S1 EP6

"Alright," Tim cleared his throat, "We're serving a search warrant. You see door hinges?"

Grey had assigned them a warrant from Burglary that had not been resolved from the night before. They now walked down the quiet hallway in the shady-looking apartment building, making their way to their search. Ollie surveyed the doors by her two sides, noticing the hinges on the outside of the apartments. "The door opens outwards towards us."

"And what's a 'fatal funnel'?" the T.O. continued quizzing.

"The first three feet in any doorway," Ollie responded again.

"Not bad," Tim peered over at her, "Here's the real test. Of all the things Burglary told us about our suspect LeShawn Halvorsen, what's most important?"

"Uh... History of fighting with the police?"

"Wrong. This guy's been served seven search warrants, spent half his life on parole."

The rookie started to think for a second. "So, he's been searched a lot," she stated, and the T.O. nodded.

"Exactly. He knows what doesn't work, so to find his stash, you'll have to think like a crook. Can you do that?"

"Yes," Ollie answered swiftly, familiar with all the nooks and crannies she watched her mother hiding her stash in. But instead, she received a doubting stare from her T.O. "You don't think I can? I have years of experience under my belt."

"I think you know the spots where your mom would hide her drugs. Serial burglars like LeShawn are different. And to be a great cop, you got to learn the difference," Tim clarified as they stopped in front of their suspect's apartment, "Hinges?"

"Inside," Ollie answered, drawing her gun as she took her position on the side of the door.

Tim pounded on the door of LeShawn's residency. "Police," he called out, "Open up, LeShawn." The officers received no response other than loud, ear-blasting music.

"What's an acceptable amount of time to wait before we bust in?" Ollie asked in all seiousness.

Tim only paused for another two seconds before he kicked the door in; a crash sounded as it flung open.

Ollie sucked her breath at the sight of LeShawn, who was out cold on the floor after getting knocked down by the door. "Talk about timing..."

"That had to hurt," Tim bluntly replied.

➤

They had cuffed LeShawn to a chair when he was still unconscious, and the T.O. instructed her to conduct the search as their suspect woke up. Ollie was flipping over couch seats and wire piles to search the place.

LeShawn leered when Ollie bent down to look under the couch. "Yo, lady cop, you can search my place all day."

Tim followed his line of sight — realising he was checking her out — and heavily smacking the back of the suspect's head. "Get up. Face the wall before I snatch the other eye out of your head," he barked, yanking LeShawn up from the chair and then hauling him to face the wall, "You need to learn some respect."

Tim glanced over to the rookie, who was still by the couch. "Okay, come on, Officer Marshall. I thought you'd do better with your experience."

Ollie let out a frustrated groan, her nose itching from the accumulated dust. "You know how many times I found—" she sneezed, "—found opioids under the couch back then?"

Tim sighed, "You ever heard of the DEAR method? D-E-A-R?" he asked, and the rookie shook her head in response. "There are four principles of concealment. First is deception, D. Deception shows you one thing when it's really something else."

Ollie watched as her T.O. opened the refrigerator and took out a soda can. He unscrewed the top of the can, showing her that it was a hiding place. However, it turned up empty.

"E is for elusive. What appears to be nothing is actually something."

Tim gestured at the vent behind her, and Ollie crouched next to the lamp, pulling off the vent cover and finding another canister. Empty again. The rookie sneezed again.

"A for access. Things hard to get to— high places, low places. Which brings us to R. R is for repulsive. Toilets, garbage, porn collection, anything that makes you want to puke makes a crook want to hide things there," he concluded.

"That's mortifying," the rookie winced.

Tim held his hands by his waist. "You might want to glove up," he started, "Saw a box of sex toys in the master bedroom, and don't forget the toilet. Search before you flush."

"Wait, wait, wait— Why do I have to be R? I-I don't wanna be R," the rookie stammered at the T.O. in horror, "Why can't I be E or something? I'll search the vents...?"

"And have you sneezing out all your germs?" Tim raised a brow at her, unamused.

