A/N: This is my first time writing for The Rookie – and subsequently, for Chenford (or Tucy, as some fans call them). I hope I did an okay job, or at least did them some justice. I based it off of the events surrounding 2x11 "Day of Death," but a good bit of the one-shot is reminiscent of the ending scene b/t Tim & Lucy from 2x12 "Now and Then." It's not verbatim, but it's definitely inspired by said scene. Let me know what you think of this! I've been loving the show, and no big surprise here, but Tim and Lucy were actually why I decided to start watching the show! Okay, that's it. Happy reading!

Lucy woke up screaming.

That hadn't happened in a while. But, it had happened often enough to freak her out, to make her feel that white, hot panic take over her whole body. It had happened often enough that her roommate and co-worker, Jackson, knew the routine. He'd come running, knock on her door, and let himself in to check on her.

"I'm fine," she would say every time.

And, like clockwork, he'd believe her.

She knew he was just being a good friend, and an even better roommate. Like he had oh so graciously tried to get along with Kojo, the dog Lucy had fostered a while back – without asking him.

Jackson had been there for at the hospital, with flowers and a big smile on his face, happy to see that she was all right.

But now? Now, in this exact moment, she was far from it. She didn't know what it meant to be okay anymore. To feel safe, not only within her own home, but within her own skin. How crazy is that? If you really thought about it.

It wasn't so much that she didn't trust others; but that she didn't trust herself around others.

She had been working on it in therapy, which she had been frequenting less and less as the months wore on since her whole ordeal. But, she was making tangible progress. Kojo was an example of that progress, no matter how short of a time it lasted.

She thought she could handle a dog, she really thought she could. And she would've been able to, had it not caused a bit of an issue with Jackson. Not that Lucy could blame him; Kojo did tear up his prized letterman jacket, not to mention everything else he owned. Oops.

"Are you sure you're good, Lucy?"

Jackson's whispered question startled her still. She whipped her head up to look at him.

"Yeah, I'm alright. Sorry I sent you running. It was just a nightmare. I haven't had much trouble with those lately…I'm not quite sure where this one came from."

Jackson stood in the doorway for a moment, trying to figure out an answer. Lucy knew that he didn't have the perfect one, the right one, the one that could actually solve her issue. Not even she had that. She desperately wanted it, though.

She sighed, shrugging her shoulders before collapsing back into her bed. Jackson took that as his cue to leave, and flipped the light off in the hall before closing Lucy's bedroom door.

She was in the dark again, and she wondered if maybe that's what triggered her. She confirmed it was that when she felt her pulse throb against her neck, and her hands started to feel clammy. She swiped at her forehead, a cool sweat had already started to form again. Shit.

She hurriedly grabbed for her phone, as that would provide the quickest source of light. She flipped her flashlight on, while she carefully crept up and found the actual light to her room. She didn't want to wake Jackson up again. She could handle this. She could always handle this.

But, as she felt a shiver run down her spine, she questioned if that statement was true or not. She realized she must have been twisting around in her sheets, feeling trapped like she was a little over 2 months ago in that oil barrel. That, coupled with the darkness, must have triggered a nightmare in her.

And then…well, she knew the rest.

She sucked in a much-needed breath of air, her fingers running through her wavy strands of hair. She sighed, before leaning against the wall where her bed sat. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the images of Caleb Wright – who, she very well knew, was deader than dead in the ground – to go away.

She tried to focus on something else, or rather, someone else. She thought back to earlier in the day, when she and West had actually made an arrest at their usual taco truck stop, of all places. The trio of rookies – she, West, and Nolan – were eating lunch, when Lucy went to grab more salsa. Out of her peripherals, she spotted two men who looked like they were itching to case the joint. So, out came their guns, as well as the handcuffs for a swift arrest.

She felt a smile pull at her lips, but she just couldn't bring herself to make it form. The only time a chuckle escaped her lips was when she remembered what her TO, Tim Bradford, had said to her after they made the pinch.

"What, did you want a medal or something, Boot? Let's go!"

And she was back in the shop like she never left, the two driving off when they received a radio call about a B&E in progress.

Tim was always like that though, treating her so normal it killed her. While she appreciated it dearly, more than he could ever understand, it was also driving her crazy because he was the one person she least expected it from. Because he was the one who found her. In that godawful barrel. Hell, he had literally breathed life back into her. Well, that's what she assumed, as his eyes were the first she stared into when she woke up.

She remembers crying into his shoulder, and he pulled her close, holding onto her like his life depended on it. She could have sworn he was whispering something to her as his hand came up to grab onto her head, to pull her into him, as if he was shielding her away from everyone and everything else.

Something like: I'm sorry, or I've got you.

She had almost asked him about it at the hospital that day, but decided against it after their moment passed. Jackson and John had come in, as did Grace. And they all ended up chatting, and they stayed well into the evening, which was when visiting hours were over.

She knew Tim had stayed the night that first night (though he would never admit it), but she didn't know if he did the same the next, as she was knocked out by her meds and pure exhaustion that night.

She felt the corner of her mouth pull upward as she remembered the veggie burger and fries – extra pickles! – he had brought her that day she woke up.

You know me so well.

Too well.

She found that thought oddly calming. Calming enough to lull her back to sleep. At least, until her alarm would wake her again at 6:30 AM. Eh, she considered, looking over at her phone once again, reading the current time as 3:45, she would take what she could get.

She was hitting the bag at their gym when she was reminded of their second important conversation.

It wasn't your day of death, Officer Chen. It was the first day of the rest of your life.

While she had thanked him, she didn't necessarily understand what that meant…at least not to its full extent. Not yet.

