Too Good to Be True

by MissSunshine7

Summary:

Lucy Chen walked through the doors of Mid-Wilshire like she belonged there. She was confident but not arrogant, competent but still asked questions when she was supposed to. A rookie… on paper.

I do not own any of ABC’s The Rookie characters.

Notes:

Round 2! Hopefully this one makes sense! Thanks for sticking around! Comments, Kudos, and Suggestions fuel me! (Seriously I might have a problem 😂)
Enjoy
-☀︎︎𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕖☀︎︎

Chapter 1

The Mid-Wilshire station buzzed with morning energy, officers milling around the bullpen in various stages of uniformed chaos. Radios crackled, coffee cups steamed, and the dry squeak of sneakers on tile echoed down the hallway. It was just another start-of-shift scene—chaotic, noisy, alive.

But Tim Bradford had a sixth sense for things that didn’t add up. It kicked in the second Lucy Chen walked into the briefing room.

She moved too smoothly through the crowd. No nerves. No rookie deer-in-the-headlights shuffle. Her steps were confident, her uniform regulation-perfect. Her name tag—CHEN—shone under the fluorescent lights. She had a fresh face, sure, but there was a hardness behind her eyes. Something seasoned. Something he didn’t like. Or maybe just didn’t understand yet.

She slid into a seat in the front row, posture textbook-straight, hands folded neatly in her lap, eyes on Sergeant Grey. Not darting around like most first-day boots. No wide-eyed glancing at the TOs, no anxious lip-chewing, no whispered questions to the rookie next to her. Just calm, quiet focus.

Tim stood near the back of the room, arms crossed, observing. Watching.

She was too calm. That was the first red flag.

Then came the second.

“Chen,” Grey called out, scanning the clipboard. “You’re with Bradford.”

Tim didn’t react outwardly, but inside? He was already irritated. New rookies were supposed to be raw. He liked them that way. Moldable. This one already looked pre-packaged and ready to lead a SWAT team.

Chen rose smoothly, walked toward him with crisp military precision—not the flailing eagerness of a boot trying to impress. She extended her hand.

“Officer Bradford,” she greeted, voice clear, confident.

Tim didn’t take her hand.

“I don’t shake hands with rookies,” he said, cold. “You want my respect? Earn it.”

If she was rattled, she didn’t show it. Just dropped her hand and nodded once. “Understood.”

There it is again, Tim thought. Too smooth. Too prepared.

He didn’t like it. Not one bit.

–––

Out in the shop, she climbed into the passenger seat like she’d been doing it for years. She adjusted the seat, checked the mirror, and buckled in without a word. No fumbling. No questions about the MDT or the radio channels. Just calm observation.

Tim started the engine, glancing at her sideways.

“You nervous?” he asked.

“Should I be?”

Smartass, he thought, but didn’t say it.

He pulled out of the lot and headed for their first patrol zone.

“You ex-military?”

“No, sir.”

“You sure?”

She turned her head slightly toward him, raising one brow. “I’m sure.”

“You move like one. Sit like one. Think like one.”

“I guess I just have good discipline.”

Bullshit, Tim thought.

Still, he let it go. For now.

–––

Their first call was a routine welfare check. Elderly neighbor hadn’t been seen in two days. Tim expected her to be shaky, unsure, maybe hesitant to enter the unknown.

She wasn’t.

She moved behind him with controlled steps, hand on her holstered weapon, eyes scanning corners. She mirrored his technique with eerie accuracy—clearing the living room, checking blind spots, pausing at doorways without needing to be told.

When they found the man asleep in his recliner with his hearing aids out, Chen didn’t flinch at the sudden movement or reach for her weapon. She calmly approached, confirmed vitals, and gently tapped his shoulder to wake him.

Tim didn’t say anything on the drive back. He just watched her. Closely.

Everything she did was too measured. Too intentional.

She didn’t fidget. Didn’t run her mouth. Didn’t bounce her leg or mess with her belt or double-check her gear every five seconds like most rookies. She just watched.

It put him on edge.

–––

Mid-shift, he’d had enough. Time to see what she was really made of.

They were driving down Van Ness when Tim abruptly pulled the cruiser over near an abandoned lot, killed the engine, and unbuckled.

“Out.”

Lucy glanced at him, brows drawn. “Sir?”

“Out of the car, boot.”

Without hesitation, she followed him out.

Tim stepped onto the cracked sidewalk, scanning the horizon like he was setting the scene in his mind. Then, without warning, he dropped to the ground, yanked one hand under his shirt, and screamed—

“I’VE BEEN SHOT, BOOT!”

Lucy startled—but only for a second.

“WHERE ARE WE? I’M BLEEDING TO DEATH AND YOU NEED TO CALL FOR HELP! WHERE ARE WE?!”

Her hand shot to her shoulder mic instantly.

“Dispatch, 7-Adam-19, officer down—corner of Van Ness and 8th, requesting RA and backup. One officer bleeding, conscious. I’m applying pressure now.”

She knelt beside him, eyes scanning his body, checking for entry wounds like it was second nature.

He stared up at her from the ground, fuming.

She wasn’t panicking. She wasn’t even rattled. She was calm. Clinical.

Too calm.

He sat up suddenly, brushing her off. “Cancel that call.”

Lucy stood, dusted her knees off, and straightened her vest. “That was a test.”

Tim glared at her. “Yeah. One you weren’t supposed to pass like a ten-year veteran medic.”

“I’ve read your training protocols,” she said simply. “You’ve run that test on multiple rookies. Most of them fail. I didn’t want to.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’ve read my training protocols?”

“I wanted to be prepared.”

Prepared, he thought. She’s not just prepared. She’s surgical.

That was it. That was the moment. He didn’t know who she really was yet, but he was done pretending she was some average academy boot. She knew too much. Did too much. Said too little. And now, she’d passed his test better than most TOs.

He climbed back in the cruiser without a word. She followed.

He didn’t look at her for the next hour.

–––

That evening, he stood outside Grey’s office, jaw clenched. Then he knocked and walked in without waiting.

Grey didn’t even look up. “Let me guess. You want to talk about Chen.”

“She’s not a rookie.”

Grey sighed. “And what makes you say that?”

Tim folded his arms. “She moves like she’s cleared a thousand rooms. Talks like a TO. Runs the ‘I’ve been shot’ drill like a tactical medic. Knows my protocols before I even test her. She’s either the most advanced boot in LAPD history, or she’s lying.”

Grey paused. Closed the door.

“She’s not lying,” he said finally. “She’s not a rookie. She’s Detective Lucy Chen. Vice and Narcotics Division. Three years undercover. I pulled her into Mid-Wilshire to sniff out a possible dirty cop in this house.”

Tim blinked. “You planted a detective in my shop?”

“She’s not planted in your shop, she’s in one of my shops. And yes. I needed someone clean, capable, and invisible. She’s all three.”

“So you stuck her with me?”

Grey raised an eyebrow. “Because you’re the best TO I’ve got. If there’s something off in the department, you’d sniff it out first. And you did.”

Tim leaned back, frustrated. “She let me yell at her. Let me test her. Made me look like a fool.”

“No,” Grey said. “She played her role. And you played yours. Now you know the truth. So play along.”

Tim left without another word.

Chapter 2

Summary:

He knew now. About her real assignment. That she wasn’t a rookie, but a UC detective inserted into his shop to root out a dirty cop. Grey had told him everything — and ordered him to play along.

So that’s what he did.

Tim Bradford had been a training officer long enough to recognize patterns — the way a rookie flinched under pressure, fumbled their radio, or second-guessed their clearance angles. Even the sharper ones, the book-smart ones, usually cracked somewhere during their first week.

Lucy Chen hadn’t cracked once.

If anything, she was getting sharper.

It irritated him.

He knew now. About her real assignment. That she wasn’t a rookie, but a UC detective inserted into his shop to root out a dirty cop. Grey had told him everything — and ordered him to play along.

So that’s what he did.

But now that the blindfold was off, Tim couldn’t stop seeing it. Every calculated breath she took. Every time she scanned a scene before her feet even touched the curb. The way she cleared rooms like she’d been doing it since the Academy — not the LAPD one. Some other one. One that didn’t come with polished badge ceremonies and coffee mugs from the gift shop.

It was the morning of her second shift, and she was already waiting by the cruiser when he got there.

Her boots were clean. Not rookie-clean, but meticulous. Her posture was straight, her gaze steady. Her vest was secured the way experienced officers wore it — just snug enough for movement, loose enough for breathing.

Tim didn’t say anything. Just unlocked the shop and slid into the driver’s seat.

She followed, silent.

It had been less than 24 hours since she passed his “I’ve been shot” test — the one designed to induce panic. Not only had she passed it, she’d done so with precision and grace, like she’d done it before. Like she’d dragged real partners out of real gunfire.

Tim hadn’t stopped thinking about it.

Now, as they rolled out onto Wilshire Boulevard, he kept sneaking glances at her. Like he’d catch a slip. A tick. Anything that proved she was human and not some government-trained automaton wearing a rookie badge.

But Lucy just sat there, eyes tracking the street, radio on scan, calm as ever.

–––

They were halfway through their shift when the call came in.

“211 in progress, 417 suspect. Shots fired. Jefferson and Maple. Units respond Code 3.”

Tim’s hand shot to the radio. “7-Adam-19 responding Code 3.”

Lights on. Sirens howling. He wove through traffic like it was instinct.

“Call said shots fired,” he said, mostly to himself. “Could be posturing, or it could be a full-on takedown.”

Lucy nodded once, already bracing herself with one hand on the dash. “Copy.”

Tim glanced at her. No tremble. No hesitation.

–––

They arrived at the scene in under two minutes.

A black SUV was peeling away from the curb, tires screaming. A woman was crouched near the sidewalk, blood on her palm, waving frantically toward the pawn shop.

“They’re still inside!” she shouted. “One of them ran in—he’s got a gun!”

Tim hit the brakes. They were out in seconds, weapons drawn.

Lucy moved with him without a word, her service pistol steady in her grip. She flanked left, keeping to cover without needing direction. He swept the front of the pawn shop, already seeing movement through the shattered glass door.

“On me,” Tim murmured.

She didn’t respond. She was already there.

Inside was chaos. Broken glass. Jewelry cases tipped over. A man stood near the counter — ski mask, gun in hand, panting like he’d just run a mile.

Tim raised his weapon. “LAPD! Drop the weapon!”

The suspect spun toward them.

Gun coming up.

       Pop!

Too late to dodge.

Tim didn’t move in time.

Lucy did.

She slammed into him, hard — her body crashing into his side and knocking him behind a shelf full of broken DVD players. The bullet ripped into the wood where Tim’s head had been half a second earlier.

He gasped from the ground, stunned.

By the time he blinked the dust from his eyes, Lucy was already up, pistol locked in both hands.

       “DROP IT NOW! DO IT!”

Her voice rang through the store like a siren — all command, no fear.

The suspect hesitated. Another pair of boots thundered through the rear door. Nyla Harper appeared with her Glock aimed and ready.

“Gun down!”

Angela followed close behind. The suspect saw three weapons aimed at him. He dropped his.

Tim watched it hit the floor as Angela moved to cuff him.

Lucy was still squared, finger off the trigger, eyes sharp. Her chest was rising and falling just slightly harder now, but her hands never shook.

–––

Outside, the suspect was secured in the back of a squad. Tim leaned against the hood of their cruiser, hand still hovering near his vest where she’d slammed into him.

Lucy stood beside him, quiet, watchful.

Angela walked up first.

“You okay?” she asked Tim.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Thanks to her.”

Angela turned to Lucy, brows raised. “You tackled him out of the line of fire?”

Lucy nodded once. “Did what I had to.”

Nyla came up behind her. “That wasn’t instinct. That was training.”

Lucy tensed.

Angela crossed her arms. “You don’t clear rooms like that unless you’ve been somewhere.”

Tim stepped in before it snowballed.

“She’s ex-military.”

Lucy blinked. Just once. Barely enough to catch.

Angela raised her brows. “Seriously?”

“Army,” Tim added, not missing a beat. “I saw it in her file. Before the Academy.”

Nyla whistled low. “That tracks. She moves like one of ours.”

Lucy nodded again, not breaking eye contact with Tim. “Army,” she confirmed softly.

Angela chuckled. “Explains the tackle. And the ice-cold nerves. Good job, Boot.”

Lucy smiled, just a little. “Thank you.”

Tim didn’t smile.

He just stared at her.

–––

Later, in the quiet of the shop, they drove in silence. The kind of silence that followed a near-miss — not filled with fear, but with questions neither one of them wanted to ask.

Tim kept one hand on the wheel, eyes straight ahead.

“You didn’t have to play along,” Lucy said finally. “With the Army thing.”

He shrugged. “Didn’t do it for you.”

She looked at him sideways. “You keep saying that.”

“I said it because if you keep moving like that, someone’s going to ask questions. If you don’t have a cover ready, they’re going to find out what you are. And then this whole operation goes sideways.”

He paused. “And people get hurt.”

She didn’t argue.

But the silence wasn’t finished.

A few blocks later, Tim spoke again. Quieter this time.

“You really did serve, didn’t you?”

Lucy turned to look at him — really look at him. And for the first time, her expression cracked just slightly. Not a lot. Not enough for the average person to notice.

But Tim wasn’t average.

Her eyes didn’t hold rookie pride or defensive denial.

They held years.

Loss. Command. Guilt. Discipline. All buried deep.

But not deep enough.

She didn’t answer.

She didn’t have to.

Tim just nodded and turned his eyes back to the road.

“Army’s a good cover,” he said.

Her voice was soft. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

Notes:

Please let me know if my timeline makes sense! Also, does anyone know why when I transfer my story from my notes to Ao3 it creates the weird lines next some of the text? (The address of the shooting)

Chapter 3

Summary:

She looked at him, surprised.

“I’ve had TOs who didn’t know when to back off,” he said. “And I don’t want to be one of them.”

“You’re not.”

He nodded once.

Then she added, “You were right about one thing.”

He raised a brow.

“I have been somewhere.”

Notes:

Commentary and Kudos are seriously addictive… 2 chapter in one day!

By 0730, the entire station was buzzing. The kind of buzz that didn’t come from a critical incident or a tactical screw-up, but something rarer: a rookie outperforming expectations in a way that made everyone uncomfortable.

Whispers followed Lucy through the hallways like shadows.

“Did you hear she tackled Bradford out of the line of fire?”

“No way that was instinct. That was combat training.”

“She didn’t even blink when the guy fired at them.”

“She’s got to be prior military. Maybe even special ops.”

Tim said nothing. He just kept moving.

The truth was, he didn’t like rumors. Not because they were disruptive — he could handle disruptive. But because most of the time, they were wrong. But this time? This time, they weren’t even scratching the surface.

–––

In the locker room, Lucy kept her posture relaxed. She peeled off her hoodie, clipped on her vest, and loaded her belt with calm, deliberate movements. But her ears were tuned.

Two other rookies were whispering just a few rows down.

“She’s not a boot. No way.”

“You think she’s deep cover or something?”

“You mean like UC?”

“I mean like not supposed to be here.”

Lucy clipped in her mic and shut her locker harder than necessary.

The whispering stopped.

–––

Everyone knew, Lucy felt it the moment she walked into roll call. Heads turned, conversations paused. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t smile. Just took the farthest seat in the front like she had nothing to prove. Like she hadn’t been the sole reason a veteran TO didn’t take a bullet the day before.

Angela raised an eyebrow across the room. Nyla didn’t even bother to be subtle — her stare was long and deliberate.

Grey called the shift to order. But even he paused for half a second when his eyes landed on her.

“Stay alert, stay aware,” he said after the morning brief. “And don’t do anything stupid. That’s my job.”

Laughter broke the tension.

But the stares didn’t stop.

