S1 EP15

"We're all gonna die. Right here. Right now."

Ollie leaned towards Jackson with a whisper. "Damn, she's good," she said, observing as Jessica Russo role-played a suicide bomber.

"I know, right?" Jackson whispered back.

"This bomb is packed with C4, ball bearings, screws, broken glass," Jessica lectured the group of police gathered around her, "When this thing goes off, this whole room is gonna turn into a blender. And guess what? If you don't die instantly, you're gonna suffer fatal, secondary infections because I soaked the shrapnel in my own filth."

"Okay, now that's a disgusting image," Jackson grimaced; Ollie, too, shuddered next to him.

"Now, you've all been taught to shoot on sight when you see a bomber, right?" Jessica continued, "But you can't shoot me, because I'm holding a dead man's switch. I let it go, it detonates. So, your only shot at survival is to talk me into giving up. But— you only have ten words to do it," she pointed at Jackson, "Go."

Jackson stammered a little as he took a step forward. "U-Um, ma'am, y-you don't want to do this—"

"Boom. It's a slaughterhouse in here," Jessica cut him off, turning to Lucy, "Go."

"Uh, my name is Lucy Chen, and—"

"Boom. They're I.D.-ing you through dental records," Jessica interjected again, now turning to Ollie. "Go."

Ollie opened her mouth in an attempt to speak, but no words left her throat, leaving her to resemble a fish in water. What am I going to say to avoid getting blown up? But her pondering may as well have cost her hypothetical life.

"Boom!" Jessica whirled over to Tim instead, who had tried to lunge towards her to grab the detonator in her hand. "You just got buried in a shoe box."

John took a step forward. "I can only imagine the pain you're feeling right now," he started. And this time, Jessica turned to him interestedly.

"You just got ten more words."

➤➤➤

"Okay, so what did you all do wrong?" Jessica asked, now standing in the briefing room without the fake bomb vest attached to her. "Officer West started mansplaining. Officer Chen wasted time by introducing herself. Officer Marshall failed to form words while Officer Bradford decided to skip words altogether."

"They're overrated," Tim cut in unamusingly. "If I'd been a hair quicker, you'd be singing my praises."

"But you weren't," Jessica clarified, wandering over to the back of the room, "So that means you fall into the 'fail' category with everybody else except Officer Nolan. What did he do right?"

"He expressed empathy," Bishop inputted.

"You mean he faked it," Tim muttered bitterly.

"It doesn't matter if it was real," Jessica interjected, "The only thing that matters is how it comes across."

John perked up. "Active listening plus empathy leads to a rapport, which leads to influence and ultimately behavioural change."

Jessica nodded at him impressively. "Wow, you read my book."

"Twice."

The training officers at the back shook their heads with rolling eyes; the rookies were still listening absorbedly to the woman.

"Oh. Okay, well, I read your file," Jessica told him with a light chuckle, "Actually, I read all of your files, but, um, nothing in your past indicates an ability to communicate with people like that. So why do you think that you're so good at it?"

John paused for a second. "Because of the training I received from Officer Bishop and Sergeant Grey."

Jessica stared back at him with a deadpan. "Boom," she mimicked the action of pressing a detonator. "You just betrayed our trust by giving me a political answer. Our rapport is ruined, and this room is now a horror movie.

➤➤➤

Ollie and Lucy headed alongside each other to the armoury, where the two other rookies were all lining up to retrieve their warbags. While Jackson was immersed in a conversation with the kit room officer, the two women caught John peering into Grey's office, where Jessica was.

Lucy sent Ollie a curious look as they walked up to the two men.

"She's pretty impressive, huh?" Lucy asked.

John nodded slowly. "I'll say."

Jackson glanced over at the group of rookies with furrowed brows. "Uh, why didn't you tell me she wrote a book about her years on the FBI's hostage rescue team?" he interjected. "I would've been so much better prepared."

