them to find her clit. His fingers circling in time with his thrusts, forcing Lucy's breathing to go ragged and her body to tighten around him like a vice.
"Tim! Fuuuuuck! I'm so close!"
"I know." He could feel it, her pussy fluttering around his cock, her thighs trembling. "Come for me. I need to feel you, baby."
Lucy came with his name ripping out of her, her whole body clenching and spasming, her pussy gripping him so tight he nearly lost it right there. He watched her brow crease, her mouth fall open, and the flush that spread down her chest, committing every second to memory. He'd spent too long with nothing but a photo, and he was never taking this for granted again.
She cupped his face with both hands.
"Let go, Tim," she whispered, her voice spent. "I need you to come inside me."
He buried himself deep and came hard, a groan wrenching out of him that started somewhere in his chest. While his cock pulsed inside her, he pressed his face into her throat and felt her arms tighten around his body. All other thoughts evaporated from his mind except one absolute thought.
This is everything.
They lay tangled in pillows and throws in front of the fire for a long time after.
Lucy was draped across his chest, her breathing slow. The fire had gone to embers. The tree lights were the only thing left illuminating the room.
Tim had one hand on her lower back and the other resting gently against her stomach, and he was wide awake.
I almost didn't come back to this, he thought. I'm never doing that again. Whatever Holt asks. I'm never leaving them again.
Them. Already them.
Lucy stirred.
"Tim."
"Mm."
"Merry Christmas."
He pulled her closer.
"Merry Christmas," he said.
She was asleep in minutes.
He stayed awake and exactly where he was until the sun came up.
Lucy woke up in bed.
She didn't remember getting there. The last thing she remembered was in a nest of blankets on the living room floor with Tim's heartbeat under her cheek, and now she was in their bed, which meant he'd carried her at some point and she'd slept through it, which also said something about how completely he'd worn her out.
She reached across the bed. His side was warm but empty.
Then she smelled coffee.
She lay there for a moment, just breathing it in. Tim was in their kitchen making coffee on Christmas morning.
I hope it's decaf.
She got up, pulling his hoodie back on, and padded to the kitchen.
He was at the counter in sweats and a t-shirt, his hair still a disaster, two mugs already out. He looked up when she came in, and the smile that spread across his face would be one she'd be thinking about for a long time.
"Morning," he said.
"Morning." She crossed to him and tucked herself against his chest. He quickly wrapped one arm around her and pressed his lips to the top of her head.
"Tim."
"Mm."
"I've missed your blueberry pancakes more than I've missed almost anything."
He laughed against her hair. "Almost anything?"
"The pancakes are a close second." She looked up at him. "Will you make them?"
"Yeah." He kissed her forehead. "I'll make them."
She pulled back and hopped up on the counter beside the stove, her feet swinging, as she watched him move through the kitchen, finding the things he needed.
She watched him set everything out on the counter beside them before her own impatience won out. "I have a present for you," she said.
He glanced over. "Yeah?"
"On the counter. Behind you."
She watched his face as he took them in. His whole body went still.
Did he stop breathing?
He picked up the nearest plate and turned it over in his hands. She watched him read it. Watched his jaw and throat work as his thumb traced the edge of the handwriting.
"That's my mom's handwriting," he said quietly.
"Yes." She swallowed. "I called Genny. She gave me the actual recipe card, and I had it transferred onto the plates. All three of them."
He set the plate down carefully and picked up the second one. Read it. Set it down. Picked up the third.
"Three pie plates," he said.
"One for us. One for the neighbours. One for whoever needs it." She paused. "The way your mom did it."
He stood there, not looking at her, his hand on the third plate. She could see his shoulders working.
"Tim?"
When he turned around, his eyes were wet.
"There's something else," she said, pressing her lips together. "I knew I wanted to do this before you left. The idea came to me when you told me about your mom's pies." She paused. "But after I found out I was pregnant, it became something different. It wasn't just a gift anymore. It was—" She stopped, searching for the right words. "I wanted our baby to grow up with this tradition. Your mom's tradition. I wanted it to be the first thing we did as a family."
Tim set the plate down.
He crossed to her and stood between her knees with both hands on her face. He kissed her deeply, and all she could taste was the salt on his lips. Her hands wrapped around his wrists and she kissed him back.