Ollie looked at him hopefully. "Yes...?"

"No. Glove up."

➤

"The hell?"

Tim lifted his eyes from the pile of stolen objects on the table to the rookie, who was glaring daggers at him with a look of revulsion. "What?"

"I've been..." Ollie gulped in disgust, "I've been digging through Caligula's toy chest for a solid twenty minutes, and you've... you've had that the whole time?!"

"Well, not the whole time. It took me three or four minutes," Tim shrugged, still poking at the stolen jewellery. "You find anything?"

"Yeah— f-filthy, filthy things," the rookie shuddered, snapping the gloves off her hands, "Lost something, too— my will to live."

Tim watched her amusedly with a grin on his face.

➤➤➤

Ollie stumbled into the empty chair by the food truck, where Lucy, Jackson and John were already at. "Bradford had me search through a suspect's sex toys and toilet when we were serving our search warrant," she blurted out, in need of an outlet to rant.

Her words received disgusted groans and protests around the table.

"I think I lost my appetite," John claimed, placing down his half-eaten burger.

"I lost mine when I realised he doesn't wash them..."

"Ollie!" Jackson and Lucy howled out in unison, both of them sensing the repulsion creeping up their skin.

The woman in question slumped on the table in defeat. "Anyone of you got a good shift so far?"

"Remember Jeremy Hawke's, one of the guys who trained us in the Academy?" Jackson was first to share, setting down his fork. "I got a domestic disturbance report to his house."

Lucy placed down her smoothie in surprise. "The guy who always looked at us like he hated our existence?" she recalled, "That Hawke?"

"Come on, he's not that bad," John opposed, earning scowls from the three other rookies.

"Only because you're his age," Ollie deadpanned, "No offence."

"Anyways, his wife described assault among other things," Jackson resumed, reaching for tissues, "I'm still waiting on Grey to tell us how to proceed." The rookies frowned at the mention of it, especially about someone who used to be a mentor of some sort to them.

"Well, Bishop and I found a man in another man's trunk— kidnapped and alive," John inputted.

Ollie narrowed her eyes at each of them, then threw her hands in the air frustratingly. "Why did I have to dig through—"

"Stop!"

➤➤➤

"7-Adam-19, we are on intercept course with Hawke's truck, three blocks out and closing."

The afternoon had them all assigned to a case involving a fugitive cop that the rookies knew from their academy days. It had been an intense case so far, and an added case involving a disposed phone and a snatched son, their chase was becoming exponentially challenging.

And just moments ago, Captain Andersen gave them permission to pit Hawke's vehicle despite his son being in it.

"Is it even safe for Hawke's kid?" Ollie questioned out loud.

"Hawke thinks we've fallen back into tracking mode," Tim stated, "He doesn't know we blocked the streets, turned the lights green to funnel him towards us. He won't see the roadblock coming. To him, it looks like we've fallen back."

"Won't all the green lights look suspicious?"

"He won't notice," he assured, "What appears to be nothing, remember?"

Ollie huffed. "E for elusive," she recited, looking over at him, "You've got a tactic for any situation, don't you?"

Tim nodded. "Maybe."

"Okay..." Ollie narrowed her eyes at him, "What if you get robbed at gunpoint?"

"Easy, deception. I carry an empty wallet. If I ever got robbed, I'd drop my fake, pull my piece, and good night, nurse."

"Where do you keep your money, then?"

"Money clip behind my belt," Tim replied, and Ollie snorted at his answer. "What?"

The rookie shook her head. "You're... interesting."

Tim frowned at her. "Are you calling me weird?"

"Hey, your words, not mine," the rookie put up her hands in surrender, still pressing down a snort.

Tim rolled his eyes as he picked up the radio. "Get ready. It's going down," he told her before calling into the radio, "7-Adam-19, about to intercept. Make sure you block him in."

"7-Adam-15, copy," John's voice replied, but after a few seconds, the radio cackled again. "He just did a hard left turn. It's like he knows what we're gonna do."