–––

It was later, mid-morning, after she finished up a solo evidence drop-off, that Nyla finally cornered her.

Lucy was exiting the side hallway when Nyla stepped into her path.

“You got a minute?”

Lucy didn’t miss a beat. “What’s up?”

“You know what’s up,” Nyla said, arms folded. “You’re too clean. Too fast. You didn’t flinch in a live-fire situation, you moved before Bradford even processed what was happening, and you’re not rattled now. So what gives?”

Lucy looked around — empty hallway. She lowered her voice slightly.

Then she said the words.

“Level three. Priority iron. Status green.”

Nyla froze.

Not for long — just a second. But her entire posture changed.

Because she knew exactly what that meant.

It wasn’t a public-facing code. It wasn’t even in the LAPD manuals anymore. But every former UC knew it — a quietly passed-down signal used to warn another undercover cop to back off before they blow the whole damn operation. Level three meant deep cover. Priority iron meant it had department command blessing. Status green meant the case was still live.

Nyla stared at her. “Copy,” she said quietly.

Then turned and walked away.

–––

After shift, Lucy found herself back in the lot — standing at the driver’s side of her car, keys in hand, bag slung over her shoulder, hoping to slip out unseen.

No such luck.

“Hey.”

She turned. Tim was there, leaning against the side of his shop, arms crossed. Still in uniform, sweat drying on his brow from a late call she was lucky enough to dodge.

His expression was unreadable.

Lucy didn’t speak. She just waited.

Tim walked toward her slowly, then stopped about two feet from her bumper.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded.

He tilted his head. “You know Harper pulled me aside. Said you flagged her.”

Lucy’s shoulders didn’t even twitch. “Didn’t have a choice.”

“What’d you say to her?”

“A phrase only another UC would understand. It told her to stop asking questions.”

“She stopped,” he said quietly.

Lucy met his eyes. “That was the point.”

Tim looked at her for a long moment. “How deep are you in this?”

“Deep enough I don’t get to tell the truth to people who deserve it.”

His jaw tightened. “Grey didn’t even warn me.”

“No. He wouldn’t.”

Another long pause stretched between them. The air was warm, thick with city noise and heat. But neither of them moved.

Then Tim said, softer, “You really did serve.”

Not a question. A statement.

Lucy looked away. She rested her hand lightly on the roof of her car.

Tim continued, his voice lower now. “You move like it. React like it. Not just the tackle. Not just how fast you got your gun up. You felt the threat before I did.”

She didn’t speak. Didn’t deny it.

“You weren’t just Army, though,” he said.

Her gaze flicked to him. That startled him — not because of what he said, but how she looked at him.

It was guarded. But not defensive.

Just… tired.

“No,” she said. “I wasn’t.”

He nodded once, like that was enough.

Then, after a beat: “I was.”

Lucy blinked.

“Army Infantry,” he added. “Two deployments. One in Kandahar, one in Mosul. Before LAPD.”

Her lips parted just slightly. “You don’t talk about it.”

“Neither do you.”

Something about that hit hard. Their silence stretched again — not awkward, but shared. Familiar.

They were standing in different uniforms, but in the same space.

“I recognized it in you,” he said. “Day one. I didn’t know what I was seeing, but I knew it wasn’t rookie.”

“That’s why you threw the ‘I’ve been shot’ test at me.”

“Yeah.”

Lucy looked up at him. “And I passed.”

“You passed like you’d rehearsed it in a real alley, with real blood on your hands.”

She didn’t say anything.

Tim stepped slightly closer. “Whatever you did before, wherever you were — I know what it takes to carry that kind of control. I just… I wanted to say I see it.”

Something in her softened. Not much. But enough.

“Thanks,” she said quietly.

He nodded.

“And for the Army cover,” she added. “I didn’t expect you to do that.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” he said automatically. Then paused. “Okay — maybe I did. But also for the case. You’re good. They were going to notice eventually.”

“They already have.”

“I heard someone asked if you were a cyborg.”

She rolled her eyes. “Great.”

Tim offered the barest hint of a smirk. “That was Smitty.”

Lucy groaned.

–––

As she opened her car door, Tim turned to leave — but stopped halfway.

“Hey,” he said, looking over his shoulder. “If I ever push too far… just tell me.”

She looked at him, surprised.

“I’ve had TOs who didn’t know when to back off,” he said. “And I don’t want to be one of them.”

“You’re not.”

He nodded once.

Then she added, “You were right about one thing.”

He raised a brow.

“I have been somewhere... too many somewheres.”

Her voice was soft, almost hard to hear.

Tim didn’t press her.

“Okay,” he said.

Then he left.

–––

Back in the locker room, Nyla leaned against a bench, arms crossed, watching the door swing shut behind Lucy’s silhouette in the lot.

Angela looked over from where she was filing paperwork.

“Well?”

“She’s deep,” Nyla said simply.

Angela blinked. “Deep?”

“Like, Grey-level authorizations deep.”

Angela set her pen down. “Shit.”

Nyla nodded. “Whatever she’s here for… it’s big.”

Angela exhaled. “She’s still a rookie on paper.”

“She’s not a rookie anywhere that matters.”

They both looked toward the lot. Knowing they would have her back.

–––

Tim didn’t sleep well that night.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the way she’d looked at him. The way she hadn’t confirmed anything out loud — but also hadn’t needed to. The way her voice had dropped when she said she’d been somewhere.

Somewhere real.

Somewhere that changed you.

Somewhere he’d been, too.

He recognized her not just because of the way she moved.

But because he’d been her.

And something about that made it impossible to write her off anymore.

Notes:

Please point out if my timeline is off! Thanks!

Chapter 4

Summary:

She shifted slightly, stepped toward him—just a little. His hand twitched at his side like maybe, for a second, he’d lift it. Maybe touch her shoulder. Maybe pull her in.

But he didn’t.

And she didn’t ask him to.

Instead, she gave him a tired smile—small and real and a little sad.

“Thanks for watching my six today.”

“Always.”

Their hands didn’t touch. But they didn’t move apart either.

Notes:

Ok, so I figured out how to keep it from making the dashes… I think. We’re reaching the good stuff! I leave for vacation this week so I’ve been writing on and off with a scatter brain.

By the time Lucy stepped into the station the next morning, her body was already humming with the kind of tension that never really went away—not since she’d taken the undercover assignment. The building was loud in that early morning way—radios clicking on, boots scuffing tile, the smell of burnt coffee thick in the air. She took her usual seat in the front row without hesitation, adjusting her vest slightly as she opened her notebook. Rookie front row. Always. No exceptions. That was fine with her—she liked clear lines and knew exactly how to operate inside them.

Tim sat two rows behind her and to the side, his arms crossed, chin tucked, already watching her out of the corner of his eye. He always did.

Sergeant Grey walked to the front, clipboard in hand, already halfway through flipping pages. “Listen up. Patrol pairings are unchanged, so if you were hoping to trade, tough luck. Bradford, you’ve got Chen. Lopez, West. Harper, Nolan.” He kept reading but Lucy could feel the heat of Tim’s stare tick higher.

She didn’t react.

When roll call broke, Lucy fell into step beside Tim like she always did. They didn’t say much on the way to the shop—didn’t need to. She ran a silent mental check of her gear as they walked. Everything where it should be. Her vest snug, duty belt centered. The encrypted flash drive was still tucked inside her glove case in the far-left pocket. She hadn’t needed to use it yet—but that could change at any moment.

They pulled out into traffic just before 0700. The call came ten minutes later—disturbance at a gas station on Washington, possibly escalating. When dispatch confirmed Stanton was already on scene, Lucy’s chest tightened, but her face didn’t move.

Tim drove fast but smooth. “Guy’s been showing up on a lot of our calls lately,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “Stanton always finds a way to make it messier.”

Lucy said nothing. Her eyes were on the MDT screen, tracking the address. She recognized it immediately—not the location, but the setup. Same as the incident two days ago. Same basic profile.

When they pulled up, Stanton’s patrol car was parked sideways across the curb, lights on, engine running. He was already mid-argument with a guy in a hoodie and a gas station clerk. His tone was tight, sharp—riding the line between control and confrontation.

Lucy stepped out and kept her hand near her radio mic. Tim walked beside her but hung back slightly, giving Stanton a second to recognize them.

“Bradford. Chen,” Stanton grunted. “Already got this handled.”

“Mind if we assist?” Tim asked evenly.

“We’re good.” Stanton gestured toward the clerk. “This guy’s been loitering, hassling people. Got priors for assault.”

The kid in the hoodie flinched. “I just wanted a damn bottle of water!”

Lucy looked between them. The clerk didn’t seem scared. Just tired. And Stanton’s posture wasn’t protective—it was confrontational. Intimidating.

She stepped a little closer, but casual. “Can I talk to you, sir?” she asked the clerk.

Stanton cut her a glance. “It’s under control.”

Lucy didn’t back down. She kept her voice soft but steady. “Sir, could I speak with you?”

The clerk shrugged, stepping toward her. She led him a few feet away and lowered her voice. “Has this man threatened you?”

The clerk glanced back toward Stanton. “No. Honestly, the guy in the hoodie was just pacing. Didn’t do anything. Officer started yelling when he wouldn’t leave fast enough.”

She nodded. “Thanks for your time.”

When she turned back, Stanton was glaring at her. Tim was already watching both of them.

“Let’s clear,” Tim said tightly. “We’ll write it up.”

“Don’t waste your breath,” Stanton muttered, already turning back toward his cruiser. “Waste of time.”

Lucy watched him go. Her jaw clenched. Inside, she was already composing the report she’d send to her handler later. That interaction—Stanton’s escalation over a non-event—fit the profile. Aggression, abuse of authority, disregard for civilian de-escalation. It wasn’t enough to pull her yet. But it was another notch on the ledger.

Back at Mid-Wilshire, she filed her report, printed a clean copy, and passed Tim a glance before slipping away toward the rear hallway. No one followed her—not even him.

Inside the storage closet near the back stairwell, she reached above the ceiling tile and pulled down the slim tablet case. Fingerprint scan. Boot sequence. Her handler’s encrypted message blinked on-screen.

Stanton Presence Confirmed
Observed escalation 06:53
Civilian: unarmed, cooperative
Stanton behavior: threat projection, false claim of priors
Continue surveillance
Trigger threshold rising

She added her notes, highlighting that Stanton had now interfered in three separate calls involving her and Tim, and that his aggression was escalating in public. She didn’t mention Tim by name—protocol. But she added “partner unaware of UC status. Cover uncompromised.” A mini lie.

She sent the file, powered down, replaced the tile, and walked back to the squad like she hadn’t disappeared at all.

The rest of the morning was busy—two burglar alarms, one mental health check, and a parking lot fight between two food delivery drivers. All routine, all clean. Lucy moved through each scene with quiet precision, staying sharp without being stiff. Tim noticed the way she stepped into each call with calm posture and clear communication—no panic, no overthinking.

They rolled back into the lot around 1230. The scent of grilled meat hit them first—Wednesday food trucks were parked out front, just like always.

“You hungry?” Tim asked, already reaching for his wallet.

“Starving,” she said without hesitation.

They joined the usual crowd. Angela waved them over with a foil-wrapped burrito in one hand and her phone in the other. “Get the shrimp tacos before they run out!”

Jackson and John were mid-argument about sauce choices, and Nyla stood leaning against a cement post, sunglasses on, sipping something green and suspicious-looking.

Lucy grabbed a pair of carnitas tacos and a soda, settling beside Tim near the edge of the group.

“So,” Angela said, grinning over her foil wrap, “is it true your rookie outshot you on the range yesterday?”

Tim didn’t even flinch. “She got lucky.”

“I didn’t miss,” Lucy offered, unbothered.

John choked on his drink. “She’s humble too!”

Nyla just looked at Lucy for a beat too long, then gave her the smallest nod before turning away. Lucy caught the signal. Quiet respect. No questions. Code recognized and honored .

Tim noticed the nod, but he didn’t ask about it—not yet.

Later that afternoon, they got flagged for a call near Jefferson. Suspicious person near a school, third time this week. As they rolled up, Tim glanced at her.

“You okay?”

She hesitated. “Fine.”

He didn’t believe her, but he didn’t push.

When they turned the corner, Lucy’s entire body went still. She spotted him—Stanton—parked at the far end of the block, leaning against his cruiser, watching the scene. He wasn’t assigned to the call. He wasn’t backing anyone up.

He was just watching.

Her breath slowed. She counted. One. Two. Three.

Then she stepped out of the car like nothing was wrong.

Tim followed her lead.

They approached the subject—a teenager pacing nervously near the school fence. Lucy talked to him, calm and measured, her voice low and kind. No threat, just sadness. The kid had heard his parents fighting again and left the house without thinking. She offered him a ride home. He nodded.

They drove him back to a narrow apartment building six blocks down. On the way, Lucy checked their mirrors more than once—not obvious. Just enough.

“You expecting someone?” Tim asked quietly.

“No.”

“You sure?”

“No,” she admitted.

He didn’t say anything else.

Back at the station, after dropping the kid off and finishing their paperwork, Lucy slipped away again. She met her handler in the back stairwell. He was disguised in a delivery vest, clipboard in hand.

“Stanton’s been watching you,” he said without preamble.

“I know.”

“We’re escalating the timeline. You’ve got maybe three weeks before he gets bold. Possibly less.”

She nodded. “What’s the ask?”

“Catch it on cam. One verbal threat. One physical shove. Anything.”

“And Bradford?”

“He stays clear. He’s not UC.”

“He’s my TO.”

“Then keep him from getting in the way.”

She didn’t respond.

When the sun finally dipped low enough to hit the concrete orange, Lucy found herself alone in the parking garage, standing beside her car looking out at the sky. Her vest was off. Her hair had slipped loose. She rubbed the back of her neck slowly, breathing deep.

Tim stepped into the space beside her without a word. The garage was quiet—just the hum of distant engines and a soft breeze curling through the shadows.

“Long day,” he said finally.

She didn’t respond at first.

“Stanton’s been showing up a lot,” he continued. “Calls he’s not assigned to. Seems like he’s tracking something.”

Lucy’s throat tightened. “Maybe.”

Tim turned toward her. “You really did serve, didn’t you?”

She looked up slowly.

“I mean—not just basic. I’ve been around long enough to know the difference.”

Lucy stared at him. “Why are you asking?”

“I’m not. I’m just… saying I see it.”

They stood in silence for a beat.

She shifted slightly, stepped toward him—just a little. His hand twitched at his side like maybe, for a second, he’d lift it. Maybe touch her shoulder. Maybe pull her in.

But he didn’t.

And she didn’t ask him to.

Instead, she gave him a tired smile—small and real and a little sad, mixed with something else.

“Thanks for watching my six today.”

“Always.”

Their hands didn’t touch. But they didn’t move apart either.

After a moment, she looked down at the concrete, then back at him. “I was Army Rangers.”

Tim blinked. The words sank in slower than they should have.

She didn’t offer more. No stories, no rank, no years, no scars.

He nodded once, serious and solid. “Okay.”

Nothing else needed to be said.

Chapter 5

Summary:

The next day started like any other—clear skies, hot pavement, the hum of city static running beneath everything like a distant engine. Tim and Lucy rolled out just after 0700, their shop quiet except for the occasional burst of radio chatter. Their routine had smoothed into something instinctual—she knew how he liked his reports, he knew when she needed space. They didn’t have to say much anymore.

But Lucy was on edge, even if she didn’t show it.

Notes:

Stanton’s becoming a bigger problem for Lucy.
This is the last chapter I have pre-written. Back to writing…

The next day started like any other—clear skies, hot pavement, the hum of city static running beneath everything like a distant engine. Tim and Lucy rolled out just after 0700, their shop quiet except for the occasional burst of radio chatter. Their routine had smoothed into something instinctual—she knew how he liked his reports, he knew when she needed space. They didn’t have to say much anymore.

