Unfortunate Visitor From The Past

Reassurances

Requested Here!

Pairing: Dominique Luca x fem!reader

Summary: Luca's fellow S.W.A.T. members tease him for dating someone who is younger and out of his league. Though he knows they mean well, sometimes he needs your reassurances.

Warnings: brief angst, insecurities, teasing, fluffy comfort!!

Word Count: 1.7k+ words

A/N: Luca deserves all the love!!! He gives the best hugs in the world, I just know it. (Sorry if he's OOC, this is my first time writing for him, but I will be adding him to my character list if anyone has more requests for him!)

“Luca! Your daught- sorry, your girlfriend’s here, cradle robber!” Rocker calls when he sees you.

“Knock it off, Rocker,” Hondo replies, turning to Luca to add, “The brainwashed model is here.”

“Guys,” Deacon chides. “Take it easy.”

“Thank you, Deac,” you say, waving as you walk past them to the situation room.

“Hey, what’re you doing here?” Luca asks, pulling you into a hug.

“Just wanted to see you. I was in the neighborhood,” you answer, practically melting at Luca's touch.

“You’re sure everything’s okay?” he checks, pulling back to look at your face.

Smiling as you look into his icy blue eyes, you nod.

“Oh, I got you something while I was out this morning,” you remember. “Want it now or later?”

Luca’s gaze flits over your shoulder, looking at his team and a few members of 50-David not so inconspicuously watching you. “Later sounds good.”

“Luca,” you say quietly, “you know they’re just teasing.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Forcing a smile back on his face, Luca returns his full attention to you. “What else do you have planned today?”

“Not much. I’m probably gonna go sit at your house and wait for you to get home.”

Luca chews the inside of his bottom lip, debating if he should tell you that you can do whatever you want and that you don’t have to make special trips to see him.

“Hey,” you say, tapping his chest. “I want to see you. But if you’re busy, that’s fine.”

“No, ‘s not that, just…”

“Luca, I want to.”

Luca nods, his eyes and smile dropping as you approach him. Wrapping your arms around his waist, you squeeze him tightly.

“Okay, I get it,” he says through a laugh, tapping your back.

 “I’ll see you tonight, then?” you ask, tilting your chin to catch his eyes.

“See you tonight,” he assures, rubbing between your shoulder blades.

As you exit S.W.A.T. HQ, you’re glad Rocker left already. 20-David’s teasing is clearly all in good fun, but Rocker always takes it too far, instilling doubts in Luca. You will never grow tired of reminding him that you love him, want him, and will choose him over and over for the rest of your life, but sometimes you want to put the other S.W.A.T. members in their place.

✯✯✯✯✯

While you get comfortable at Luca’s house, he counts the minutes until he can pull you into his arms again.

“Big plans tonight?” Deacon asks.

“Just a night in,” Luca answers.

“Only option at your age, isn’t it?” Street jokes.

Luca doesn’t reply, and Street looks at Tan. The rest of 20-David shake their heads at each other, acknowledging that they took it a step too far.

“Luca, I didn’t-“ Street begins.

“It’s good,” Luca answers, closing his locker. “See you tomorrow, guys.”

“Bye, Luca,” Deacon calls. He turns toward Hondo, who shrugs.

“We may need to lay off him for a few days,” Hondo suggests.

“Trouble in paradise?” Rocker asks as he enters the locker room. “She remember there’s guys who don’t need to early bird discount?”

When no one replies, Rocker raises his head and asks, “Is he okay?”

“We don’t know,” Street answers, looking at Luca’s locker. “But he has to be. If he’s not, it’s our fault.”

✯✯✯✯✯

The door opens, and you rush to greet Luca, wrapping your arms around him as he closes the door. You know something is wrong when his arms don’t immediately circle you. 

“Luca,” you say softly, pushing your fingers through his hair, disturbing the gel he put in it this morning. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shakes his head, his shoulders lowered and drawn toward each other.

“Do you want to sit with me for a while? I, for one, could use some good company.”

“You could get better company,” Luca whispers.

Sighing, you wrap your hands around Luca’s arm, leading him to the couch. After you push him to sit, you turn toward the kitchen to get him a drink, but his hand leaps up and catches your wrist. The questioning look in his eye, like he thinks you are leaving him, is enough to break your heart. Kneeling before the couch, you raise your hands to Luca’s cheeks.

“Look at me?” you request.

When he lifts his tired, glassy eyes to you, you silence. You’re not immune to insecurities - no one really is - but seeing Luca questioning you and your relationship like this is especially painful.

“You’re all I’ll ever want,” you promise. “I will choose you, Luca, every single day.”

Luca shakes his head, and you gently press your hands against his cheeks as you comfort him.

“You wanna know something about me?” Luca’s gaze raises back to your face, and you say, “I could marry you right now.”

Sniffling, Luca leans closer to you. Moving your hands down to either side of his neck, you lean between his knees, pressing your weight into the couch.

“The guys,” Luca begins, taking a shaky breath. “I know they’re just teasing, but they’re right about so much, you know?”

“No, I don’t. Tell me what you think they’re right about.”

“You’re too young for me, way out of my league… You could do better than me.”

“Can I ask a question, and promise not to take it the wrong way?”

Luca shrugs, and you crack a small smile. 

“You have to at least say you’ll try,” you add.

“I’ll try.”

“Why’s it bothering you so much today? Some days you roll with the punches, and joke with them. Today was different, though. Did something change?”

Dropping his chin, Luca presses his face against your arm beside his jaw.

“It’s me, right?” you ask. “You realized you’re in way better shape than me, that this whole time you’ve been out of my league.”

“What?” Luca mumbles against your forearm.

“I mean, you work out all the time for work, chasing down bad guys and jumping out of helicopters. You got tired of my joints cracking every time I stand up, right?”

“That’s ridiculous,” Luca says with a chuckle.

“Exactly.”

Luca shakes his head, and you wipe a stray tear from his cheek. You stand, keeping your hands on him as a tangible promise that you’re not going anywhere. Luca looks up at you from the couch, following your movement.

“I mean it,” you reiterate, “I could marry you right now. Dressed like this, and that’s saying a lot.”

Dressed in a stretched-out t-shirt that once belonged to Luca and your favorite, comfiest bottoms, you hope you’re getting your point across.

“How are you not tired of me yet?” Luca asks. “We have this conversation too often.”

“I don’t mind telling you how I feel. Luca, I love you, and I will scream it from the rooftops… maybe not this rooftop because you moved to a neighborhood filled with known gangs.”

You sigh as Luca finally returns your hug, wrapping his arms around your waist and pushing a hand under your shirt to press against your back.

“Tell me,” you murmur.

“I know you love me,” he answers. Moving his hand further up your spine, he adds, “And I love you.”

You smile, turning to sit beside Luca. He leans against you, his eyes stuck to yours as he smiles.

“Don’t ever listen to Rocker, he’s an idiot. I don’t know how he got married before you.”

“Maybe he’s the one that brainwashed somebody.”

Chuckling, you agree with Luca before remembering the surprise you got him. Moving out from underneath him, you disappear into the guest bedroom, and when you reemerge, Luca is watching for you.

“It’s not much,” you begin, “but I got you this.”

Luca pulls you back onto the couch before extending his hand. You lay the small package in his palm, turning to watch him open it.

As Luca removes the paper hiding the gift, you realize you are the lucky one in this relationship regardless of what he thinks about who is out of whose league.

Luca moves his hand to catch the two toys that fall toward his lap. Turning them over, he smiles as he looks at the diecast cars.

“Is this supposed to be Black Betty?” he asks, raising the vintage Hot Wheels S.W.A.T. van.

“I saw it and thought of you. Like I said it’s not much, but-“

“It’s perfect,” Luca interjects. “You’re perfect.”

Leaning toward him, you take the van from his hand so he can examine the matching police car.

“You deserve nice things, Luca,” you remind him. “And you deserve to be happy with whoever you want, no matter what your team says.”

Luca nods, setting the cars on the table before pulling you into his arms. He doesn’t always have the words to say, but his actions and everything he does for you show you that he loves you and wants you, even when thinking he doesn’t deserve you.

✯✯✯✯✯

When you walk into S.W.A.T. HQ the next week, after receiving a less-than-informative text from Luca, you cross your fingers that any teasing he encounters won’t push him as far as last time.

“Somebody get a chair lift for Luca! He needs to get to another level before she realizes she left him behind!” Street yells when he sees you.

Luca hears the commotion as Tan and Hondo join in on the teasing and rushes out to meet you. He hugs you, keeping an arm around your shoulders as he leads you toward the situation room.

“What’s it like dating someone who’s so far out of your league?” Rocker asks, a teasing smile on his face.

“At least we have standards and didn’t scrape the bottom of the dating barrel,” Luca replies, “but that’s more of your thing, right?”

Rocker’s jaw drops, and you press your lips together to stifle a laugh. 20-David, however, doesn’t try to hide their amusement, turning their teasing to Rocker as they follow him out of the ring.

“That was unexpected,” you say, smiling as Luca continues walking again.

“Still want to marry me?”

“Of course,” you answer without hesitation. “Wait, right now?”

Luca raises his brows, smiling as he runs his tongue over his bottom lip. “Not what I meant, but why not? You’re all I’ll ever want.”

Luca cups your jaw, and you whisper, “Reassurances are my job.”

𝐀𝐛𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐭 𝐄𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲

𝐌𝐬.𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥

Pairings- Black!OC x Abbott Elementary Cast, later Black!OC x Manny (Can be read as x Reader though!)

Summary- S1E1-Light Bulb with Naoya Lovel

Warnings- Swearing, kids, mixed race reader( those aren't warnings really, just what to expect)

Jazzie'sNotes!- let me know what you guys think!! I've been really obsessed with Abbott Elementary recently and I'm contemplating if I want to write S1&S2 just to get to the Manny season. I want to get there fast but I know what won't be possible with two seasons worth of writing. Let me know what you guys think I should do.

Word Count- 5,680

“Ten seconds!” Jacob yelled over his shoulder at the people in the room. Melissa and Barbra rushed over to the sitting area in front of the television that played the action news. Naoya sitting the opposite of them on the small couch.

“Oh, we love Action News! Get in early just to watch it.” Melissa said to the cameras. “It just really calms you down after wanting to take a wrench to someone's side mirror in traffic.” She beamed as if what she said was totally normal.

“But the Philadelphia region continues to suffer, temperature in the mid-90s with a heat index approaching 100…” The television said as they all sat and watched.

“Now I’m a proud married Christian woman and I love my husband. But there’s something about that Jim Gardner.” Barba gushed to the cameras. “That non-regional diction.” The woman was practically blushing just at the thought of the man.

“It is so important to support and acknowledge local journalism, okay?” Jacob started. “There’s no agenda here. This is—This is one going, in the streets, powerful stuff.” He explained seriously.

“I get in early just to see my aunt Magnolia on the screen. She’s a news anchor and I like telling her what I like and dislike about her outfits every morning.” Naoya nodded nonchalantly.

“Wouldn’t want to see that dog in traffic.” Jim Fardner said as they all laughed while watching a little Pomeranian dog drive a toy car.

“Yes, Jim.” Barbra agreed, not seeing the confused look Noaya gave her from the side.

“I like the news because that’s when I can say whatever I want and nobody asks any questions.” Mr.Johnson told the cameras with a smirk.

“I’m taking a personal day.” The old man said as he entered the room, looking at the backs of everyone’s heads as they continued to watch the morning news. “Going fishing with my friends. Anyways, toilet papers in the closet.” He said before walking out.

“I hear him.” Naoya nodded, giving the people behind the camera a small smile. “I hear everything. Plus he is a hilarious old man and I wanna know all his secrets. I am this close to cracking him.” She said with an evil smirk making its way into her face as she lined her fingers together to indicate a small amount.

“I saw Jim Gardner once. At the Chipotle.” Barbra smiled bashfully, not taking her eyes away from the television. “Ooh, he orders a bowl so handsomely.” She gushed. Naoya gave the older woman another look, this time more concern than confusion.

It was only a moment later that Jacob was going through the break room fridge, poking around for something. “Who’s branzino is this?” He asked, holding the fish dish in his hands. “This is a very powerfully smelling fish to put in a shared fridge.” The boy complained as politely as he could, closing the ice box with a disgusted look on his face.

“Don’t touch it,” Melissa said looking up from her phone. “I’m making it right at my cousin Annette’s.” She made her way over to have a seat in her usual spot next to Barb. “She thinks she’s the best cook in the family. I’m gonna show her in a non-threatening way. Imma look cuter than her too.” She smirked.

“I have a distant cousin named Annette,” Naoya said, finishing up the delicious breakfast sandwich that she had every morning. “She was psychotic though, used to put poison in the condiments at restaurants.” The younger woman stated, looking off in thought as the rest stared at her in disbelief. “I haven’t seen her in ages. Don’t want to either, she was butt ugly.” She then took a sip of her orange juice.

Just as she finished, Janine walked into the room, putting her bag down on the table in front of Melissa and Barbra. “Guys, the lights in the back hallways have been out for weeks.”

“Thank you for the update,” Melissa said as she applied more makeup.

“What are you wearing?” Barbra asked, looking her up and down.

“And we need to do something about it. Okay?” The short woman tried to sound demanding but it didn’t come off that way. “Uh, Melina, from your class.” She started, pointing at Melissa. “Yeah, she was afraid to come to school this morning. Said it looked like “The Shining.” And I don’t even get how she knows that reference.”

“She loves “The Shining,” Melissa stated.

“It’s a classic movie.” Jacob chimed in.

The camera panes Naoya’s way, who looks at them at their movements. ‘Never seen it.’ She mouthed with a shrug of her shoulders.

“This isn’t okay, alright?” Janine stressed. “And I already talked to Mr.Johnson and he said that there isn’t anything he can do.

“What do you want us to do about it?” Barbra asked the girl tiredly.

“I mean, it can’t be hard. It’s just screwing in a few new bulbs.” The small woman stated.

“Janine, just worry about what can be controlled.” Barbra cut her off.

“Exactly.” Melissa agreed. “All we can do on a hot day like this is our own jobs, anyway.”

“I know what’s right,” Ava said as she barged into the room and made her way over to the coffee machine. “Why is it February and hotter than the devil’s booty hole outside?” She asked.

“Climate Change.” Jacob and Naoya said at the same time, causing them to point at one another in recognition while Ava shot both of them a tired look. “We are living in the middle of its disastrous effects. The permafrost in Russia—” He was about to rant before Ava cut him off.

“Nerd.” The woman said between coughs, which sounded more like a laugh. Naoya rolled her eyes while Jacob just turned back to what he was doing.

“Ava.” Janine started, walking up to the woman who was still laughing from her childish joke. “Can someone from the city come and check on the back hallway lights?”

“Girl, no.” The woman answered, her usual judgmental look on her face. “Do I look like the Kool-Aid man?” She asked, halving around the room. Her eyes stopped on Naoya, who raised her eyebrows in question. “Don’t answer that.” She pointed at the woman, who just shrugged it off. “I don’t have enough juice to manipulate the inner workings of city hall.” The principal continued, looking back at Janine and scoffing before making her way out. “They’ll probably come in the summer.” She said as the bell rang.

“I’m the summer?” Janine asked after doing a double take at her words. But the woman was long gone and the others were making their way out of the room to their classes.

“Tough break. Want some egg white bites?” Jacob asked, easing closer to Janine and holding out a plate. The solemn woman looked up at him with a new determination. “No. I don’t have time to eat.” She said before walking out. Jacob was mid-bite when he turned and faced Naoya, who was putting her bag over her shoulder. And before the man could even speak, the woman stopped him. “No, I don’t want your peasant food, Jacob. It’s insulting that you would ask someone as cultured as myself such a question.” She started before strutting out of the break room. Jacob stood there in disbelief.

“It’s just egg white bites, you put them in the microwave.”

▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣

“Janine, what on earth are you doing on that thing?” Naoya asked as she rushed down the hall to the smaller woman who stood on a ladder. She had just come from using the restroom and leaving a class of a bunch of nine to ten-year-olds unattended for even a few seconds could lead to chaos. She didn’t know that chaos would be the grown woman who was the height of a nine to ten-year-old.

“I’m going to fix this broken light.” The woman said determinedly, only a step above the floor in the heightening tool. Naoya made it next to her, seeing the woman wasn’t doing much movement. She placed her hands on her hips, a smug look on her face. “Janine, you are not meant to go to those heights. God gave you your stature for a reason. Plus you’re terrified.”

“I am not terrified.” The woman said, shooting a glance at her. At that, Naoya gave her a knowing look before ushering the woman to go ahead. Janine nodded and looked back at the matter, fear gripping her. She gulped looking back at Naoya. “Okay, I am terrified but I’m gonna do it because I’m on a mission.” She said before carefully making her way up the ladder.

“If this backfires, you buy my dinner,” Naoya asked, after checking in on her classroom through the glass door, seeing them still doing their reading time. At that, Janine gave a confused look to the air, since she was too scared to look down. “Uh, no. This bet is not in my face, at all.”

“Well, at least have some faith in yourself, goodness gracious.”

At that, Janine continued, taking the cover off the lights and continuing to tweak at the wires. “See, look at this. It was just a loose wire.” The woman said, briefly glancing down at the people below her. She then connected the wire with another one, watching as the light stopped flickering. But it didn’t stop for long, the bulbs brightening before bursting in her face.

“Oh!” The woman screamed as she ducked:

“Janine!” Naoya yelled from below her, hosing her arms out in case the woman fell. Instantly, all the rooms were filled with the sounds of confusion and discomfort. The doors opened as the teachers exited.

“Oh, God! Can someone please help me down?” Janine asked, her voice shaking from the fear of the height she was at and the bulb exploding before her.

“And why would we do that since you caused this situation?” Melissa asked as she propped her door open.

“Okay, I didn’t know doing this would cause all the power to go out.” Janie tried to justify, still clutching onto the ladder.

“Well, the power is not all out,” Barbra stated. “It’s on in some places and off in others.”

“It’s off in my room,” Gregory said.

“On in the gym.” The coach said tiredly, slugging up to the group.

“Yeah, it’s off in my room,” Melissa spoke back up. “Thank God we got the A/C or we’d all be meltin’ already.”

“Okay, well before anyone freaks out, the best thing to do in these situations is just stay calm and—” Naoya started as she looked around the group but was silenced by the frantic voice of their terrible and terrified principal.

“Okay! This is it, y'all! The End Times!” The woman said as she rounded the corner in a hurry, a light strapped to her head. “It’s three months early, but it’s happening!” She said, as she closed in on them, giving the closest thing to her a tousle, which happened to be the very thing that was holding Janine up.

“Aah, don’t shake the ladder.” The smaller woman yelled from up top.