"Thank you," he said against her mouth. His voice was rough. "Lucy. Thank you."
"Merry Christmas," she said.
"Merry Christmas." He pressed his forehead to hers. "We're making pie today."
"Can't wait."
They did not make the pie immediately.
They went back to bed first, because Lucy had pulled him in by his t-shirt on the way to the bathroom, and of course, he'd followed her without protest. The t-shirt had come off somewhere in the hallway, and by the time they hit the mattress, they were both naked. His mouth was on her throat, and her hand was between them, stroking him until he was hard and swearing under his breath.
"We have things to do," she said, wrapping her legs around him.
"This is a thing." He pushed inside her as they both groaned. "This counts."
She laughed, breathless, her head tipping back. He buried his face in her neck and fucked her slowly with the Christmas morning light coming through the curtains and her nails in his back. When she came, he was right behind her, both of them quieter this time but no less wrecked, and they lay tangled in the sheets for twenty minutes afterward, neither of them inclined to move.
"Pancakes," she said eventually.
"Pancakes, then pie!"
Neither of them moved for another ten minutes.
They ate breakfast at the kitchen table with the pie plates between them. Tim made the blueberry pancakes the way he always did, with too many blueberries, perfectly golden, a stack that was more than they could ever eat combined.
"So," Lucy said, cutting into her second pancake. "Angela invited me to Christmas dinner tonight."
Tim looked up.
"I was going to go alone," she continued. "Obviously. But now—" She smiled. "How do you feel about a surprise?"
"She doesn't know I'm back? You didn't text her this morning?"
"Nope." Lucy took a bite. "I was thinking I'd show up at her door the way she's expecting, and you step up behind me."
Tim considered Lucy's idea. Then a slow grin spread across his face, the kind she didn't see often enough, the kind that made him look ten years younger.
"She's going to lose her mind," he said.
"She might."
"She's going to hit me."
"Also possible." Lucy set her fork down. "There's something else about tonight."
Tim continued to eat, waiting for Lucy to continue.
"Should we tell them?" She looked at him steadily. "About the baby. Everyone will be there. Wade and Luna, Aaron, Ange and Wes. It feels like the right room."
Tim was quiet, turning it over. She could see him considering it.
"The ultrasound isn't until after the New Year," he said. "Do you want to wait?"
"I know. But I've been keeping this secret for weeks, Tim. Now that you know, I just want to share it." She reached across the table and covered his hand. "I want our people to know."
He looked at her hand on his, then raised his eyes to meet hers.
"Yeah," he said. "Let's tell them."
The pie-making took the entire afternoon and was considerably more chaotic than Tim had planned.
He'd set everything out with precision. The flour measured, the butter cubed and cold, the water chilled, the rolling pin set beside the cutting board. Lucy stood beside him, her hair piled on top of her head, and looked at his excellent mise en place with pride.
"Okay," Tim said. "The most important thing is that the butter stays cold. If the butter gets warm, the crust gets tough."
"Got it. Cold butter."
"And don't overwork the dough. You mix until it just comes together, and then you stop."
"How will I know when it just comes together?"
"You'll feel it." He stood behind her, his hands over hers on the bowl. "Here. Like this."
He guided her hands through the first mix, the butter cutting into the flour, and she leaned back into his chest slightly. He pressed his lips to the side of her neck because he couldn't help it. Lucy turned her head and kissed him properly as the dough sat untouched for a solid two minutes.
"Tim."
"Mm."
"The butter is getting warm."
"Right." He pulled back. "The butter."
She laughed with flour on her nose. When Tim looked at her, he was struck with a thought: my mom would have loved her. She would have stood right here and loved her.
They got the first crust rolled out between interruptions. Tim was a patient teacher, methodical, clear, correcting her grip on the rolling pin without making her feel corrected, and Lucy was a quick study, the way she was with everything that mattered to her.
"Even pressure," he said. "From the centre out. Don't push down, push forward."
"That's what she said."
He closed his eyes in mock exasperation, "Lucy."
"Sorry. Couldn't help it." She was grinning. "Okay. Centre out. Got it."
The second crust went better. By the third, she was doing it mostly on her own, and Tim stood back with his arms crossed, watching her work. The simple task of making pie crust with Lucy had helped mend something in him that had been fractured for a long time. Eventually, he'd find the right words to express just how much of him she'd help stitch back together.