But Lucy was on edge, even if she didn’t show it.

There was something in the air, in her skin. Like a warning. Like the kind of pressure that builds before things break.

The first two calls were routine—noise complaint on a rooftop and a vandalism report behind a liquor store. She handled them fine, her tone steady, her notes clean. But Tim was watching her again, more than usual. She caught him once in the rearview mirror, brows low, lips pressed. She didn’t ask why. She already knew.

He was trying to figure her out.

They were halfway through patrol when the call came in—mental health crisis, possible armed subject, male, mid-forties, known military history. The address was three blocks into Stanton’s patrol zone, but dispatch routed Tim and Lucy first. Tim didn’t ask why. Lucy didn’t comment.

When they pulled up, the street was quiet—too quiet. There was a man sitting on the curb in front of a run-down duplex, head in his hands, rocking slightly. He had a service dog by his side—still, alert, trained. The leash was looped around his wrist.

Lucy scanned him, then the windows, the doorway. No obvious weapons.

She stepped out of the car carefully.

“Sir?” she called, not loud, just clear. “My name’s Officer Chen. I’m with LAPD. We’re here to help.”

The man didn’t move.

She approached slowly, hands visible, posture relaxed.

Tim covered her six, watching the street.

She crouched a few feet away. “You mind if I sit?”

Still nothing.

She sat anyway.

The service dog didn’t flinch.

“My brother’s Army,” she said quietly. “Two tours. I used to write him letters every week. Told him dumb stories just so he’d remember there was something normal waiting for him.”

That made the man blink.

“You Army?” she asked.

He nodded. Didn’t speak.

She nodded back. “I get it.”

His voice was sandpaper. “I didn’t want to scare anyone. I just… I just needed to breathe.”

“You’re not in trouble,” she said. “We just want to make sure you’re okay.”

He started to cry—not loud, not messy. Just quiet, shaking tears. She moved a little closer, still slow. Not touching. Just presence.

Tim didn’t interrupt.

But the cruiser that pulled up next did.

Doors slammed. Boots hit pavement. Stanton.

“Step away from him,” Stanton barked. “Hands up where I can see them!”

Lucy stood immediately, turning to block his path. “He’s not armed, Officer. He’s compliant.”

Stanton didn’t even look at her. “I said step away.”

Tim moved next to her. “We’ve got it under control.”

“You think you know better than me, Bradford?”

“Back off,” Tim snapped. “You’re escalating.”

Stanton stepped forward anyway. “You don’t get to tell me how to do my job.”

The man on the curb flinched and covered his ears. His service dog barked once—sharp, distressed.

“Enough!” Lucy shouted, stepping between them. “You’re scaring him!”

Stanton’s mouth twisted. “Oh, I’m sorry, is your little rookie scared of raised voices? That’s adorable.”

Lucy didn’t react. But her body vibrated with restraint. The camera on her vest was rolling.

Tim’s hand landed on her elbow—not pulling her back, just anchoring.

“We’ll file,” he said flatly. “Clear the scene.”

Stanton glared at both of them, then turned and stalked back to his cruiser.

The man on the curb had gone still again. Lucy sat beside him one more time.

“You okay?”

He nodded slowly.

“I’m sorry about that,” she said.

“You ever get screamed at by someone who doesn’t know what the hell you’ve been through?” the man asked.

Lucy looked down. “Yeah. I have.”

They helped him up, secured a hospital transfer, and stayed until the paramedics loaded him gently into the back of the rig. The dog went with him.

Back in the shop, Tim didn’t say anything for a while.

Eventually he spoke, low. “He doesn’t belong in this job.”

Lucy was quiet. “No. He doesn’t.”

She filed her report by hand, like she always did when it mattered most. Then she sent a silent copy to her handler, flagged under the agreed code: escalated provocation with vulnerable subject, verbal abuse documented, camera active, risk level elevated.

Her handler responded two minutes later.

Continue recording pattern. Threshold nearing. Risk of exposure increasing. Use caution with partner.

She stared at those words longer than she meant to.

That night, her apartment was too quiet.

She sat on the floor with the lights off, her vest still beside her, boots discarded near the door. Her weapon was locked in the safe. Her hands were steady.

Until they weren’t.

The image of the man on the curb came back—not his face, but his breathing. That shallow, tight, collapsing breath. She remembered it. She’d seen it before. Not in L.A. Not in a domestic call. Somewhere else.

Her third tour.

Kandahar. Street dust and bone heat. A kid with a radio, a detonator, a shaky hand. The team leader she couldn’t save. The call she made to pull the trigger.

She saw it again—quick, sharp, full-body.

Her heart stuttered. Her fingers twitched.

She grabbed her phone without thinking and scrolled.

One number.

She hit call.

It rang once. Twice.

Then, “Chen?”

Her throat closed for a second.

“I—” she started, then stopped. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t. Are you okay?”

She wanted to lie. She didn’t.

“Can you come over?”

Silence.

Then: “Yeah. I’m on my way.”

He didn’t ask why.

Twenty minutes later, he knocked once. She opened the door wearing an oversized hoodie and socks, her eyes still too sharp for this hour.

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

She didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then—

“I didn’t know who else to call.”

Tim nodded. “You don’t need a reason.”

They stood there in her living room—dark, quiet, intimate. No armor. No badge.

“I had a flashback,” she said finally. “That vet today… the way he curled in on himself. It reminded me of someone. From my last deployment.”

Tim’s eyes softened, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I was in Kandahar,” she continued. “Third tour. I was in charge by then. My team—” She swallowed. “We lost someone. I made the call. It was the right call, but…”

She didn’t finish.

Tim stepped closer, slow.

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” he said.

She looked up at him. “I don’t want to lose this.”

He blinked. “This?”

“You. Us. Whatever it is.” Her voice cracked. “I’ve lost too much.”

Tim’s jaw tightened. “You’re not going to lose me.”
Beat.
“I don’t want to lose you either.”

She let out a slow breath. “You say that like it’s easy.”

“It’s not,” he admitted. “But I still mean it.”

He reached out then—just enough to brush his hand against hers.

Not a hug.

Not yet.

But it was enough.

Her hand curled around his.

And in that silence, something shifted.

Not loudly. Not suddenly.

But deeply.

Chapter 6

Summary:

He looked up, and his eyes lingered just a second too long. Noticing the slight change in her appearance, his eyes glittered with a touch of attraction, and something else.

Notes:

I need some ideas please! I’m not sure what should come next.

The buzz of fluorescent lights and stale coffee hung in the air as the bullpen stirred to life, the end-of-shift drag still lingering even as roll call picked up momentum. Rookies sat lined up in the front row, TOs lingering behind them in varying states of alertness. Lucy had her vest on already, perfectly fitted beneath her uniform, hair tied neatly back, every movement precise. Not rehearsed. Just… sharp.

Tim leaned back in his chair, scowl in place and arms crossed. Watching.

He never hovered, not really. But today, he kept finding himself checking in. Not with words. With glances. Pauses. The way his gaze flicked toward her as she shifted slightly in her seat, adjusting her radio cord or clicking her pen once before stowing it again.

She was good at looking composed. So good, in fact, it was probably dangerous.

Roll call ended with Grey's clipped dismissal and the usual shuffling of boots, rustling of jackets, murmurs of low conversation. Lucy stood quickly, not rushed, but focused, and Tim followed her out to the shop. They didn’t talk much on the walk. They didn’t need to. That quiet tension from the night before — when he’d shown up at her door after that terrifying call — still lingered, but now it had softened into something new. Something neither of them had the language for yet.

The early calls were easy. Trespassers, noise complaints, a stolen bike report. They moved efficiently. Lucy drove for part of it — Tim offered the keys without a word. She took them with a glance that said thanks and something else he couldn’t quite name.

She had her vest on. Her gear squared away. Her weapon holstered just so. Tim found himself watching the way she reloaded her mag at one point in the car — checking for a sticky round, “just in case”, a motion so smooth it belonged to someone who’d done it in worse circumstances. Hotter ones. Quieter ones.

Soldier, he reminded himself. She’d already told him. Army Rangers.
It explained everything. And still, sometimes… it didn’t explain enough.

The real adrenaline call came in just after three.

“211 in progress, 419 and Hoover,” dispatch crackled. “Two suspects, one possibly armed. Code 3.”

Tim flipped on the lights and sirens before dispatch even finished. Lucy was already marking their route on the dash display.

The corner market came into view just as another unit peeled off a nearby block. Tim killed the siren and rolled to a stop just out of line-of-sight. They approached on foot, each step quiet, each motion smooth. Weapons drawn. Vests tight. Breath calm.

Tim motioned left. Lucy nodded and peeled off right, her steps silent on the cracked pavement.

Inside the small store, it was chaos.

The first guy — mid-30s, wiry, sweating through a hoodie — stood at the counter yelling at the terrified clerk. The second guy was farther back near the coolers, stuffing energy drinks and vape cartridges into a duffel bag like his life depended on it.

“Police!” Tim barked. “Hands where I can see ‘em!”

The guy at the counter turned fast, startled, but didn’t move.

The second guy did.

He turned, locked eyes with Lucy, and bolted toward the back exit.

He didn’t get far.

Lucy stepped into his path with absolute calm and drove the edge of her hand straight into his throat — clean, controlled, and brutal in its precision. The guy dropped like a rock, gasping and choking, the duffel bag thudding beside him.

Tim had the first guy on the ground a second later, cuffed and breathless.

He looked over at Lucy, who hadn’t even broken a sweat.

She stood over her suspect, boot casually pinning the bag in place, expression neutral.

Tim blinked once. Then shook his head faintly.

“Not gonna lie…” he said under his breath. “That was hot.”

Lucy arched a brow without turning her head. “He was about to run.”

Tim gave a noncommittal grunt, impressed despite himself. “And now he’s definitely not.”

They cleared the scene with backup, gave statements, and coordinated with the responding detectives. The clerk was shaken but unharmed, the suspects were loaded into transport, and soon the adrenaline settled into that slow-cooling hum that followed every good takedown.

They sat in the car afterward, windows cracked slightly, breeze cutting through the leftover tension.

“You’re freakishly fast,” Tim said eventually.

Lucy shrugged one shoulder. “Training sticks, I guess.”

He studied her face — the calm, the control, the precision.

“You ever think about going back?” he asked.

She didn’t look at him. “To the military?”

He nodded.

“No,” she said quietly. “Not anymore.”

That was all she offered. Tim didn’t push.

He watched her thumb over the edge of her bodycam, lost in thought, and then changed the subject.

“You got dinner plans tonight?”

She looked over, surprised. “Why?”

“I know a taco place,” he said. “Good food. It’s not fancy or anything, but it’s quiet.”

She stared at him for a beat too long.

“It’s not a date,” he added. “Unless you want it to be.”

Lucy smiled faintly. “Tacos sound good.”

“Cool,” Tim said, pretending his heart hadn’t just sprinted for a second. “After shift?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

They didn’t talk about it again, but the rest of the shift moved differently. Looser. There was still tension, but it felt charged now instead of weighted. Lucy caught Tim looking at her once and didn’t call him on it.

After they returned to the station and turned in their final logs, Lucy ducked into the locker room. She didn’t linger. She didn’t glam up.

But she did swipe a touch of concealer beneath her eyes, comb through her ponytail, and add the faintest shimmer of lip balm — just enough to feel like she wasn’t walking out of the department as a rookie, but as herself.

Tim was leaning against his truck in the garage when she came out.

He looked up, and his eyes lingered just a second too long. Noticing the slight change in her appearance, his eyes glittered with a touch of attraction, and something else.

“You ready?” he asked.

She nodded. “Always.”

They drove in comfortable silence, the city softening under the orange glow of early evening. The taco place was tucked between a laundromat and a dentist’s office — nothing fancy, like he promised — but the food smelled amazing, and the inside was cozy enough to feel like neutral ground.

They sat across from each other in a small booth, the table sticky with years of use. Salsa in squeeze bottles. Neon menus behind the counter.

It felt like a break from reality. It felt weirdly perfect.

Tim picked up a carnitas taco and glanced at her. “So. That throat punch. You got a signature move or something?”

Lucy snorted softly. “Nah. Just good instincts.”

He gave her a look. “That was more than instinct.”

She looked down at her food for a second, then shrugged. “We used to run drills where we’d simulate urban extractions — team split, close-quarters, no clear visuals. One time, I got paired with this guy from Texas who insisted he could ‘smell the enemy.’ Like, literally. Said it was part of his training.”

Tim raised both eyebrows. “Seriously?”

“Oh yeah,” she said. “We’re running through this broken-down building, zero lighting, and he freezes. Says he smells chewing tobacco and gun oil. Turns out it was our own guy two floors up, chewing dip and cleaning his boots.”

Tim nearly choked on his drink.

Lucy grinned. “He swore the tactic worked. I swear I saw the team leader almost put himself on desk duty to keep from laughing.”

Tim shook his head, smiling wide. “That’s the kind of stuff I wish made it into the recruitment brochures.”

Lucy leaned back, that warm, rare look on her face. “It wasn’t all bad. My team was… a family, in some ways. Weird and chaotic and brilliant.”

There was something wistful in her tone, something soft.

Tim let the silence stretch. Not awkward — just full of something unspoken.

“You miss them,” he said.

“Yeah,” she admitted. “But I think I’m building something new now.”

She said it without looking up, but Tim didn’t need eye contact to feel it.

He nodded. Quiet. Steady.

“Good,” he said. “You deserve that.”

They didn’t say anything else for a while. Just finished their tacos, the silence warm.

And when they finally left, Tim walked her to her car, even though she didn’t need him to.

Because maybe that wasn’t the point.

Chapter 7

Summary:

“I already know you’re suspicious,” he said, smirking. “But… I also know of a certain taco place. Plus, if I’m remembering correctly, you weren’t to suspicious of tacos.”

Lucy arched a brow. “Not a date?”

“Definitely not,” Tim said. “It would be wildly inappropriate.”

She grinned. “Strictly professional.”

“Obviously.”

Notes:

Thanks for being patient while I was on vacation! I wrote a few chapters while on the plane and while waiting at the airport. (The weather was not on my side) I still need to edit them, but I’m working on it!
Enjoy!

The first gray light of dawn crept across the Mid-Wilshire precinct, pooling across scuffed tile and timeworn desks. The bullpen pulsed with quiet purpose — officers clocking in, rookies shaking off sleep, the low thrum of radios filling the space like a heartbeat.

Roll call was already underway. Lucy sat in the front row, where rookies were required to sit, but nothing about her presence felt rookie-like. Her posture was straight but relaxed. Her tactical vest was already on, gear squared away and pre-checked. Even the way she took notes was different — efficient, with a kind of focus that made it clear she already knew most of what was being said.

Tim stood toward the back, arms crossed, eyes trained on her. He no longer questioned what he was seeing.

She wasn’t new.

Grey had confirmed it.

He’d pulled Tim into his office after that hell of a second shift — after Lucy had spotted the threat before anyone else, handled it with tactical ease, and walked away like it was just another Tuesday. Tim had demanded answers, half certain she was hiding something dangerous. But Grey’s response had been clipped, matter-of-fact.

“She’s UC. That’s all you need to know.”

Now, Tim knew what to look for — and what not to ask. And even though it grated against his instincts to be left in the dark, he respected the job. He respected her.

And, truthfully? He liked having her at his side.

Their partnership had grown into something solid. Quietly effective. She was reliable. Sharp. Someone he didn’t have to explain things to — she just understood. And now that he knew the truth, he could see what she was doing beneath the surface — the extra glances, the questions she didn’t ask, the patterns she tracked in silence.

She was working a case. A big one.