“Gregory is the only person that can stay in my bunker, so stop asking.” The crazed principal continued. Naoya’s head jerked back at her words, shocked at the woman’s blatant advancements that were harassment at this point.

“Ava,” Barbra started, holding her arms out in a non-offensive manner to calm the woman. “It is just a partial power outage. Alright, listen up everyone—.”

“Listen to Barbra, y'all!” The doomsday woman yelled, still latched into the latter out of fear.

“Are you kidding me?” Janie asked, clasping at the top of the ladder for support as it shook again.

“This is what we’re gonna do.” Barbra started again. “Everybody without power, please, head to the gym.”

“Head!” Ava chimed in again.

“We will conduct classes there until this is all fixed. It is not ideal—.” She stressed, looking up at the culprit on the ladder. “But it will work.”

“You hear her. Let’s go!” Ava demanded with a nod.

“Guys!” Janie called from the top of the ladder, causing them all to look up at her. “I-I just wanna I-I’m sorry, everybody.” The woman said nervously. “I just thought if I could get up here and get this done then we wouldn’t have to wait and..”

“And look where it landed us, baby girl.” Barbra cut in. “Everybody please head to the gym. We’ve got bigger fish to fry now.”

“Oh, Jesus! My branzino! Everybody out of the way. Out of the way!” Melissa yelled as she sprinted down the hall filled with children.

“Well, if someone can please help me! I feel like I’m one wobble away from death!” Janie begged from where she fluted the top of the ladder. At that, Naoya walked closer, raising her hand to help guide the woman down but was intercepted by Gregory's large arms. The two people glanced at each other, unexpected by the other one's move. Naoya waved her hand, signaling him to help instead. “Thank you,” Jannie said, too spooked to even pay attention to the odd interaction before her. “Okay, give me your hand. Take your time.” Gregory soothed, his large hand latched onto Janine’s. When he was turned away from her, she gave the camera an odd look, scratching the back of her ear. “Whenever you're ready.”

“Okay.” Janine sighed. There was a moment of silence between them all as they waited. “Am I doing it?” Janie asked, just standing there.

“No, honey,” Naoya spoke up, raising an eyebrow at such an odd question.

“Okay, let’s do a count of three.” Janine reiterated, adjusting herself to prepare.

“Okay,” Gregory started. “One, two…three.” He finished and the woman still wasn’t moving. “One more time.” He said.

▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣

“This is all my fault,” Janie said as she looked around the gymnasium at all the students. The shock clock then went off, the constant noise startling Gregory, who paused his class to speak to the woman. “Yeah, you probably shouldn’t have tried to do the job of a newly graduated DeVry student, but this is okay.” The man sassed, with an awkward smile as she gestured around the room. Melissa was teaching her kids the best she should with something in flashcards, while Barbra was teaching her students to tell time.

Naoya was on the other side of the room, all her students sitting in rows with their eyes closed and taking deep breaths, with her in the front as a group meditation process. She chose this alternative instead of their gym scheduled gym activities, so the kids weren’t accidentally hitting four-year-olds in the head with basketballs.

Janine sighed, going to pick up her phone that pinged. She read the messages she got from Tariq, and that pissed her off even more. Well, it wasn’t helping her attitude for today.

“I made this mess, and I need to fix this.” She said again, looking around at the distressed room of teachers.

“Okay, but fix this how? Gregory asked her. “It seems very outside of your skill set. You should probably just wait for somebody to get to it—.” He tried to reiterate what Barbra had been saying all along and Janine was not having it.

“I don’t want to wait for someone to get to it!” Janine hissed. “You know, our children have needs that deserve to be met. And I’m going to fix this. Nothing is going to get in my way.” She said determined.

“What if you have to climb another ladder?” Gregory finally asked. “Those seem very tricky for you.”

“No.” That was all Janie gave him. “Not today.

Sometime later, the bell rang, signaling to everyone that it was much time.

“Aren’t you going to lunch, Janine?” Melissa asked as she, Barbra, Gregory, and Naoya made their way to the gymnasium doors.

“Uh, no, I’m actually gonna stay and help the lunch ladies with lunch.” The shorter woman tried to find a reasonable excuse.

“The lunch ladies don’t like you, Janine. They never say hello back.” Naoya said, crossing her arms as she looked at the woman across from her. “So, is that what you’re really doing?”

“Yes!” She answered. “And maybe trying to get the lights back on.” She rushed out at the end, hoping no one heard. At that, the two older women groaned.

“Would you give that a rest?” Melissa started. What do you want? To make the whole school blow up?”

“No!” The woman said as she folded her arms. “Plus, I can’t. Luckily the school was built as a bomb shelter in WWII, so…”

“Let it go.” Barbra practically begged the girl before her before she and the rest of the teachers started walking away.

“Okay, I will.” The woman told them, watching them exit. She and Gregory held long eye contact, both knowing the truth deep down. After they were gone, Janine looked back down at her phone, not paying attention to her friends next to her.

“You’re not gonna let it go, are you?” Jacob spoke up.

“No, I’m not gonna let it go, Jacob, okay?” She said, giving the two of them a look. “I need to right my wrongs.”

“Okay, we’ll count me out.” He said, waving her off.

“I never counted you in,” Janine said to him, confused about where he got that from.

“Well, then count me in.” He restated. “Because I don’t have any lunch plans.”

“Okay.” She sighed. She then looked at the woman next to him, her purse on her shoulder. “Weren’t you going to lunch?” She asked.

“You owe me lunch, remember? Your plan backfired.” She reminded the woman from earlier with a shrug. Janine sighed, turning away from them and walking, knowing they would follow. “That’s not how bets work, Naoya. Both people have to agree.”

“That’s how my bets work and you owe me food, woman!”

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“This is just like the one in my apartment, this is going to be easy,” Janine stated as the three of them made their way to the breaker box that was in the custodian closet. “Me and Tariq have to go in that thing like three times a month.” She said them behind her, Jacob holding the flashlight above her head.

“Maybe you should move.” The man suggested.

“Yeah. Tariq says he is “practicing” his credit score.” Janine struggled out and she pushed to get the metal box open. “Apparently 380 isn’t a good—.” She continued to struggle, her words getting lost in her. “Let me try,” Naoya said as she softly nudged the smaller woman out of the way. She gave the box a pull and the thing popped open. She turned and smiled at the two. “I loosened it,” Jannie said, trying to save face.

“Sure, Jan,” Naoya said, going back to looking in the box. “Oh..” she said, looking at the jumbled mess of wires and switches.

“Oh, no,” Janie said, looking at the same thing. “Don’t touch. Not even a little bit.” She read out loud, giving the camera a certain look. “Uh, okay. What’s that say?”

“End of the Road? It’s so hard to say goodbye?” Naoya read out loud, looking at the labels next to some of the switches. “What? Motownphil—These are Boyz II Men songs.” She deadpanned, turning to the rest of them.

“Why?” Jannie asked, moving to stand in front of the box herself.

Jacob chuckled. “It’s ironic ‘cause I’m on Bended Knee.” He joked, giving the camera a brief look. Naoya genuinely snickered while Janie just laughed awkwardly. “Heh. Okay.” She said before going back to the wires. “Oh God, why is that one hot?” Offering them a glance of concern. “Let me try this one.” She said and just a flip of a switch caused a giant spark to erupt, the trio screamed and jumped back to dodge the sparks as best as they could.

“What in the world.”

“What going on?”

Melissa and Barba exclaimed as she entered the hot and dark school building with children running around. “It’s so hot I’m gonna frizz.” Just then, Janie and Jacob came out of the appliance closet, their hair a mess from the static they endured. The three teachers who left for lunch automatically knew who the culprit for everything was.

“Janine! What did you do?!” Barbra asked, quite fed up with the younger woman. “Looking like ‘who shot John.’”

“Barbra, look, I know you told me to let it go, but I couldn’t. Jacob and Naoya—.” At that, she looked back to see where the woman was but she was nowhere to be found. “Jacob helped me open the breaker.” She was quick to accuse.

“I ran away as soon as the sparks started flying. I was looking out for myself.” The woman shrugged as she leaned against the wall next to her. “Plus, I wasn’t about to get yelled at by Barb for this whole mess.”

“It was a chance to support a strong Black woman.” The man next to her breathed out, in a state of shock, quite literally.

“The breaker?!” Melissa asked. “Janine! You can’t do this stuff! What had you come to work today and lose your mind?”

“Look, I—.” She tried to find something to say. “I just have—she gulped—I feel lightheaded.” She said as she swayed.

“Ohh, okay,” Barbra said worriedly as they all closed in on the smaller girl.

“Did you eat today, because I know you didn’t have lunch,” Melissa asked the girl worriedly.

“And you didn’t have any breakfast,” Jacob stated, his tone showing his concern for the woman’s wellbeing. Janine couldn’t even say anything, her balance was off and her mind was delirious.

“Okay, we’re losing her,” Melissa yelled, easing up on the girl. “Do I have your consent to slap you?” At that, Janine fell backward into Gregory’s arms just as Ava and Naoya rounded the corner. “There she goes,” Melissa said over the shocked screams of her colleagues. “She’s out.”

“Yall feel this heat?” Ava asked, just now seeing the sight of the woman on the floor before her. “Oh my God! She’s pale like a zombie! You know, they eat the hottest people first, let me back my tasty ass up.” Ava said, going back to where she came from down the hall. At her stupid words, Naoya was tempted to follow her but snapped out of it when she saw Janine on the floor.

“Uh, okay! I’m gonna go see if I can get some water out of the fridge. Hopefully, it’s still cold.” Naoya said before running off.

“Oh my God, my branzino!” Melissa yelled, moving to push Barb back.” “Excuse me, Barb. She’ll be okay!” She yelled as she pushed the older woman out of her way and jumped over the unconscious woman.

▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣

Once Janine woke up from her little coma, the coach told her that all the kids and teachers were outside. She walked out to see all of them playing in the water that was sprouting from the fire hydrants while the teachers lunged in chairs. “Oh, look who’s back in the land of the living,” Melissa said once she saw the small woman exit the school.

“Who opens the fire hydrant?” Janine asked

“Well, as Melissa would say, snitches get stitches,” Barbra said.

“It was Naoya,” Jacob whispered to his shorter friend, pointing over at said woman who was playing in the water with the children. She had her bat at her side, leaning her weight on it as she splashed the kids who came near her to throw water her way.

“That is correct.” Melissa started again. “But I am not talking to you on account of you killing my branzino.” She said, before leaning back in her seat. Barbra gave her a look and cleared her throat. Melissa looked at the woman from under her shades and sighed a little before sitting back up. Barbra then got up from her seat, allowing Janine to take it.

“So that’s it, huh?” Janine asked, looking around at the kids. “I , uh, gave it my all, passed out, and ruined the school day?”

“Oh, you tanked,” Melissa told her. “You tanked Janine. You took the whole school down with you. It was impressive.” She pressed, knowing she was pushing the woman’s buttons.

“Look, I know. I should’ve stopped. I’m sorry.” Janine sighed. “I just felt so bad when I saw that look on Melina’s face this morning.”

“You don’t think it kills us to see those faces in the morning?” Melissa asked her. “What, are we made of stone? You’re not the first person to feel things, kid. We care.”

It was silent for a moment as Janine thought over the woman’s words. “How do you and Barbra stop yourselves from caring too much if that’s a thing.”

“Because it’s the opposite.” Melissa smiled at the girl as she took off her shades. “We care so much we refuse to burn out. If we burn out, who’s here for these kids? That’s who you gotta take care of yourself.”

“Yeah, what’s with you today Nini?” Both women jumped at the sound of Naoya’s voice, while the woman just stood behind them with her bat. “You’re normally bananas, but…” She trailed off, waving at the girl's aura.

“Uh, I don’t know. Just some stuff at home, I think.” Janine shrugged with an answer.

“Oh, okay,” Melissa said with a nod. “See, that’s the other thing me and Barbra learned. All that at-home stuff—you gotta leave it at the door. Otherwise, you open up a whole nother Panera’s box of problems.”

“I think you mean Pandora’s box,” Naoya told the woman sitting in front of her.

“Nah, I’m pretty sure it’s Panera’s box.” She nodded, while Janine and Naoya both gave the camera a look.

Later on that day, Naoya was in her room in the process of changing the clothes she had on into some that she kept in her closet. She enjoyed playing in the water with the kids but she was not going to go home wet. As she was in the process of changing, she got a phone call. Looking down at her phone, she saw the contact and quickly answered the phone.

“Hello, Adona.” The girl sighed into the phone as she pulled a new shirt over her head.

“Oh, well don’t sound so pleased.” The feminine voice over the phone said to her. Naoya rolled her eyes, as she opened the drawer of her desk and pulled out a plastic store bag. She offered the camera a glance, knowing they were probably thinking as to why she kept so many plastic bags in her drawer. But all she could offer them now was a shrug as the voice over the phone continued.

“Anyways, how are you?”

“What do you want, Adona?” Naoya spat, stuffing her semi-wet clothes into the plastic bag.

“What? I can’t see how my own sister is doing?” The woman said over the phone, the hurt in their voice obviously sarcastic.

“No, but I know you. And I know that you only call when you need money. Money for something other than your child.” The younger girl snapped over the phone. All she got in response was a sigh and some shuffling from the other end.

“You know, you don't have to rub it in.” Adona started, and Naoya rolled her eyes at the woman’s words, knowing this conversation was about to go to the argument they always had. “This all would have been so much easier if the rest of us weren’t left out of her will.”

“That’s not my fucking fault, Adona. I tell you that every time you call. Do you think I want the burden of you and the others calling me every month for some fucking bill for me to pay? Not to ask how I’m doing?” Naoya spat at her sister over the phone. She could feel her eyes start to sting, she was never the best at arguing when it came to her family. She’d been called sensitive all her life and it rang true every time she talked to her siblings.

“ “The others”? That’s what you call us? You’re family?” That was all Adona could say back. Naoya rolled her eyes and let out a scoff, pulling the phone away from her face as she sniffed and held her head back, trying to stop her tear flow. After only a few quick seconds, she brought the phone back to her face. “Uh, I can already see where this is going, so I’m gonna end it here. Just send the amount and I’ll talk to you some other time. Take care.” She said before pressing the red button on her screen to end the call.

She placed her phone in her back pocket and moved around her room to gather her things, trying her best to occupy her mind from what just ensued. She was so in her head that she forgot the cameras were there. And she didn’t hear the voice of Gregory at her door.

“Naoya?” He called out to her.

She looked up at the sound of his voice as she placed her things into her bag. “Oh, Hello Gregory.” She smiled, her face showing none of the emotions she was feeling.

“You’ve eaten?” He asked, just standing in the doorway of her classroom.

“Uh, no, actually. Janine was supposed to buy me lunch because I bet that her plan would backfire.” The woman said as she placed her things in her arms. At that, Gregory gave her a questioning look. Naoya raised her hands in surrender. “I know, I sound like a terrible friend. But it’s not that I don’t believe in Janine, I just know how to black a bet. Get it from my father.” The girl shrugged. She and Gregory both laughed lightly. And when it died down, they just started at one another, the air between them oddly peaceful.

“But, uh, are you offering?” She asked, looking at the man before her.

“Uh, yeah. I was going to ask Janine too.” He said, pointing his thumb in the direction of the said woman’s room.

“Cool! Let’s go.” She said with a genuine smile, causing the man to smile at her as well. They walked out and over to Janine’s room, where it looked like the woman was doing something on her phone. Gregory knocked on her door to get her attention. “Hey.” He said.

“Hey,” Jaimie said, looking at the two.

“Have you eaten?” He asked.

“Oh. No. The um, lunch lady gave me that can of peaches but no can opener, so, no.” She chuckled, pointing at the can on her desk.

“What? No fair! You’re so lucky. Well, besides the whole can opener situation. ” Naoya said jokingly.

“Alright, we’ll, you wanna go get something to eat? With me?” Gregory said before Naoya lightly cleared her throat. “With us?” Gregory was quick to reiterate. Naoya nodded, offering the slightly flustered older man a brief look.

“Oh,” Janine said, looking between the two. “I was gonna wait for my boyfriend to finish his show to eat…” She said. Naoya nodded at her words, understanding where she was coming from. Well, understanding as best as she could because she’d never wait to eat for a man. But maybe that was love. She caught the way Gregory’s posture changed at Janin’s words out of the corner of her eye. She didn’t say anything but she did give me a crazy side-eye, hoping he noticed.

“But…no.” The shorter woman started back up with a laugh. “I’m hungry now, so I should eat now, right?”

“That’s typically how hunger works, yeah.” Gregory played along.

“Right! Normal people eat at normal times, like…4:00.” She said, pointing over at the clock on her wall.

“Yeah. All true.” Gregory said with a nod before smiling. “So, let’s go eat.”

“Let’s. Okay.” Janine said with an equally large smile before moving to grab her things. At that, Naoya turned around to head out the door, not wanting to be in the middle of an obvious love fest. She gave the cameras outside a knowing look, a large smirk on her face.

Seconds later, the two of them walked out of the room, Naoya joining them to go down the hall. On their way, they ended up meeting Jacob.

“Oh, hey guys, what up?” The man said.

“We’re just headed to get something to eat,” Gregory answered.

“Oh, great, I’ll join.” The man just inserted himself, not catching the looks thrown his way by the three. “After school crew.” He continued.

“Ooh, “After School Crew.” I like that.” Janine smiled. They all ended up stopping at the lights coming on within the school. They looked over to see Mr.Johnson in the supply closet, standing next to the breaker machine in his fishing gear.

“You touch the lights, didn’t you, Janine?” He asked, shooting an accusatory look the woman’s way.

“Yes,” Janine answered with a defeated look.

“Good thing I got me a system.” The man told her, flicking the breaker box closed. “I’ll make love to you. Like you want me to.” He continued to sing. This caused them to all sigh and continue walking. Naoya stayed behind, a fond smile on her lips as she watched the old man. When he caught the sight of the woman still there, he paused and looked at her.

“You have a good fishing trip?” She asked the man, crossing her arms over another. The man looked at the girl kind of shocked that she asked and that she knew.

“Yeah. Yeah, I actually did.” He said, offering her a smile of his own. Naoya nodded at his words before walking away, following the crew that left her. Mr.Johnson looked at the spot she left, a fond smile on his face as she continued to sing the song.

The Cook and The Teacher!

Let's pretend The Bear and Abbot Elementary are in the same city.

Another cute interaction between Carmen (Carmy) Berzatto x Abbot Teacher Femreader! Sunshinereader!

When the snowstorm hit, The Bear had no choice but to close, much to Carmy's dismay. He tried to tell himself he could use the time—clean his apartment, read a book, maybe experiment with some recipes—but the thought of sitting in silence, in stillness, made his chest tighten.

