Beneath Your Beautiful (A Chenford | The Rookie Fanfic)

Part Forty-Five: A Sick Game

Week 3, Day 1: Sunday

He hears her sharp inhale on the other side of the line and can feel his heart drop into his stomach. Fuck. Fuck.

How had they ended up here? Of course he knows why he called her. Because he cares about her. He wants her to be safe. He wants to know she's safe so he can focus on his job.

"Honestly, Tim, I wish you hadn't. Because believe it or not, I don't want to be in this position any more than you want to be."

Her voice is unsteady when she continues, betraying just exactly how upset she is. "But you have to know this isn't right — if there's really a public health threat, the government has a responsibility to protect the people in a systematic way — to prioritize the most at risk and vulnerable populations. They don't just get to protect their friends."

Tim squeezes his eyes shut. He absolutely cannot be dealing with this right now.

"I would never —" her voice breaks and her next words cut directly into his heart, "I would never intentionally hurt you.

"Tim, I would never want to put you in a bad position at work. But you're not the only one with a job to do. You're not the only one with an obligation to the public.

"Do you really think it's not an issue that when a crisis occurs the default plan is to save the loved ones of government employees and say fuck everyone else?"

And god. She is so pure and so principled and so idealistic. It's infuriating. On some level, he doesn't even really disagree with her. It is fucked up; this entire situation is fucked up. But this is the real world, and her virtuous grandstanding could cost a lot of very real people their lives.

He takes a deep breath, running a hand over his face before turning to signal his partner that he'll be right there. "It doesn't matter what I think, Lucy. I don't get the luxury of having an opinion right now because I need to get out there and do whatever it takes to stop this from getting worse than it already is. So that we can save as many people as possible. That is all I care about.

"And, yeah, maybe it is selfish and fucked up and all sorts of corrupt, but knowing that you're safe, knowing that Genny and my nephews are safe — that's going to help me do that."

"And now — I really have to go," he says abruptly, his tone clipped.

***

Lucy can feel a lump rising in her throat, realizing that he is going to be running directly into this thing no matter what, while she is busy worrying over who gets to run the other way first.

"Tim, please be careful," she begs. But it's too late. He's already gone.

Her first instinct is to call Jackson, but she quickly remembers with an overwhelming sense of relief that he and Sterling had left for a few days in Palm Springs that morning. And surely his father, Commissioner West, is already in the know.

Thankfully, Tamara is back at school, also outside of the city.

But what about her parents? Her aunt Amy? Her friends? Her colleagues? Fear for the people she loves grips her heart even as she knows that she can't. She absolutely cannot warn them.

What kind of hypocrite would that make her? Righteously reaming Tim out only to go on and do something far more self-serving.

But she can understand it now. How difficult it would be for anyone responding to this to focus on their jobs while in fear for the lives of their loved ones.

But the fact that she's human and just as emotionally fallible as anyone else? That doesn't change her ethical obligation. It doesn't suddenly make it okay that someone in leadership, who is supposed to be serving the public has decided it's okay for them to decide whose lives are worth saving and whose lives aren't on a whim.

She can absolutely understand the importance of not causing a panic. But that's why there are supposed to be plans to execute against in times of crisis — not people in power playing God — getting to choose who lives and dies, who deserves a chance and who doesn't.

It couldn't be more wrong. Couldn't be a better example of exactly the reason she chose her profession — holding power accountable in order to protect the people. How can she possibly look the other way on something like this?

***

Lucy has the article written in record time. It is unbelievably easy for her to find sources. She methodically contacts family members of government officials and civil servants at every level. She introduces herself as a journalist for the Times, vaguely says she is chronicling current events, and asks if they'd be willing to go on record for her story. Nine times out of ten they are sharing a play-by-play of their day and everything they know before she's finished — the result of some strange combination of hoping she'll share more information (she doesn't), a macabre fascination with being a part of this moment in history without actually having to be part of it, and having been made far more talkative by the fear of imminent death. It's truly a wonder the news hasn't broken already.

But she doesn't send the article to her editor. Part of her obligation to the public includes minimizing harm and serving the greater good. And as hard as it is to think of the masses — those unlucky enough not to be a part of the inner circle and in the know — out and about living their lives as usual, completely unaware of the very real danger they are in, she can't make an emotional or idealistic decision. Even if the sheer number of lives at risk is horrific to think about.

It's a sick game of probability — weighing the idea that many, many people could possibly die if she doesn't run the story against the idea that some people will very likely die in the resulting panic if she does.

She has to make a call, though, and without knowing more about where law enforcement is with their investigation and containment of the situation — the scenario with the lowest possible loss of life if they can prevent this from becoming a mass casualty event — she can't pull the trigger.

She watches the news and monitors online activity almost obsessively for the rest of the afternoon and well into the evening, looking for any mention that could possibly be related to the threat. She only breaks to take care of Kojo — and it is so incredibly eerie, walking the block with him on what appears to be a day like any other, knowing what she knows.

When she calls production to let them know Tim was called into work and they won't be able to make it to dinner or dance class, she tries not to think too much about all of the noise she hears in the background — all of the crew onsite at a crowded restaurant to film one of the other couples.

She doesn't answer when her mom calls that evening. She can't do it. She doesn't answer any of her texts or emails, unable to function in this state of limbo.

The hours tick by, and while she wasn't really expecting to hear from Tim; she also hadn't expected he would be gone this long.