He didn’t know the target yet, but he’d seen the way her eyes narrowed whenever Stanton crossed their path. He was putting things together.

And he’d be damned if he let anything touch her while she worked.

Mid-morning, they got the call.

“37 Adam, 415 man with a gun, possible barricaded suspect, 412 North Alameda. Shots fired reported. Backup en route.”

Tim met Lucy’s eyes.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Always,” she said.

They moved fast, sirens splitting traffic, the MDT spitting out updates as Lucy scanned the notes and fed him what he needed to know. She didn’t waste words. Just the relevant details. Her mind was already ahead of the game.

They arrived at a rundown apartment building — pale brick, sun-faded awnings, a swarm of curious neighbors buzzing around the front steps. Tim cleared the sidewalk while Lucy questioned the reporting party — an older woman with wild eyes and shaking hands.

“He’s in there yelling about betrayal. I think he’s got a gun. I heard something break. Maybe a shot, maybe not.”

Tim signaled Lucy, and they slipped inside, climbing the stairs with practiced silence. Outside the apartment door, Lucy crouched slightly, listening. Then she held up two fingers and pointed to her ear.

“Single voice. Male. Agitated. No other sound. No signs of a second person.”

Tim nodded and peeled off to the back stairwell to cover any escape route.

Lucy knocked twice.

“LAPD. Let’s talk,” she said, voice calm.

Inside, a man shouted something incoherent. Then a crash. Then silence.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone!” the man yelled. “But I’ll do it! Don’t come in!”

“I believe you,” Lucy said evenly. “That’s why I’m still out here.”

When the suspect finally exploded out of the apartment, brandishing a weapon in blind panic, Lucy didn’t flinch. She stepped in, twisted his wrist, disarmed him, and drove him to the ground in one fluid motion. By the time Tim rounded the corner again, she had him cuffed and compliant.

Tim didn’t comment. Just watched her stand and adjust her vest like nothing had happened.

It was impressive. It was also a bit terrifying.

And yeah — it was hot.

Back at the precinct, the paperwork was fast. Tim handled most of it to give Lucy a minute. He noticed she disappeared for a short stretch, but he didn’t follow.

Didn’t need to.

She was working. Whatever she was doing — it wasn’t careless. And it wasn’t for show.

Lucy, meanwhile, ducked into the supply closet on the third floor — one she’d scouted on her first day. She climbed up onto the metal shelf, pushed the loose ceiling tile aside, and pulled out the encrypted tablet hidden in the crawlspace above.

A familiar frequency blinked back at her.

“Jasper. You reading me?”

“Loud and clear,” her handler replied. “Talk to me.”

“I’ve got verbal confirmation from a suspect who knows Stanton. He said something about ‘delivering’ a woman to him. It was vague. Could be trafficking-related, but it could be about power or leverage. I recorded the audio.”

“We’ll dig in,” Jasper said. “Send the file when you can. You’re getting close. Keep eyes on Stanton. If he moves, you move.”

Lucy nodded, even though no one could see her. “Understood.”

The rest of the day moved quickly — patrols, quick calls, minor cases. The usual. When they got back to the station at the end of shift, Lucy was tired but still sharp, still upright. They walked to the garage together, side by side.

Tim leaned against her car and crossed his arms. “Got plans?”

She gave him a curious look. “Are you asking because you want to hang out or because you’re worried I’m going to do something suspicious?”

“I already know you’re suspicious,” he said, smirking. “But… I also know of a certain taco place. Plus, if I’m remembering correctly, you weren’t to suspicious of tacos.”

Lucy arched a brow. “Not a date?”

“Definitely not,” Tim said. “It would be wildly inappropriate.”

She grinned. “Strictly professional.”

“Obviously.”

Thirty minutes later, she opened her apartment door barefoot, wearing socks and soft jeans and a loose sweater. There was a faint sheen of mascara on her lashes, barely visible in the warm hallway light. Not enough to say she’d gotten ready for him — but enough that he noticed.

He held up the tacos like a peace offering.

They sat on the couch, elbows bumping. The food was messy, spicy, perfect. Lucy licked hot sauce off her thumb and muttered something about him being a bad influence.

The movie they picked was dumb — a campy sci-fi flick with terrible effects — but they laughed anyway. Lucy’s shoulder found Tim’s halfway through, her head tipping against him.

He didn’t move.

Later, when her breath slowed and her lashes fluttered shut, Tim stayed where he was. She was tucked into his side, her cheek against his shoulder. Her hand drifted to his chest in her sleep, fingers curled loosely in the fabric of his shirt.

She held him like she didn’t even know she was doing it.

And he let her.

He turned his head, breathing her in — warmth and soap and something that was just Lucy. His arm wrapped gently around her, anchoring her there.

For once, there was nothing to fight. No battle lines. No masks.

Just her, asleep on his chest, and the steady, silent beat of something real taking shape between them.

Chapter 8

Summary:

They didn’t rush the moment. Just let it settle over them.

And when they curled up together later, heads tucked close and blanket draped over both of them, Lucy slept soundly — no ghosts chasing her for once

Notes:

I tried to give a little more attention to Lucy! Any thoughts? I kind of skipped over how Lucy got the info on Stanton but, I kind of got carried away. Also, I’m pretty sure I messed up the dang formatting again.

Warmth.

It was the first thing Lucy registered.

Not the soft blanket twisted around her legs or the lingering scent of takeout in the air, but the solid, quiet warmth wrapped around her. A steady rhythm thumped under her cheek. Heartbeat.

It took her a moment to realize she hadn’t moved — not in hours. She was curled on the couch, body slotted against Tim’s, her head on his chest. His arm was draped around her shoulders, hand resting lightly at the curve of her back. Protective. Comforting.

Her breath caught, but she didn’t pull away. His chest rose and fell beneath her cheek, slow and even. He wasn’t asleep.

She tilted her head slightly.

“You awake?” she murmured.

“Yeah,” Tim said, voice low and warm. “For a while now.”

He didn’t move, didn’t pull back. His hand tightened just slightly against her back, and then — gently, quietly — he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

It was nothing. It was everything.

Lucy stayed where she was, eyes closed again. “This is... nice.”

Tim gave a soft hum of agreement. “Yeah.”

The silence between them was easy now. Not heavy, not uncertain — just full of things neither of them needed to say yet.

Eventually, they both stretched and shifted, limbs untangling slowly. Lucy sat up, brushing her fingers through her hair, and Tim rubbed a hand over his face. The apartment was still dim, sunlight just beginning to filter through the blinds.

“I’ll make coffee,” she said, standing with a yawn.

Tim didn’t argue but, he couldn’t help but make a teasing jab. “You still take it black at home?”

She paused in the kitchen doorway and shot him a questioning look. “Since the academy.”

“Right,” he said, lips twitching.

By the time she brought two mugs back, he’d straightened the blanket and moved to sit up properly. They sipped in silence, still comfortably close on the couch.

“I meant what I said, you know,” he said eventually.

Lucy glanced over.

“If you need anything. Call me.”

She gave him a small, quiet smile. “I know.”

He left not long after, with a hand briefly brushing her lower back on the way to the door. It lingered just long enough to say he didn’t want to go.

And she let it.

They weren’t on shift that day, which made what happened next feel like fate — or at least habit.

Mid-morning, Lucy was driving to pick up groceries when she heard the dispatch call break over her phone, still linked to the precinct channel.

“211 silent alarm triggered at 10th and Florence. Officers in the area respond.”

She was already turning the car.

Ten blocks over, she spotted Tim’s truck skidding to a stop on the opposite side of the street. Of course he heard it too.

Their eyes met briefly through windshields.

And then they were both out of their cars, off duty weapons drawn, slipping into a tight perimeter without even speaking. Old choreography.

The building was a small pawn shop. No obvious signs of forced entry, but the front door was slightly ajar. Lucy went left; Tim circled right.

Inside, the suspect was jumpy — a young man, probably early twenties, armed but untrained. He waved the gun like he wanted to be tough, but his hands were shaking.

Tim edged into position, trying to talk the guy down.

And that’s when Lucy struck — fast and clean. She caught the suspect’s movement before he made it and surged forward, her arm snapping out, landing a throat punch with perfect precision that sent the man crumpling to the floor before he could fire.

Tim blinked.

Lucy calmly bent to cuff him.

Tim walked over slowly, still processing.

“Not gonna lie…” he said, voice low, “that was hot.”

Lucy snorted. “You seem to say that a lot, but you should see what I do with a broom handle.”

His brows lifted. “I’m both terrified and intrigued.”

She laughed and bumped her shoulder into his as they stood, waiting for backup. The energy between them was lighter than it had been in days.

But he couldn’t ignore the way she moved — her timing, her control. It wasn’t just instinct. It was training. Specialized.

“You didn’t just serve,” he said after a beat. “You led people. Didn’t you?”

Lucy’s smile dimmed slightly. Not sad — just guarded.

“I don’t talk about that part much,” she said softly. “But… yeah. I did.”

He nodded, not pushing. Just quietly absorbing it.

It only deepened what he already knew.

–––

Later that afternoon, Lucy sat at a park bench with a dog leash in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. The leash led to a golden retriever that wasn’t hers. The coffee wasn’t hers either — just like the pup, it was her handler’s, passed over like they were old friends meeting for lunch.

Jasper sat beside her in a hoodie and sunglasses, posture loose.

“You pulled something off Stanton?”

Lucy handed him a flash drive. “Suspect had a text thread with a burner number. Mentioned a drop location and someone named Rivas — who we know is Stanton’s mule. There’s a pattern forming.”

Jasper pocketed the drive. “Nice work.”

He glanced over at her, noticing the extra softness in her eyes. “And Tim?”

Lucy sipped her coffee. “He’s… around.”

Jasper chuckled. “Good. You deserve someone who’s not part of the problem.”

She didn’t respond. Just looked out at the lake, thinking of how Tim had kissed her head that morning like it was the most natural thing in the world. She was glad Jasper hadn’t brought up the fact that Tim knew. After chatting for a bit, Lucy passed the leash over to Jasper with a smile and a wave, making a show of leaving the pup behind. “Be Good” she yelled, for show.

When she got home went about her normal routine. Cleaning the kitchen, doing the laundry, yoga, watering her plants, and whatever else needed to be done. 

Lucy liked structure and order, it gave her a sense of control and brought her peace.As she worked, her mind drifted to the other officers she’s been working with, and all the plans they shared with each other.

Her plans were boring compared to theirs. “So be it if people find me boring.” She mumbled to herself, her mind wandering to one officer in particular. His muscular arms and god that man can— NOPE! not going there Lucy.

After dragging herself away from her thoughts, Lucy busied herself around the apartment before falling asleep on the couch. Definitely not imagining his arms wrapped around her again.

–––

That night, he showed up with dinner again.

“You’re making a habit of this,” Lucy said, opening the door and stepping aside to let him in. She wore leggings and a soft T-shirt, fresh from a shower, her damp hair twisted into a braid.

“You objecting?” he asked, raising the bag of Thai food.

“Strongly.”

She cleared space on the coffee table while he dished out plates. The movie they picked was another dumb action flick — so bad it looped into good. They laughed, threw popcorn, and settled deeper into the couch.

At one point, she shifted and curled her feet up under her, knees brushing his thigh. His hand stayed on the cushion behind her, fingers close but not quite touching.

Midway through the movie, she spoke.

“My team used to make bets on who could get through a village checkpoint the fastest. Not exactly regulation, but… we got creative.”

Tim smiled. “Let me guess — you always won.”

“Not always,” she said, mock-humble. “Just ninety-five percent of the time. There was one guy — Mendez — who could charm his way past a roadblock using only a smile and a bag of beef jerky.”

He laughed. “I like this story.”

“We were in the middle of nowhere, sweltering heat, nerves shot. We hit this checkpoint manned by locals who didn’t want us there. I tried the calm-and-steady approach — and Mendez just walks up, offers jerky, and somehow ends up invited to a wedding.”

Tim laughed, eyes crinkling. “That’s ridiculous.”

“He went. Came back with wedding cake and a goat.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was.”

They sat quietly after the story ended, laughter fading. The air between them shifted again, warm and charged.

Tim leaned in slightly. “You know I’d follow you into a war zone, right?”

Lucy swallowed. “I’d rather you didn’t have to.”

Their eyes met.

Neither moved at first. But then Lucy leaned forward, just a little. Tim met her halfway.

The kiss was soft — tentative, warm, and full of everything they’d been circling for days. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t perfect. But it was theirs.

When they pulled back, she rested her forehead against his. Eyes closed. Breathing steady.

“Okay,” she whispered.

“Okay,” he echoed.

They didn’t rush the moment. Just let it settle over them.

And when they curled up together later, heads tucked close and blanket draped over both of them, Lucy slept soundly — no ghosts chasing her for once.

Tim stayed awake a little longer, his fingers in her hair, heart steady.

And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel alone either.

Notes:

Ideas, Kudos, Comments, and feedback are really appreciated!

Chapter 9

Summary:

Her hand stayed on the edge of the counter. His stayed at her hip.

“You know,” she said softly, teasing, “we’re dangerously close to making out like teenagers on the counter.”

Tim’s lips curved. “That can be arranged.”

Then he kissed her.

Notes:

I kinda went crazy this chapter! We’ve got some major drama and a mini cliff hanger! Also, my thumbs may have slipped, and I couldn’t help myself!
Enjoy!

The station buzzed with the usual morning energy — footsteps echoing, laughter down the hall, and the low hum of radios crackling in the background. Lucy stepped into the roll call room already wearing her vest, hair neat, expression calm but focused. She scanned the room, took her usual front-row seat — all rookies sat up front — and quietly waited.

Tim appeared behind her a beat later, coffee in hand. She didn’t turn around but murmured over her shoulder, “Heads up. I’m gonna screw up on purpose.”

He paused. “What kind of screw up?”

“Rookie-level,” she replied, keeping her voice low. “Just need to sell the cover a little harder. Stanton’s watching me. Others too.”

Tim’s brows drew together, his gut tightening. He didn’t love the idea — but he trusted her. “You sure?”

Lucy gave the faintest nod. “Trust me. I’ve got this.”

Her fellow rookies stumbled into the room just before they would be officially late. Lucy knew they would get laid into later for that.

Just before she made a comment on their tardiness, Sergeant Grey entered, barked a quick “Listen up!” and began the briefing. Pairings were announced — the same TO-rookie matches as always — and a few groans followed when a string of petty calls rolled in from the overnight shift.

Then came the moment.

As Grey called out a series of BOLOs, Lucy leaned to shift in her chair — and “accidentally” knocked her coffee to the floor. The lid popped off, the contents splashing dramatically near Angela’s boots. In the same movement, her ticket book slipped from her vest and hit the tile.

“Oh shoot—crap, I’m sorry!” Lucy scrambled to clean it, her voice high with rookie-style panic.

Tim didn’t miss a beat. He sighed, loud enough for the room. “Chen. Come on.”

Angela raised her brows with a playful grimace. “Yikes, boot.”

Jackson tried and failed not to laugh. John mouthed “Ouch” behind his hand.

Nyla glanced up from her phone with a flicker of knowing in her eyes. She gave Lucy the smallest nod. A quiet message received. Every UC — past or present — would’ve recognized the play.

Lucy tucked her ticket book back into place, muttered another “sorry,” and focused on the rest of roll call like nothing had happened. Inside, she felt the tiniest thrill of satisfaction.

Cover: reinforced.

After the already named “coffee catastrophe” at roll call, and Lucy doing her flustered rookie cleanup with Tim glaring at her, they set the shop up and were off.

The first part of the shift was uneventful — traffic stops, a stolen bike complaint, one angry dog owner yelling about off-leash park violations.