Desperate to do something, Carmy had ventured out to the store for some essentials to pass the storm—milk, coffee, cigarettes, bread—anything to keep his hands busy. But as he returned to his apartment building, patting his jacket for his keys, his stomach sank.

"No, no, no..." They weren’t there. Not in his jacket, not in his pants pocket, not even in the grocery bag. Gone. "FUCK!!"

After circling the building twice, retracing his steps, and swearing under his breath at least ten times per minute, Carmy gave up. The snow was falling harder now, and the biting cold seeped into his bones. The growing frustration knotted his shoulders as he called the building’s landlord.

“I'll be there as soon as the snow clears,” the voice on the other end had said. “Probably by morning.”

Morning. Fuck.

With no other options, he’d slumped down against the wall near his apartment door, grocery bags at his feet. At least it was warm inside the building.

He sat there, head tipped back against the wall, eyes closed. The stillness felt suffocating, the hum of the heater mocking him with its quiet insistence. The cold of the building seeped through his hoodie, but he didn’t care. What else was there to do? He didn’t want to call anyone but the realization that he might be stuck outside his own apartment all night made him feel a little desperate.

The sound of the elevator dinging down the hall barely registered until it opened. He kept his head down, arms resting on his knees, eyes closed as though he could will himself to forget the situation. He didn’t notice the footsteps until they stopped right in front of him.

“Carmy?” Your voice cut through the quiet like a spark.

The familiar voice snapped him out of his haze, and he looked up to see you standing there, bundled in a colourful coat and scarf, a faint dusting of snow still clinging to your hair. Your arms were full of takeout bags, and your expression was a mix of confusion and concern.

“Hey,” he muttered, sitting up straighter and rubbing a hand over his face. “Didn’t expect to see you.”

“Well, I live here,” you said, setting your takeout on the floor before crouching beside him. “But I didn’t expect to see you sitting on the floor like a lost puppy. What’s going on?”

He hesitated, his pride fighting against the urge to explain. Finally, he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Lost my keys.”

You blinked, tilting your head. “Lost them where?”

“If I knew that, I wouldn’t be sitting here,” he muttered, his tone dry but not unkind.

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed with his snark. “Fair point. How long have you been out here?”

Carmy shrugged. “I don’t know. A while.”

“A while?” you repeated, your voice incredulous. “Carmy, it’s freezing. Why didn’t you call someone?"

He looked away, his expression a mix of discomfort and embarrassment. “Didn’t want to bother anyone.”

You frowned, glancing toward his door and then back at him. “So you were just gonna sit here all night? What, wait or divine intervention? Or are you hoping your door grows a conscience and lets you in?”

“Something like that,” he muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched in a faint, self-deprecating smirk.

You tilt your head like you were assessing a puzzle. “You look miserable. Not in the charming, tortured artist way, you usually do. Just straight-up pitiful. No offense.”

Carmy blinked, he did not know if that counted as something of a compliment, “... None taken,”

You sighed, shaking your head as you stood abruptly, brushing off your knees. “C’mon, let’s get you out of the hallway before you turn into a Carmy-shaped popsicle.”

“What?” he asked, looking up at you.

“You're coming to my place,” you said firmly, gesturing toward the door in front of his. “I'm not letting you sit in the hallway all night like some tragic Dickensian orphan. You’ll freeze.”

Carmy hesitated, his instinct to refuse warring with the warmth in your voice. “You don’t have to—”

You cut him off with a pointed look.

“I just spent two hours with Ava, who insisted on treating me to an impromptu ‘ladies’ day,’ which turned into me carrying her shopping bags. I am not in the mood to argue. So, get up, Chef Brooding.” You picked up your takeout bags and gestured for him to follow.

“I’m fine, really,” Carmy said, shaking his head. “Don’t want to bother you.”

“Oh, please,” you scoffed, crossing your arms. “You’d know if you were bothering me. This is me being benevolent. Now, are you getting up, or do I have to drag you? Because I will. And I’m stronger than I look.”

Carmy let out a soft huff, shaking his head as he pushed himself to his feet and grabbed his bags. “You’re really not giving me a choice, are you?”

“Nope,” you said brightly, turning to unlock the door of your apartment.

As soon as you opened the door, Carmy was hit with a faint scent of cinnamon and a wave of warmth, the kind that made him realize just how cold he’d been sitting in that hallway. He stepped inside, glancing around as you kicked off your snow-dusted boots and motioned for him to do the same.

“Shoes off, please,” you instructed, kicking yours off by the door and disappearing into the kitchen. “I don’t need melted snow turning my floor into a Slip ’n Slide.”

He obeyed, toeing off his sneakers and setting the grocery bags on the counter. The apartment was small but vibrant, filled with personality in a way Carmy couldn’t help but find... comforting. The walls were a warm cream, though much of them were hidden behind shelves crammed with books, mismatched picture frames, and an assortment of plants that looked like they thrived under your care. A string of fairy lights zigzagged along the windows, casting a soft hue across the room, and a woven rug—splashed with reds, blues, and yellows—anchored the cozy seating area.

The couch was an explosion of color, piled high with throw pillows in every imaginable pattern. A quilt draped over the back looked like it had been handmade, and a small coffee table was cluttered with books, an empty mug with the phrase World’s Okayest Teacher, and what looked suspiciously like a half-finished embroidery project.

On the counter, a ceramic cookie jar in the shape of a llama grinned at him, and next to it sat a stack of papers. Everything about the space was warm, a little chaotic, but somehow effortlessly inviting.

“I wasn’t planning on imposing,” he said after a moment, taking in the space around him.

“You’re not imposing,” you replied, handing him a pair of fluffy socks from a nearby basket. “You’re being rescued. Big difference.”

He stared at the socks—bright orange with cartoon foxes on them—then looked at you. “These yours?”

“Yup,” you said with zero shame as you make your way to the kitchen. “Consider it part of the ‘Guest Package.’ Now, make yourself at home, I'll make us something hot.”

“Uh... sure,” Carmy said, his voice quiet as he wandered further into the room. His gaze drifted to the dog bed tucked under the window—there, on a cushioned dog bed of all things, sat a pigeon—brown, fluffy, and completely at ease. It was curled up, its head tucked under its wing, slumbering as if it owned the place, oblivious to Carmy’s bewildered stare.

For a moment, Carmy wondered if he was hallucinating.

“Hey,” he called, glancing toward the kitchen. “Uh… you know there’s a pigeon in here, right?”

"Hmm?" You poked your head out from behind the cupboard, following his gaze.

“Oh, that’s Gus,” you said nonchalantly as if pigeons lounging on dog beds were an everyday occurrence. “He’s not a pet or anything. Just... kind of showed up one day. I think he was someone’s ‘release dove’ for a wedding or something, but he clearly decided he liked me better.”

Carmy blinked, shifting his gaze between you and Gus. “And... he just lives here now?”

“Well, not technically,” you said, grabbing a pair of mugs from the cabinet. “He comes and goes as he pleases. But he sleeps here most nights. Guess he appreciates my excellent hospitality.”

“Right,” Carmy muttered, still watching Gus as the pigeon let out a soft coo, completely unbothered.

“Hot chocolate okay?” you asked, snapping his attention back to you.

“Yeah, sure,” he said, stepping further into the apartment. The smell of chocolate wafted through the air as you stirred something in a small pot on the stove, and he realized the space felt almost alive with warmth—not just in temperature but in personality. It was so... you.

His eyes wandered again, taking in more details of your space. The small dining table was half-covered with papers—lesson plans, probably, a half-finished puzzle—and a childlike drawing of a sunflower sat front and center, its colors vibrant and cheerful. The edges of the paper were slightly crinkled, but you’d clearly kept it with care. Near the couch, a pair of fluffy slippers lay abandoned, one toppled over as if you’d kicked them off in a hurry.

“Sorry it’s kind of a mess,” you said, glancing up from the stove as if you’d caught him mid-thought. Your tone was casual, but there was a hint of self-consciousness in it, like you were bracing for judgment. “I didn’t expect to host anyone during a snowstorm.”

“It’s not a mess,” Carmy said quietly, his gaze lingering on the twinkling string lights. “It’s... nice.”

“Nice?” you echoed, a playful lilt in your voice as you poured the hot chocolate into two mismatched mugs. One had a cheerful snowman on it; the other had the phrase Not Today, Satan in bold letters. “That’s high praise coming from you, Chef Carmy.”

A faint smirk tugged at his lips as he leaned against the counter, watching you finish the drinks. You handed him the snowman mug, the hot chocolate piled high with whipped cream and topped with rainbow sprinkles.

“Thanks,” he said softly, the warmth of the mug sinking into his cold fingers.

“Don’t mention it,” you replied, motioning toward the couch. “Go sit. Warm up. Gus might even share the dog bed if you ask nicely.”

Carmy took a seat on your couch and glanced at where the bird, was still nestled on its makeshift throne. His expression teetered between confusion and amusement. “Why’d you name the pigeon Gus?”

“Well,” you began, grinning as you set your mug down and grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch. “He’s got a very Gus vibe. You know, dependable, grounded. Plus, I think he likes it.”

Carmy raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Pretty sure pigeons don’t care about names.”

“Gus does,” you replied, wrapping the blanket over your lap and settling in beside him with mock seriousness. “He’s refined. A pigeon of culture. Look at him—he’s living the dream. Warm bed, no rent, no responsibilities. It’s the life.”

Carmy huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he sank into the other end of the couch. His mug sat warm in his hands, the whipped cream melting into the chocolate and blending with the colorful sprinkles. He took a slow sip, letting the rich warmth settle in his chest.

“So,” you started, shifting under the blanket you’d wrapped around yourself. “What’s something no one ever expects about you?”

The question caught him off guard, and his brow furrowed as he glanced at you. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, like... something people wouldn’t guess just by looking at you,” you explained, tilting your head. “Something random, unexpected. For example, I’m freakishly good at those claw machines at arcades.”

Carmy huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah,” you said, grinning. “I’ve got a whole collection of stuffed animals to prove it. My proudest moment was winning three in one go. The guy running the arcade looked like he wanted to kick me out.”

“Let me guess,” Carmy said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re one of those people who has a ‘method.’”

“Damn right I do,” you replied, leaning forward with mock seriousness. “It’s all in the timing. You’ve got to line it up perfectly and commit. None of that panicking halfway through and letting the claw drop nonsense.”

“Noted,” he said with a chuckle. “Alright. Something unexpected... I don’t know. I guess I—” He hesitated, his fingers drumming lightly on the side of his mug. “I used to be into puzzles. Like, big, complicated ones.”

Your eyes lit up, and you gestured toward the half-finished puzzle on your coffee table. “No way. Me too! Well, kind of. I’m more of a casual puzzler. That one’s been sitting there for weeks.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” he teased, nodding toward the scattered pieces. “You’re not exactly flying through it.”

“Hey, I’m busy, okay?” you shot back, laughing. “But seriously, puzzles? That’s cool. What kind? Like landscapes or those impossible ones with a thousand pieces of just sky?”

“Both, I guess,” he said, shrugging. “I liked the challenge. Felt... calming.”

You nodded, smiling softly. “Yeah. There’s something nice about piecing things together. Feels like you’re fixing something, even if it’s just a picture.”

Carmy looked down at his mug, his expression thoughtful. “I don’t really do it anymore, though. Too much else going on.”

“Maybe you should,” you suggested, your tone light but sincere. “Could be good for you. Something just for you, you know?”

He didn’t reply immediately, but you could see the wheels turning in his mind. After a moment, he raised an eyebrow. “Alright, your turn. Something unexpected.”

“Hmm,” you mused, leaning back against the couch. “Okay, this is gonna sound weird, but... I used to want to be a cryptozoologist.”

“A what?” Carmy asked, his brow furrowing.

“Cryptozoologist,” you repeated, grinning. “You know, someone who studies mythical creatures. Like Bigfoot or the Loch Ness Monster. I was convinced I’d grow up to prove they existed.”

Carmy blinked, clearly trying to process that. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” you said, laughing. “I had notebooks full of research—drawings, ‘sightings,’ theories. I even tried to build a Nessie tracker out of a walkie-talkie and a coat hanger once.”

He let out a laugh. “You really don’t do anything halfway, do you?”

“Not when it matters,” you replied with a playful shrug, your eyes glinting with mischief. “What about you? Any weird childhood dreams? Like, I don’t know... being an astronaut or starting a rock band?”

Carmy hesitated, his lips pressing into a thoughtful line. It took a moment before he finally spoke, his tone quieter. “Not really. I mean, cooking was always kind of... it. It felt right. It’s like a family thing, I guess. My brother was into it too—he loved it.”

Your curiosity piqued at the mention of his family.

“You have a brother?” you asked, your head tilting with interest.

“Yeah,” he said after a brief pause, the words carrying a weight he didn’t fully unpack. “Mikey. And I’ve got a sister too—Sugar. Well, her name’s Natalie, but we’ve been calling her Sugar forever.”

“That’s cute,” you said with a warm smile. “Are you the youngest?”

“Yeah,” Carmy replied, running a hand through his hair, a subtle habit you were starting to notice. “Mikey was the oldest. Sugar’s in the middle.”

“Did they pick on you a lot?” you teased gently, trying to keep the tone light.

He let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Not really. Mikey did, sometimes. But not in a mean way, you know? More like... making sure I could handle myself. And Sugar? She was the one keeping us all in line. Still is.”

“That sounds like a good balance,” you said, leaning back into the couch. “Oldest sibling as the troublemaker, middle sibling keeping the peace, and you as... what? The quiet one?”

“Something like that,” Carmy replied, his voice quiet. “I guess I just... stayed out of the way most of the time. Let them be loud.”

“Stayed out of the way?” you repeated, frowning slightly. “That sounds lonely.”

He shrugged, his eyes fixed on the swirl of whipped cream in his mug. “It wasn’t bad. Mikey... he was the big personality, you know? The guy everyone wanted to be around. Sugar had her own stuff, and I guess I just... I don’t know. I was fine doing my own thing.”

Your chest tightened at the quiet way he spoke, as if he were skimming the surface of something much deeper. You didn’t push, sensing that there was more he wasn’t ready to say. Instead, you offered a small, genuine smile.

“I bet they loved having you around, though,” you said softly. “Even if you didn’t take up all the space.”

Carmy’s gaze flicked to yours, something unreadable passing across his face. He gave a small nod. “Yeah. Maybe.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy—it was thoughtful, filled with the hum of the heater and Gus’s soft cooing. You shifted in your seat, looking for a way to lighten the mood again.

“So, Carmy-next-door,” you said, leaning forward with a playful glint in your eye, “since you’re already here, I have an important question.”

“What’s that?” he asked, his brows lifting slightly.

“If you could only eat one thing for the rest of your life—one thing—what would it be?”

Carmy blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. “One thing?”

“Yup,” you said, grinning as you rested your chin on your hand. “You’re a chef. I feel like this is the kind of thing you’ve thought about.”

He let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “I haven’t, actually.”

“Well, now’s your chance,” you said, gesturing for him to answer. “Come on, Chef Carmy. What’s it gonna be?”

He thought for a moment, his gaze distant before he replied, “Probably... bread. Good bread. Crusty, fresh out of the oven.”

“Bread?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow. “That’s your pick?”

“Yeah,” he said, smirking slightly. “It’s simple. Versatile. You can make a sandwich, dip it in soup... eat it plain.”

“Fair,” you admitted, nodding. “But also kind of boring.”

“Boring?” he echoed, his smirk widening. “What about you, then?”

“Oh, easy,” you said, sitting up straighter. “Mac and cheese. The good kind. Baked, with breadcrumbs on top.”

“Baked mac and cheese?” he asked, his tone teasing. “And bread is boring?”

“Hey, baked mac and cheese is a masterpiece,” you argued, pointing a finger at him. “It’s comfort food at its finest.”

Carmy laughed, the sound low and warm, and for the first time that night, he felt completely at ease. You grinned, triumphant, as you sipped your hot chocolate.

“Alright, mac and cheese,” he said finally. “You win,"

“Hell yeah,” you laugh, settling back into the couch with a satisfied smile.

The quiet settled between you again, easy and warm, but you weren’t one to let a moment pass without a bit of mischief. You leaned forward suddenly, setting your mug down on the coffee table and glancing at the pile of papers sitting on the far edge.

“So,” you began, your voice light and playful as you turned back to him, “since you’re already here, Carmy-next-door, how do you feel about helping me grade English essays?”

He blinked, caught off guard. “Grade essays?”

“Yup,” you said, grinning as you grabbed the stack and plopped it on the table between you. “It’s my favorite nightly activity. Well, maybe not favorite. But it’s how I usually spend my nights when I’m not rescuing my neighbors from hallway purgatory.”

Carmy raised an eyebrow, his smirk faint. “Not a chance,"

“Why not?” you teased, nudging the stack toward him. “Think of it as your way of repaying me. A little good ol’ fashioned labor for the fourth-grade cause.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, frowning. “I don’t know anything about grading papers.”

“Oh, it’s easy,” you said, waving a hand. “You just read through them and make sure the sentences make sense. Bonus points if you add a smiley face or two. The kids love that.”

“I’m not sure your kids are gonna love my grading style,” he muttered, but he reached for the stack anyway, pulling the first paper off the top.

“Relax,” you said, sitting back with a smug smile. “They’re not expecting Pulitzer-worthy feedback. Just check for spelling errors, maybe circle a comma splice here or there. You’ll be great.”

He sighed, glancing at the paper in his hands, his brow furrowing as he read. After a moment, he spoke. “This one’s about... pizza?”

“Oh, yeah,” you said, chuckling. “Personal narratives. They had to write about something important to them. Pizza’s a classic. I mean, it keeps the world turning, apparently.”

Carmy’s lips twitched into a smirk. “Right, ‘round like the Earth.’ Deep stuff.”

“Exactly,” you said, grinning. “Ten-year-olds are basically philosophers in disguise.”

He kept reading, his expression shifting between amusement and genuine thoughtfulness as he moved through the stack. Occasionally, he’d hold up a paper and read a line aloud, like, “‘If I could be any animal, I would be a penguin because they have a lot of swag.’”

“That’s Semaj,” you said with a fond laugh. “He’s got big main-character energy.”

He leaned back into the couch, his empty mug resting on the coffee table. He’d worked through half the stack of papers, leaving you with the rest. You had the blanket draped over your legs, your focus on the paper in your hand, the tip of your pen tapping thoughtfully against your lip. Occasionally, you’d mutter something under your breath—“Oh, Ethan,” or “That’s not how commas work, sweetheart”—before marking a note in the margin.