"Your mom's instructions were perfect," Lucy said, reading the plate as she worked. "Keep butter cold. Don't overwork the dough. That's it. That's the whole thing."
"She was like that," Tim said. "Said what she meant. Nothing extra."
Lucy looked at him. "Sounds familiar."
He smiled.
They filled the pies, deciding on apple for all three, because that was what Joy Bradford had made, and Lucy wasn't going to change a thing. They put all three pies in the oven, deciding to wait in the kitchen that smelled of cinnamon and butter.
"This is what your kitchen smelled like," Lucy said. "When you were a kid."
"Yeah." His voice was rough. "Exactly like this."
Lucy crossed to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. Tim held on as they stood there in the warm kitchen while the pies baked. The house smelled like his childhood, and all Tim could think about was how she'd given him back something he'd lost— his childhood.
They arrived at Angela's shortly after 6 pm.
The plan was simple. Lucy would knock. Tim would stand behind her, out of the sightline of the peephole. Lucy would step aside.
The door opened.
Angela was in a red sweater with a dish towel slung over her shoulder, mid-sentence about something directed at Wesley behind her, and when she saw Lucy holding a pie, her face broke into a wide smile.
"Merry Christmas, chi—"
Lucy stepped to the side.
Tim stood in the doorway, the weight of his two months away etched on his face, "Hey, Ange."
The sound that came out of Angela Lopez was not a word in any language.
The dish towel hit the floor. She launched herself at him with enough force that he had to brace against the doorframe, as Angela wrapped both arms around his neck and held on.
"Me extrañé tanto, hermano. Estoy tan feliz de verte vivo y bien." Her voice was fierce and muffled against his shoulder.
Tim's arms closed around her tightly. He held on and pressed his cheek to the top of her head. "Missed you too, Ange."
When she pulled back, her eyes were wet. Her hands were on either side of his face, not just checking that he was present, but checking that he was okay, really okay, underneath, and something passed between them that Lucy understood she was only seeing the surface of. Angela knew things about what Tim did on those missions that nobody else in this room would ever know. She could read the last two months on his face in a way that she never would.
"Everyone is going to be so excited," Angela said, her voice thick. She squeezed his face once more, then wiped her eyes and turned. "Get in here. Both of you."
Wade was out of his chair before they'd rounded the corner.
He crossed the room and pulled Tim into a hug that reflected the relief he'd felt at seeing his former brother-at-arms and co-pilot alive and well. Wade held on for a beat, one hand on the back of Tim's neck, and Tim closed his eyes briefly.
"Good to have you back, brother," Wade said quietly.
"Good to be back."
Aaron was next, with a handshake that turned into a hug, and Wesley with a firm grip and a look that said he'd been keeping Tim's affairs in order and was glad to hand them back.
Then Tim saw a woman he didn't recognize.
She was in the kitchen beside Luna, petite with dark hair, and she was watching the reunion with an expression that was warm and completely unsurprised, as though she'd been expecting all of this to happen.
"Tim, this is Celina Juarez," Lucy said. "She started at Pacifico in the fall. Aaron introduced us, and we've become fast friends."
Celina crossed the room and extended her hand. "I've heard a lot about you."
"All good, I assume?" Tim asked.
"Stop fishing for compliments, Bradford!" Angela shouted from behind them.
Tim laughed even though Celina held his hand for a moment longer than a handshake would require. Her eyes moved between Tim and Lucy with a quiet, assessing focus, then she smiled.
"Your aura looks different," she said to Lucy. "It's shifted since the last time I saw you. Warmer. More settled." She paused. "I'm guessing that has something to do with your man being home."
Lucy felt her stomach drop slightly. She searched Celina's face for signs of a deeper read, but Celina just squeezed her arm gently, giving her a look that said relax, I'm just observant, and moved back to the kitchen.
Lucy exhaled, thankful their secret was still theirs to reveal.
Dinner was loud, warm and exactly what Christmas dinner was supposed to be with friends and family by choice.
Nobody asked Tim about the deployment. For that, they were both secretly thankful. Instead, everyone told him about the wave of new hires that had come through Pacifico in November, the scheduling chaos that had followed, and the training incidents that had led Angela to threaten to quit three times in one week, which Wesley confirmed was a conservative estimate.