Lucy asked more “rookie” questions than usual — some Tim knew she already had answers to. Who was he kidding? Hopefully everyone. He knew she already knew all the answers. But again, it was all part of the act.

Still, he couldn’t help noticing the contrast.

She might play the fool in public, but when it counted — entering a building, checking a perimeter, coordinating with dispatch — she moved like someone who’d done this a hundred times. Hell, more like a thousand.

Her fingers hovered near her weapon not in fear, but preparation.

When they approached a tense scene, her eyes swept exits instinctively. Tim tracked every one of these moments, quietly storing them away.

She wasn’t just good.

She was trained.

And now that he knew she’d been a Ranger, the pieces clicked more easily. Her balance, her tactical instincts, the way she took in a room like she was mapping a battlefield.

Still, he said nothing.

He just let himself keep learning her.

Deep down he wondered how she was keeping the persona when he himself, the one with the easy part was struggling with such a simple task. 

Logically, Tim knew she had training and experience but it still perplexed him. Lucy quirked a questioning eyebrow at him, “One more hour till lunch.” he muttered to her.

They met up with the rest of the squad for lunch at the food trucks outside the station. Jackson was elbow-deep in a messy cheesesteak, John defending his right to get churros at noon.

Angela and Nyla leaned against the rail with poke bowls, watching with amusement as Lucy unwrapped a burrito.

“Still dropping things today, Chen?” Angela teased.

“Already spilled coffee this morning,” Nyla added, barely hiding her smirk. “You trying to build a reputation?”

Lucy grinned sheepishly. “Might as well be memorable.”

Tim stayed quiet, enjoying the moment to breathe, only lifting his brow when Jackson said, “Legend in the making.”

Lucy looked down at her wrap and muttered, “Hope it’s not for clumsiness.”

Nyla gave her a longer look — more respect than teasing this time.

After lunch was slow, with a few mundane calls. Not much action on patrol today. Lucy thought to herself, not daring speak the cusred words aloud.

Midafternoon brought a call to a suspicious warehouse off Valencia — flagged as possible trespassing, but Lucy’s posture changed the moment they pulled up.

“Black SUV,” she said under her breath. “No plates. Tinted windows.”

Tim followed her gaze.

Doug Stanton stood outside the warehouse, talking to a man in jeans and a dark hoodie. There was a handshake, an envelope passed. The whole interaction was slick, subtle, wrong.

Lucy didn’t hesitate. She adjusted her body cam and clicked her mic.

“7-Adam-19, code six, 900 block of Valencia,” she said. “Two rooks in the field. Might need a shadow.”

Tim caught the phrasing. And recognized it.

Not LAPD protocol — UC code.

A quiet call for backup.

From down the block, Nyla’s patrol car turned into the alley. John wisely kept his mouth when Nyla gave him her triple-D stare.

Lucy stayed back, subtly catching video of the handoff before the men disappeared inside the warehouse.

She didn’t speak as they walked the perimeter, didn’t explain herself — and Tim didn’t ask. He just watched her move. Controlled. Calm. Deadly focused. Then she walked back to the shop, giving Nyla a silent and subtle nod.

Back at the shop after leaving the warehouse, Lucy asked Tim to stop at a small park. She stepped away briefly to handle a “lost dog” call. Tim watched her go, resisting the urge to follow. 

In the park, a woman held the leash of a happy golden retriever. Lucy crouched, scratched the dog behind the ears, and unlatched the leash handle — extracting a small flash drive from the hollowed-out clip. Smooth, fast, clean.

No one watching would have noticed.

She returned with the drive secured in her vest.

“Dog was real sweet,” she said to Tim. “Gonna make it home fine.”

Tim didn’t question it, just nodded and began the drive back to the station. Paperwork seemed like a good way to finish the last two hours of their shift. Especially since he hadn’t heard a “lost dog” call.

He figured Lucy had something to do with that. Tim honestly didn’t mind.

Later, in the quiet of the armory, Lucy cleaned her weapon at a small table. Tim watched from the doorway, arms crossed.

“You always break it down that fast?” he asked.

She glanced at him, eyes amused. “Try doing it under a poncho in a blackout with wind blowing so hard you can’t hear your own voice.”

He stepped in. “That wasn’t just Army training.”

She didn’t answer right away. Just clicked the barrel into place and slid the slide forward with a soft, metallic shhk.

“Rangers, Remember?” she said finally, low and even. “Four tours. ”

Tim didn’t respond. He just nodded. It was the respect of a soldier to another soldier.

He walked away, giving her space she didn’t know she needed in that moment.

That night, he showed up at her apartment with two grocery bags and a smirk.

“I thought we could make something,” he said. “Unless you’re afraid of real basil.”

She laughed, stepping aside to let him in. “Only if it tries to attack me.”

The kitchen buzzed with quiet music, soft lighting, and the rhythm of two people who’d fallen into a familiar, easy sync. She diced garlic. He stirred sauce. Their arms brushed, hips bumped, and laughter danced through the room.

“You’re not bad at this,” Lucy said.

Tim gave her a grin. “Did two months in Sicily. Got good at cooking fast. Locals didn’t believe in bottled anything.”

She tilted her head. “Sicily? Military?”

“Vacation. Post-deployment.”

The sauce thickened. Steam rose. The kitchen grew warmer.

Lucy reached for a spoon to taste the sauce, and when Tim leaned over her shoulder to grab the salt, their bodies collided just slightly. Her breath caught. His hand landed at her waist to steady her.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

“Don’t be,” she said, barely above a whisper.

She turned to face him. Their eyes locked.

Her hand stayed on the edge of the counter. His stayed at her hip.

“You know,” she said softly, teasing, “we’re dangerously close to making out like teenagers on the counter.”

Tim’s lips curved. “That can be arranged.”

Then he kissed her.

Harder than last time. Deeper. Slower. Hotter. Much Hotter.

His hands slipped to her lower back, pressing her close. Her fingers tangled in his shirt, bunching the fabric, pulling him closer until their bodies were flush. He kissed her like he’d wanted to all day — like he was done holding back.

She let out a soft moan, her mouth parting. His tongue met hers, deliberate and slow. Their hips pressed together. Her hands slipped under the hem of his T-shirt, fingertips skimming over firm muscle. His hands slid under hers, gripping her waist, just enough to make her gasp.

Damn this man. 

She pulled him closer, backing toward the counter.

He followed, kissing her again — deeper, rougher this time. Her body curved against his, heat blooming low in her belly. His mouth trailed to her jaw, then her neck, where he lingered with a slow, open-mouthed kiss that made her knees wobble.

“Tim—” she breathed a moan slipping out.

He didn’t stop — just murmured against her skin, “You’re incredible.”

Her hands tugged his shirt up — almost over his head—

🔔 BEEP BEEP BEEP!

They both froze.

“Garlic bread,” Lucy whimpered, dazed.

Tim groaned, forehead pressed to hers. “Of course.”

She laughed, breathless and still wrapped in his arms. “Cockblocked by carbs.”

He chuckled, nuzzling her neck. “Not the first time. But maybe the most painful.”

Later, after dinner, they curled together on the couch — limbs tangled, blanket half-draped over them, her head tucked under his chin. 

Tim lay there, lost in thought.

We’re Laying Here…Still Clothed Not— don’t go there Bradford. You like this woman… A Lot. Don’t fuck it up!

The movie flickered in the background. Neither of them was really watching.

Then, Lucy spoke softly. “I really like you.”

Tim’s chest tightened. His heart leaped. “I really like you too.”

“No,” she said, lifting her head to meet his eyes. “I mean… I’ve never felt like someone understood me. Or cared about me the way you do. And that terrifies me.”

He didn’t answer right away.

He just looked at her. Then leaned forward and kissed her forehead, slow and sure.

“Terrified or not,” he said quietly, “I’m not going anywhere.”

And he meant it.

Notes:

Seriously, the comments and kudos are crazy addictive! Thanks for all the support!

Chapter 10

Summary:

A low, groggy voice broke the quiet.

“I think we’re making a habit out of this.”

His chest rumbled beneath her ear, and Lucy huffed a soft laugh before looking up. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Notes:

I couldn’t help myself, I had to add a little more fluff! Nyla has been read in so stuff is getting intense.

 

The light filtering into Lucy’s apartment was soft, the kind that made things look gentler than they were — golden and slow, catching the floating dust in the air. The warmth on her skin didn’t come from the sun, though. It came from Tim’s arms still wrapped around her, one draped low across her waist, the other curled up beneath his head like a pillow. Her cheek was pressed to his chest, and with each steady rise and fall, she could feel the solid weight of him. Warm. Steady. Still here.

She blinked slowly, adjusting to the daylight. Her brain was usually faster — always scanning, calculating, checking for threat — but here, pressed against him, she let herself forget about all of it for just a minute longer.

A low, groggy voice broke the quiet.

“I think we’re making a habit out of this.”

His chest rumbled beneath her ear, and Lucy huffed a soft laugh before looking up. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Tim opened one eye, sleep-blurred but amused. “Not complaining. Just observing. Three times now — two mornings in a row.”

She smirked. “Three if you count the one where we fell asleep during that terrible action movie you picked.”

He looked at her, mock offended. “The Gray Order is a classic.”

“It had a 22% on Rotten Tomatoes.”

“Numbers aren’t everything,” he said, voice gravelly and low.

Lucy smiled, chin resting on his chest. He was shirtless again — at some point in the night, he’d shed it — and she didn’t remember him doing that. She was in a soft, thin tank top and sleep shorts, and her blanket had mostly slipped to the floor. But the warmth between them made up for it.

She looked at him a little too long, and his gaze shifted.

“What?” he asked softly.

She hesitated, then reached out and lightly traced a fading scar on his shoulder. “You always carry that one like it still stings.”

Tim didn’t answer right away. His voice, when it came, was quieter than she expected. “IED outside Fallujah. Took shrapnel when I pushed a guy out of the way. I was lucky. He wasn’t.”

Her eyes softened.

“I didn’t know you were in Fallujah.”

“First deployment. That’s where I learned people don’t come back the same. Including me.”

She didn’t speak. She just reached for his hand and held it, her fingers threading through his.

“I used to think the worst part was coming back with no one to talk to about it,” Lucy murmured. “Then I realized... it’s worse to have someone and still not be able to talk.”

Tim glanced at her, something unreadable in his eyes. “Is that what this is? Us talking?”

She gave him a soft, tired smile. “This is the most I’ve talked about my service since I got back.”

His thumb brushed along her knuckles. “Same.”

They stayed like that for a moment — not speaking, just breathing — until Tim broke the quiet with a small smile tugging at his lips.

“So… dinner. Tonight. At my place. That’s if you’re not tired of me already.”

Lucy blinked. “What?”

“I mean,” he shrugged, trying to play it off, “we’ve got the day off, and you can’t exactly be seen out with me while you’re undercover. So I figured I’d make something low-key. Private. Just us. No garlic bread interruptions this time.”

The mention of garlic bread earned him a surprised laugh, her face brightening.

“You want to cook for me?”

“I do,” he said, quieter now. “I want to do this right, Chen. Whatever this is.”

Lucy looked at him, caught completely off guard — not by the invitation, but by the thoughtfulness in it. A private dinner at his place, away from eyes, keeping her cover safe… it wasn’t just considerate. It was protective. And sweet.

She leaned in without thinking, pressing her mouth to his in a kiss that started soft and turned hungry fast — one hand sliding up the back of his neck, the other bracing against his chest. She shifted on top of him slightly, deepening the kiss until she could feel his breath catch.

When she pulled back, her lips were flushed, her eyes warm with something more than just heat.

“You really are a Boy Scout,” she whispered.

“I’m not,” he muttered, eyes a little dazed.

She grinned. “Sure you’re not.”

He smirked, clearly recovering. “We really are just like horny teenagers.”

Lucy laughed — full, unrestrained, head tipping back. “Shut up,” she said, still smiling, and kissed him again before slipping off the couch.

“Where are you going?” he asked, watching her walk barefoot toward the kitchen with rumpled hair and her tank lopsided.

“Coffee,” she called over her shoulder. “I need caffeine to survive your terrible taste in action movies.”

Tim just leaned back and grinned.

She returned a few minutes later with two mugs — hers black, his with the Lakers logo. He took it gratefully as she tucked herself back under the blanket beside him.

“I meant it, by the way,” he said quietly.

“The dinner?”

“And the part about wanting to do this right.”

Lucy looked down at her coffee, stirring it with her finger absentmindedly. “It’s been a long time since someone made me feel like I didn’t have to hide all the time.”

“You don’t have to hide from me.”

She met his eyes and held the gaze. “I’m trying not to.”

There was a beat — warm, still — before the quiet was pierced by a sharp knock at the door.

Both of them froze.

Lucy blinked. “You expecting anyone?”

Tim shook his head. Why would I be expecting anyone at your place? He thought, raising an eyebrow.

She got up cautiously, tugging on a loose hoodie and stopping at the gun safe as she padded barefoot toward the door. She cracked it open —

And nearly groaned aloud.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Nyla said brightly, holding a brown paper bag with one hand and a leash in the other. A fake service dog stood beside her, panting as if it had just run a mile.

“What—” Lucy glanced over her shoulder. “What are you doing here?”

Nyla pushed past her like she lived there. “Field follow-up. Handler meeting confirmation. Oh, and your cover’s safe — I’ve officially been read in.”

Lucy blinked, trying not to panic as Nyla’s eyes swept the apartment — and then caught sight of Tim, shirtless and wrapped in her blanket on the couch, drinking from a Lakers mug.

Nyla arched a brow so high it nearly left her forehead. “Well, well, well…”

Tim cleared his throat and gave a stiff nod. “Detective Harper.”

Nyla turned back to Lucy, trying — and failing — not to grin. “You know, I was gonna say ‘sorry for the intrusion’ but… looks like I got here just in time.”

Lucy’s face was on fire. “We were—sleeping. On the couch. That’s it.”

Nyla didn’t even try to hide her smirk. “Sure, Ranger. Whatever you say.”

As Nyla settled into a chair like she was staying a while, Lucy shot Tim a look of pure apology. He just lifted his coffee and grinned into it, eyes dancing.

If Nyla hadn’t shown up when she did, Lucy had no doubt that morning would’ve ended very, very differently.

And for the first time in a long time, the thought didn’t scare her at all.

Chapter 11

Summary:

Black jeans. White blouse. Boots with a subtle heel. Hair styled soft but not overdone. A little mascara, tinted lip balm. She looked… fine. Great, maybe, to most people. But this wasn’t just a date. It was him. And it was real now.

Notes:

Sorry for the wait! I’ve had a rough few days. New updates might be a little slow, my mitochondrial disease has been flaring up lately.
Back to the good stuff, I had to add some more of just Tim and Lucy before some major drama! It might be a little bit all over the place!
Enjoy!

After Nyla and Tim left, the day passed in a blur, much to her surprise. It hit Lucy like a brick, the apartment was too quiet.

Which she knew was ridiculous — after deployments and months living out of duffel bags in tin-roofed compounds, quiet should feel like a luxury. But instead, it made her heart race. Because this wasn’t silence. This was anticipation.

She stood in front of the mirror, fully dressed and entirely unconvinced. Clothes strewn around her.

Black jeans. White blouse. Boots with a subtle heel. Hair styled soft but not overdone. A little mascara, tinted lip balm. She looked… fine. Great, maybe, to most people. But this wasn’t just a date. It was him. And it was real now.

Not a fake coffee run for cover. Not a night of trauma and TV. This was a line neither of them could un-cross.

“Okay,” she told her reflection, narrowing her eyes. “You’ve jumped out of aircraft and cleared compounds in the dark. You can survive… dinner.”

But she still reached for the drawer.