He couldn’t help it. His gaze lingered.

It wasn’t intentional—at least, that’s what he told himself. But something about the way you looked so at ease in the warm glow of the string lights made him pause. Your hair, slightly mussed from the blanket, framed your face in a way that felt unstudied but perfect. The way you chewed your lip when you read something particularly interesting. The way you smiled when you wrote a note in the margin, like you were having a silent conversation with the words on the page.

It wasn’t just that he thought you were pretty—though, God, you were. It was more than that. It was how everything about you seemed to radiate a kind of energy he wasn’t used to. Warm, chaotic, alive.

“Alright,” you said suddenly, pulling him out of his thoughts. Your face lit up as you held a paper up for him to see, the grin on your face contagious. “This one? Absolute gold. You have to read this.”

He leaned forward, taking the paper from your outstretched hand. The title at the top read: ‘Why My Dog is the Best Dog Ever’ in shaky but determined handwriting. He glanced at the first paragraph and let out a quiet laugh.

“'My dog is the best because she knows how to play fetch, even though she’s really bad at it. She never brings the ball back, but I think she’s trying her best,’” Carmy read aloud, shaking his head as he glanced back at you. “This kid’s got it figured out.”

“Right?” you said, your eyes sparkling. “That’s life wisdom right there. ‘Trying your best’—that’s what counts.”

As you set the paper aside, your gaze caught his, and for a moment, the teasing smile on your face softened.

“What?” you asked, your voice quieter now, the hint of curiosity in your tone.

“Nothing,” Carmy said quickly, sitting back, though his lips twitched into the faintest smile. “Just... your kids. They’re funny.”

You studied him for a moment longer, like you didn’t quite believe him, before your grin returned. “They are. Keeps me on my toes.”

He nodded, his gaze drifting back to the stack of papers you were working through. “You’re good at this, you know?”

“Grading?” you teased, arching an eyebrow.

“No,” he said, his voice soft but steady. “All of it. The teaching, the way you talk about them... It’s easy to see.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. Then your lips curled into a shy smile, and you shrugged. “Thanks. That means a lot. And, for the record, you’re not so bad at this either. You’re practically a natural.”

“Yeah?” he asked, his smirk returning.

“Oh, definitely,” you said with a mock-serious nod. “The kids would love you. Quiet, mysterious... You’d be like their cool uncle or something.”

Carmy huffed a laugh. “I don’t know about that.”

“Well, I do,” you said, leaning back and tucking the blanket around you. “You’re doing great, Carmy-next-door. Even if you still think bread isn’t boring.”

He chuckled softly, letting the moment settle between you. The snowstorm outside raged on, but inside, the warmth of the room and your laughter made everything feel lighter. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Carmy didn’t mind staying still.

A/N: Heyyyy, thank you so much for the support. Also, I need help coming up with new scenarios... so if you have any suggestions please tell me.

I hope you enjoyed it and tell me if you want to be tagged. <3

Tags:

@hiitsmebbygrl16 @urthem00n @svzwriting29 @tyferbebe

@akornsworld @khxna @ruthyalva96 @beingalive1

@darkestbeforethedawn16 @turtle-cant-communicate

Rook Book to Remember Me By

Part 2 of Rook Book

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!Metro!reader

Summary: Tim's delay in transferring to Metro may have cost him everything, and as he and Lucy search Los Angeles for a killer, he only has his memories and a fake rook book to remember you by.

Warnings: ANGST, death, fluff

Word Count: 3.6k+ words

A/N: I know this is a Chenford gif but it fits. :)

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

“What is that?” Lucy asks as she waits beside Tim’s desk. “A bomb?”

“Lower your voice, boot,” Tim snaps. “We don’t need a stampede.”

“Yes, sir. So, what is it?”

“What does it look like? It’s a book.”

“No, it’s a rook book with a bow on it. And I bet I know who it’s from.”

“50 pushups.”

“But-“

“You want double?”

Lucy frowns as she silences, and she watches Tim lift the book. He opens the front cover and shakes his head before dropping it into one of his drawers. Lucy doesn’t move toward the door, and Tim sighs as he leans against his desk.

“What?” he asks.

“Is that just a book? Or a non-rook-book-rook-book? Like the one somebody’s pretty TO used to carry?”

“Pretty TO?” you ask from behind Lucy.

Tim had been too distracted by the book and Lucy’s prying questions to notice you walk in. Dressed in your Metro uniform, you slide your hands into your pockets and smile.

“I’ll assume you’re talking about Tim,” you add.

“Yeah, right,” Lucy snorts.

“100 pushups it is,” Tim announces.

“Tim,” you chide softly. “You can’t blame her for being excited to see this side of you. It took me your entire probationary period to learn you could smile.”

“Chen, give us a minute,” Tim says.

“Do I have to?” she asks quietly.

“Yes,” you and Tim say together. The difference is that you add, “Please.”

You watch Lucy move toward the equipment room before turning to Tim. He furrows his brows and unconsciously blocks the drawer with your gift in it.

“I’m sorry I didn’t answer your call last night,” you begin. “Metro raided a speakeasy, and it went a little haywire.” “Are you okay?” Tim interrupts. “That’s what I was going to ask you. I know you tolerate me, maybe even like me a little, but you don’t call unless you need something.”

“I, uh, just wanted to hear your voice. But I’m fine, I promise.”

You nod and run your tongue over your bottom lip as you think. “Still have nightmares?”

“I’m fine.”

“Look, Lucy is ready to pass that test, but in the end moving to Metro is a big decision. One you can do; I don’t doubt that. Just… don’t stick around because you think you have some debt to pay or something. Your boot is important, but your career is too.”

“I’ll remember that.”

Your Metro Commander yells your name, and you lay a hand on Tim’s shoulder before whispering a farewell. He watches you go and decides that when he calls you tonight, he’ll ask why you chose the book you did. Hopefully, he thinks, it will allow him to admit some things. He needs more than your voice to calm him in the middle of the night these days.

“Can I just say one thing?” Lucy asks from the passenger seat of the shop.

“Will me saying no stop you?” Tim replies.

“I think you’re really cute together. She’s been waiting for you, and I don’t think you should make her wait just because you’re scared.”

“What makes you think I’m scared? You mean well, Chen, but this is none of your concern.”

“Maybe not. But it’s yours, and you know I’m right.”

Tim wants to keep arguing, maybe threaten Lucy with more pushups to make her leave it alone, but the radio cuts him off.

“Attention all units. Officer down at Wilshire Federal Building. Metro requesting backup. Will advise.”

Tim’s world slows as he pulls the shop to a curb. He and Lucy are too far away to provide backup fast enough, but he can’t move until he knows that you’re okay. Lucy watches him as he stares at the radio, but with each second of silence, she gets more concerned for him.

“She’s going to be okay,” Lucy whispers.

Tim shakes his head. He doesn’t want to think about the alternative but believing that you’re okay without knowing is more dangerous than being wrong and hearing another officer’s name over the radio.

“Bradford, Chen, Harper, Nolan,” Wade radios. “Get back to the station and prepare to assist Metro.”

“Uh, you- you drive, Lucy,” Tim says as he unclips his seatbelt.

“Attention all units,” the dispatch officer begins.

She identifies the downed officer, and when your name is said, Tim’s world stops. He waited too long, and now he can never tell you how he feels. He had a crush on you, he wants to say, but it turned into so much more.

“Tim,” Lucy calls as she opens the driver-side door. “C’mon.”

Tim doesn’t feel any shame as he leans on Lucy. She ushers him into the passenger seat before she drives to the station with lights and sirens on. Tim’s silence is terrifying, and although Lucy is also feeling grief and is heartbroken to hear you’re gone, her concern for Tim outweighs her own emotions.

As Tim exits the shop, his devastation suddenly makes room for anger. He doesn’t blame any of your fellow officers, but if he had moved to Metro sooner, he would have been there with you, and maybe he could have changed the outcome. He slams the door and ignores Lucy as he storms into the bullpen.

Lucy and Tim slow as they see several Metro teams gathered together, but it’s obvious that something is wrong, something is missing. There’s a gap where you should be, and even the elite tactical officers seem lost without you.

“What happened?” Tim asks.

“Officer Bradford, we can’t release any information yet,” Wade answers. “Metro’s going to fill you in on what you need to know. They need as many of us as they can get.”

Tim clenches his jaw to stop the remark that he wants to make. The Metro teams are talking quietly, and he gestures for Lucy to step to his other side as he moves closer.

“You saw the shot?” one of them asks.

“Yeah,” someone answers.

“Then where’d they take her?”

At the realization that you’re not only gone, but they don’t even know where your body is, Tim begins looking around. He sees his Sergeant, Captain, and the Metro commanders huddled in a corner and walks directly to them.

“I want a position in the task force. You need more people, and I’m one of the few patrol officers who knows how to complete a manhunt like this,” he demands.

“I understand where you’re coming from Bradford, but you’re too invested in this to go out alone,” Wade replies.

“Then let me go with him,” Lucy interjects. “Tim knows what he’s doing, and we can patrol and engage in the manhunt at the same time, right?”

Wade looks to the Metro sergeant to his left, who shrugs noncommittedly. He sighs before nodding and tells Tim to get back out on the street and wait for the information about the gunman.

“Wait,” Tim tells Lucy as he stops beside his desk.

He pulls the book from the bottom drawer and tucks it under his arm before continuing to the shop. If this is his last drive where you’re involved, he wants you there. Or as close as he can get.

“Dispatch released a picture,” Lucy says before turning the dash computer toward Tim.

He looks at the picture until the light turns green, and then he begins a grid search surrounding the Wilshire Federal Building. If that man is still nearby, and Tim finds him first, prison will be the least of his worries.

“What’s the book?” Lucy inquires.

“It’s her favorite,” Tim answers.

“You know what her favorite book is. That’s really sweet, Tim.”

“She’s been telling me for years to read it and I keep making excuses not to.”

“And now?”

Tim nods, and Lucy knows that he is going to not only read the book but devour it and everything related to it to feel close to you again.

“7-Adam-19, assault in progress inside Shell gas station at the corner of Santa Monica Boulevard and Greenfield Avenue. 9-1-1 caller requested your presence on scene.”

Tim hits the steering wheel before telling Lucy to accept the call. He doesn’t have time to break up a fight in a gas station, not when your killer is on the loose. The gas station is less than five minutes away, but Tim gets grumpier with every minute. As he and Lucy enter the gas station, he’s prepared to jump in the fight just to finish it faster.

“You called the police, what’s the problem?” Tim asks the cashier.

The young girl looks scared; her face is pale, and her hands shake above the cash register.

“This doesn’t look like an assault in progress,” Tim adds with his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

Lucy steps forward to speak to the girl while Tim looks around. The gas station is empty, but Tim doesn’t make it far before he sees a blood trail on the floor. It rounds the end of the cashier’s counter and disappears under a door. Tim pulls his gun and whispers for Lucy to stay ready as he steps toward the door.

“In there?” Lucy asks.

The woman behind the counter nods, and Lucy gestures for Tim to go ahead. Tim pushes the door open and raises his gun to clear the room while Lucy stays on the other side of the opening. He looks down to follow the blood but freezes when someone speaks.

“Officer Bradford, California Penal Code 217.1 is punishable by what?”

“Chen!” Tim yells as he holsters his gun.

Lucy hits the light switch for the storage closet, and Tim kneels to lift a bloody gun from the floor.

“They said you died,” Tim says as he moves closer to you.

You hear Tim begin asking questions when he enters the gas station and hope the cashier that you scared by walking in covered in blood can point him to your hiding spot in the storage closet. Your gun is on the floor beside your feet and your long-sleeve Metro t-shirt is balled against the gunshot wound in your shoulder.

When Tim opens the door, you ask him about a penal code before your head tips forward. Staying conscious while losing blood isn’t as easy as some may think, and you want to make a joke, but Tim jumps to action before you can.

“They said you died,” Tim says quietly.

He lays a hand over your cheek as his other hand applies more pressure to the fabric on your shoulder.

“I think that was the goal,” you mumble.

“Chen, radio for-“

“No!” you interrupt. Your voice raises at the idea of Chen communicating this news over the radio. “The men who we went in there to arrest have radios. They knew we were coming, but if they think I’m dead we can use that.”

“You need help,” Tim argues.

He reaches for his phone, and you lay a bloody hand on his forearm to stop him. You wait for him to look at your face to smile.

“We find another way to get help. But as far as anyone with a police radio knows, I’m still dead.”

“How am I supposed to get you treatment for a GSW without raising any red flags? Any ER nurse will call the police.”

“What about Grace?” Lucy suggests. “Nolan’s friend? If we could talk to her before we take you in, she may be able to keep it quiet.”

“If you think it will work, let’s do it,” you agree.

“No,” Tim interrupts. “We’re not putting your life in the hands of a rookie.”

“Tim, she’s right. This is a good plan and one we need if we want these guys off the street. Please, just trust me and Lucy for a few minutes. You can yell at us and brainstorm new Tim Tests later.”

“Call Grace,” Tim says as he moves his arms around you. “If this starts going wrong, or something happens to you, I will use my radio.”

“Understood.”

You keep your uninjured arm across your chest as Tim lifts you into his arms. Lucy leads the way out and opens the backdoor of the shop before apologizing to the gas station clerk. She leaves her card and scribbles the number of someone who can clean the bloody scene but reminds the girl not to call the police or tell anyone you were here. As Tim drives through traffic and Lucy talks to Grace, you notice a book in the floorboard and chuckle.

“What?” Tim asks quickly.

“You have my rook book.”

“Guess I don’t have to read it now that you’re not dead.”

“If I didn’t know better I would think you’re mad at me, Bradford.” “You know exactly what I’m thinking.”

“Don’t risk your job for revenge, Tim. I know you care about me, and I care about you, too, but this isn’t worth it. We work the case like any other.”

“Easy for you to say,” Tim snaps. “You didn’t think the woman you love was murdered twenty minutes ago.”

Lucy ends the call and looks through the cage at you. It’s not how Tim planned to tell you, but he feels lighter with the admission.

“I’m sorry, Tim,” you whisper.

“Tell me after.”

“I’m not waiting until the end of Lucy’s probation period.”

“Please don’t,” she agrees. “I can only take so much more pining from this one.”

“I don’t pine,” Tim grumbles.

“Yes, you do,” you and Lucy argue together.

“Bradford, status report?” Wade radios.

Tim looks at Lucy, who apologizes quickly for not communicating a code 4.

“Code 4, Grey,” Tim replies. “But don’t ask any questions right now.”

“Okay. As long as you didn’t break any laws, this conversation never happened.”

Tim glances over his shoulder at you, and you state, “I haven’t broken any laws. Have you?”

“Not yet. If there’s blood on this book later, that’s your fault.”

Tim sighs, and it sounds almost like a laugh. You don’t have time to tease him before he pulls into the emergency room drop-off area of Shaw Memorial Hospital. Grace and several nurses run out and wheel you in quickly, promising to help you without asking any questions or reporting anything to the police.

“What now?” Lucy asks as the doors close behind you.

“Now, we find the people who are getting 15 to life for trying to kill an officer for completing her duties,” Tim answers.

“Tim,” Lucy calls.

He stops, and she points to the blood staining his skin. Tim opens the trunk of the shop and retrieves a pack of wipes from one of the war bags. Lucy watches as he harshly scrubs your blood from his skin and gets angrier with every wipe he tosses aside.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” she asks.

“Lucy,” he begins as he slams the trunk closed. “I’m pissed off and I have a feeling in my chest that I’m not used to. But how I feel doesn’t matter. We’re going to get every single one of the people involved in this, and make sure they end up in a hole.”

“By ‘a hole,’ you mean prison, right?” Tim walks around the shop rather than answering, and Lucy rushes to repeat, “You mean prison, right?”

“7-Adam-19, report to Sepulveda and Ohio Avenue.”

“What now?” Tim yells.

He steers the shop into an illegal U-turn and speeds down Sepulveda Boulevard. Lucy gasps as they near the intersection.

“Turn left onto Ohio,” she says.

“Why?”

“Just do it!”

“Second left onto Camden,” she adds after he turns.

Tim slams on the brakes when he sees someone sitting on the curb at the end of Camden Avenue. Lucy exits the shop as soon as it stops and rushes to hug you as you stand.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in the hospital?” Tim demands as he joins you.

“Uh, no?” you guess.

“It’s not your fight anymore. You’re dead, remember?”

“Tim-“

“No, you’re going home. You just got out of the hospital.”

“It was just a flesh wound. Lots of blood, a couple of stitches, but no long-term damage. Besides, when’s the last time you got to watch a ghost slap the cuffs on her killer?”

“Look around Tim,” Lucy encourages.

He already know where he is: the sight of his first arrest with you as his TO, it’s a day he’ll never forget. Tim groans before he waves his hand toward the shop. Lucy cheers and offers you her seat. It’s strange being in the passenger seat with Tim again; last time you were here, he was in long sleeves and fresh out of the Army. He was a great rookie, and he’s a great TO, but you want him to be more.

“Tim!” you alert just as Tim slows to a stop.

“I see him,” he agrees.

“Was that too easy?” Lucy asks.

“Well, it’s not over yet,” Tim responds.

“We can do it,” you tell Tim. “You go left, I go right, Lucy splits the middle.”

“This is the coolest thing I’ve ever done,” Lucy whispers from the backseat.

“Alright,” Tim agrees. “Lucy, you do whatever you have to do to get the one in the middle down, okay?”

“3… 2… 1…” you and Tim count down together.

You exit the shop silently and leave the doors open. As Tim goes wide to take down the suspect on the left, you move toward the man who shot you. You, Lucy, and Tim strike at the same time and push the suspects down onto the sidewalk. The man beneath you attempts to elbow you in the face, but you shove his head down against the concrete and warn him against moving.

When you cuff him and pull him up to his knees, the man gets a good luck at your face. His expression changes and he leans away like you’re truly a ghost. He tries to move back, but only tips and rolls into the street.

“Leave him,” Tim says as he reaches for his radio. “Grey, this is Bradford, Chen, and our missing Metro officer. We’ve got good news and three suspects in custody. Send backup to my location.”

“No R/A?” you ask. “Because you seemed really eager to send me back to the hospital earlier.”

“You seem fine,” Tim explains with a shrug.

“Tim,” you call as you exit Wade’s office.

He’s changed into his civvies and is preparing to leave for the night. You can’t let him, though, because there is no more time.

“Can you- do you wanna come over for a bit?” you ask.

The left side of Tim’s lips move up as he nods, and you accept his hand as he leads you to his truck. Tim drives to your home in relative silence, and you use the time to find the right words to say. Once you’re inside, you sit on the couch beside Tim and decide to tell him everything. You’ve let him into your life and your house, now you just have to let him in on how you feel.