The three other rookies shared an amused look. "Actually, how did you not know about it?" Ollie raised a brow back at him. "You know, Academy Jackson would've been all over that."

"Yeah, Officer Jackson is clearly slipping," Lucy chipped in with a smirk.

Jackson shook his head unamusingly. "Okay, no, I'm not."

"Wouldn't matter if you read it or not," John shrugged instead, "I'm simply better than you."

"Oh, okay," Jackson scoffed with a chuckle, "Look, well, I think that she is full of crap. I spent summer vacations running hostage scenarios, and I always beat my brother and saved the hostage. Dad said it was a gift."

Lucy snorted. "Dad shoulda sent you to camp," she announced loudly.

A commotion by their side caught their attention, sending all four rookies to snap their heads towards the bullpen at once. They spotted several other officers hastening through the space, all appearing to be in a rush.

"What's going on?" John called out when they saw Bishop and Lopez following the rushing line of cops.

"Prison transport crashed, loaded with convicts from the courthouse," Bishop notified them hastily, "Come on."

Ollie and Lucy hurriedly walked up to the kit room immediately after Jackson and John left. Tim and Avery were already hollering for them in the distance.

"Get that gear, Boot. Let's go!"

➤➤➤

"7-Adam-19, almost on site."

"Negative. We have at least seven fugitives at large in surrounding neighbourhoods. Start a grid search. Coordinate with 7-Adam-13, 18, and 26."

Ollie shared a look with Tim in the driver's seat as she set away the radio in their shop. Eyes were peeled in search of orange jumpsuits on the streets while they scoured the neighbourhood.

"You hesitated this morning," Tim broke the tensed silence in the air.

"When?"

"Negotiating with a suicide bomber."

Ollie let her gaze shift momentarily to him. "Well, I haven't got to find the right words, and then you butted in with a surprise attack," she attempted.

"As a cop, there's no avoiding situations like this. Doesn't matter if you're negotiating with a bomber or making a tricky call," the T.O. stated, sparing her a glimpse. "So whether you're slow in 'finding the right words', or that plain clothes day gave you a confidence blow, you need to be more proactive and trust your instincts."

"Yes, sir..." the rookie's voice was low, taking in the truth in his words.

There was no point in trying to excuse her way out of this, he already looked right through her anyway.

Just as she glanced down the next junction, she spotted a man in an orange jumpsuit darting around the corner of the street. "There!" Ollie pointed hurriedly, picking up the radio again, "7-Adam-19, in pursuit of fugitive suspect, heading North on Maple."

Right as Tim skidded the turn up at the crossroad, their suspect pulled out a gun — from god knows where he even got one — and started firing at their shop. "Down!" Tim shouted while drifting their patrol car to a stop.

Ollie could hear the gunshots getting closer as she ducked down away from the windows. Tim's side of the window had been shattered, and the bullets were lodging against their seats. Tim remained calm; once their suspect moved close enough to their shop, he flung open the car door, knocking the man in orange jumpsuit down on the road as both cops leapt out of their shop.

"Get on your stomach! Get on your stomach!" Tim yelled at him while his rookie kicked away the weapon from reach. "Let's go. Hands behind your back!"

The man had no choice but to obey.

➤➤➤

"Oh crap," Ollie mumbled under her breath while removing their arrestee from the back of their shop. She had spotted a familiar face in the crowd of police officers gathered by the mobile command centre set up at the crash site.

Tim cocked a brow at her oddly; the rookie shook her head in response as they brought their fugitive towards the scene.

"Alright, listen up," Grey called out to the assembled officers, "This is what we know so far. So, we have seven fugitives at large—"

"Six," Tim cut in as he and his rookie hauled the man they had caught forward.

"Good work," the watch commander nodded at the pair, "Correction, we have six fugitives at large."

"Five," John interrupted this time, arriving at the scene along with Jackson.