Looking around the table, Tim soaked in the warmth of being surrounded by people who loved him. He'd had a difficult few years. This last year, reconnecting with Angela and meeting Lucy in a crew lounge triggered a chain reaction that could be considered a miracle. He'd spent far too long thinking he wasn't enough. That he was too demanding of a partner, or never present. But with Lucy, everything fell into place in a way that almost felt too good to be true. For the first time in over three years, the life he'd been dreaming of since the first time he'd decided to fly a plane in a warzone, felt possible.
The conversation hit a lull.
Lucy looked at him across the table, her cheeks pink with excitement.
He met her eyes. She held his gaze for a moment, then her eyebrow lifted slightly.
Now?
He nodded, almost imperceptibly.
Now.
Tim cleared his throat.
The table quieted around him.
"I want to say something," he said.
Angela set down her glass. Wade leaned back. The room turned all of its attention to Tim.
"Last night I came home," he started. "I walked in, the fire was going, the tree was lit, and Lucy was asleep on the couch, wrapped in a blanket." He paused. "There were tissues everywhere; she'd been crying, and she looked completely wrecked."
Luna and Angela both made a soft noise at Lucy's sadness.
Lucy reached for his hand under the table.
"I've been a lot of places," he said. "I've come home from a lot of things. I have never walked into a room and felt what I felt last night." He looked at Lucy. "She decorated the whole house for the holidays. She kept the ornament boxes closed because she wanted us to hang them together." His voice was getting thick, and he didn't try to fight it. "She made pie plates with my mom's recipe on them. She called my sister and got the card, somehow magically transferring my mother's handwriting onto the ceramic."
Angela's hand was over her mouth.
"Little did I know when I found her under that tree," Tim continued, "how perfect a present she'd turn out to be."
A beat of silence. Aaron glanced at Angela. Wade's eyes moved between Tim and Lucy.
Lucy stood, moved to Tim and settled onto his lap, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. He looked up at her, his eyes glistening, as Lucy brushed a few stray tears off his cheeks with her thumb.
Tim's hand moved to rest over her stomach.
Angela's gaze tracked his movements. Her eyes went wide. Her hand came off her mouth slowly as she looked between Tim's hand and Lucy's face.
"We're having a baby," Tim said.
His voice cracked on the last word, and he didn't care.
"Best Christmas ever."
The sound Angela made was somewhere between a sob and a shout. She was out of her chair and around the table, wrapped both arms around both of them, before the rest of the room had caught up. She held on, one hand on Tim's head and the other on Lucy's back. Angela was laughing and crying all at once. Tim planned never to let her live it down.
"How far along?" she demanded, pulling back, her hands on Lucy's face. "When did you find out? How long have you been keeping this from me?"
"A few weeks," Lucy said, tears streaming. "I wanted Tim to know first."
"Of course you did." Angela looked at Tim. "You. A father." She shook her head, fresh tears falling. "I'm so happy for you both. So happy!"
Tim pressed his lips together and nodded. He didn't trust himself to speak.
The room came alive around them. Wade was on his feet, pulling Tim into a hug that said everything without words. Luna had both hands over her mouth, tears in her eyes. Aaron was grinning and saying something about being the cool uncle. Wesley was pouring something into glasses. Celina caught Lucy's eye from across the table and smiled all warm, knowing, completely unsurprised, and Lucy laughed through her tears because of course Celina had known. Of course she had.
Later, after the toast and tears had settled into the comfortable warmth of Christmas night, Tim and Lucy were side by side on Angela's couch, his arm around her, her head on his shoulder.
Angela appeared with two plates of pie.
"Your mother's recipe," she said to Tim, setting them down. "Made by Lucy. In your kitchen." She looked at them both. "Joy Bradford's pies, back in the world."
Tim looked at the pie. Then at Lucy.
"Yeah," he said quietly in awe. "Back in the world."
Lucy picked up a fork, cutting into the slice and held it out to him.
He took the bite from the fork.
Lucy watched his face nervously.
"Well?" she asked.
Tim chewed thoughtfully then swallowed. His eyes closed briefly.
"It's perfect," he said.