She hadn’t touched the bracelet in years. It lived under folded shirts, tucked in like something sacred — a thin leather band, aged to a burnished mahogany, the little metal charm at its center worn smooth. It wasn’t jewelry, not really. It had been a gift. Or maybe a bribe. Or maybe just the only thing left after a mission that never left her.

She buckled it around her wrist slowly.

Flashback — Kandahar Province, 2016.
The team was six hours into overwatch when she felt a tug at her arm — a tiny girl, no older than eight, trying to press something into Lucy’s hand before her uncle noticed. Lucy frowned, crouching low to accept it. The girl’s eyes were dark and wary, but her voice was clear:

“You don’t lie. You stay brave.”
The bracelet was handmade, a tiny thing woven from thread and scavenged bits of metal. Lucy wore it every day for the rest of that deployment.

Back in the mirror now, she barely recognized the woman she’d been then — and yet, that bracelet still fit.

When she finally left her apartment, she muttered, “Get it together, Chen,” and tried not to feel ridiculous about adjusting her lipstick in the rearview before heading toward Tim’s.

Lucy didn’t even have to raise her hand to knock before the door was opened. The first thing that hit her was that Tim’s place smelled amazing.

Garlic. Tomatoes. Fresh herbs. Something rich and bubbling in the oven. He opened the door in dark jeans and a soft navy t-shirt, barefoot, with a tea towel slung over one shoulder — and Lucy’s brain forgot every word of English.

“You cooked,” she said dumbly.

He smirked. “That was the plan, yeah.”

She stepped in, glancing around. Candles glowed low on the counter. Music played soft and easy from a speaker on the shelf. Not jazz, not classical — just something calm. Warm. A perfect background to the way her chest was tightening with something she didn’t quite know how to name.

“I made chicken parm,” Tim said, a little sheepishly. “Didn’t want to risk a pasta repeat, especially after the garlic bread. Figured this was one of those ‘do it right’ kind of meals.”

Lucy blinked at him.

“What?” he asked.

“I just…” She gave a small, genuine smile. “You remembered.”

Tim’s face shifted subtly, that look he got when he didn’t want to admit how hard he listened.

“Wine?” he offered. “Or soda, if you want to stay sharp.”

“Wine,” she said, easing onto a barstool. “But small glass. I want to remember this.”

That got him to look up — and really look — as if he felt the weight of what she meant.

Dinner was easy. Conversation flowed. He told her about his first time field-training rookies and the absolute mess of a parking citation that somehow escalated into a foot chase through a petting zoo. She laughed so hard she nearly dropped her fork.

“You’re making that up,” she said, eyes gleaming.

“I’m really not,” he replied. “I had alpaca spit on my vest. It was a whole thing.”

But beneath the stories, beneath the banter, there was a steady current. Shared glances. Soft pauses. Their knees brushing under the table. The kind of unspoken gravity that pulled every word just a little closer.

When the plates were cleared and the wine gone, Tim leaned his elbows on the counter and said, “If this is ‘doing it right’ so far… I don’t know how it could get better.”

Lucy smiled, eyes heavy-lidded now from warmth and food and him. “It could,” she said softly, “but we’d probably get arrested for public indecency.”

Tim laughed. “It’s my house.”

“So no arrest,” she murmured. “Even better.”

And then she leaned across the counter and kissed him.

It was softer than this morning, but no less charged — the kind of kiss that left her breathless. She rose slowly from her stool and walked around the counter, pressing into him as his arms curled instinctively around her waist.

“Bedroom’s closer than the couch,” he murmured against her lips.

Her fingers tugged gently at the hem of his shirt. “Really? Then we should probably move.”

The bedroom was dim, just enough light from the hall spilling in to catch the curve of his jaw and the cut of his shoulders as he peeled off his shirt. Lucy stood in front of him in her jeans and blouse, chest rising and falling a little too fast.

Tim’s hands were careful. Steady. He touched her like he’d been thinking about it all day — which, if she was being honest, he probably had. She knows she had.  Her shirt came off slowly, his fingers brushing lightly down her arms, making her shiver.

When she kissed him again, it was deeper — all heat and want and emotion too tangled to name. He walked them backward until her knees hit the bed, and she sank down, pulling him with her.

Their kisses turned messier, more desperate. His mouth on her throat, her gasp when he bit just enough, gently beneath her jaw. Her hands threading into his hair, his thumbs brushing the bare skin beneath her bra.

“I’m not—” he started, breathless.

“I know,” she said. “I don’t want to rush this either.”

But she arched under him when his hand slipped beneath the waistband of her jeans — not too far, just enough to tease. His fingers ghosted along her lower stomach, and her whole body lit up like a live wire.

He kissed her like she was the only thing anchoring him to earth. And when her hips rolled into his, when he groaned into her mouth, when she whispered his name like a promise — it wasn’t just lust. It was something older. Heavier. Maybe even sacred.

When they finally broke apart, breathless and tangled, Lucy curled into his side with her head on his chest.

“Still think this can’t get better?” she whispered.

Tim huffed a laugh. “I might’ve underestimated us.”

They stayed like that, soft and quiet, until her phone buzzed from the nightstand.

Lucy reached for it, squinting at the screen. A name that wasn’t a name lit up:
“Carmen Delivery – ETA Shift+1”

Her blood ran cold for a second, but then she exhaled slowly.
Not urgent. Not today. Something she could deal with tomorrow.

Tim’s hand rubbed her back, slow and grounding. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Just a… delivery.”

He gave her a skeptical look, but let it go.

She leaned in and kissed his shoulder. “Thanks for dinner.”

He kissed her temple in return. “Thanks for coming.”

And in the quiet that followed, Lucy thought maybe this was the safest she’d felt in years — not because there wasn’t danger waiting, but because, finally, she wasn’t facing it alone.

Notes:

Comments, kudos, and feedback are appreciated! Thanks for reading! I’ll try to get another chapter out soon!

Chapter 12

Summary:

She would fight for this city. For her team. For the truth.

But God help anyone who got between her and the man she was starting to love.

Oh God. She was falling in love.

Notes:

More of Lucy and Nyla! I would love to see them do another longer uc op together in the show! I need suggestions on what should happen next. I have a rough idea but, nothing solid.

The morning came too quickly.

Lucy had slipped out of Tim’s bed before dawn, careful not to wake him. She didn’t want to go — not even a little — but staying would’ve put everything at risk. Her job. Her cover. Him.

So she kissed his shoulder softly, wrote a quick note, and slipped away before the sun was up. She barely made it inside her apartment before her burner phone buzzed with a one-line message from Nyla.

“Switch confirmed. You and me. ETA: roll call.”

Lucy didn’t reply. She didn’t have to. By the time she rolled into the station, she was back in uniform, back in character, and back in control.

Or at least, pretending to be.

Roll call was tense. Stanton was there — just another cop on the wall, leaning back with his arms crossed like he wasn’t a walking red flag. Lucy clocked the small details: the scuffed boots, the faded name patch, the way his eyes lingered too long on Officer Hayes from traffic. Everything about him set her teeth on edge.

Sergeant Grey cleared his throat, pulling attention to the front.

“Due to a temporary reshuffle in patrol sectors,” he said, eyes sweeping the room, “I figured I’d also switch the pairings riding together this week.”

“Harper, you’re with Chen.”

Lucy kept her expression neutral.

“Bradford, you’ve got West.”

Next to her, Tim’s jaw tensed. Barely perceptible — but she saw it.

“Lopez, you’re with Nolan. Questions?”

Tim raised a hand. “Sir, is there a reason—?”

“Administrative. So, I’m making it a learning opportunity.” Grey cut in reply smoothly. “Reports of increased call volume in the Valley corridor. Two senior officers are best suited for the route.”

Lucy shot Tim a quick glance. He didn’t meet her eyes. He was nodding like a soldier, taking orders — but his shoulders were stiff.

Nyla, for her part, was cool as ever. “Let’s go, Chen,” she murmured, brushing past Tim with a smirk that didn’t touch her eyes. “I’ll drive.”

Their patrol car was quiet at first. Tense.

Lucy kept her hands folded in her lap until they’d pulled away from the station and out onto the main roads. It wasn’t until they were well clear that Nyla finally glanced over.

“You sleep at his place?”

Lucy didn’t answer.

Nyla just smirked. “Thought so. Your hair’s got that ‘I woke up with someone’s hand in it’ kind of look.”

Lucy exhaled. “Can we not?”

“Fine.” Nyla pulled onto the 134 and merged into traffic. “But you might wanna dial back the dreamy eyes. Your poker face is solid, but your hormones are loud.”

Lucy leaned back against the headrest, letting her eyes close for a second. “You done?”

“Not even close.”

They didn’t get to the library until after noon. The morning had been peppered with nothing calls — a shoplifting gone before arrival, an abandoned car, a woman claiming her neighbor’s cat was spying on her through her kitchen window.

Still, they played it straight. Took every call seriously. Stayed in uniform, stayed visible.

The burner phone buzzed again just before lunch.

“Third level stacks. 14 minutes.”

The Los Feliz Library was quiet, cooler than the heat-soaked streets outside. Lucy and Nyla entered like they belonged — chatting about patrol strategy, Nyla cracking a joke about Nolan’s taste in granola bars. They split briefly, each taking an aisle.

Lucy reached the third level and turned down the history section, stopping beside the tall shelves near the back. She pulled a random book — The Rise and Fall of the Soviet Union — and flipped it open without reading.

Seconds later, a clean-cut man in wireframe glasses appeared at the other end of the aisle. He didn’t make eye contact. Just turned down the row beside hers and stopped, back to her.

“Your guy’s on the move again,” he said softly. “We triangulated the burner. Stanton’s been texting someone with a Mexican country code. Same number flagged in two other IA files.”

Lucy’s fingers tightened on the book.

“Is it cartel?” she asked quietly.

“We’re not sure yet. Could be. He’s careful, but not a ghost. We’ve got eyes on a potential meet spot — car wash in Echo Park. You’ll tail him if he leaves the Valley corridor. Follow but don’t engage.”

“What about the phone?”

The handler hesitated. “If you get the chance to clone it, take it. But don’t get caught.”

Lucy nodded once.

The man left without another word. 

Back in the shop, Lucy gave Nyla the rundown, then it was back to work.

By mid-afternoon, the streets had heated to a boil. Lucy and Nyla were back in the car, windows cracked, sipping gas station iced coffees and pretending it was just another day on patrol.

Stanton stayed quiet until 4:17 p.m., when dispatch pinged them all with a heads-up about an off-duty officer flagged in Echo Park.

“He’s on the move,” Nyla muttered, tapping the map screen. “That’s him. Westbound.”

Lucy adjusted her posture in the passenger seat, tension threading down her spine.

“Let’s follow,” Nyla said. “We’ll play it like we’re backing up a noise complaint. But keep eyes on him.”

Stanton’s patrol car took a lazy turn into a low-slung car wash — one of those old, semi-abandoned spots that had a shady back lot and zero cameras. They pulled up across the street and parked under a jacaranda tree.

From their angle, they had partial line of sight — enough to see Stanton greet a man in a blue Dodgers cap, shake hands, and pass over a small brown envelope.

Lucy raised her camera and snapped three quick shots. Nyla mirrored her from the driver’s seat.

“License plate,” Nyla murmured. “Got it. His contact’s clean — no hits in the system. But that envelope screams payout.”

Lucy lowered her camera, heart pounding. “We need more than this.”

“I know.” Nyla checked her mirrors. “But we’re close.”

They stayed another five minutes, watching Stanton smoke a cigarette with his contact before heading back to his cruiser.

When he pulled away, Nyla waited a beat, then followed.

By the time their shift ended, the sun was low and gold, bathing the station lot in a dusty haze. Lucy was sweaty and tired, her brain still cycling through what they’d seen.

They were walking back in when her phone buzzed — her real phone, the one only a few people had the number to.

She checked it and smiled. Tim.

Nyla clocked the name immediately and raised an eyebrow, unlocking her own locker and pretending not to listen.

Lucy answered, pressing the phone to her ear. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Tim said. “You off?”

“Just wrapped. Heading home soon.”

“You sound… tired.”

“I am tired,” she said, glancing sideways at Nyla, who was openly smirking now.

“You okay?” Tim’s voice dipped a little lower, like he was reading her.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “Just… long day.”

There was a pause. “You want me to bring you something? Dinner?”

She smiled, touched. “I think I’m just gonna crash. But thank you.”

Another pause. Then, quietly: “I missed you today.”

Lucy’s heart pulled tight. “I missed you too.”

Nyla let out an exaggerated sigh behind her and slammed her locker shut.

“I gotta go,” Lucy said, voice hushed. “But… thank you for calling.”

“Always,” he said. “Be safe.”

“You too.”

She hung up and turned just in time to catch Nyla’s look.

“What?” Lucy asked.

“Nothing,” Nyla said, innocent. “Just thinking how adorably compromised you are.”

Lucy rolled her eyes and walked out without another word — but she was smiling.

That night, she lay on her bed in the dark, staring up at the ceiling.

They had Stanton on record. They had the photo of the envelope. And they had the signal — that quiet, unofficial one — that the op was moving forward.

Tomorrow, things would escalate. But tonight, for just one breath of time, Lucy let herself remember the heat of Tim’s arms around her. The softness in his voice when he said he missed her.

She would fight for this city. For her team. For the truth.

But God help anyone who got between her and the man she was starting to love.

Oh God. She was falling in love.

Notes:

Thanks for reading! The comments and kudos are so exciting when I sign on! I’d love to hear any ideas!

Chapter 13

Summary:

Below, the city pulsed, wild and unpredictable.

But Lucy felt steady.

Hope

Notes:

Hey everyone, sorry for the wait! I’m happy to report that I am now breathing almost completely on my own. I’m now on low-flow oxygen and doing much better! Please let me know if this makes sense with the storyline so far, I’m still a little foggy. Updates may still be a tad slow for a little bit.

The morning air was cool and crisp as Lucy stepped out of her apartment, her boots clicking softly against the cracked pavement as she walked towards her car. She stopped briefly, just a moment to take in her surroundings, to ground herself. A gentle breeze carried the faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the city’s usual mix of exhaust and street food. She pulled her jacket tighter around her, the fabric a thin barrier against both the chill and the ever-present tension coiled beneath her skin. Then she continued on.

Arriving at the station, the familiar cacophony of radios, shouted orders, and murmured conversations washed over her. The buzz felt sharper today, a nervous energy pulsing through the walls. Roll call was brisk but tinged with unspoken warnings.

Sergeant Grey’s gaze lingered on her for a moment before he announced, “No changes to patrol pairings today. Keep your eyes open.”

Lucy exchanged a glance with Nyla, who approached with a sly grin softened by genuine concern. “Ready for this?”

“As ready as I can be,” Lucy replied, sliding into the passenger seat of their patrol car.

Their shift began with the city’s usual low hum of activity. They handled everything from minor disputes to mundane calls. A loud argument over a dog left unattended in a hot car — Lucy spoke calmly to the distraught owner while Nyla coordinated with animal control. A report of suspicious activity at a parking garage, which turned out to be a homeless man setting up a temporary shelter. Even a call from an elderly woman worried about a missing cat, which sparked a soft smile from Lucy as she reassured the woman with promises to keep an eye out.

Despite the routine nature, Lucy’s mind was never far from Stanton — the dirty cop they were quietly tailing — and the envelope Nyla handed her mid-shift.

They pulled over beneath a shady tree, the air heavy with the scent of damp concrete. Nyla reached into her bag and produced a small, thick envelope sealed with a simple wax stamp.

“Intel from the handler,” Nyla said softly, eyes darting around. “Files, photos, intercepted messages — looks like Stanton’s been laundering money through some shell companies tied to cartels. This... this is bigger than we thought.”