"The S.O.B. must still have his radio."

➤➤➤

The case ended in a mall chase, with Hawke leaving his son behind for the kid's safety before running off again. With a combined effort of four officers — Tim and John taking on Hawke in a fistfight but getting defeated instead — Bishop and Ollie teaming up to pepper spray then taze him, Hawke was finally apprehended.

The bar was crowded, just like any other day. Tim was sitting alone by the counter with a bottle of beer when a hand tapped on his shoulder from behind.

"How's it like getting your ass kicked by an ex-cop who trained you?"

He whirled around, rolling his eyes when he saw his rookie smiling at him, her face full of mockery. "It was nothing."

"You were wheezing," Ollie reminded bluntly.

Tim rolled his eyes back at her. "Drink?"

Ollie contemplated for a moment, at last shaking her head. "Not today. I'm just here to pick up my order," she explained just as a waiter came out with her bag of food. "Thanks," she smiled at the man, who hastily handed her a folded piece of serviette before hurrying off.

She unfolded it carefully, finding a phone number written on it. "Well, getting hit on in a bar is a cliché but isn't a first."

Tim, who had leaned over curiously to peek, cocked a brow at her. "Are you going to call?"

"Maybe," she murmured, her eyes flickering to him, "Should I?"

"Well—" Tim was caught on his words.

Ollie watched him amusedly. "You don't think I should," she mused, but he just shrugged back. "Come on. What?"

"That guy looks barely twenty," he eventually blurted out, "You can do so much better."

Ollie looked back over to the waiter who, sure enough, looked hardly legal to drink. "Eugh," she rolled her eyes in defeat.

"What did you get?" he asked again, gesturing at her bag.

"Just fries, but their one with cheese is hella good. Best in town," she claimed, picking a fry out of the bag and holding it up to his face. "Try it."

Tim was reluctant at first, but he ultimately gave in and accepted the bite; Ollie smirked when watching his eyes light up at the snack. "Okay, yeah. Mm-hmm," he nodded in agreement.

"Alright, I'll get going," Ollie spoke, packing her food back in the bag. "Night, Tim."

"Good night."

Tim sat by the counter a while longer, even ordering himself a basket of fries to snack on.

Eventually, when he decided to retire for the night and flagged for his bill, he reached to his back and found— a piece of paper?

Tim furrowed his brows as he unfolded it twice, reading the note:

Looking for your money clip??
Try washing the dishes instead
GLOVE UP

The last line was triple-underlined; Tim shook his head, but he found himself smiling contently at the rookie's trickery.

➤➤➤

S1 EP7

Tim stood by the armoury with his arms folded above his chest, waiting impatiently for his rookie to show. "Boot, do I need to wait any longer?" he called out when he spotted Ollie rushing in from the garage to retrieve their gear.

"Sorry, sorry. The battery was dead. They had to find us another shop," the rookie explained hastily, hauling the bags over her shoulder, "And then I had to put gas in it— but we're ready to roll now."

"You know, when I was a rookie, I got here two hours before roll call to get the best shop from motor pool, re-wash it, and load the gear."

"So, you were a teacher's pet, huh?"

The T.O. glared at her, causing her to chew down her words at once. "This isn't story time, Boot. I'm reminding you how easy you have it."

"Yes, sir. Thank you for your service, sir," Ollie replied with a hint of sarcasm that did not go unheard by the training officer. Definitely liked you better when you've had a beer or two, she mumbled under her breath.

"What's that?"

Crap, crap, crap—

"Officer Bradford, Sergeant Grey wants to see you in his office," an officer called for him, saving the rookie from what might have been a disastrous morning.

"Get the shop set up," Tim glared at her again, "I'll be right back."

Ollie retrieved their shotguns from the kit room officer before heading to the garage with their equipment. She opened the trunk with a swift pull, setting the two guns in it before removing the war bags strapped over her and dropping them into the trunk. She closed the rear of the patrol car, then circled the vehicle to inspect for any possible damage — even the slightest scratch of paint — in case Tim's bad mood extended to details like so just to mess with her.

