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“Lucy,” a hand was shaking her shoulder. Maybe she should wake up, but it had been such a long week and she was so tired and her lap was so warm and…
Lucy cracks open an eye, fixing it first on Jackson crouching next to her, then opening both eyes when she realizes what (or really, who) is draped across her lower half. “What in the actual heck is happening right now?” Jackson whispers, face fixed with a look somewhere between gleeful and manic.
Lucy goes to rub her hands over her face, but only one can make the journey. Her left hand is otherwise occupied, cradling the sleeping head of one Tim Bradford.
Tim’s made himself quite comfortable, it seems. His head is pillowed in her hand; face tucked tight against the band of her uniform pants -- luckily, it seems they both returned their firearms and put away their duty belts before napping. On the floor of the breakroom. At the station. What the actual heck, indeed, Lucy thinks.
“Go away, Jackson.”
Tim’s voice is muffled -- because his face in is your lap , her brain unhelpfully squeals, sounding suspiciously like Angela -- but he makes no moves to sit up. Lucy isn’t sure what else to do, so she starts talking.
“We had mandatory callbacks, and you know how understaffed we’ve been since those transfers went to North Hollywood, and I guess we just got tired, and really, it’s terrifically comfortable on the floor in here. I recommend trying it sometime yourself, Jackson.” Jackson nods, smirking, “Okay, Lucy. I’m going to clock in, but it looks like your on-call shift is over, so I would recommend taking whatever this is,” he waves over her and Tim, still tucked together on the floor, “somewhere else. There are a bunch of people in the locker rooms right now, and their next stop will be this room.”
Jackson stands, mouthing to Lucy, “Talk later?” as he exits the break room. She’s not getting out of that conversation, but first, she needs to get out of this room.
“Is he gone?” Tim says, and Lucy jumps, almost forgetting that he’s awake. How long has she been stroking her hand through his hair? “Um, yeah,” she stutters, “He’s gone. Jackson’s gone. He went to clock in. There are people? In the locker rooms.”
“Breathe, Luce,” Tim says, sitting up and giving his spine a little twist in each direction. He stays on the floor, facing her. “This isn’t the first time that a few officers have fallen asleep in the breakroom.”
“Do they usually cuddle ?” she hisses, whispering as someone passes by the breakroom doorway. The side of Tim’s mouth raises in that annoyingly attractive half-smile.
“Probably not. Sucks for them,” Tim says as he stands and puts an arm out to help Lucy up from the floor, “You’re comfier than a pillow.”