Lucy’s fingers trembled slightly as she opened the envelope, pulling out crisp photographs and printed emails. Her eyes scanned quickly — blurry images of cash-stuffed briefcases, text exchanges laced with coded language, and bank records spanning months.

“This will put him away if we get the timing right,” Nyla murmured, slipping the envelope back into her bag.

The rest of the shift was a blur of radio calls and watchful eyes. Around mid-afternoon, a call came through for a minor fender-bender at a busy intersection. Lucy and Nyla arrived to find two drivers arguing loudly — a classic “he said, she said” situation that they defused with practiced patience.

Later, a call from dispatch reported a suspicious package left outside a local coffee shop. The bomb squad was called, and the street was cordoned off, but it turned out to be a false alarm — a forgotten backpack with nothing more dangerous than a laptop and a half-eaten sandwich.

Throughout it all, Lucy’s thoughts drifted to Tim. The small, quiet moments they shared felt like a lifeline.

When she finally made it back to the station, she caught Tim lingering near the locker room, arms crossed, a half-smile tugging at his lips.

“Jackson almost failed the ‘Tim test’ again,” he grumbled, shaking his head.

Lucy raised an eyebrow. “Oh no. What happened this time?”

Tim groaned. “He tried to argue about the right procedure on a traffic stop — then got all defensive when I grilled him on the use of force protocols. I swear, Chen, it’s like talking to a kid who just found a toy he doesn’t fully understand.”

Lucy laughed softly. “Sounds like you really enjoy being the station’s tough love.”

He smirked. “Someone’s gotta keep these rookies in line. You should see the look on his face when I threw the ‘gun retention’ question at him.”

“Classic Tim.”

Tim shrugged, still amused despite himself. “I just hope he doesn’t complain to you.”

Lucy shook her head with a smile, feeling the familiar warmth spread in her chest.

That evening, after their shifts ended, Lucy slipped into her apartment, the day’s weight settling into her bones. She moved to the roof, seeking the quiet and the fading light of the setting sun.

The city below was a kaleidoscope of lights, colors blurring together as dusk deepened.

Her phone buzzed, lighting up with Tim’s name.

She answered softly. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Tim’s voice was warm, steady, “Long day?”

She glanced at the horizon, the sky streaked with pink and orange. “Yeah, but manageable.”

“I wish I could be there,” he said.

Lucy smiled, the sound of his voice a balm. “Soon. I’d like that.”

There was a pause, filled with everything they hadn’t said yet.

“So, when things calm down,” Tim said, voice low, “how about that proper date? No cover, no distractions. Just us. An actual restaurant. You and me.”

Her heart fluttered. “I’d like that too.”

Tim chuckled quietly. “Good. I’m holding you to it.”

They spoke a while longer, words soft and sure, before she finally said goodnight, the phone slipping back into her pocket.

Below, the city pulsed, wild and unpredictable.

But Lucy felt steady.

Hope

Notes:

Thank you so much for sticking around! Sorry if it’s a little off. Comments, kudos, and ideas are appreciated!

Chapter 14

Summary:

The pale light of early morning seeped through the blinds, casting soft stripes across her sheets. Her body was warm, tangled in the blankets, and her mind was still fogged with the remnants of a dream — a dream she absolutely could not pretend was innocent.

Notes:

Sorry for all the waiting! I’m trying to get some chapters pre-written. Thanks for your patience!

Lucy woke before her alarm.

The pale light of early morning seeped through the blinds, casting soft stripes across her sheets. Her body was warm, tangled in the blankets, and her mind was still fogged with the remnants of a dream — a dream she absolutely could not pretend was innocent.

Tim’s hands had been on her. Not in the “polite, holding hands” kind of way, but with a slow, deliberate possessiveness that made her shiver even now. She could still feel the phantom press of his palm on her lower back, the brush of his lips at her ear, the heat of his breath when he’d whispered something low enough to make her toes curl.

Lucy rolled onto her back, exhaling slowly, trying to shake it. But then her mind wandered — as it inevitably did — to the rooftop the night before, the sunset painting the city in molten gold, Tim’s voice steady and warm in her ear. That quiet pause before he’d asked her out for a proper date, his voice dipping into something softer, more personal.

It was a dangerous combination — the dream and the memory — and she felt herself flush, heat pooling low in her stomach.

She told herself she was just… getting up slowly. Letting herself enjoy the quiet before the day. But her hand slid under the blanket almost without thinking, fingertips tracing the edge of her waistband.

Her breath hitched. She imagined Tim leaning over her, that slight smirk of his when he knew he had the upper hand. She pictured the way he’d look at her — really look at her — if there were no walls between them, no covers to their relationship, no risk of anyone walking in.

Her breathing quickened. She bit her lip, eyes squeezing shut. She was so close, her body arching slightly against the mattress—

Her phone rang.

The jolt was physical. She yanked her hand back like she’d touched something scalding, heart pounding, fumbling for the phone on the nightstand. Tim’s name glowed on the screen.

Of course. 

Of fucking course it’s Tim.

“Hey,” she answered, her voice pitched higher than normal. She prayed he couldn’t hear how fast she was breathing.

“Morning,” he said, easy and warm. “You up?”

Lucy swallowed hard. “Yeah. Just… getting ready.”

He chuckled, and she could hear the smirk. “Good. Just wanted to check in before shift. Make sure you’re not skipping breakfast again.”

She smiled despite herself. “I’m fine, Sergeant.”

“Mmhmm.” The way he said it made her think he didn’t believe her for a second. “See you out there.”

The call ended, leaving her staring at the ceiling, flushed in more ways than one. She let out a frustrated groan, dragging both hands over her face. There was no way she was going to be able to focus today.

She was right, today was going to be torture.

The shop felt smaller than usual when she and Nyla slid into it at the start of shift. Not literally — it was the same black-and-white Ford Explorer it had always been — but Lucy couldn’t shake the restless energy humming in her veins. The seatbelt felt too snug, the radio chatter too loud, the air conditioning too cold against her overheated skin.

“You’re twitchy,” Nyla observed as she guided them out of the motor pool.

“I’m fine,” Lucy said, eyes on the tablet as she scrolled through their call queue.

Nyla shot her a sideways look. “You don’t look fine. You look like someone who woke up thinking about something they shouldn’t be thinking about.”

Lucy’s head snapped toward her. “I—what? No!”

Nyla’s smirk deepened. “Uh-huh.”

Lucy turned back to the tablet, willing her face to cool. She was not about to hand Nyla that kind of ammunition.

The first couple of calls were standard — a noise complaint at a rundown duplex, a petty theft report from a corner market where the owner insisted on describing the suspect’s “shifty eyes” for ten straight minutes. Normally, Lucy could coast through these with practiced calm. Today, she was jumpy, the tension from the morning curling under her skin, sharpening her movements and shortening her patience. All of that had been… manageable, a minor distraction from her current situation. No Bradford in sight.

Until, there was a shoplifting report at a trendy clothing store. Lucy moved through the scene with mechanical efficiency — notebook out, voice steady — but every so often, she caught herself glancing toward the doorway where Tim stood with Jackson. He was leaning on the doorframe, arms crossed, watching the suspect try to talk himself out of a hole, only to end up digging it deeper. At one point, his eyes flicked to hers, just for a beat, and it was like someone had turned up the temperature in the room. 

Next, a domestic dispute in a cramped apartment over a corner store. Lucy took statements from the woman while Nyla spoke to the man. Tim and Jackson worked the periphery, but his voice carried in the small space, low and calm. When Lucy glanced over, he was watching her — not in a way anyone else would notice, but enough that she had to look away before her expression gave her away, or her flushed face.

By the time lunch rolled around, she was stretched thin.

They ended up at the little diner near the station — Nyla, Lucy, and the other two temporary TO and rookie pairs. The clatter of dishes and low hum of conversation should have been comforting, but Lucy found herself half-zoning out, picking at her sandwich.

“You’ve been weird all day,” Jackson said suddenly, leaning back in his seat to get a better look at her. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing,” Lucy said, a little too fast.

Jackson grinned like a shark smelling blood. “You need to get laid.”

The sip of iced tea she’d just taken went completely down the wrong pipe. She coughed violently, face heating as Nyla thumped her on the back.

“Oh my god,” John laughed. “That’s a reaction.”

“Shut up,” Lucy muttered, eyes fixed on her plate.

From the counter, a familiar voice drifted over, smooth and maddeningly calm. “Jackson, if you’re done giving terrible life advice, maybe you can get my rookie to stop choking before she passes out.”

Lucy froze. She didn’t need to look to know Tim was there — leaning against the counter, coffee in hand, expression neutral enough to pass for casual, but with just the faintest edge of amusement in his eyes. Those beautiful blue– NOPE!

He didn’t look at her again before leaving, but she could feel him smirking all the way to the door. 

After the lunch disaster, the rest of the shift passed in bursts — a trespass call at an abandoned warehouse where a couple of teenagers had been filming a “ghost video,” a welfare check that turned into helping an elderly man find his misplaced hearing aids, a traffic stop where the driver tried to flirt his way out of a ticket. That one really pissed her off.

Through it all, Tim and Lucy crossed paths a few times at scenes, and every single time she felt him clock her mood. He didn’t say anything, but there was a glint in his eyes like he was filing it away for later. It was driving her mad. 

By end of shift Lucy was out of there and on her way home to relax.

She was just starting to unwind when the knock came at her apartment door.

She opened it to find Tim standing there, casual in jeans and a dark Henley, hands in his pockets.

“Thought I’d check in,” he said, voice low.

Lucy stepped aside, letting him in, and the air between them shifted the second the door closed.

They talked for a minute — surface stuff, nothing urgent — but it didn’t last. He stepped closer, crowding her space just enough to make her breath hitch.

“Rough day?” he asked, voice all gravel and intent.

She nodded once. “You could say that.”

Then he kissed her.

It wasn’t gentle. His mouth was warm and demanding, one hand sliding into her hair, the other braced at her waist, pulling her flush against him. She gasped against his lips, fingers gripping his shirt.

The kiss deepened until they were moving together toward the couch, barely breaking contact. When they finally fell onto it, Tim’s weight pressed her down, and her mind went blissfully blank.

“You’ve been jumpy all day,” he murmured, voice teasing, low, as if he could see right through her. His other hand brushed her cheek, thumb circling her jaw slowly, making her shiver.

“I… I don’t know what you mean,” she whispered, trying to mask her flushed face.

He smirked, pressing gently against her. “Oh, I think I do,” he said, his other hand sliding to her waist, pressing her hips lightly into his. Lucy’s breath hitched immediately, and she caught herself gripping his shoulders.

He dipped his head, brushing his lips against hers softly at first, teasing, brushing over her bottom lip, flicking it with his tongue. Lucy let out a small gasp, head tilting back, heart racing. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing closer, feeling the hard line of his chest under her hands.

Tim’s hand slid under her shirt, cupping her side, thumb brushing along the curve of her ribs, sending a wave of heat up her spine. She leaned into him, hips pressing against his, rocking just enough to create friction through both their pants. A low moan escaped his throat as he groaned into the kiss, teeth lightly nipping at her bottom lip.

Her fingers dug into his hair, tugging slightly, and he responded with a deepening kiss, pressing closer, grinding gently against her clothed pelvis. She gasped sharply, a sound of surprise and pleasure, cheeks flushing deep red.

“Fuck… you’re all kinds of trouble, aren’t you?” he murmured against her lips, hands exploring the curve of her back, moving slowly, deliberately, testing her reactions.

Lucy’s knees threatened to buckle, hips still pressed against him, grinding just slightly over the fabric of their clothes. The friction, the closeness, the teasing made her breath hitch and her skin tingle all over. Her hands moved to his chest, feeling the heat and the muscles tense beneath her palms as he moved with her rhythm.

Tim pulled back just slightly, forehead resting against hers, voice low, teasing. “I wonder… who could help you with all that tension, hmm?” He brushed his nose along hers, teasing, brushing his lips over hers again in soft, quick flicks that made her gasp each time.

Her fingers traveled down to his waist, pressing and tugging lightly, eliciting another groan from him. His hands slid higher under her shirt, brushing her back and sides, lingering over her curves, pressing her closer. She shivered, pressing back, small whimpers escaping, the sounds filling the room.

They shifted slightly on the couch, Lucy straddling his thighs as she leaned forward. His hands rested lightly on her hips, guiding her gently as they rubbed against each other — clothed, teasing, not full penetration, just heat and pressure in the right places. Her nails raked softly over his shoulders as she leaned in, biting and sucking at his bottom lip, and he groaned, deep, low, vibrating through her.

Her breath was ragged, chest heaving, skin tingling from the heat between them. One of her hands slipped under the hem of his shirt to trace the line of his abs, while his hands moved to her lower back, pressing her tighter against him. The friction, combined with the teasing kisses and soft grinding, brought her so close she thought she might collapse.

Tim groaned against her jawline, head tilting back slightly. “You’re… so close… damn, you feel amazing,” he murmured, each word punctuated by a low moan.

Her back arched, hands clutching him, and with a sharp gasp and shuddering inhale, she let go, trembling, heat spreading through her as she came over him, hips pressing against his clothed pelvis. Tim’s hand tightened on her waist, groaning low in his throat, following almost immediately with his own release — his breath ragged, hips shifting slightly as he pressed into her, keeping her close.

When it was over, they collapsed together on the couch, foreheads pressed, chests heaving, hearts racing. Lucy’s fingers ran along his arm, brushing his hair back from his sweat-dampened forehead.

Tim smirked, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. “So… that explains all that tension today. Wonder if you need a repeat sometime soon?”

Lucy laughed breathlessly, leaning into him. “I think… I might, maybe even without the clothes.” she admitted, voice thick, cheeks still flushed.

He chuckled, pressing another soft kiss to her lips, lingering, hands still on her waist. “Good. Because I think I’m more than willing to help you work through it anytime. Clothes or not.”

They stayed like that, tangled, flushed, the apartment quiet except for their shared, steadying breaths, both aware that this — the teasing, the grinding, the moans, the laughs — was just the beginning of something they were going to explore together. 

Notes:

Comments, Kudos, and ideas are always appreciated! Thanks!

Chapter 15

Summary:

If Smitty, of all people, was the one to figure her out she was going to lose her ever loving mind.

‘That was if you haven’t already.’ The traitorous little voice in her head taunted.

Notes:

I’m so sorry for the wait! Life has been something that could come out of an action movie! (Honestly, an action movie would probably have less drama😅) I have one chapter ready to go after this one. I just have to remember to post it!

Lucy woke to sunlight slanting across her face, warm and insistent. For a moment, she just lay there, blinking at the ceiling, registering the weight across her middle. Tim’s arm. Heavy, solid, wrapped around her like it belonged there.

Her lips curved before she even realized she was smiling.

Careful not to move too much, she glanced over. He was half-buried in the pillow, hair mussed, jaw shadowed with stubble, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. She had seen him asleep before — on stakeouts, in cars, during long ops — but never like this. Never vulnerable. Never hers.

Lucy shifted slightly, pressing her back into him. The movement stirred him awake, his arm tightening instinctively around her waist. A low rumble vibrated in his chest, half a groan, half a sigh.

“Morning,” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep.

“Morning,” she whispered back.

For a few breaths, neither of them moved. It was quiet, peaceful, the kind of silence that felt safe. Then Tim’s hand flexed against her stomach, and he gave a little huff that could’ve been amusement.

“You realize your neighbors probably hate me now,” he muttered, words muffled against her hair.

Lucy turned, raising a brow at him. “Excuse me?”

His mouth quirked into a smirk, still heavy-lidded with sleep. “Paper-thin walls, Chen. Pretty sure half your building heard you last night.”

Her jaw dropped, heat shooting into her cheeks. “Tim!”

He looked entirely too pleased with himself, even as he nuzzled lazily at her temple. “What? I’m just saying… next time, maybe my place is better. Fewer neighbors. Better soundproofing.”