Where is Tim?

After being satisfied with her inspection, she returned to the station to search for her T.O., who should have been barking more orders and giving more tests by now.

Ollie found Tim sitting alone in the briefing, looking... adrift, unlike his bossy demeanour just five minutes ago. She knocked on the glass before peering in. "The shop is set. Are we, uh, heading out?" she asked, but his eyes stayed fixed on the floor. "Sir?"

He lifted his head slightly when she called for him again, turning to look at the rookie, but his attention was grabbed by the situation in the background instead. Ollie followed his gaze, her eyes widening when she saw Isabel getting escorted into the station with two detectives on either side.

➤➤➤

"But she doesn't own a car. Did they check the registration?"

Tim sighed as they continued their patrol duty. "No. Doesn't matter. D.E.A. had the car flagged for a distribution network, and she was behind the wheel," he shook his head, "They found individually wrapped packets of four grams in the car, which means what?"

Ollie peered over at the T.O. behind the wheel, dumbfounded that he still had it in him to quiz her. "Possession with intent to sell," she answered.

"The fact is, she's in deep with some heavy dealers," Tim added despairingly.

"But... she's not a dealer, right?"

Tim's gaze remained ahead on the road as he exhaled heavily. "I don't think I even know, at this point."

The rookie nodded silently. "I'm sorry to hear."

"Yeah. I'm sorry, too."

➤

Ollie tugged a man against his arm, guiding him out of the garage after they had arrested him for 'indecent exposure', as declared by the T.O. "Isn't public urination usually a citation?" Ollie asked as they entered the booking area.

"You need to brush up on your California Penal Code," Tim remarked, "Section 314. Indecent exposure is a misdemeanour subject to six months in jail."

"Indecent exposure requires an offended party."

"Plenty of offended families living in the apartment building across that alley."

The rookie grumbled. "That'll never stick, but sure, I'll start processing," she muttered to herself, cuffing the man against one of the benches. She lifted her head again to see him staring at the cell where Isabel was held. "Hey, I'll give you a shout if I see the detectives," she offered.

"Thanks."

Tim called the holding officer over to unlock the cell Isabel was in, and he went in to speak with her. Ollie observed their exchange through the window in the booking area; Tim stood close to the door while Isabel fidgeted on the bench inside the holding.

After a few more words, Isabel got up from the bench and stepped towards him, looking desperate and guilty; Tim was rigid on his feet, looking rather defensive.

Please. Please.

That was the only word Ollie could make out through the window, but it was the only one she needed to know to gauge what was happening in the cell.

"Mommy, why do you never go to the doctor? You are sick," Ollie had asked once when she was ten, lying on the bed with her mom.

"Mommy's fine, baby," her mom had insisted, mustering a weary smile at the child. Ollie had noticed her growingly thin-out face over the past few months, but her mom had always been adamant that she was doing just fine.

Sometimes, the response was an annoyed holler with a thrown plate; other times, it was a compelling smile on a gentle face. That week, her mom had been consistent in tucking her into bed and reading her a bedtime story, even cuddling her. Kid Ollie had believed that her mom was going to be better from there onwards, so she finally dared ask the question again.

"But you are sick, Mom," Ollie said again, freeing herself from her mom's hold as she sat up on the bed. She looked back to the woman, who had now shut the picture book and placed it on the ground. "Mommy, the doctor can—"

"Will you just shut up about it?!" her mom snapped, causing Ollie to flinch backwards in fright. "Oh, baby, I'm so sorry," she said again when she saw her child's watering eyes, "Please forgive Mommy, okay, baby? Please?"

Ollie's face was pulled back against the woman's chest, the latter caressing her head softly. It was supposed to be a comforting moment, but instead, the ten-year-old's mind filled with terror as her mom's coo repeated like a mantra in her head.

Please. Please.