Jackson furrowed his brows at Ollie, nodding his head sideways at the familiar face. The latter sent him a glare, basically telling him to 'shut it'; the man just sighed in response as Grey continued.

"At this rate, I'd say we'd be home for dinner, but I know better," he mused, "A prisoner on foot can sustain a pace of four miles per hour. And the clock started ticking twenty minutes ago. So we have a hard perimeter set up a mile out. If it was set up in time, it's just a matter of going door-to-door and running these fugitives down. If a fugitive gets past our perimeter, this turns from a recovery operation to a manhunt. And that puts the entire city at risk.

"So, Bishop, Morrison, Wong, Mitchell, Wilson, your shops will fall back and man the perimeter. Bradford, Lopez, Keegan and Willis, you'll join the grid search inside the zone."

An officer in the crowd cocked his head forward curiously at the assignment, spotting the person he was scanning for; the person in question sulked back, trying to hide.

"Boot, why are you hiding behind me?"

Ollie glanced up to her T.O. "I'm not, sir," she insisted. "The, um, ground here is... smoother."

Tim merely shook his head back at her disinterestedly.

"Command will advise you on the identities of the guys you're chasing as soon as we get them, but for now, assume that they are all extremely dangerous," Grey concluded loudly, "Let's go get 'em."

➤➤➤

"Why does it have to be raining..." Ollie mumbled under her breath while they cruised the neighbourhood in their shop.

"Bad weather discouraging you from working, Boot?" Tim questioned.

Ollie rolled her eyes. "Wasn't implying that, sir," she muttered, frowning when she saw a man unloading groceries from his car right up the corner. "There."

Tim turned down the street and chirped the patrol car as they approached the vehicle. "Sir, there's a shelter in place order in effect. We need you in your house."

The man with groceries nodded hastily. "Okay."

Ollie watched as the man rushed into his home, then turned her focus back out the window. But her gaze landed on the shop's side mirror, where she saw a group of men with weapons walking down the street.

"Uh, sir, behind us."

The pair of officers got out of their vehicle at once, turning around to meet the group of four men.

"Get your hands where I can see them. Now!" Tim instructed sharply, and the group complied.

"It's okay," one of the guys spoke. "We got permits for the weapons, and our ammo is stored separately, so it's legal."

"I don't care if it's legal," Tim shot back, "No good's gonna come from you guys running around here with assault rifles."

"We heard prisoners were on the loose," the guy insisted. "We got a right to protect our neighbourhood."

Ollie sent him a done-with look. "Yeah, that's a job for law enforcement, not a ragtag militia."

"Got one! Got a fugitive!" another guy yelled out as he emerged from a side yard, pulling an innocent man with him.

The cops turned to them at once. "Hey, get off me, man. I didn't do anything," the man huffed, "Officers, please."

"Hey, let him go. That's not who we're looking for."

"I kept telling him that!" the man exclaimed.

"You sure? He looks guilty as hell to me," the guy insisted, still hauling the man by his collar. "At least check his papers."

"You let him go— right now," Ollie repeated, pulling the innocent man away from the group. "Sir, are you okay?"

"No, you should be arresting them."

"Hey, screw that," the guy from the group scoffed, "The law says we're allowed to defend our neighbourhood 'when in grave danger'."

"I was trimming a hedge!"

"Alright, look, that's enough. Get back," Tim snapped at the group again, turning back to the innocent man, "Look, as bigoted as they are, they thought they were making a citizen's arrest, so they haven't broken the law."

"But their names will be in our report," Ollie added, "So if you'd like to sue them for emotional damages, feel free to do so."

The man perked up, but the leader of the ragtag group now dulled. "Whoa, hey, now— How about we just all, uh, go back and secure our home fronts," he chuckled weakly, "No hard feelings."

The man nodded annoyedly at last.

"Fine," Tim glanced back at the group, "If I find out that you're back out here again, I'll have you arrested for violating California Penal Codes 372 and 647b. You got that?"