“You said you loved me in the shop today,” you say. “But I have been falling for you since the moment you walked into roll call your first day. You’ve always been more than my rookie and I can’t live another day without you in my life, Tim. I want you. Nightmares, embarrassing memories between us, fake rook books, all of it. I need you, Tim.”

Tim leans closer with his arm stretched on the back of the couch behind your shoulders. “This is better than 1001.66,” he murmurs.

“Did you just compare my confession of being in love with you to a penal code about bad checks? Because that is-“

Your words end in a hum as Tim curls his arm around your shoulders and kisses you. He tugs you closer, and you hold his face between your hands as you show him that your words are more than that. Tim has had a crush on you since he started patrolling with you, but now he knows that he loves you and needs you beside him. You push him, and he pushes you, but you do it because you know what you’re capable of.

Tim’s phone rings, but he ignores it as he pulls you closer, so your legs are bracketing his. He leans up to continue kissing you as his phone begins ringing again. You press your hands against his chest and break away to retrieve his phone. He follows your movement and peppers kisses along your jaw, completely uninterested in answering his phone.

You see the name on the caller ID and answer, “Hi, Lucy.”

“Hey!” she replies. “I wanted to ask how you’re doing. And if Tim’s alright after everything that happened.”

“We’re both fine,” you promise breathlessly.

“Wait-“

You assume that Lucy realizes that you answered Tim’s phone, which means you’re still together. She squeals into the phone, and you pull it away from your ear and smile.

“Oh, I have to tell Angela!” she yells.

Tim rolls his eyes and keeps one hand around your waist as he pulls his phone away from you. “Bye,” he says quickly before ending the call.

“Hanging up on your rookie isn’t nice,” you say.

“Like you wouldn’t have hung up on me.”

“You were scared to call because you had a crush on me.”

“Still do.”

“What? Tim-“

Tim cuts you off with another kiss; it’s his answer and a reminder of how he feels. You remember the rook book that was in his truck, but now that you’re a permanent fixture in Tim’s life, you can make sure he reads it.

Falling Slowly

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!rookie!reader

Summary: You are Tim's newest rookie, and his favorite. He treats you differently, able to see that your past affects you, and the little things build up until you can't deny your feelings.

Warnings: so much fluff, brief angst, domestic violence (Tim and reader respond to a call & allusions to past dv against reader), one scene is inspired by "The Switch" (1x4)

Word Count: 4.0k+ words

A/N: This doesn't really fit in any specific season, so I put characters in the roles I wanted them to have and just made up some names to fill in the gaps. Hopefully everything makes sense. Please let me know what you think!

Picture from Pinterest

“What are you doing here?” Angela asks, surprised to see Tim.

Furrowing his brows, Tim answers, “I’m here for the TO meeting.”

Angela tilts her head back and groans, passing Nyla a 10-dollar bill.

“She thought you’d give up your position for Metro,” Nyla explains.

“I’d like to, someday, but not today,” Tim replies.

“20 bucks this is his last one,” Angela says to Nyla. “He still has the open invite to Metro and his patience can’t take many more boots.”

Nyla reaches to shake Angela’s hand as Tim rolls his eyes and walks away.

“Let me see his rookie first, then we’ll talk,” Nyla decides. “I’ve got a feeling a lot is going to change around here.”

“Like what?” Angela asks. “Nyla! Like what?”

✯✯✯✯✯

Walking into the Mid-Wilshire station on your first day as a rookie is both nerve-wracking and exciting. You’ve heard stories about boots making it through the academy to fail once they reach this level, but you’re determined. When you were a kid, you were in bad situations more often than any child should be, but kind police officers changed your life, and you’d like to do the same.

Waving to one of your police academy friends, you sit in the bullpen, waiting impatiently to learn which officer behind you will be your training officer. Getting the perfect training officer is up to fate, based on what you’ve heard, and your TO can make or break your career.

“Good morning, boots! I am Watch Commander Wade Grey. You have made it through the police academy, but don’t expect a pat on the back, your work is just beginning. This is the time to prove yourself, to show your TO, me, and this city why you deserve to be a police officer.” He pauses, moving around the podium to add, “If you should be a police officer.”

As you listen intently, striving to remember every word Sergeant Grey says, two detectives stand at the back of the room and evaluate the rookies.

“He’s only got one shot,” Angela mutters.

“If he gets the pretty one in the front, I’m not taking the bet,” Nyla says.

Angela looks up a row, her brows raising when she sees you. “If he ends up with her, we’re starting a station-wide pool and getting rich,” she adds.

“Now, it’s time to be assigned to your judge, jury, and executioner,” Wade says with a smile. “Or, as we call them, TOs. Our former rookie turned TO, Nolan: you’ve got Edward Henderson.

 Officer Nolan nods at Henderson, and you remember his story: a late-life rookie who got a golden ticket. Part of you wants to work with him and learn why he decided on law enforcement, but you only nod at Henderson before turning back around.

“Lance Vincent, you are with our newest TO, Eliza Reagan.”

Wade says your name with a smile that seems a bit more genuine than before. “Officer Bradford, last but not least,” he says as he assigns you your new TO.

You look over your shoulder, a small smile on your face as he nods at you. He is undeniably attractive, and you hope it doesn’t cause any problems.

“Oh, he’s a goner,” Nyla whispers under her breath when you smile at Tim.

“Should we tell him?” Angela replies.

“I think we’ll have to.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Something about you bothers Tim. Not in the usual, grumpy-with-a-new-boot way, but he has a sense that you’re different. 

“Nice to meet you,” you say, walking to Tim at the back of the bullpen.

He stands, offering a calloused hand to shake.

“I’m not going to pretend this is going to be easy or fun,” he tells you. “Being a rookie is the hardest part of your career, but if you’re a good cop under the uniform, you’ll be fine.”

Nodding, you promise to do your best and express your willingness to learn everything you can from him.

“Good,” he says. “Meet me outside the war room. We’re not wasting any time, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” you answer.

Tim watches you walk away, and when you stop to let someone carrying a large box cross in front of you, Tim realizes that you’re hurting, or were hurting not long ago. The underlying need to help people is something he recognizes.

“She’s pretty,” Angela muses, walking to Tim’s side.

“Though you know that,” Nyla adds, smiling on his other side.

“She’s a boot. No different than the other rookies,” Tim argues, though his gaze is still on your back as you sign for your bags and weapons.

“Sure, she is. Why don’t you go put her through a Tim test?” Angela suggests.

Tim rolls his eyes as he leaves, wondering what hurt you bad enough to make you want to be a cop. He became a cop despite his hurt, but you’re young and bright – and too good for him – so there must be something in you that makes you worthy of this. More worthy (and more beautiful) than any rookie before you.

✯✯✯✯✯

Several officers wish you luck, with one or two warning you about so-called “Tim Tests” while you wait for Tim behind the shop.

“Don’t tell me you have a checklist,” Tim begins, drawing your attention away from the shop tires.

“No, sir,” you answer. “Just being vigilant, I suppose. I’d hate to start my first day with a flat tire.”

Tim nods, asking where the war bags are. You tell him how you checked the contents and loaded them into the trunk, and he appreciates your brief explanation.

“Good work. The easy part is over,” Tim says. He seems to weigh his options before deciding, “You drive. Show me what you’ve got.”

He follows you to the driver’s side door, opening it as he reminds you of standard shop procedures. As Tim closes the door, you wonder if he’s a gentleman or if he followed you because he doesn’t trust you to drive correctly. Either way, you know what you’re doing, and you won’t let the man in the passenger seat distract you… too much.

Driving toward Wilshire Boulevard for patrol, Tim looks out the window. 

“Blue Camaro has an expired plate,” you alert.

“Call it in.”

You do so, hitting the sirens as you engage the traffic stop. Tim raises a hand to stop you from getting out.

“Remember your training. Don’t let the situation get away from you.”

His words linger in your mind, and you complete the stop with no problem, issuing a ticket and returning to the shop.

“I’m driving,” Tim alerts you, spreading his hand across the small of your back as he directs you to the sidewalk.

“Did I do something wrong?” you ask when he starts the car.

“No,” he answers bluntly.

You lick your lips nervously, turning your attention to your surroundings. Suddenly, Tim pulls over and hits the brakes.

“I’ve been shot, boot. Where are we?” Tim demands.

Furrowing your brows in surprise at his actions, you answer, “Intersection of 12th and Meadowbrook, west of Redondo. There are several hospitals in a five-mile radius, but only one has a trauma center.”

Tim pulls out wordlessly, continuing his patrol route. Tim doesn't say much else throughout the few hours between his first test and lunch. He lets you point things out, answers your questions about the area and procedures, and glances at you out of the corner of his eye. When he pulls up to a small circle of food trucks where several police officers are waiting, he turns toward you.

“You’re doing well. I’m not neglecting to give you good feedback for any reason other than once you start riding alone, you won’t get it. My role here is to prepare you for your solo career, not hold your hand until you get there.”

“I understand, sir. Thank you for answering my questions,” you reply as you open the door.

Tim’s hand finds your upper back as he leads you to his favorite of the food trucks, a light touch that disappears nearly as quickly as it happened. You thank him quietly for the suggestion before sitting with your fellow rookies.

“Hi, Tim,” Angela says.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, his annoyance breaking through his growing fondness for you.

“Just came to get some food. Your boot seems to be in a good mood.”

“Strange, I thought Tim’s thing was ‘break their spirits in the first hour,’” Nyla adds as she joins Angela.

“You two not have work to do or something?” Tim inquires.

“Something like that. How’s she doing?” Angela tips her chin toward you as she asks.

“She’s got good instincts, knows protocols.”

“But?”

Tim shrugs, turning away before Angela can dig deeper.

“I give it a week,” Nyla announces.

“Before what?”

“He can’t take it anymore.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Domestic disturbance in your area,” dispatch alerts.

Tim grabs the radio, accepting the call as he hits the sirens and turns into a residential area. You chew the inside of your bottom lip; domestic calls are your least favorite, especially when kids are involved. Unwilling to show discomfort, you put on your best brave cop face and follow Tim to the door.

A young girl with a bloody nose and teary eyes opens it, and you glance at Tim before kneeling and asking her to come outside. She listens without question, her lower lip wobbling as you smile.

“He’s hurting my mom,” she whimpers.

Tim nods at you before tilting his head toward the shop. You direct the girl to stand at the edge of the porch and wait for you as you follow Tim inside.

“LAPD, put your hands up!” Tim yells as he steps into a bedroom.

Your eyes widen when you see the large man towering over the girl’s mother. He smiles as he reaches for something.

“Don’t move unless you want to give me a reason,” Tim says lowly. “Step away.”

The man looks toward the nightstand before taking a deep breath and giving up. 

“I got it,” Tim tells you before radioing a code 4.

You wait until Tim has the handcuffs secured to walk outside. The girl runs into your arms, and you pop the shop's trunk, setting her down as you retrieve a small first aid kit. She lets you clean her bloody nose, gripping your wrist when it stings.

“Where’s my mom?” she asks.

“She’s talking to my partner right now, she’ll be out in a few minutes,” you explain.

“Is he nice?”

“The nicest,” you answer.

“Mom!” she yells, letting you set her on the ground before she runs to her mom’s side.

“Get in the shop,” Tim commands as he walks past, his hand brushing your arm as he closes the trunk.

You obey, climbing into the passenger seat and waiting as he talks to the EMTs. When he joins you, he drives to a quiet, empty street before switching off his body cam and gesturing for you to do the same.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice softer than you’ve heard.

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t say what I want to hear. Domestic calls are tough but that wasn’t your first one, was it?”

You shake your head, looking out the windshield instead of at Tim.

“We all have reasons for becoming a cop, and some calls are harder than others. As long as your past doesn’t get in the way and put you in danger, it’s okay to be human,” he continues. “TOs are notoriously hard on you, but we’re also here for you.”

“Thank you,” you whisper.

Tim shrugs, one corner of his lips upturned. “No more sappy stuff, we have work to do.”

“Oh, if you think that was sappy, I’ve got a lot to show you before I graduate to short sleeves.”

The comment catches Tim off guard and makes him feel something he didn’t expect.

✯✯✯✯✯

By the end of the first week, you feel like you know Tim well. His hand spread across your back or shoulder when you’re in front of him, his little reminders that you’re not alone, that you can show emotion when the time allows, and every other little thing he does makes you wonder why there are so many horror stories around his teaching style.

Likewise, Tim thinks he has you down. You ask him questions, ask for his opinions, listen and apply what he says, and send him small smiles when he compliments your work.

But, it only takes a shift to realize that people are multi-faceted, and cops and rookies are no different.

“Good morning,” you greet, passing Tim a small box.

“What is this? A bribe?” he asks.

You smile as you reply, “Nope. Just something I found, and I thought you’d like.”

Tim opens the box, his eyes widening at the 2000 Super Bowl tickets, the Rams’ first win. “I can’t accept these.”

“They were under a bookshelf in my apartment, it’s not like I spent a million dollars on them, Officer Bradford.”

Tucking them into his pocket, Tim opens your door. “Thank you.”

You smile, and Tim thinks your joy is the better gift.

✯✯✯✯✯

During your first call of that day, you show Tim that you don’t just value his opinions.

“Shots fired!” you radio as you duck behind the car.

“Are you hit?” Tim asks.

Shaking your head, you move closer, trusting him to direct you and keep you safe. The men in the house you were called to have automatic weapons, and though you’re a good shot, you’re not a match for their guns alone.

“Backup is on the way, but I need you to do something for me. You trust me?” Tim adds.

“I do.”

“Reach around the back and open the trunk; just far enough to reach the latch. I’ll cover you.”

He stands above you, firing into the shattered window of the house as you slip your arm and back around the end of the shop and open the trunk.

“Good, perfect,” Tim praises as he ducks beside you. His knuckles graze yours as he leans past you. “Can you reach the shotguns?”

Glancing in the window above you, you locate them quickly. “I can.”

“Do it. I got you.”

Once the shotguns are in your hands, you pass one to Tim as you ready your own. Timing your shots, you take out two shooters just as your backup arrives.

“You’re bleeding,” Tim says, his adrenaline dropping as a tactical team takes over.

You look at your arm, just noticing your ripped sleeve and bloody skin. Tim lays his hands on your arm as he turns it toward him.

“I think it was just glass from the windshield,” you say quietly, pointing to the car behind you, riddled with bullet holes and broken glass.

“Either way, we need to get it checked out.”

“Officer Bradford?” you interject. “Thank you. For making sure I trust you.”

“Thanks for trusting me,” he mutters, so soft you can barely hear it.

He taps the Super Bowl tickets in his pocket as he rises to get a paramedic to check on you, and you smile, wondering how bad it would be if you fell in love with your TO.

✯✯✯✯✯

“You’re quieter than usual,” Tim points out. “I need to know that whatever is bothering you won’t impair your ability to work with me.”

“It won’t,” you promise. “Sorry.”

Tim considers pressing, but he trusts you. “I’m here. If you decide you want to talk about it.”

He exits the shop and opens your door before you can reach for the handle.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Did you see that?” Nyla gushes, elbowing Angela.

“Ow. See what?”

Nyla points to Tim, closing your door and laying a hand on your shoulder as he ducks his head to talk to you.

“That’s not a reprimand,” Angela deduces.

When you smile, a tiny upturning of your lips, Nyla laughs.

“Oh, that boy… The door, the touches, listening to her? He’s gone.”

“Not just him,” Angela adds. “She asks him questions, smiles at him, trusts him more than anyone… and the Super Bowl tickets? They’re adorable.”

“Should we do something?”

“Not yet. I think they’re close to realizing.”

✯✯✯✯✯

After your longest, and worst, day yet, you find yourself in a hospital waiting room beside Tim. He hasn't said anything since a speeding driver ran into your side of the shop, though you've apologized countless times (even though there's nothing you could have done).

Tim’s jaw is clenched so tight you’re worried it will snap. You’re sitting close to him, a bandage around your wrist and an ice pack pressed to your cheek.

“Sorry,” you whisper.

“Stop- stop apologizing, it’s not your fault,” Tim sighs.

His arm is on the armrest between you, and you move your hand toward his. When he doesn’t back away, you turn your arm to allow your knuckles to brush against his.

“It’s not your fault,” you tell him kindly. “He ran a red light.”

“And you could’ve been killed,” Tim replies, standing abruptly and walking away.

You slump in your seat, dejected and curious about what you could say to make him stop blaming himself for someone running into you.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Tim and his rookie sitting in a tree,” Nyla sings under her breath.

“I don’t have time for this right now,” Tim replies.

“Right, because you’re too busy being mad that she got hurt. Cops get hurt Tim,” Angela reminds him.

“Not with me,” he begins, pausing to take a deep breath. “Despite what you think, I’m upset that she got hurt, not because I’m in love with her.”

“Whatever you got to hear, buddy,” Nyla replies. “But tell me this. If it was Nolan when he was a boot, would you have felt this bad? Even if I believed you didn’t have feelings for her, which I don’t, you’re different with her and you know it.”

Tim sighs, looking out the door at you. He knows it’s true; despite his constant denial, he does treat you differently because you are different, and you’re like a magnet, incapable of being ignored or forgotten. Finally confessing it to himself, Tim knows that his feelings for you will get one or both of you in trouble unless something changes.

✯✯✯✯✯

“It is time for The Switch,” Wade says as he walks into the bullpen. “The day you ride with a new TO.”

You glance at Tim, who gives you an encouraging nod. He tells you that you’re a great rookie, but he also tells you that you’re pretty sometimes, which doesn’t seem pertinent (or always true, in your eyes). Wade says your name, and you look up.

“You’re with Nolan,” he tells you.

Smiling at Nolan, you cross your fingers under the desk that it’s a good day. 

“Henderson,” you call as he stands up, “what’s Nolan like?”

“He’s great. Really understanding and knowledgeable. A little talkative, but fairly easy going. Just stick to protocol and listen to his directions; you’ll be fine.”

“What about Bradford?” Vincent asks you. “Everyone says he’s the toughest. Anything I should be aware of?”

“I don’t think so. He’s quiet sometimes, but he’s great.”

You collect your war bag with the expectation of a good day. You will miss Tim, but learning how another TO teaches and his views can be invaluable. As you slide into the driver’s seat beside Nolan, you realize something: you like Tim as more than your TO. He means more to you than just being your teacher, your mentor, and a trustworthy officer. The thought hits you so suddenly you're not sure where it came from.

With each passing moment, you find yourself remembering something Tim said or wanting to tell him something, but he isn’t there. Nolan is kind and laughs at your muttered comments, but it is nothing like riding with Tim. As you think about all the little things Tim does, everything begins to make sense.