But in that moment, it oddly solidified within her, settling the knots in her stomach, and quieting her racing thoughts for a second. She was living the rest of her life. She had been, over the last couple of months. She'd been working her way through her second half of rookie training, she had been continuing with her therapy when she needed, and she had been managing things fairly well, all things considered.

Then why was she beating herself up over that damn nightmare? She punched the bag a couple more times, really hard, out of frustration, when she heard a voice. One she knew too well.

"Do you ever go home, Boot?"

She stopped what she was doing, tugging down her cropped sweatshirt, as it had ridden up to remind her of that horrible branding.

"Not tonight," she said, hoping that would satisfy him enough to get him to walk away.

When she heard his footfalls coming closer rather than going further from her, she knew the opposite was occurring. Dammit. She didn't feel like being put through another "Tim Bradford test." Not tonight.

She opened her mouth to tell him as much when his softer voice startled her.

"Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." She grumbled. She'd been saying that a lot lately. It was her easiest automatic response.

"Yeah, and I won the lottery today," he quipped. "Come on Officer Chen. Lying to your TO isn't a good look, anyway."

"Well this rookie doesn't feel like talking to her TO right now," Lucy said, turning her body fully back to the bag she was going to punch.

She landed a good right hook into the sturdy bag, loving that she could focus singlehandedly on that, instead of the same rush of anger that was internally swirling. One, two, three. She counted the jabs off in her head, before she was met with a mean block.

"What?" She exclaimed in a huff. "What is this, huh? Another Tim test? Because if it is, so help me I will land one to your face!"

He narrowed his eyes at her, before removing his hands from her gloved ones. "No, it's not."

"Then what is it?"

"Just talk to me."

"About what?"

"About this," he answered, motioning towards the bag, and back to herself, to where the sweat was pouring down her face. "About what's going on with you today."

"I'm–"

"If you say you're fine, you're doing the obstacle course in a bomb disposal suit."

She crossed her arms, feeling a desire to pout, but she held it back. "Fine. I'm not fine, is that what you wanted to hear?"

"No, Lucy," he sighed, gritting his teeth. "What I wanna know is why."

"Why? Gee Tim, I don't know. Maybe because everything was going okay, up until two months ago when I was kidnapped by a psychopathic serial killer!"

He opened his mouth to say something, but she kept going, the whole truth gushing out of her like a waterfall.

"And I thought I had it handled. I really did. But then I had another nightmare. And now, all I want to do is beat the shit out of this bag until I can't feel my hands anymore. What's so fucking wrong with that? You do it!"

"Yeah, but I use the gym as a means to an end. Not a complete escape from what's bothering me."

Now it was her turn to narrow her eyes at him. "And what? You're suddenly gonna tell me I need to do it that way? Well tough luck, Officer Bradford. That's not how I handle things."

"Well clearly you need some other way of handling things," he griped.

Her eyes went wide, and she was tempted to take a swing at him. She took a step forward, but Tim didn't back down. He watched her open her mouth, with what he assumed was going to be a witty reply. She usually always had one of those ready to go.

Instead, a tear slipped down her cheek. When she tried to move her mouth again, her lip quivered a little. She didn't look directly at him, at least not for longer than a second or two.

"I guess you're right," she admitted in a hushed tone. She sniffled, wiping at her face with her sleeve. "I hate when that happens," she tried to joke, a small smile pulling at her lips again.

"I usually am," he kidded back to her, that same smile on his lips too.

"I think I just– I think I just needed to blow off some steam. And since I vowed never to go paintballing with you ever again, I guess I came here."

"You said," he paused, wanting to tread lightly. "You said you had another nightmare. Have those been happening often? Or not so much anymore? I know with the types of PTSD it's different for each…"

"No, I mean yeah, they haven't been happening as often. I think last night was my first one in like 3 weeks. But–"

"Hey," he said gently cutting her off. "Acknowledge that."

"What? That I had a nightmare. Okay, thanks for the obvious?"

"No," he sighed, frowning slightly at her. "I meant that it's been 3 weeks since the last one prior. That's progress, Lucy."

She ignored how foreign her first name sounded out of his mouth, even though he'd said it twice during this whole conversation.

"I guess, but–"

"But nothing. Why can't you let yourself be proud of that? God knows you won't shut up about helping me get that plaque," he said, attempting to be serious, but cracking a smile to let her know he was far from it in this moment.

She smiled back at him, the light laugh that reverbed off her lips feeling nice. Normal. Like what she needed.

Maybe he really did know her too well.

"I suppose so. I mean, I've been here, doing the work. I've been doing what I need to. I just– god, how do I carry that? The fact that this is a new part of my life?"

He stared at her intently, and she was a little nervous, as they hadn't been quite this serious in a long while. "Remember when I told you, you were a survivor? I meant it. You are, and you'll continue to be as you work through this. No one expects you to be fully healed. These kinds of things…they don't just get better overnight. But, like you said, you're doing the work that needs to be done. And that's the most important part."

She pursed her lips slightly as she processed his words. "So, what you're saying is, I can do things right?"

She got a kick out of watching his slightly forlorn expression turn to one of slight annoyance. It was what she did best when it came to him. "I'm kidding, well, sort of. But, in all seriousness, thank you. I mean it."

He looked at her for a second, before he tilted his head a little bit. "So, you riding with me tomorrow?"

She nodded.

"Good," he replied, before he bid her a good night, and that he'd see her tomorrow.

She gave the bag a few more punches before she called it a night herself. Yeah. She found the normalcy comforting to her once again. And she had a feeling that with a guy like Tim in her corner, she could expect that sense of normalcy to stick around.

Thank god, she thought to herself as she went back to the locker room to change. She needed some things to stay the same in her life. She was glad her relationship with her TO was one such thing.