The group muttered an acknowledgement before scurrying off.

Tim rolled his eyes as he headed back to their shop; Ollie followed by his side with an amused smirk. "Ain't code 647b for prostitution?"

Her T.O. glanced at her with a shrug. "They don't know that."

➤➤➤

After a few more hours of patrolling and searching, the officers were called back to the crash site.

"So, our good news first," Grey announced, "Three more fugitives were apprehended, leaving just two at large. But those two are gonna be hell to catch, which is why command asked Jessica Russo to assist us. Jessica?"

"Yeah, so at this point, we're gonna have to assume that these guys have gotten past the perimeter," Jessica stepped in, "which means that we're gonna have to get inside their heads to figure out where they're gonna go."

Tim shook his head with a light scoff. "Predictive analytics."

Jessica looked at him. "You sound sceptical."

"No, ma'am. I just found the best way to catch a criminal is to hit the streets."

"Well, that's because you have no experience doing it any other way," she countered flatly, pointing at the mugshot on the screen, "Marcos Gibson. Only twenty-four years old, but he's been a member of the 54th Street gang for over a decade. He was recently sentenced to twelve years in Victorville for aggravated assault and attempted murder."

"The 5-4 will do everything they can to help him get away," Grey added.

"Including spiriting him out of the state," Bishop inputted.

"I've got a contact inside the 5-4 that might be able to give us some insight," Tim shared.

Grey nodded. "Go talk to him."

Tim nodded back before he and his rookie took off again.

➤➤➤

"So, what's predictive analytics?" Ollie asked as they entered the station through the garage. Tim had called his contact for a meetup at the station right as they left the mobile command centre, and they were now back here to talk to his contact.

"Using data from the past to predict the future. Feds love that kind of stuff," Tim informed her, "They'd rather sit in front of a computer than hit the streets and scuff their loafers."

Ollie shrugged. "I mean, if it helps solve a crime or find a fugitive, isn't it worth using?"

"Whose side are you on?" Tim shot her a look.

The rookie cleared her throat. "Definitely yours, sir."

Tim turned to the man who had approached them, shaking the latter's hand firmly. "Deacon, thanks for coming in."

"No problem. I figured I'd be hearing from you today," Deacon replied easily, turning to the other officer. "Hi. Deacon Joe," he shook the rookie's hand as well, "And you must be Bradford's next victim."

"Ollie Marshall," the rookie grinned back, "And that is I."

"I remember when your T.O. was the one wearing the long sleeves," Deacon smirked.

"Ooh," the rookie cocked her head, "You got pictures?"

Deacon chuckled, eyeing the senior officer. "I like her."

"I'm thrilled," Tim deadpanned, turning to his rookie, "Deacon was my first arrest. Also one of the few to be rehabilitated in maximum security prison."

Deacon shook his head with a smile. "Man, I swear to god, every time I see you, it's like a time machine. I mean, since we met, I did six years in Chino, got clean, left the life, started up a family," he let out a long exhale, "Only thing that changed about you is the lines on your face."

"What lines?" Tim shot back, unamused; Ollie snorted pleasingly. "If you were expecting to hear from me, then you know why you're here," the T.O. said now, "Marcos Gibson. Look, I need to get to him before he hooks up with the 5-4."

Deacon sighed. "Yeah, Marcos was one of my kids for a while. I lost him to the 5-4. But they're the last place he's gonna go right now."

Tim narrowed his eyes in confusion. "Why?"

"He was knocking boots with Keon's woman," Deacon shared, "Right before the trial."

"Well, that's dumb," Ollie interjected with a low whistle before furrowing her brows, "Um— who's Keon?"

"Leader of the 5-4," Tim informed, shaking his head, "This kid must have a death wish."

Deacon nodded wearily. "Yeah, if Keon gets ahold of Marcos before you guys do, he'll kill him."