Someone yells your name when you step out of the shop to get lunch. Turning, you’re surprised to see Vincent storming up to you.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demands.

“Tell you what?”

“That Bradford has ‘Tim Tests’ and nothing pleases him!”

You glance over his shoulder, finding Tim and Nolan talking. Tim glances over at you, and the tension in his shoulders seems to ease until Nolan says something else.

“His Tim Tests aren’t that bad; he’s just teaching you awareness and safety.”

“He wants to end my career,” Vincent exclaims before muttering something about you not understanding as he walks away.

✯✯✯✯✯

“How’s Vincent doing?” Nolan asks.

“That kid has no situational awareness,” Tim answers. “I stopped at a street sign, and he couldn’t figure out where we were.”

“He’s probably scared of you,” Nyla interjects. “And, no, Bradford, I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

“My rookie can tell me where I am, no matter what,” Tim adds.

“Your rookie is very good, I’ll give you that,” Nolan replies. “But Vincent has potential. Besides, your boot has people problems.”

Tim glances over at you, locking eyes with you while Vincent talks to you dramatically.

“So do I, but I’m still a good cop.”

Nyla watches as both you and Tim sigh before abandoning the conversations you’re in. She shakes her head, calculating her winnings if the betting pool goes her way.

✯✯✯✯✯

Walking out of the locker room at the end of the day, you’re surprised to be called into Sergeant Grey’s office. You sit across from him, fiddling with the hem of your shirt to spend your nervous energy.

“You are being assigned to a new TO. Officer Bradford has decided to hand you off to someone better equipped to teach you,” Grey informs. “But you’re not in trouble.”

You still your hands in your lap. “Okay. Effective when?”

“Monday morning. So, rest up.”

As you stand, Grey says your name, smiling as he repeats, “You’re not in trouble. This was Bradford’s decision, nothing to do with you. Well, nothing to do with you as a rookie.”

You purse your lips at his phrasing, and he chuckles before sending you out. Walking through the parking lot, you see Tim’s truck is still there and decide to ask him what happened. Standing by the tailgate, you chew your bottom lip as you wait, nervous that you did something, though Wade assured you differently.

Tim walks up unnoticed, saying your name to get your attention.

“What did I do wrong?” you ask, jumping straight to your questions. “I can fix it; there has to be a way to fix it.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Tim promises. “I just can’t be your TO anymore.”

“Why not?”

Tim shifts his backpack on his shoulder. “It’s not appropriate.”

Your heart drops. Tim knows you have feelings for him, and it makes him uncomfortable; that’s the only explanation. Nodding slowly, you accept your fate.

“And I can’t do this,” Tim adds.

His hands slide onto your jaw, his palms against your cheeks as his fingers settle behind your ears, pulling you into a quick kiss. You only begin to respond when he pulls back.

“You’re the best boot I’ve ever had,” he whispers, brushing his thumbs over the apples of your cheeks.

“I’m not your boot anymore,” you remind him.

“That’s your fault. Those little gifts, and soft smiles, and how well you listen… You make it impossible not to fall for you.”

You laugh, leaning against his hands as you reply, “You do too. How do you think I felt when you called me pretty or touched my back? Then you kept comforting me and inviting me to talk. It was too easy.”

“Go to dinner with me?” he asks.

You nod, smiling against his hands before he moves to touch your back again, opening the passenger door as he helps you in. Tim slips his hand into yours, kissing your knuckles as he keeps you close.

✯✯✯✯✯

When the rest of the rookies leave the station, noticing that your car is still there, they ask each other if anyone has seen you.

“Bradford’s truck is gone,” Nyla notices as she walks out.

“Looks like we won,” Angela cheers.

“Where’s Bradford?” Vincent asks.

“On a date,” Nyla answers. “With his former boot.”

The rookies’ jaws drop, wondering how you managed to pull Mid-Wilshire’s resident grump.

“Don’t expect the same to happen to you,” Angela says as she passes the rookies. “We all worked for this one.”

Save You Again

Requested Here!

>> Part 2: Reminiscent of Us

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!veteran!doctor!wife!reader (you're like Barbie)

Summary: Years after meeting on a battlefield, you have to save your husband Tim again. This time, you're married and in the hospital where you work.

Warnings: canon typical warnings, injuries and medical treatment, Nolan slander, fluff

Word Count: 1.5k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

“Tim!” Nolan calls. When Tim turns, already glaring, he slows and amends, “Sorry, uh, Sergeant Bradford. As your union rep-”

“Cut to the chase, Nolan,” Tim implores.

“Yeah, of course. LAPD is hosting an event for military veterans on the force, and I’ve been tasked with electing a few of those vets to speak about their experience and the legacy they want to leave.”

“No,” Tim interjects.

“But you fit the bill exactly and surely you have a lot of wisdom you can pass on. I mean, you were a TO.”

“I’m not giving a speech, Nolan. I’ll go if forced to, but that’s it.”

“Not even for your fellow vets?” Nolan tries.

“Nice try, Nolan, but he’s going to say no,” Wade says from his office doorway. “Tell him why, Bradford.”

Tim turns toward Wade, then sighs. “Most vets that join the force try to keep the two separate. The ones I know, at least. The military was a job – a hard one – and this is too. But they’re different. Celebrate the vets, thank them, but don’t undermine the work they did or what they’re doing now by comparing the duties.”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought of it that way,” Nolan murmurs.

“Shocking.”

“Well, I’m going to go talk to some other reps and try to make this right. You have my word.”

“Seem to have a lot of words.”

“If you know any vets who would be willing to speak, let me know.”

“I will,” Tim assures him, thinking of one veteran in particular.

“Tim, we got a hit on our San Vincente killer from this morning,” Angela alerts. “You with us?”

“Yeah, let’s do it,” Tim agrees, following behind Angela.

“I’ll keep you updated!” Nolan calls after him.

“On behalf of Bradford,” Wade deadpans. “Thanks. Now get back to work, plan parties on your rep time, not my time.”

“Yes, sir.”

“He’s hemorrhaging!” someone alerts.

“How is he still hemorrhaging?” another asks. “There’s a tourniquet.”

You slip your fingers under the tourniquet and feel the stabbing patient’s pulse fading. Pulling the band tighter, you use your weight to stop blood circulation. After it’s secure and the bleeding has slowed, you look at the residents around you.

“Somebody clip that tourniquet, so it stays in place,” you demand.

“That’s not hospital policy,” a recent hire argues.

“This man is bleeding out, tell me about policy after I’ve saved his life,” you snap. “Gauze!”

Within seconds, someone places an entire pack of gauze in your hand. It’s been cut open already, so you murmur your gratitude and put the end of the gauze over your dominant hand. The doctors and nurses around you slow as you pack the wound. Holding the gauze against the wound, you watch your watch. It’s been a while since you used your tactical medic training, but if this procedure works, it will have saved yet another life.

“Get a trauma surgeon here stat,” you instruct. “I suspect he has a nicked brachial artery. He needs a blood transfusion now; estimated 35% of blood volume has been lost.”

“Surgeon’s five minutes out,” a nearby doctor replies.

“Prep an OR,” you say as you begin wrapping the temporary fix.

As the man is wheeled away to go into surgery, you remove your bloody gloves and sigh as you wash your hands. Being a medic in the military was stressful, and despite working a civilian job that entails many of the same job elements, you love being an ER doctor in Los Angeles. You’ve been state-side for years, and you wouldn’t change a thing about your life post-deployment.

“Dr. Bradford!” a nurse yells as she runs down the hallway. “Three cops were just attacked, ambulance is en route.”

You don’t hesitate to run after her, nearing the ER entrance with your heart pounding in your ears.

“Who’s the president?”

Tim blinks against the harsh light above him as his surroundings come back into focus.

“Sir, can you hear me? What’s your name?”

There are people – two, from the number of hands he feels – working around him.

“I’m not concussed,” Tim groans, then immediately regrets speaking.

“You were blown up, Sergeant,” the second EMT points out. “We’re just doing our jobs.”

Tim remembers it then. The arrest should have been easy, but the San Vincente killer had wanted it to seem that way. His plan was to go out in a blaze of glory and take as many people out with him as he could, and it would have worked if Tim hadn’t seen the crude device tucked beneath the dining room table. He, Angela, and Nyla had barely managed to get out before the house blew apart behind them.

“Lopez and Harper?” Tim asks.

“Better off than you,” the first man answers. “They’ll meet you at the hospital.”

Tim falls silent for several breaths, grateful that they’re okay. “Which hospital?” he asks.

He hears the answer, thinks of the last doctor he saw in the Middle East, and loses consciousness again.

“Detective Lopez!” you call as she enters the emergency room. “Are you alright?”

She raises her fingers to her cheek, following your line of sight, and says, “Yes, I’m fine. Is-”

Before she finishes her question, two EMTs wheel Tim Bradford in on a gurney. You rush to his side and listen to their findings and opinions.

“…no sign of concussion or penetrating ballistic injuries,” they conclude.

“Got him,” you assure them as your team takes the gurney. “Thank you.”

“Take care of him!” Angela says as you push through the double doors into the treatment area.

“We’ll identify the degree of blast injuries for treatment and stabilization,” you announce.

“What comes after quinary injuries?” Tim groans.

“Nothing,” you answer, running your gloved hands carefully over his arms and legs. “No such thing as senary blast injuries.”

“I’m fine.”

“You were blown at least ten feet, Sergeant,” you argue. “There is – minimum – some contusions that we need to find.”

Tim begins to argue, but you shush him as you press your stethoscope to his chest.

“Ingest anything?” you inquire softly.

“Not that I know of,” he answers. “My wrist hurts, but otherwise, I’m just sore.”

You radio for radiology to prepare an x-ray before you lift his arm carefully. His wrist is bruising and swelling, so you assume it’s likely broken, but there are no exposed bones or blood, so it’s not a compound fracture.

“Should I prep tetanus prophylaxis?” a nurse inquires.

“No, he’s up-to-date for the last three years,” you answer without looking away from Tim’s wrist. “I’m going to stabilize this for now, Sergeant.”

“Nurse Lisa!” you call. “Can you bring the detectives in here? Thanks.”

“What are you doing?” Tim asks.

“They’re worried about you,” you explain. “They watched you get slung by an explosion; you know what that can do to people.”

Tim reaches his uninjured hand across his body to lay on your arm. He whispers, “I’m okay.”

“Your wrist is broken,” you argue. “And you still could have a minor head injury, which is why you’re getting a CT.”

“Oh my gosh!” Lucy exclaims as she enters the room.

“What are you doing here?” Tim asks.

“We heard the radio call and were nearby,” Aaron explains. “Are you okay?”

“I’d rather hear your opinion on that, doc,” Nyla requests.

“He got lucky,” you answer, setting his wrist down on a pillow before placing an ice pack over it. Tim hisses in pain, and you frown. “Aside from a probably broken wrist and a potential concussion, which would be minor based on his lack of symptoms, he should be fine after a few days of rest.”

“And his horrible facial disfigurement?” Angela asks.

Tim’s brows raise at her teasing, and he shakes his head. His hand moves to the side of the pillow, and you quietly ask that he place it back in its elevated position.

“Yeah, sorry,” Tim murmurs before looking back at his fellow officers. “What?” he asks when he sees the shocked look on their faces.

“I’ve never heard you apologize,” Aaron points out.

“Yeah, you’re acting different,” Nolan says.

“Oh!” Lucy exclaims before bouncing.

“Head trauma,” Tim reminds her.

“You’re the wife he refuses to show pictures of, aren’t you?” she asks.

“The wife is real?” Aaron inquires. “I thought it was some kind of scare tactic he used to make sure you had his six. You know like I have to get home to someone.”

“He does have to get home,” you interrupt. “And, yes, I’m Sergeant Bradford’s wife.”

“Radiology’s ready,” someone alerts from the doorway.

“He’s all yours,” you say, helping to turn the gurney as you request a CT with the x-ray. “Behave,” you tell Tim.

“You don’t all have to wait around,” Tim says.

“We’re taking your wife to dinner,” Nyla responds. “You can get an Uber when you’re released.”

You wink at him, a silent promise to be here when he returns. He knows he’ll be out of work for a few days, and if this is anything like the last time you saved Tim Bradford, you’ll be by his side until he’s healed and for a very long time.

“I’ll get you back to work as soon as I can, Mr. Bradford,” you promise. “If you listen to me, it could be even faster.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles. “I love you.”

Lucy gasps, but all Tim hears is your honest reply, “I love you more.”

Creepy, But Special

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x goth!fem!ME!reader

Summary: Tim sees a woman in a cemetery after dark and can't stop thinking about you. When he calls for the M.E. and you arrive, he gets a chance to find out more about you.

Warnings: spoilers for 5x22, r is an ME and performs an autopsy, mentions of past judgement and insults, fluff, Tim gets kinda flirty even while there's a dead body between them?

Word Count: 2.5k+ words

A/N: The request said shy reader, but she's pretty open with Tim so I didn't include it in the pairing dynamic. R is very professional with the other characters, though, so that could be considered shy, I think. And, as always, ignore the Chenford gif🤭

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

“Kojo, c’mon,” Tim urges as Kojo tugs the leash away from Tim.

Kojo has been taking his time on this walk, more of a stroll to sniff everything than a walk, but Tim is ready to get home. When Kojo returns to Tim’s side and begins trotting again, Tim rewards him with a whispered compliment: “There’s the best boy.”

As they near a cemetery, however, a cat meows inside the open gate, causing Kojo to stop again. Tim shakes his head but watches Kojo as his ears perk, and he looks into the narrow gate opening.

“No, Bazinga,” someone says from inside the fence. The cat meows again, and this time the voice - pretty voice, Tim’s mind corrects – laughs. “How are you going to do a séance if you can’t talk, Bazinga?”

Tim and Kojo step to the inside edge of the sidewalk for a better view. Tim should know better than to let his guard down here, but when he realized that the creepy cemetery cat had supervision, he needed to know more. Standing at the fence, he can see a gray blanket spread across a small clearing. You’re sitting on the blanket with a large book open across your lap. A black cat, Bazinga, presumably, roams around you before jumping onto your shoulder.

Tim can’t help but be intrigued by you. He can tell you're young in the dim light of a nearby streetlight. While he’s simultaneously drawn to you and put off by your odd choice about where you relax, Tim lets his logic win and snaps for Kojo to heel beside him. With one final glance at you, Tim leaves you in the dark but remembers your voice long after you ask your cat, “What do you think about the black cat stereotype and how well you fit into it?”

When Tim wakes the following morning, his first thought is you. Part of him wonders if he imagined you, a young woman dressed in black reading in a cemetery in the middle of the night, yet he can’t get you off his mind even as he rises and gets ready for work. Now that overtime has been approved, he has to focus on catching the masked individuals who attacked Aaron and Celina just hours after he saw you.

Once he hears Aaron and Celina’s statuses, it’s easier to forget you and your cat. When they find Roy Gracco and prepare to enter his house, Tim doesn’t even remember his previous cemetery-side walk.

Tim leads the alpha team into Gracco’s home, prepared for anything, but is surprised to find the house clear and cold.

“Drop the gun! Drop it!” he demands as he rounds a corner.

“I think he’s dead,” Nolan calls.

Tim approaches him slowly and confirms that Gracco is dead, 10-5-5.

“It’s a trap,” Nolan realizes aloud.

“Abort! Abort! Abort!” Tim yells. As he exits Gracco’s house, he radios, “Control, I need the bomb squad to the target house for a full sweep. Send the M.E. and TID out here, standing by for a priority search once the house is clear.”

“Yep, got it,” you reply to the police dispatcher.

Your work phone buzzes with a message containing the address where you’re needed. The van is prepped and ready to go, so you only grab your phone, keys, and seal-wrapped black coveralls. When you arrive at the house, dozens of police officers, crime scene investigators, and city officials are waiting.

“Sergeant Grey?” you ask as you approach him. “Has the house been cleared?”

“Almost. Bomb squad’s doing a final walk-through,” he answers. “The officers who found the body are inside and ready to assist you.”

“Dispatch said the air had been cranked down to delay decomp. Do you know if anyone touched the thermostat?”

“No. Sergeant Bradford made sure the house stayed in the same condition as how they found it.”

“Perfect.”

“All clear,” one of the bomb squad members calls as he exits. “Your people are free to enter.”

“Hold up,” Grey calls to TID. “Let the M.E. get what she needs first.”

“Thank you,” you call over your shoulder as you approach the front door.

“Hi, I’m Officer Chen,” an officer greets you as you enter. “Bradford, M.E.’s here.”

“Sergeant Bradford, I hear you preserved the scene and the body. Thanks,” you tell him as you set your bag down.

Tim doesn’t reply, too intrigued that you, a woman who hangs out in cemeteries with her black cat, is the M.E. That and your age, to be more precise.

“What’s the temperature in here?” you ask, looking up at him.

“Fifty-eight,” he answers quickly, shaking himself out of his thoughts and reminding himself not to stare.

“Fifty-eight,” you murmur as you scribble something on your paper. “Then I’m putting time of death between 1 and 2 a.m.”

“Before Aaron and Celina were ambushed,” Lucy says.

“How can you limit it to an hour?” Tim asks. Not because he’s overly interested in your method but because everything you say and do interests him. He wants to hear you talk again. To him, preferably.

“The air temperature and confinement slowed decomp but also affected the blood coagulation. Because of that, and knowing the average maintained temperature since death, I can calculate it with a bit more accuracy,” you explain.

Tim nods and looks at Lucy, who seems to know why he took a sudden interest in forensic science. He has a dozen more questions he’d like to ask you, very few of which are about the case, but you frighten Tim Bradford just enough that he falls silent to let you work.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” you say suddenly.

“Is everything okay?” Tim asks.

“Yeah, just this little guy.” You straighten and extend your hand to show Tim a moderately large spider. “There’s a web in that windowsill, he must have been confused by the temperature drop.”

You cup your hand as you walk toward the window and gently place the spider back on its web. Tim watches every little move you make, trying not to be convinced that you were in a cemetery and are still dressed in black merely because you’re creepy.

“So, based on positioning, lividity, and blood coagulation around the wound in his hand, I’m confident that my estimate of 1 to 2 a.m. today is accurate. More, I’d say that he was unconscious when both the bullets and the knife entered his body. There’s no sign of jerking or resisting, and the stiffness in his spine suggests that he’s been positioned like this for closer to a day.”

“A day?” Tim repeats. “How could he be in one position for nearly ten hours before being shot and stabbed?”

“Was he alive when he was stabbed?” Lucy inquires.

“Yes,” you answer her. “He didn’t react in any way to that pain and the lack of naturally dried blood around the wound, so he was likely already in a state of statis. His heart rate was likely low, the temperature was impeding the healing process, and, as I’m sure you know, bullet wounds don’t close on their own.”