Lucy shoved lightly at his chest, though her laugh betrayed her. “You are impossible.”

“Practical,” he corrected smoothly, tugging her right back against him. His lips brushed her ear, low and teasing. “And planning ahead.”

They quickly went about their morning routines as if they had done so forever. It wasn’t nerve wracking like Lucy would have thought. Instead, it was calming like a sense of security she never knew she was missing.

Tim left before Lucy to go back to his house before work. He gave her a peck on the lips and a smile before heading out the door. After Tim left, Lucy grabbed her keys, bag, and coffee tumbler. She looked around her apartment, scanning over everything, a habit that was ingrained into her. Lucy couldn’t help but smile when her eyes landed on the couch, then with a deep breath, she walked out the door.

The precinct was already alive with motion when Lucy walked in. The scent of burnt coffee and the low murmur of chatter filled the air as officers found their seats for roll call. She caught Nyla’s eye across the room — a fleeting glance that carried more weight than either of them acknowledged aloud.

Sergeant Grey stood at the front, expression carved from stone. “No shift changes today. Same switched up patrol pairings. Stay sharp — it’s been a week of false alarms and unnecessary risks. I expect better judgment out there.”

He dismissed the room with a clipped nod, but as officers filed out, his voice cut across the chatter.

“Harper. Chen. Hold back.”

Lucy froze for the briefest second before schooling her expression into something neutral. Nyla, unfazed, tilted her head slightly and followed Grey into his office. Lucy trailed behind, heart ticking faster in her chest.

Inside, the blinds were closed and the air felt heavier. Another man was waiting — one of the handlers Lucy had met before, a plainclothes detective with a deceptively ordinary face. A man built for blending in. 

Grey shut the door. His gaze swept over them both, steady and unreadable. “It’s time.”

The handler stepped forward, sliding a thin file across the desk toward Nyla. “We’ve got enough to move. Stanton’s money trail is solid, and his last meeting with the cartel contact was photographed and logged. It’s not airtight yet, but it doesn’t have to be. We’re ready to put the net around him soon.”

Lucy’s pulse thudded in her ears as she looked down at the file. Pages of evidence, timestamps, transactions, faces she recognized from stakeouts. It felt like standing at the edge of a precipice.

“How soon?” Nyla asked.

“Within the week,” the handler said. “We’ll need you both sharp. No slip-ups, no unnecessary attention. The moment we give the signal, we move.”

Grey’s voice softened just enough to carry weight. “I trust both of you to see this through. But make no mistake — this is the dangerous part. Stanton’s gonna feel the walls closing in.”

Lucy nodded once, the motion steady though her chest tightened. She felt Nyla’s presence at her side, solid and grounding.

When they stepped back out into the bullpen, the normal chaos of the station felt jarringly loud. Smitty passed by at that moment, file tucked under his arm, his gaze lingering on Lucy for a fraction longer than necessary. 

Fuck

If Smitty, of all people, was the one to figure her out she was going to lose her ever loving mind.

‘That was if you haven’t already.’ The traitorous little voice in her head taunted.

She forced herself to smile, casual, before slipping away to join Nyla on patrol.

 

Notes:

Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are appreciated and strangely addictive. If you have any ideas let me know!

Chapter 16

Summary:

When they were finally back in the shop, Lucy was still laughing breathlessly. “Okay, that was insane. I just wrestled a goat on the freeway.”

Nyla smirked. “I’ve seen worse. But if this ends up on YouTube, you’re buying me lunch.”

Notes:

I know I’m kinda rushing, but I really want to see the relationship evolve. Just imagine the Stanton info as being developed…off screen? Also, I had to add Gerald the goat in somehow. Sorry about the wait! (Forgive me if it’s jumbled)

The day bled into motion the way it always did: radios squawking, tires rolling over cracked pavement, the hum of the shop’s engine under Lucy’s boots. But the knowledge from that closed-door meeting clung to her, heavy and distracting. The countdown had started.

Nyla caught her staring out the passenger window too long and gave a knowing look. “Focus up, Chen. You’re not the only one with nerves. But if you let them run you, everyone notices.”

Lucy forced a tight nod, sitting straighter just as dispatch crackled through. “9-1-1 caller reports a disturbance at a laundromat on Jefferson. Units respond.”

“Guess that’s us,” Nyla muttered, flicking on the siren.

The laundromat was chaos when they pulled up: dryers left open, clothes spilling, a man waving his arms and shouting at the clerk behind the counter. Lucy moved in first, voice sharp but calm.

“Sir, step back. Let’s talk outside.”

The man spun toward her, rage sparking in bloodshot eyes. “She stole my money!”

Lucy’s body tensed automatically, her hand hovering near her belt. She controlled her voice, steady and even. “No one’s stealing anything while we’re here. Let’s go outside and figure this out.”

He lunged a step closer to the clerk. Lucy’s arm shot out, firm but not aggressive, blocking him. For a beat too long she pictured Stanton instead — wild-eyed, cornered — and her jaw tightened. She pushed the thought down, focusing on the man in front of her.

With Nyla flanking, they got him outside, de-escalated, and cuffed. By the time they cleared the call, Lucy’s pulse was still running fast, though the actual threat had been minimal.

Back in the shop, Nyla side-eyed her. “You jumped quicker than usual.”

Lucy stared at the windshield, lips pressed tight. “Just keyed up today, I guess. I want this to be over.”

Nyla hummed, unconvinced, but let it drop.

By noon, the whole division was crammed into the breakroom or outside on the steps with styrofoam containers balanced on their knees. Lucy was wedged between Jackson and John, picking halfheartedly at her salad.

The conversation turned casual, fast — stories about calls, jokes about Grey’s latest roll call rant. Jackson leaned back in his chair, grinning. “Chen, you’ve been wound tighter than a drum all day. You really need to get laid girl.”

Here we go again…

Lucy choked on her water so violently she almost knocked the cup over. Her face went crimson as she coughed, waving them off.

John raised his brows, trying not to laugh. “Wow. That still hits a nerve.”

“Shut up,” Lucy sputtered, mortified.

Across the room, Tim was walking by, coffee in hand. He didn’t break stride, didn’t so much as smirk, but Lucy knew — knew — he’d heard every word. The burn in her cheeks deepened, spreading down her neck like fire.

Don’t look at him. Don’t look at the man who’s- FOCUS LUCY!

Jackson grinned wider. “What? I’m just saying—”

Nyla’s dry voice cut him off. “Let her breathe, West. Some of us prefer to keep our business private.”

Lucy shot her a grateful look, but Nyla only arched a brow like she knew exactly why Lucy had flushed that way.

After lunch, their next call was routine — too routine. A fender-bender with both drivers insisting it was the other’s fault. Lucy should’ve been patient, calm. Instead, her answers were clipped, her movements sharper than necessary as she paced between the two cars.

Nyla caught her arm at one point, low voice pitched so only Lucy could hear. “You’re giving it away.”

Lucy stiffened. “What?”

“The fact that you’re distracted. You can’t afford that right now, Chen.”

Lucy swallowed hard and nodded, shoving the nerves down, but her mind kept drifting. Not to Stanton, not even to the op — but to Tim’s eyes lingering in the breakroom, the echo of Jackson’s teasing words, the memory of Tim’s mouth on hers the night before.

By the time they cleared the scene and rolled back into traffic, her hands were still tight around the edge of her vest.

Dispatch’s voice cut through the shop, crisp and absurd all at once: “Units in the area of the 110 southbound, reports of… a goat running in traffic.”

Lucy blinked, her spiraling thoughts interrupted. “Did they just say goat?”

This definitely wasn’t on the list of things she was expecting today.

Nyla groaned, flipping on the lights. “This city. We’ll never run out of weird.”

When they arrived, sure enough, traffic had slowed to a crawl and there it was — a spotted brown goat darting between lanes, drivers honking wildly.

Lucy climbed out, trying not to laugh. “How do you even… wrangle a goat?”

Nyla gave her a dry look. “You’re the farm girl today. Go impress me.”

“I didn’t grow up on a farm!” Lucy protested, jogging after the animal anyway.

The goat zigzagged, bleating loudly, horns glinting in the afternoon sun. Lucy made a cautious grab for its collar — it dodged, leaving her stumbling dangerously close to the slow-moving traffic. She righted herself just in time, cheeks burning.

“Yeah, real graceful,” Nyla called from the shoulder, arms crossed. “Try not to get killed by livestock.”

Drivers were rolling down their windows, phones out, cheering or filming as Lucy finally managed to corner the goat near the median. She crouched, voice soft but firm. “Hey, buddy. Easy. We’re not gonna hurt you.”

To her surprise, the goat slowed. Then, with one last indignant bleat, it let Lucy grab the rope around its neck. She grinned triumphantly, holding it steady while a responding animal control van pulled up.

When they were finally back in the shop, Lucy was still laughing breathlessly. “Okay, that was insane. I just wrestled a goat on the freeway.”

Nyla smirked. “I’ve seen worse. But if this ends up on YouTube, you’re buying me lunch.”

Lucy swore she could still feel strands of coarse hair stuck to her uniform, even though they’d handed the animal over to animal control twenty minutes ago. She slid into the passenger seat of the shop and slammed the door, letting out a laugh that sounded half-hysterical, half-done.

“Okay,” she said, rubbing her temples. “That was officially the dumbest call of the week.”

Nyla dropped behind the wheel and shook her head, eyes still dancing with amusement. “Chen, you just wrestled a goat down the 110 looking absolutely ridiculous. You realize that’s going on your permanent record, right?”

Lucy groaned, tipping her head against the seat. “If Tim ever finds out…”

“Oh, he’ll find out,” Nyla cut in smoothly, putting the car into drive. “Rookie gossip chain is faster than dispatch. He’ll know before we even hit the next block.”

Lucy laughed, the sound spilling out in short bursts before quiet settled in the cab. She let her body slump, rolling her shoulders to work out the tension. The adrenaline from the goat chase had worn off, leaving her tired in a way she recognized all too well — the come-down from being on edge.

Her hand drifted unconsciously toward the window, fingers tapping out a slow rhythm, a nervous bleed she hadn’t realized she still did.

Settle down, Chen. Breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. You know how to reset.

It was an old Ranger trick. After raids, after firefights, after the kind of nights when your heart felt like it was trying to punch through your ribs, they’d run breathing drills. Four seconds in, four seconds hold, four seconds out. It forced the body to remember calm, even when the mind didn’t want to.

She did it now, silent and unseen, and by the second cycle her pulse had leveled.

That’s when the burner vibrated.

Of course.

The buzz cut through the easy hum of the shop’s engine, sharp and insistent. Lucy snapped upright, trading a look with Nyla. No hesitation. Nyla pulled them into the nearest lot, killed the engine, and the cab went still.

Lucy pulled the phone from her pocket. One message, plain text:

“Station. Now.”

No signatures. There never were.

“Guess the fun’s over,” Nyla muttered. Her tone was light, but Lucy didn’t miss the way her partner straightened behind the wheel, posture squaring.

Lucy slipped the phone away and nodded. “Yeah. Time to work.”

—

The bullpen was mostly quiet when they arrived — not quite end of shift, but close enough that the noise had thinned out. Grey was waiting near his office door, hands clasped behind his back, that unreadable expression carved into his face. One of the handlers, a plain-looking man in a bland suit, stood beside him.

“Chen. Harper,” Grey called, voice carrying. “With me.”

They didn’t ask questions. They knew.

Inside, the blinds were drawn, the air heavy with the kind of tension Lucy recognized from too many pre-mission briefings overseas. She could almost smell the sand, the diesel fuel, the copper tang of her old life.

The handler spoke first. “You know we’re nearing the endgame with Stanton. Communications indicate a meet within the next forty-eight hours. We’ll move to confirm details, then strike. Tonight, we’ll run the final prep.”

Grey’s eyes flicked from Nyla to Lucy, finally landing squarely on Lucy. “SWAT will be briefed in. They’ve been told to expect an high priority operation, but not details. That’s where you come in.”

Lucy blinked. “Me, sir?”

“You,” Grey confirmed. “You’ll lead the tactical briefing tonight. You know Stanton’s rhythms. You’ve seen his network firsthand. You’ll translate that for SWAT in a way they can execute. Harper will back you.”

For a second, Lucy couldn’t move. It was like the room tilted under her boots. But then her body did what it had been trained to do — what it had learned to do through years of repetition and impossible pressure. She inhaled once, slow and deep, let it settle in her diaphragm, and straightened her spine until her shoulders locked back like she was standing on parade ground.

She had been here before. Not this room, not this op, but this exact position.

The memories flowing through her head with no order to their sequence.

She remembered Afghanistan — the first time her CO shoved a briefing packet into her hands because the lieutenant who was supposed to run point had gone down with heatstroke. Twenty men in the tent, all older than her, all watching to see if she’d choke. She’d stood over a dirt-caked map, hand steady as she pointed to the choke points and fallback positions, voice flat and confident even though her palms were slick with sweat.

By the time she became a Ranger team leader, the briefings had become second nature. She could run through terrain intel, target profiles, and comms protocols in her sleep. She had learned how to cut through the noise, how to keep her words lean and sharp so her people absorbed exactly what mattered. She learned how to read the room — to know who was nervous, who was cocky, who needed a hard stare to lock them in line.

And when things went sideways in the field, it had always been her voice crackling in the comms, pulling them back together: “Stick to the plan. Shift left. We’ve got the high ground. Move, now.”

The memories weren’t just stories. They lived in her muscles, in the way her pulse slowed under pressure instead of spiking, in the way her vision narrowed to details that mattered — exits, cover, distance to threat.

All the memories she tried to bury coming to light.

Afghanistan, Kandahar, briefing men twice her age with sand still clinging to their fatigues. Iraq, crouched in a half-collapsed building with maps spread across a crate, radio chatter buzzing in her ear. That last tour, when every word she spoke to her Rangers had mattered, when their lives had hinged on the clarity of her plan.

She had carried that weight before. And she hadn’t dropped it.

Lucy straightened, shoulders rolling back until she stood the way she had in uniform — not a cop, not a rookie, but a soldier who understood the weight of command. “Understood,” she said evenly.

The handler gave her a long look, as if recalibrating something in his head. Nyla smirked, a flash of amusement.

Grey’s expression didn’t change, but his voice had the edge of approval. “Then it’s settled. You’ll lead that room. Don’t second-guess yourself, Chen. SWAT doesn’t need nerves — they need confidence.”

Lucy nodded once. Her throat was dry, but her pulse was steady. “I’ll be ready.”

Her Ranger brain was already moving ahead — entry points, exit points, fields of fire, contingencies. She was seeing the op as a whole, the way a commander does before a raid.

When they finally walked out into the bullpen, the noise of the station seemed louder than usual. Phones ringing, voices raised, Smitty mumbling at his desk. All of it felt distant to Lucy.

As they walked back toward the exit, Nyla bumped her shoulder.

“Well, Ranger,” she said, smirking. “Back in your natural habitat.”

Lucy huffed a laugh, shaking her head. “Didn’t exactly picture briefing SWAT when I signed up for patrol.”

“Yeah, but you’ve got the voice for it.” Nyla angled her a look. “I saw you lock in back there. Don’t think I missed it. That’s not just cop training. That’s your inner warrior.”

Lucy swallowed. Her mouth twitched into a half-smile. “Old habits.”

“Old habits,” Nyla echoed, softer this time.

Lucy pushed out a breath, centering herself again. Because the next time she walked into a room tonight, it wouldn’t just be Grey and a handler watching her. It would be a roomful of men and women with rifles and armor, waiting to hear why they should trust her plan.

And she would be ready.

She had to be.

Notes:

Any ideas? Comments and kudos are always appreciated! Thanks for reading!