“Has he… tried anything?”
Lucy blinks and looks away, and even though she can’t manage to force the one single syllable out of her throat, she knows her silence is all the answer Tim needs.
She can still feel Frank’s lips on hers, dry and cracked and tasting of bourbon, and she shudders violently as the memory pulls her back to that moment outside the restaurant.
"I just… I've never been shot at before.”
“I have,” Teska answers easily. “You’ll get used to it.”
Lucy swallows hard, channeling every bit of real fear she’d felt into her character which is, admittedly, not at all difficult.
But Frank doesn’t answer, just leans in, one hand curling around her bicep as he presses his lips to hers. Lucy freezes, too shocked to react at first, but then he moves his lips against hers and she snaps into action, planting one hand firmly on his chest and pushing him away.
“What the hell?” she hisses, stumbling backward to insert some distance between them as she wipes the back of her other hand over her mouth.
“It helps, right?” he asks. “Channeling the adrenaline into something else. By the end of the night you won’t even remember the fear.”
“Trust me, you will be in a couple hours when you can’t sleep.”
“Yeah, no, look,” Lucy says firmly. “I get that I don't have a choice on whether or not I'm helping you, but if you’re looking for any other kind of arrangement, I’m out.”
“Lucy.” Tim’s voice is soft, and it pulls her back to the present. “What happened?”
It’s a long moment before she manages to drag her eyes back up to his, and what she sees makes her heart shatter. She can tell he’s trying so hard not to let his emotions show through, but the anger and horror and heartbreak are written all over his face and she can tell he’s about two seconds away from either strangling Teska or allowing the tears pooling behind his eyes to spill over.