“Then why lead us here?” Tim wonders.

“This is related to the cops that were attacked this morning?” you ask. “I heard about the riddle.”

“Is there anything else you can tell us?” Tim asks.

“I don’t think you’ll find much in this house other than him.”

“I agree.”

“If Gracco is a patsy,” Lucy interjects, “then we should be asking why him?”

“He’s a felon with a history at Mid-Wilshire,” Grey answers as he walks in.

“Sure, but there are hundreds of guys like that. So, why Gracco? Did they pull his name out of a database or is there some kind of connection?”

“You think it’s personal?” Tim asks.

“Look, if I was gonna go to the extreme of targeting police officers, why not take out some of my enemies along the way?”

“That’s gotta count as a goth point,” you murmur.

“Costs us nothing to run with that,” Grey points out. “Get back to the station, check Gracco’s known associates, family, coworkers, anyone he did time with that might hold a grudge. Run them against people that we arrested. And say a prayer while you’re at it.”

“Actually, Grey, can I escort the M.E.?” Tim asks.

You look up from your spot on the floor, and Tim looks away quickly because he suddenly thinks that in that position, you look like a cat.

“Do that,” Grey agrees. “We don’t know what we’re dealing with. Chen, Nolan and Harper are at the station and ready to assist you.”

“Yes, sir,” Lucy replies as she exits.

“Why do I need an escort?” you ask once you’re alone with Tim.

“Because we don’t know what we’re up against and I don’t want to find out the hard way that we’re closer than we think,” he answers.

You nod as you stand, then remind Tim that you have to prepare the body to take back to the morgue. He nods and steps aside, hands clasped, happy to watch you.

“Got it,” Tim says into his phone. “Pine’s got Metro mobilized; do you need me to come back?”

You pull your gloves on as Tim ends his call. He steps toward you and says, “I’m clear to stay with you.”

“Why?” you ask.

“All of our bases are covered. So, if you find something, we need to know.”

You shrug as you concede. It’s not that you don’t want Tim with you; you are confused about why a decorated Metro Sergeant would want to keep you company while you perform an autopsy.

“If you want a mask or anything, they’re in the black case behind you,” you tell him.

“Of course it’s black,” Tim muses.

“Meaning?” you inquire as you mark your incision points.

When you look toward him, Tim gestures to your outfit. You certainly don’t dress like other medical examiners. Or act like them, for that matter.

“What do you have against black?” you tease. “Or are you just jealous of the Converse?”

Tim smiles as he tips his head and replies, “I would rock some studded black Converse, right?”

“Totally. I’ll hook you up with my shoe guy. He might want to see you in the heeled version first, though.”

“So, why’d you become a medical examiner?” Tim asks as you begin the first cut in Gracco’s chest.

“What do you think?”

“Love for science?” Tim guesses.

You lift the scalpel and narrow your eyes at Tim. “Most people just assume I’d like to dig around in dead people.”

“Why? Because you wear black and pick up spiders?”

“Amongst other things.”

“What other things?”

You shake your head and argue, “You have to tell me something about you first.”

“I like the Dodgers.”

“Wow,” you drawl. “Mark me as shocked and surprised.”

“I’m a cop, there isn’t much time to do things worth telling.”

“Fine, I’ll go first but you better have something when I’m done.”

“Yeah, of course. Just, one more thing. How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven. Don’t you dare say oh, you look older, or wow, you must be smart, I really can’t take hearing that again.”

“I didn’t think you must be smart. You clearly are,” Tim replies.

“Good answer. You still want to know about me?”

Tim nods, and you tip your chin down to continue the autopsy as you speak.

“So, you can tell that I like black and spiders… I feel most alive in the fall, Halloween is my favorite day of the year. And cats! They’re much better than spiders because you can watch horror movies and Beetlejuice with them, and birds bring out their violent sides. But cats will also read witch books with you and listen to music, hang out in cemeteries. All the stuff that gets you labeled a ‘creepy weirdo’ is more fun with a cat.”

“Has someone called you a creepy weirdo?” Tim questions.

“More times than I can count. But I have another list that’s longer.”

“A list of what?”

“The coolest tattoos I’ve ever seen.”

Tim hesitates before he asks, “On dead people?”

“Some,” you admit honestly. “Most of them are on live people, though. They’re not as cool when the skin underneath isn’t moving or filled with blood.”

“Interesting.”

“Is this where you call me a creepy weirdo?” Tim shakes his head, and you add, “I guess I’ve just always felt drawn to stuff like that, and it makes me happy, so why should I care what people say about that?”

Tim leans against a table across the morgue from you as you continue to work. He asks a few questions as you work, but the autopsy is as simple as expected. Gracco was killed. There’s no additional evidence about who killed him or why, and his body is relatively clean and well-preserved.

“Sorry I couldn’t be more help,” you tell Tim as you discard your gloves. “If it was a full moon I may have been more help.”

“Because you like full moons, I assume.”

“It was actually a weak werewolf joke, but yes, I do.”

“Does Bazinga?”

You freeze beside Tim before you look up at him to ask, “How do you know my cat’s name?”

“You said it,” Tim answers.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Not today, uh… I saw you in a cemetery a few nights ago.”

“I knew there was someone out there! Bazinga thought it was a ghost.”

Tim nods, unsure of how to keep the conversation going. You both want to keep talking, but there’s something Tim can’t ask, and you aren’t sure you can answer. So, you trace the shape of a crescent moon on your wrist to encourage yourself.

“Will you go out with me?” you ask quickly.

Tim opens his mouth to answer, but you add, “You don’t have to! If I’m misreading this or you’re just being nice and really do think I’m crazy, I understand.”

“I’d love to,” Tim answers when you fall quiet. “Maybe Kojo and I could join your next cemetery picnic.”

“You don’t think that’s creepy?”

“Really creepy,” Tim answers dramatically. “But you like it, so I’d like to see why.”

“What’s your shoe size? I’ll bring you some black Converse.”

“With studs?”

“Wouldn’t you be the stud?”

Tim laughs as he follows you into your office, but his phone rings with an update from Sergeant Grey and he quickly exchanges numbers with you before he leaves. Later, you remember that you never asked who Kojo was, and the picture Tim texts in return to your question makes you smile in your lonely office.

“How nervous are you?” you ask as Tim and Kojo meet you outside the cemetery.

“Probably not as much as I should be,” Tim answers with a smile. “Just don’t tell me we’re eating with someone, uh, someone in there.”

“No, of course not.” You open the gate and joke, “We’ll ease into that.”

“Where’s Bazinga?”

“Bazinga is a cat. In the picnic basket.”

You help Tim spread your favorite blanket on the grass and join him and Kojo as you set the food out. Tim watches you and realizes you’ve never been creepy, scary, or a weirdo. You’re special and if this spot beside you has been left open for him by people underestimating or judging you, he’ll make sure you know how special you are.

Shoulder to Cry On

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader (w/ 3 y.o. daughter)

Summary: When your daughter Mia is taken hostage, Tim Bradford holds you together and offers a strong shoulder to cry on.

Warnings: child abduction, discussion of past criminal activity, r has a daughter from a previous relationship, angst to fluff

Word Count: 1.5k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Rules

Your phone rings, and you reluctantly pull your hand from Tim’s to check it. The caller ID displays ‘Unknown,’ and you send the person to voicemail.

“Everything okay?” Tim inquires. “Was that the babysitter?”

“No, everything’s fine. Where were we?”

“We were talking about your dream date.”

“I don’t remember that,” you reply with a smile. “But I think I might already be on it.”

Your phone rings again, and Tim gestures for you to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Four… hundred… thousand,” the distorted voice says slowly.

“I think you have the wrong number,” you reply.

The voice says your name, then asks, “Mother of Mia? I’ll take that sharp inhale as a yes. The price is 400 grand.”

“Price for what?”

Tim watches you with pinched brows, and you avoid meeting his eyes.

“Say hi,” the voice demands.

“Mommy,” your daughter Mia cries.

“400 grand by tomorrow night.”

Realizing that this unknown person has your daughter, you raise your wide eyes to meet Tim’s.

“What?” he asks.

“Ooh, is that the cop? Put him on,” the man on the other end of the phone demands.

You pass the phone to Tim without a word, then grip the napkin in your lap tightly. Tim doesn’t speak, but his jaw tightens with each passing second. He ends the call and then stands.

“Tim,” you whisper.

“Everything is going to be okay,” he promises, offering his hand. “Let’s go.”

You allow Tim to lead you out of the restaurant. Once outside, your chest grows heavy as an uncomfortable pressure builds behind your eyes.

“Tim, I can’t breathe,” you tell him, gripping his hand as you panic.

He turns toward you, releases your hand, and holds your eye contact. “Listen, hey, eyes on me.” When your eyes meet his, he lifts your hand to his chest and presses your palm over his heart. “Breathe with me. In… and out. Good, again. In… out through your mouth. I have no idea what you are feeling right now, but I need you to trust me. I called it in, and I’m going to the station now. We’re going to get Mia back.”

You nod quickly, keeping your hand against Tim’s steady heart as he speaks. “What am I supposed to do?” you whisper.

“Stay strong for Mia. Can you think of anyone who would do this?”

“No. I don’t… no.”

“Okay, well I know people who can find that out. Do you want to go home or come with me to the station?”

You grip Tim’s shirt as you plead, “Please don’t leave me alone.”

Tim pulls you against him and promises, “I’m not going anywhere. We’re going to bring Mia home.”

“Tim, what do you know about the father?” Angela asks. Tim doesn’t acknowledge her, staring out into the bullpen at you, where Luna Grey is consoling you. “Tim?”

“Hmm?” he hums without turning.

“Mia’s dad,” Angela says. “What do you know about him?”

“Not much. He hasn’t been in the picture, ever.”

“She hasn’t told you anything?” Nyla inquires. “No name, no complaints, just that he’s gone?”

“It’s not something I’m overly interested in, Harper.”

“You stand from your seat and rush toward Tim. He extends his arms toward you, but you press your ringing phone into his hand.

“He’s calling again,” he tells Angela.

“Answer it,” she tells you. “We’ll try to trace it.”

“Hello?” you greet.

“I’m not seeing any money,” the voice chides.

You hear Mia crying in the background and bite your lip harshly. “Where is my daughter?” you ask.

“She’s fine. Won’t stop crying, but she needs you to get me my money, understand?”

Angela shakes her head and moves her finger in a circle so you’ll keep talking.

“I don’t have that kind of money,” you explain. “Why me?”

“Because he stole it.”

You glance at Tim as you ask, “He who?”

“Mia’s father! I lost half a million because of him. I knocked a hundred grand off but if I don’t see my investment returned, I’ll make a new one.”

“I can’t get that kind of money,” you say through your teeth. “What else can I do?”

“Find a way. You have twenty hours, so find it quickly.”

The line clicks before you drop your hand away from your face. A tear tracks over your cheek, and you don’t do anything to stop it.

“No location on the trace, but I have the internet number’s information,” Angela explains. “Tech might be able to do something with it.”

“Excuse me,” you mumble.

Tim watches you walk into the restroom. He rubs his hand across his face before Lucy pushes him toward you.

“Go,” Angela encourages him. “We’ll find Mia’s dad and go from there. She needs you, Timothy.”

Tim knocks on the bathroom door as he opens it. He says your name as he steps in, but he’s only met with muted crying and sniffles.

“I can’t do this,” you whimper.

“I’m sorry,” Tim says, stopping outside your stall. “I can’t take it away, but I’ll do everything I can to get her back.”

“It was… I know it sounds bad, but I don’t know anything. He was working with someone or something, and they lost the money, and then- then he lost everything else. I don’t even know what the money was for or where he went after the fallout. He may not have realized that what they were doing was wrong.”

“It’s not your job to know all of this,” Tim reminds you. “He did something wrong, and he lost the best people I’ve ever met.”

You sniff before you begin crying again, and Tim nudges the door open. He pulls you from your slouched position against the partial wall and into his arms. Running his hand over your hair, Tim grounds you and reminds you that you’re not alone, you’re cared about and loved.

“Wait,” you say against his chest. “Did he say half a million?”

“Yeah, but he dropped it to 400.”

“I remember hearing something about the biggest ‘donor’ and they called him… it was something about a shark, like great white or… maybe it was hammerhead?”

“Mako?” Tim asks.

“Yeah, that was it.”

“He's wanted for dozens of crimes. I need to go tell Angela, but…” Tim hesitates and pulls you into a tight hug.

You carry the duffel bag filled with seized money in both hands as you approach the darkened warehouse at the Port of Los Angeles. Tim, Angela, Nyla, Nolan, and Lucy are somewhere behind you, and a Metro team is waiting for their command. After you knock four times, the door slides open, and a man dressed in black steps out.

“Where’s Mia?” you ask.

“She’s close, ready to go with you,” he answers cryptically.

“Stall him,” Angela says in your earpiece. “We’ll find her.”

“Can you- can you tell me what he did?” you ask the man.

“You really don’t know, do you? You have no idea about how many people he robbed, how many lives he destroyed.”

“No, I don’t. All I know is that he left me and my daughter, and now you’re trying to ruin our lives.”

“Fool me once.”

“But I didn’t. I had nothing to do with losing your money.”

The man barks a laugh and tries to snatch the duffel bag from you, but you step back quickly.

“Not until I know my daughter is okay,” you snap.

“She’s waiting in a Corolla on the other side of the building, ready for you to drive her home,” he says. “Money, now.”

“I’ve got Mia,” Tim says in your ear. “Metro, move in.”

You sigh in relief just before a swarm of armed officers surround you and your daughter’s abductor. They pull him away from you just as Tim rounds the corner, your daughter safe in his arms.

“Mia!” you call, running toward them.

You crash into them, wrapping one arm around Mia and the other around Tim’s waist. Mia wraps her arm around your neck and shifts her weight toward you as Tim holds you close. She rambles against you until you wipe the tears from her face.

“Are you okay, baby?” you ask.

She nods, then reaches toward Tim. He takes her hand, and Mia lowers her head to your shoulder.

“Thank you,” you whisper to Tim, standing against his side. “I love you.”

“I love you,” he replies. “You too, Mia, and I meant what I said.”

You look at Tim with your brows raised, and he whispers, “I promised a trip to the toy store and her favorite diner for milkshakes.”

Mia nods against you as you ask, “Am I invited?”

“What do you think, Mia?” Tim asks. “Can Mom come?”

“Yeah,” she answers against you. “Love you.”

“I love you so much,” you tell her.

She mumbles something, then says, “Love you, Daddy.”

You look at Tim and smile as you raise your hand to his cheek. He looks like he might cry, but he has a much better story about how Mia made him cry today.

A vox machina oneshot

Vax x reader.

The reader has a card that allows them to swap places with the intended target depending on the intention behind it. They use it on vax and take his place as the raven queens champion just as she is about to take him away. They tell vax to go be with keyleth and live a full and happy life with her Unknown to the reader vax was in love with them the whole time. The last thing they say to him is a heart felt confession on their love for him before they dissapear. I know it's an angst one but if you want to make a fluffy ending it's up to you

Enjoy! 😘

They tried. Everyone tried. Every loophole, every possible way to weasel out of this deal with the goddess of death was exploited. All of them failed. They tried and they failed. At least they tried. The only regret Vax has is they wasted plenty of time on this unsolvable problem. He knew his time was running out. Even before he realised it. He knew that time would come where she’d pull his tether and he’d have to leave everyone being. She sent him out with a purpose and that’s now completed. Not even the greatest wish could change that. Especially not now. The deal is done. Vax accepts this. It took him a while but he does. It doesn’t make it any easier though. She gave him time to say goodbye. She didn’t have to. There is yet some mercy left in the cold dead heart of the Raven Queen, some compassion still beyond that broken mask. He got to say goodbye to you. 

This can’t be the end. This is not the way. You refuse to accept this fate. For all the love in your heart, for the bleeding hearts of your friends. They need him. You need him. He cannot just slip into oblivion to serve the goddess of death for eternity because of some cruel mistake. It’s neither just nor fair. This fate is a cruel one. Fate is cruel. You know it all too well. Life deals you a hand of cards when you are born. Some are born lucky. Others are lucky to be born. Some are destined for greatness. Others are doomed from the start. For entities that pretend to be benevolent and kind, they are not far off from the tyrant claiming themself king, or the evil mage enslaving the many. It all comes down to that hand of cards. You got lucky. For all the bullshit in your life you got your hand on one of those cards and you just happen to be good at that ethereal game of sleight of hand. It’s not cheating if there’s no rules. You drew from the deck of fate and you got lucky. That luck came with a curse though because you’d always know what the gravity of that decision would mean. 

You got your hands on a card that could change fate; your fate to be specific. You may have thought about it many times but by using that twist of fate you condemn another to yours. Could you live with yourself knowing that you took something from another for your own gain? Equally, would you sacrifice yourself for anyone down on their luck and willing to take their suffering instead? You know damn well why you didn’t use this cruel trinket. But now, it resurfaces again, it burns in your palm as you walk by Vex trying to hold herself together as she pats her brother on the shoulder with some witty remark. You nearly break when he pulls her into a hug and you see her tears spill. She wipes them away before he pulls back. Vax noticed either way. You notice all of them heartbroken. You’re heartbroken too. You don’t want him to go. He holds part of your heart after all. You’ve never told him so blatantly but it’s true no less. 

You see Keyleth falling apart at the seams. Vax tries to console her but he can’t. She holds his heart. He holds hers and he’ll be taking it with him whether he intends to or not. It hurts him to know he’ll leave his friends, his family, his love so hurt with his departure. You see the effect Vax has had on their lives, all of them, on yours. You know how much he means to them and that card of fate starts to become more and more appealing. You have a chance to save someone you love. You can make a change in order for him to change the world. You can give him a chance of life by throwing away your own to the service of some god and you’d do it without a second thought. You will. You’ve already made up your mind. The only reason why you haven’t yet is because you struggle to find the right words to tell him. You don’t think you can face him with this. What would he think of you to know you could have changed a fate so easily and never did. Are you truly so selfish? Were you truly not ready to until it came down to your own pain? You can’t keep avoiding this anymore and so you slip away.

Vax notices you retreating ever so slowly. How could he not? He might be light on his feet and it takes one to know one but he’d always notice your presence or lack thereof. The air changes and so does that strange coiling feeling within him whenever you’re near. It’s quite pleasant. He’s known it for a while now but with his impending doom, he could not bring himself to give into it, to give into you knowing he’d only break you. He made that choice for you he supposes but equally so for himself. He can’t look you in the eye while he’s torn away from you. He can’t face your tears. The others, it’s already hell on Exandria facing them but were he to face you, he’d be falling apart. You’ve been strong so long. He wishes he could be as strong as you. He doesn’t have the heart for it but he too has begun to see the cracks in your armour. Something’s amiss and when he sees you slowly retreat to the back of the room, away from the conversation, away from the people until you slip outside entirely, he feels that tether pull taut and he cannot but follow. 