➤➤➤

Jackson, in midst of a personal crisis, did a double-take as he was trudging past the break room. He then stepped into the room, where he found Ollie searching the cupboards for something.

"Uh, what are you finding?"

Ollie glanced over at him briefly before returning to her hunt. "Sugar packets."

"Oh, they ran out this morning," Jackson informed her woefully, and Ollie got back on her feet with a loud sigh. "Hey, uh, have you seen Lopez?"

"Yeah, she's in the bullpen talking to Tim, who sent me to get us fuel before we hit the street," Ollie turned to her friend, who was shifting uneasily on his feet. "You okay?"

"Yeah."

"Lines on your forehead say otherwise," Ollie pointed out flatly. "You're gonna be wrinkly before you make thirty, Jacks," she mused, "So, what's going on?"

Jackson still looked agitated as he walked over to her. "Um... Look, I-I don't know... This fugitive we grabbed has been getting under my skin," he confided, "Basically said that my dad was a dirty cop back in the day."

"Percy? The guy who used to patrol around my neighbourhood just to make sure I don't get into any trouble?" Ollie deadpanned, putting on the lids for the two to-go cups of coffee. "There's no way. Your guy's just trying to push your buttons."

"Right?"

Ollie nodded, picking up the two coffee cups. "Your dad's I.A. And that guy is—"

"—an ex-drug dealer who is doing life for murder," Jackson let out a heavy sigh, moving to grab a snack by the pantry. "Uh, when you put it that way, I don't even know why I was worried," he shook his head, "Thanks."

"Sure thing," Ollie smiled back at him, "Although— your grandma, on the other hand, I heard she'd cut a bitch for a dollar back in the day."

"Back in the day?" Jackson cocked a brow at her, "Hell, that woman will cut a bitch now."

➤

"Hey, uh— you think I've changed since you've met me?" Tim asked as he and Angela walked down the hallway in the station.

"You got more annoying," Angela replied matter-of-factly.

"I'm serious," Tim deadpanned. "Have I changed at all?"

Angela shrugged. "Sure."

"How?"

"What do you mean?" Angela cocked a brow at him amusedly. "You're older. What you went through with Isabel certainly changed you."

Tim glanced at her intently. "Made me different, or just made me more... me?"

Angela stopped in her tracks with a sigh. "What's this about?"

"Just wondering if I've been treading water a little you know, not challenging myself," Tim simply stated.

Angela narrowed her eyes at him, looking at him bewilderedly. "Since when does Tim Bradford do introspection?"

Tim was about to speak again but spotted his rookie with their coffee cups approaching them. "Never mind."

Ollie caught up to them, handing him one of the coffee cups. "Hey, so, what's our plan of action to find Marcos?" she asked.

"Hit the streets, sweat some more of his people," Tim answered her before turning back to Angela, "I'll see you later."

Ollie bid Jackson goodbye and followed her T.O. closely while they returned to their shop.

"Hey, Bradford," Lopez called out as the pair turned around again. "You've also gotten dumber. Does that count?"

Tim shook his head with a stifled smile while his rookie glanced at him interestedly. "What was that about?"

"Inside joke," Tim merely stated as he received a text notification and took out his phone. "Hot damn."

"What is it?"

"Text from Deacon," he shared, "He's got Marcos."

➤➤➤

"Control, show us on-site at 1115 Amador Street."

They turned into a street, catching the sight of a group of men lurking around and talking in the middle of the street, just a short distance from Deacon's place. Tim quickly recognised them. "Damn it. 5-4 must've heard Marcos is at Deacon's house."

Ollie narrowed her eyes and studied the group. "What do we do?"

"Keep your cool and get ready for trouble," Tim informed as they slowly passed through between the group of men. As he rolled down his side of the window, Ollie noticed that he was also pointing his gun against the door, just in case of trouble.

A man ducked down to scan the shop. "Hello, Officer. Lovely evening."