When Tim finally exited the holding cell, he found the rookie staring back at him with her jaw tight. But before he could approach her, Ollie spun on her feet and headed away.

➤➤➤

"Ollie, Ollie, Ollie!" Jackson beamed as the woman got out of the locker room with a bag slung over her shoulder. "There's this sushi place three blocks down that I've been dying to try," he slung her arm, "Lucy's stuck overtime 'cause Avery wants her finishing up her paperwork, and John's with Ben. So, you want to come with me? I'll buy dinner."

"Jacks, I..." Ollie looked over at her friend, an apologetic smile making its way onto her face.

"You're turning me down, too," Jackson sighed weakly.

"I'm sorry," Ollie huffed, "Tonight's... I'm just not in the right mind to. Sorry."

Jackson frowned at her weary look, giving her a hug before she could protest. "Is everything alright?"

Ollie hummed in his embrace, shrugging lightly in response. "I hope so," she murmured, "It's not me, though. You don't have to worry."

"Oh," Jackson looked at her again, tilting his head curiously. "Tim?" he speculated, "I heard his wife is getting charged for possession with intent to sell. Is that true?"

The woman sighed as they exited the station; he accompanied her to her car. "To an extent."

"Hey," Jackson stopped her before she got into her car, "Be careful."

"I'll be fine. I'm not running into a gunfight or anything."

"I know. I mean, be careful here," Jackson tapped the side of her temple, mirroring her worried look. "You've dealt with enough addicts for a lifetime, 'kay? Don't attach yourself to another one."

"I got it, Jacks. Thank you," Ollie nodded, offering him a smile, "I will say yes to sushi tomorrow, though."

"Deal!"

➤

Ollie had skipped a free meal from Jackson to be here. On a dark road. Leaning against her car. Tapping her foot anxiously.

She had hoped for the best and expected the worst— which compelled her to drive mindlessly back to the apartment that flushed her with her unpleasant memories of an addict mother.

Tim's car was parked outside the building; she had hoped not to find him there. But he was here, and she was not leaving until she... What was she going to do? Talk sense into him? Yell sense into him? Pull another traumatic tale out of her magic hat with hopes of intimidating him with it?

Ollie did not plan that far.

Was she overstepping? Who knows, who cares. One thing she was certain of is that she was not going to let another person she cared about fall off the cliff.

Quiet footsteps revived her attention, and she turned back to see Tim pulling the hood of his jacket off his head, looking relatively startled at her presence. "What are you doing here?" he questioned, sounding more furious than confused.

"Listen to me, at least for this once. If you help her, it's gonna leave an imprint on you forever," Ollie got straight to the point, shoving her hands into her pockets. "I will leave and pretend I've never seen you tonight, but I just wanted to remind you that you're a good cop, Tim," she took in a breath, "Please don't ever change that."

Tim stared at her, still looking tense and mad. Ollie merely shook her head and left.

➤➤➤

They met again the morning after in the station; the rookie really acted as if she was not there to reprimand his actions when they met for roll call. It was both fascinating and worrying to him, how she so thoroughly distinct two sides of herself.

What depth is she hiding? Tim could not help but wonder.

"Hey, I got some bad news," Grey stopped the T.O. and rookie pair, who were on their way to the armoury.

Tim sighed. "Can't be worse than yesterday."

"See, I'm afraid it can," Grey noted, "Detectives executed a search warrant on your wife's apartment this morning. They found a kilo hidden in the heating unit. She's with her lawyer now. I'm sorry, Tim."

Tim merely nodded as Grey walked away.

"Hey, I'm glad you did the right thing," Ollie spoke now, looking at him with a smile.

"Not for Isabel," he replied flatly with his head lowered.

"Well..." the rookie cleared her throat, a glimmer of a smirk surfacing; the T.O. was not looking forward to her forthcoming antics. "I'm proud of you," she crooned.

Tim snapped her head to the woman, who was beaming at his scowl. "Get the war bags, Boot."

"Sir, yes, sir."