Vax finds you out front. There’s something in your palm, a card he realises. Just the one. It’s got a golden sheen to it and you reach out to touch it. He sees your shoulders shaking and tense. You bite your lip. That’s when you let out a muffled sob. You’re not aware he’s there. You squeeze your eyes shut and tears spill. He takes a step closer to you. 

“If you had the power to change this fate, would you?” So you had noticed his approach. He couldn’t care less. You’re hurt. Not physically but you’re hurt either way and it breaks his heart. It’s yours after all, even if you don’t know it. You quickly put that golden card back in your pocket. You wipe away your tears and let out a shaky breath. 

“What do you mean?” He questions but the look you give him implies no humour and comes with a sense of urgency. “I don’t want to go. I’d much rather stay here with you, with them but I can’t. It was a worthy sacrifice and I’d make the choice a thousand times over.

“If-uh-“ You try to find the right words but can’t even look him in the eye. “If another could take that place and you could stay, would you stay?” He thinks for a second and then grows suspicious. 

“At what cost?” You shake your head.

“I’m sorry. Forget I said anything. You shouldn’t be spending this valuable time out here with me talking about this stupid-“ 

“Hey, hey- time spent with you is never wasted. I want you here with me, for as long as I have, for as long as you’ll have me.” You feel his palm agains your cheek, raising your gaze to meet his. You see that pained but kind smile. It only solidifies your choice. You know what to do. 

“Okay.” You squeak not able to keep your voice stable and Vax just simply pulls you into his embrace. That’s the last conversation you’d have with him until that fated moment, until the true goodbye. 

The goddess had come to lay claim to her champion, to the life she’s to call hers and the servitude she’s owed. The goodbye is a harrowed one but it’s not his goodbye. You look at Keyleth holding onto Percy who does his best to console her, Vex attempting to stay strong and stoic despite the tears running down her face and noticeable the death grip she has on Pike’s hand. Scanlan’s even struggling and so is Grog. The Raven Queen holds out her hand and beckons. Vax says goodbye to you last. He holds onto your hand, brings it to his chest. There’s no words he speaks but his eyes say it all. You take a step towards him and turn so you’re interposing between himself and the goddess. The others go alert, contemplating the prospects of killing the goddess and freeing the resident rogue form this cruel pact if you make the first move. Vax holds onto your hand still as if to keep you from doing something stupid or reckless against a literal god. Little does he know. 

“I invoke the blessing I have been given. I invoke the fate that was never mine and will share the burden of it. I trade my place for his as it is the right of the hand that was dealt to me. Fate wills it so, and so it shall be.” You remember the words well. Though you have never spoken them out loud. They are like a practiced speech. You’ve played them over in your mind; the script upon that  fated golden card and when it appears in your palm it glows that bright golden like the tethers of fate and memory the Raven Queen holds so dear. It certainly peaks her interest. 

“What are you doing?” Vax asks looking between you and the goddess. You glance back over your shoulder. 

“What I should have done the very moment this curse befell you. I’m sorry I could not do it before. I hope you can forgive me. You’ll be free.” 

“You can’t do this!” Desperation and despair are the ways of the mortal worlds, of those consumed by time and whims of circumstance. They are the ways of you and him and everyone around you. 

“It’s okay, Vax. It’s okay. I’ve made my choice. They need you more than they need me. I wish you a happy life. Even if I can’t be part of it.” 

“I need you.” He sounds so small, so broken and that alone makes you almost regret. Almost. But you wouldn’t reverse it. Even if you could. 

“Your heart belongs here. With Them. With your sister. With Keyleth. My heart belongs with you but you do not need it, not like they need you. It’s a worthy sacrifice.” You take a step closer towards the goddess but Vax does not let go of your hand. He holds on. 

“That’s where you’re wrong. I love them. I love my sister, my friends, Keyleth. I love them. But I’m in love with you. I’m in love with you and I can’t let you do this.” Your heart stops right there in your chest. Your world comes apart. To have those words be spoken… You don’t even know what to do with them. You can’t breathe or speak or think for some moments. He loves you. He’s in love with you. Vax is in love with you and you’re about to leave him behind. You’ve made the right choice either way but it’s become a far more painful one now and you come to realise that’s exactly what he tried to protect you from by not mentioning before. You hate and love him for it. 

“It’s already done.” That stupid card dematerialises in a golden dust. and invisible breeze lets the dust weave into a tether to wrap around your free arm. You feel it burn and pull painfully so. You pull against the strain, toe to toe with Vax and softly place your lips against his. A final parting gift, for whom you’re unsure. “My fate is sealed. May you live a good life, Vax’ildan. May it be a long and merry one filled with love.” And that’s when you step away, in that brief moment where he lowers his guard and is forced to let you go. The golden tether pulls you in and away from him. The Raven Queen beckons you and you follow with one last glance over your shoulder, one last look at him. 

“I love you.” The final words he’ll ever hear from your lips. He’s too late to respond. You’re gone. The goddess of death is gone. His heart is gone and he’s left on Exandria broken and surrounded by his loved ones. He feels empty despite it. He doesn’t know what to do or say or think. It’s a whirlwind. 

Should I Stay or Should I Go? (Part Four)

Part One // Part Two // Part Three

Pairing: Spike x Giles!reader

Part four of four 💖

Warning: reader drinks/smokes, difficult relationship with Giles and not friends with Buffy. Fighting. Blood. Biting. Sexual reference

It had been a long night.

Spike kept swatting you away every time you started trying to talk to him about something. He was getting exasperated and you found it cute. You didn’t want to walk in silence sensing demons and vampires anymore, that game was getting tired.

He sighed, looking up at the sky exaggeratedly as you started mindlessly talking again. It was something that he usually enjoyed, always had ever since he had met you and you just poured out your thoughts to him against your better judgement. The way you were able to just talk, speak your mind in such a way that made him want to reach deeper. Know you even more.

But there was a time and a place and he was really trying to concentrate. Still, he weaved his hand in yours and squeezed as he listened.

“Don’t you get bored with the fighting? I’m getting splinters here” You moved to show him the other hand, the one brandishing the stake.

“Put the bloody thing away then. You don’t need it anyway, you’re a natural, love” he insisted, making you glow at such a high compliment. He wouldn’t compliment you on your fighting lightly.

“Well, thanks, but I’m still kinda over it. Surely it’s almost dawn?” you yawned, side-eying him to watch the characteristic eyeroll. You knew him so well now, as well as he knew himself.

“Don’t you feel it? Coursing through your veins?” He said, squeezing your hand tighter and bouncing slightly as he walked.

“Boredom?” you teased, the smile spreading across your face telling him that you had been enjoying your little hunting trip. But, really, ten demons was excessive for one night and you were starting to get cramp in your wrist from all the staking.

“The power, pet, the fight of it all”

“There’s me hoping you’d be a lover not a fighter”

“Why can’t I be both, hm?” He arched an eyebrow suggestively, his hand grazing the skin of your arm, until he reached that point on your neck that he loved so much. His thumb stroking the pulse point.

That look was in his eye again, the one from that night. You gasped as his lips caught yours, taking the stake from your hand and throwing it into the darkness. There was a need to the kiss, an urgency even though he had all the time in the world to enjoy your love.

His senses consumed by you, he couldn’t care less if a demon was in the area anymore. All he wanted to feel was you. He pressed you against the closest mausoleum, the rough brick caressing your back as you held Spike against you. You moved your hand beneath his duster, under the layers of fabric that kept his body from yours.

It had been a month. A month since you had died.

He had grazed the skin of your neck, leaving a trail of your blood. He whispered what he wanted to do. That he wanted to turn you. To have you for eternity, that was how strong his love was for you. You had nodded, not thinking and just enjoying the moment. Enjoying him.

You only realised once you had awoken, that you had made the right decision. You would have done anything for him in that moment. In any moment.

It hurt, God it had hurt. If you hadn’t already been dying it would have made you want to so badly. He cradled your form as you went limp beneath him, licking up the side of your neck at the open wound that was still leaking. You had never looked so attractive to him as his own blood collected at the corner of your mouth.

He held you for hours, whispering reassurances, promises of glory and just how good you would feel. Really, he should have buried you. It was a vampire’s rite of passage, having to claw your way out of a grave. But he had never been one for rules.

He laid you in his bed, lying beside you each day, waiting for you to arise.

When you did, you understood everything in such clarity. This is what you were meant to become. You felt like yourself, you weren’t itching for some lame evil masterplan nor were you feeling any guilt for becoming something you had been taught was disgusting and unnatural for so long.

Spike doted, he truly did. He adored you even more now that he had sired you, if that was even possible. Worshipped the ground that you walked on.

And he liked to show you at any possible moment. He liked to stay in physical contact in some way most of the time. Whether it was his hand in yours, leaning against you or kissing you as passionately as he was now. Your life was so full now, you had made friends with a couple of local demons and you sometimes even managed to convince Spike to go on double dates (very, very rarely).

You finally had a purpose. A reason to get up in the evening. All it took was the little death to make you come alive.

You and Spike made a cosy little life together, you lived fully and helped kill demons when the mood struck. You felt like you were doing good, even if it was in a kind of morally grey way. You knew that Giles would never be proud of you, but you couldn’t find it in your to care as much as you did when you were living.

As Spike slid his hand beneath your waistband, his hands sizzling against your skin despite you both being room temperature, your kisses getting sloppier as you mumbled against his lips. You adored this man. His lips. His hands. His everything…

You moaned against his skin, fully wrapped up in him.

Until, of course, you were interrupted in the usual Sunnydale way. You had missed the sound of footsteps, beating hearts and panting breath.  You had missed the scent, the urgency and fear that could now be smelled in the air.

“Y/n! I’m glad we found you”

“Y-you are?” You said, managing to drag yourself from Spike’s touch, ignoring Xander’s eyes dropping to where Spike had just removed his hand from. He was stood with Anya looking

“Can’t a man have any sodding privacy around these parts?” Spike grumbled, showing his hands in his pocket and daring Xander to say something about what he had seen with that smirk that you loved so much.

You focused on trying to look human. You blinked probably more than was normal and stook irregular and strange breaths. It was funny how easily you could have forgotten something that had once been so normal.

You stared at them, more specifically at their necks. Beating and full of life. It made you hungry. Ravenous. You gripped Spike’s arm, feeling your fangs threatening to elongate as the human spoke animatedly about something.

Oh, right, you were meant to be listening.

There was (another) apocalypse on the horizon. An evil force that had been exploding people from the inside. Demons and humans alike. It was like a parasite, once you were infected it lived inside you, making a home until it was ready to ‘hatch’, leaving the host exploding into pieces.

It was pretty grim, even by Sunnydale standards and even Anya looked scared. A little impressed, but still scared.

“What am I supposed to do about it?”

“There’s some prophetic-prophecy thingy that mentions you”

“Me?”

“Well, sort of. G-man can explain. Let’s go”

“Hold on, what makes you think we want to help you losers?”

“The world is ending here, and I’m human and mortal and I don’t want to die and we haven’t got time for tantrums” Anya spiralled and Xander comforted her. It was clearly serious. You and spike looked at each other for a moment.

“One condition. Spike comes too.”

It was awkward to say the least. There was something written about the one that ends a Watcher lineage having ‘potential’. Some sort of dormant power that needed releasing. You had to say some words or shake a stick or something that would cause immunity from the parasite. You weren’t listening too closely you were just waiting for instructions.

You had half hoped it was just some excuse so that your father could talk to you. Perhaps reconcile. But when you arrived it was clearly not the case. They had invited you in, thankfully, and you sat in the corner with Spike.

You stared across the room, your father brewing a hot drink for the group who looked like they all needed something a bit stronger. They had all been told that the world was ending, after all.

As if he had read your mind, Spike slid a flask from the inside pocket of his duster, a glint in his eye as he poured the liquor into each of your mugs. Your father either didn’t notice or chose to turn a blind eye due to the nature of the situation.

They discussed the situation well into the night. Each of them eyed Spike suspiciously and your Dad flat out glared every time Spike so much as looked in your direction.

It was getting late but neither you or Spike was tired. You had always been one to stay up late so it wasn’t unusual to your father. He took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes.

“Do you have any snacks?” You asked, moving to look through the cupboards. You and Spike were going to watch movies until everyone else went to bed and you could sneak out for some blood. You had settled on some sort of comedy, with lots of blood and guts.

“Oh! You have a full box of these!” You exclaimed, they were your favourite snack, grabbing them and fighting the box to get it open. He had kept them in the cupboard, in case you ever returned.

“You did, ah, always like them when you were a child” Giles said smiling wistfully. It really wasn’t like him to come over all nostalgic and soft. They might take away his British citizenship if he wasn’t careful.

Your father stayed for another twenty minutes before he left for bed, looking at you and wishing you a good sleep before he went. He had missed you, even if you did make some terrible choices.

You had mostly been camped in your old room for the last couple of days. It had been taken over by stacks and stacks of books since your departure. You had insisted that Spike stayed and seeing as you were helping the Scoobies out they reluctantly allowed you both to stay. You had been grumbling about the state of your old room and Spike reminded you that last time he was here he was sleeping in the tub, so it was somewhat of an upgrade. Willow skipped in that morning to see you.

“Let’s go to the espresso pump, it’s a nice day and I have something I wanted to tell-”

“No. Thanks” You said firmly. Willow had wanted to tell you about Tara, she knew you would be supportive.

“Just go, Y/n, we don’t need you here every hour of the day. Just be on call for when we need you” Your father had walked in behind Willow, eyeing Spike with disdain.

“No, really, I’m good. Thanks, though”

“Come on, some light will do you good” Willow insisted, trying to draw back the curtains. You propelled yourself forward to try and stop her but Spike just braced himself and moved out of the way.

You screamed. It wasn’t exactly your finest moment. But the pain was terrible, it felt as if your skin was being cooked. Bubbling beneath the surface.

Everyone ran in from the other room, shocked and confused as you dived behind your old bed to hide from any stray sunlight.

“You’re-”

“Dead? Yeah”

Buffy didn’t think she just launched herself at you, leaving you reacting instinctively and kicking her in the stomach from your spot on the floor. Leaving her reeling backwards into a stray stack of books, not actually expecting you to be as strong as you were.

Xander caught Buffy and Spike immediately got to his feet and struck the Slayer on her jaw before howling in pain at the chip firing in his head.

“I’m, ow, I’m- I have a soul!” You shouted and everyone just stared at you.

“How?” You father asked, staring at you as if you were a museum exhibit. You could have made something up, some heroic story but you doubt any of them would have believed you anyway. You knew you had a reputation for being a bit of a slacker.

“You liar! You don’t have a soul” Anya stated. She would have been able to see it in your eyes.

“Worth a shot” You shrugged trying your best to stick to a defensive stance.

Giles turned to Spike, rounding on him and pinning him against the wall. Spike had killed his child. And turned you into something evil. You ran to pull him off your love, Giles staring at your strength and seeing a passion that he had never seen you display before. You cared about Spike. Truly.

“Look, Dad, I’m sorry. I know I’m all dead now and I’m probably not exactly what you envisioned but I’m powerful now and I can fight demons the way you always wanted me to.”

“I don’t suppose you believe that this cancels out the numerous killing of innocents?”

“I’m, uh, joining Spike on an animal diet. It’s only fair seeing as he can’t eat proper- uh, the other way around” You insisted, though this hadn’t been entirely true. But they didn’t need to know that.

Spike just stared at your Dad, his face unchanged. The amount of times the vampire had wanted to rip Giles’ head off for the way he treated you. But he had let him get a few blows in, because he knew it would still upset you if he hurt your Dad.

There was a silence for a while. Everyone exchanging glances. Finally Buffy nodded and walked towards you, reaching out her hand to you. Waiting for you to shake. A truce. An agreement.

Buffy leaned in, warning you that the moment she caught you killing or doing something immoral you would be dust.

You didn’t feel particularly evil. Or particularly good. You were happily between the two, basking in the grey area that you had always figured existed for demons. Now you knew it was true. And would try and prove it every day to the Slayer and your father.

You had hoped for a happier ending with your father. He barely tolerated your presence. But, you supposed it was better than the alternative: matching piles of dust. You and Spike had gone back to the crypt, so as not to tempt anyone to kill you both in your sleep. But you had still committed to visiting Giles one evening a week to discuss the prophecy and to spend time with him. You had just left and Spike was waiting for you at the end of the drive.

His face always softened when he saw you, his love for you deepening by the day. You felt a little sad. You hid it from Spike the best you could, smiling at the way he doted on you. Waited to walk you home to your shared crypt.

He reached for you, pulling you into an embrace. He wrapped his arms around you, inhaling deeply, enjoying your scent. It was as if he could feel the sadness radiating off you, though. You were clinging to him a little tighter. Hiding your face against him.

“Sod this” Spike said suddenly, pulling away.

You frowned, “The hug?”

“No love” he replied, having already taken his hand in yours and began leading you at pace through the streets of Sunnydale until you reached his car with the blacked out windows and he gestured for you to get in.

“Where are we going?”

“Far” He shrugged, opening the passenger side door for you.

“We can’t go. I can’t let them die, Spike. Even though I would probably quite enjoy it.” He grinned, pressing a kiss against your temple before you slid into the seat.

“Thought about it, when I visited LA last Angel had an ex-Watcher working with him. I wager they’ll figure it out before any real damage is done” He shrugged sitting beside you and starting up the car.

Wesley. You had forgotten about him. You suppose he had ended his Watcher lineage too if he was no longer in the role.

Spike was, as you had once claimed, quite astute. And he could tell you needed a change of scene. He hated to see you sad. This should be one of the best times, learning to hunt and enjoy the darker side of life. He wanted to show you a whole new underworld, one that he knew you would thrive in.

You didn’t need any crappy jobs, no “success” as defined by your father. You had power. Had love. Had a way to contribute. You could actually fight the demons now rather than cower in the corner and let Spike deal with the threat.

You watched him as he pushed a cassette tape in and started slamming the wheel to the beat and banging his head.

You lit up a cigarette, not able to stop yourself from smiling wide. As you passed the Sunnydale sign, you felt free. For the first time in a long time you felt lighter. With Spike by your side, with all the possibilities that came with your new powers.

You drove towards the sunrise, cigarette smoke curling in the air and the music blasting. You couldn’t help smiling as he slid a hand to rest on your thigh.

You felt happy. Real happiness. You felt a flutter of excitement in your dead heart.