Tim chuckled drily. "Sure is," he stated, "What are you guys doing out here?"

"Oh, you know," the man shrugged, "just exercising our constitutional right to assemble."

"God bless America," the officer muttered back. "Well, I suggest you all assemble somewhere else."

The man looked unfazed. "Is that an order?"

"Consider it a little friendly advice."

"Well, we appreciate you looking out for us, Officer," the smile on the man's face dropped instantly, "but we ain't going nowhere."

Tim nodded with a light shrug. "Then maybe I'll see you later."

"Count on it."

The man finally moved away from the shop as Tim continued driving onwards. "Seems nice," Ollie noted dully, the tone of sarcasm in her voice barely earned her a warning look.

The T.O. got on comms just as he pulled into Deacon's driveway. "Control, patch me through to 7-L-20."

"7-Adam-19, report."

"Yeah, we got a bit of a situation here, Sergeant," Tim informed Grey. "Approximately fifteen gang members are gearing up to take out our fugitive, Marcos Gibson. Marshall and I made it through their lines, but the 5-4's gonna come after this guy soon."

"I just sent all available units to Nolan's hostage situation over in Culver City. But I will reorient some back to you."

"Sir, this is a family neighbourhood," Tim responded seriously, "If bullets start flying, a lot of kids are gonna get hurt."

"What are you saying, Bradford?"

Tim paused a moment, sharing a look with his rookie. "Have the units stage away from our location until overwhelming force arrives," he informed. "Anything less than that's gonna come with a body count. We'll do our best with what we got until then."

Ollie was still staring at him intently when he nodded at her, and they got out of their shop. The rookie dared a glance back at the street as they walked up to Deacon's door, seeing more cars pulling up and more men getting out to join the crowd. "Hell's sake. They aren't just gonna change their minds and leave, huh?"

"Nope," Tim answered her this time, knocking on the front door.

Deacon opened it at once, but he did not seem at all relieved to see them yet. "What are we gonna do?"

"Let's start with you letting us in," Tim replied.

Deacon stepped aside to let the two officers into his house; Ollie could still hear more vehicles skidding into the street to join the gang. They found their man in orange jumpsuit standing fidgetingly in the living room, letting out a shallow breath.

"First time I've ever been happy to see cops," Marcos voiced out.

Tim dismissed him and nodded at his rookie. "Hook him up, Boot."

"What? Whoa, hang on," Marcos recoiled away from the officer. "No, you— I gotta keep my hands free in case I gotta fight."

"We're not fighting. And, well, if it does get to that, your hands aren't gonna help, anyway," Ollie shot back at the man, unamused. "Now, turn around. Now."

Marcos groaned as he turned to let the officer cuff him up; Ollie did so swiftly while Tim scanned around the house.

"Can we escape out the back?"

"No, no, they got guys out there, too. I saw them when Keon rolled up," Deacon shook his head.

"Bring him out! We know he in there!" Chorused shouts from the gang outside demanded for Marcos to be sent to them. And their shouts were getting more intense by the second. "We'll be here all night. Trying to act like this fool ain't here. Yo, send that little punk on out! Bring him out already!"

➤➤➤

Ollie observed their situation outside through a slit between the curtains; the number of men had about doubled since they arrived. She winced out when a crowd of them started whacking their patrol car with baseball bats, shattering their windshield first and foremost.

"That's gonna be a lot of paperwork for you, Boot," Tim hummed from beside her.

Ollie glanced up at him unamusingly. "Thrilled to spend the night in the station, sir," she sighed, returning to watch their shop getting totalled by the gang. "Hypothetically speaking—"

"—we cannot just give them what they want," Tim cut in. "It's not our call to make."

Ollie stared back at him again. "That's not what I was going to say," she deadpanned. "Hypothetically speaking, if they never leave and we obviously cannot handle them, then what? We just wait here as sitting ducks?"

"You think so lowly of us, Boot?"

"Hypothetically, sir."

They heard the front door opening, and both cops whirled around in an instant, seeing Deacon moving to head out. "Whoa, hey— where are you going?"

"I'm gonna talk," Deacon stated firmly, already closing the door behind him.

"Damn it," Tim cursed out frustratingly, striding over to the door. He opened it slightly to gauge the situation outside and saw Deacon getting punched in the stomach. He turned back to his rookie sharply. "You stay here. No matter what happens to me, you protect him."

Ollie nodded firmly. "Yes, sir."

Tim nodded lastly and headed out of the door in a hurry; Ollie could hear Deacon's groans from the house. Yet just as Tim swung the door shut after him, the rookie moved back to the side of the window. Their arguing voices were loud for Ollie to hear from the inside.

"Hey, leave him alone. You want to beat someone up, I'm right here."

"Only one I want is Marcos. You give him up, we out of here."

"Marcos, sit down," Ollie snapped at him as the man sprung up from the couch, looking anxious.

"Keon's g-gonna kill me!"

"What're you gonna do? Go outside and let him kill you?" the officer snarled as the man gulped, "You're not. Sit down." The man slumped back onto the couch, but he was now tapping his feet anxiously against the floor. "Look, Marcos, we are not going to give you up to them, okay? So, don't worry about that."

"O-Okay... Okay..."

"Good." Ollie returned to the window after calming Marcos down.

"Look, I got no beef with you or Joe. But that fool in there, he was creeping with my old lady. So he gots to get dealt with!" Keon yelled from outside, snarling at the cop, "Give up. You're alone. Outnumbered."

"7-Adam-19. What's your situation?" Ollie's radio chirped, paused, then chirped again, "7-Adam-19. Respond."

The rookie quickly realised that Tim had shut his radio off before leaving the house. Ollie picked hers out at once to respond. "7-Adam-19. Um, Officer Bradford's outside speaking to Keon. It's getting heated."

"Marshall," Grey addressed, "Is your situation clear to move in?"

Ollie stared back out the window gap; Keon had taken yet another step towards Tim, the former's eyes flashing with heat. It was yet another call for her to make. The last time she did so did not end well, causing her hesitation now. And in her current situation, one wrong call would lead to a body count in a familial neighbourhood.

Be proactive and trust your instincts, Tim's words from the noon clung to her mind.

"Officer Marshall?"

Ollie pushed on the radio again and announced, "If the overwhelming force is here— yes. Move in."

"Copy. All units move in— now!"

At the command, Ollie remained rigid by the window, praying that she got the call right this time.

Outside, on the street, Tim drew in a breath when he heard a quiet sound that he recognised. "You know, it was pointed out to me today that I've been doing patrol a long time. Maybe too long. You know, I've seen a lot of friends move up and on. Promotions. Other agencies—"

"I don't give a damn, Cop!" Keon snapped at him.

"Well, you should," the officer stated back evenly, "'Cause one thing I've learned all these years is that I'm never alone. And I'm never outnumbered."

On cue, the sound of helicopters propelled into their area, flashing a spotlight on the street, on Keon and his gang. More cops moved in on the group on foot. Tim drew out his gun and aimed it at Keon.

"You're under arrest. Turn around, get down on your knees," he yelled out, "Turn around! Hands behind your head!" He still had his gun pointed at Keon while the latter obeyed with a reluctant look of defeat.

"7-Adam-19, last fugitive in custody. Show us Code 4."

He spotted his rookie who had just holstered her radio, handling the fugitive out of the house.

Ollie caught his sight as she gripped their fugitive's arm firmly; Tim nodded approvingly back at her.

And that was enough to make the rookie exhale in relief, enough to send a smile on her face.

'Trust your instincts' may not be the easiest task to achieve, but she was going to make sure she put in her every effort to accomplish so.

━━━━━

The last part was SO GOOD in the show, I died a little

Q: What's your favourite duo on the show?