"So, you asked your T.O. out again?"

"It was for a bet I lost," Ollie rolled her eyes with a loud sigh.

Dr Lee watched her intently. "And he agreed this time?"

"Yes, 'cause it's his bet— well, mine, technically, but it's— you know what, it's our bet," the officer shook her head, "That I lost."

"And how did you feel that he said yes this time?" Dr Lee asked again.

Ollie furrowed her brows in thought. There were lots of ways to describe what she felt: puzzled at his initial suggestion; defeated that she gave in; shocked that she ended up asking him so forwardly; relieved that his answer was a yes this time; delighted that his answer was a yes this time...

There was also a hint of fright when she thought back to her last date that ended horrifyingly.

There was also: overwhelmed at all the dishes she wanted to try; satisfaction that the food melted in her taste buds; ease that they had no problem in keeping the conversation from going the whole night; dread when it came to paying the bill...

And: fluttery, nervousness, confusion...

And attraction.

And conflict.

And defeat, again.

"Um... glad, for starters," Ollie ended up replying quietly. "Then also, a bit of fear, maybe? Because, you know, the last time I went on a date, I ended up in a barrel in the ground." She noticed the psychiatrist's changed gaze, furrowing her brows uneasily. "What is it? Why are you looking at me weird?"

Dr Lee folded their glasses at the hem of their collar, leaning back interestedly. "So, you view this dinner as a date?"

Ollie paled at the realisation of her own words. "No!" she spat out at once, "No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no—"

➤➤➤

S2 EP14

"7-Adam-15 in foot pursuit of suspect. 29100 Spring. White male. 160 pounds. 5'8". Green jacket. Send backup."

"Suspect in sight. Heading south down San Pedro."

"Up there, up there—"

They spotted John running after a man that fitted his description heading towards their direction. The Bradford/Marshall patrol car hastily pulled over by a curb, causing the suspect to dash into the adjacent alley. Both officers were quick to leap out of their shop to join in on the pursuit.

John had managed to pin the man against a dumpster in the alleyway, putting a stop to the chase. The man grunted in pain while two other officers joined them.

"Suspect in custody. Code 4," Ollie radioed in while she and her T.O. walked up to the dumpster.

"Hands behind your back, interlace your fingers." John searched the suspect, finding a weapon latched by his thigh. "Got a knife."

Ollie took the knife from John as the latter continued patting the man down.

"Prosthetic leg?" John questioned.

The man nodded. "Yes, sir."

"That's a military knife," John pointed out. "You lose your leg in combat?"

"Yes, sir. Got in an argument with an I.E.D."

John turned him around, ready to cuff their suspect. The man was still panting when another officer recognised him.

"Mitch?"

The man raised his gaze to Tim, mirroring his surprise. "Sarge?"

"Sarge?" Ollie quirked a brow.

"You know this guy?" John asked.

Tim nodded shortly. "I was his squad leader in Afghanistan."

➤➤➤

"What happened?" Tim questioned as his rookie processed Mitch for booking. "You had a fiancée in San Diego, a job lined up through Wounded Warriors."

Mitch spared a weary look at him. "What can I say? I... moved on," he muttered. Ollie guided him along towards the cell holding area. "You tell me what I'm being charged with?" he asked the cop.

"Resisting arrest, for starters," the rookie informed. "The rest is up to the D.A."

"Right," Mitch nodded, "And how exactly did the cops end up in my hotel room?"

Tim eyed them. "She can't tell you that."

"Yeah? But you can," Mitch pressed, holding his gaze on the other officer.

"I-I can't," Tim shook his head, "Be in violation of the victim's privacy."

Mitch frowned at his words. "Victim?" he questioned, baffled. The officer was opening the door to one of the cells when Mitch came to realisation. "What happened to Joe? Is Joe all right?"

"Look, I've already said too much," Tim answered before urging the man into the cell. "Detectives will come speak with you shortly."

Mitch stepped into the holding cell, looking shaken up. Tim walked away after relocking the cell, and his rookie followed hurriedly after him.

"He doesn't seem to like you very much," Ollie commented. "Got a history to that?"

Tim let out a sigh. "I'm the reason he lost his leg."

➤➤➤

"Bradford, a word," Nyla spoke to the officer in the side room, who followed her out. She then swung open the door of the interrogation room, where John and Armstrong were interrogating Mitch, gesturing for them to step out as well.

The two men exited the room at once to meet with her and Tim.

"So, the money we found in Joe's hotel room was counterfeit," Nyla informed the group.

Armstrong furrowed his brows. "Are you sure?"

"It's the best fake I've seen," Nyla admitted, "but it's definitely a fake. He say where it came from?"

"A building downtown," Tim answered. "Said there's millions more."

➤➤➤

Three police vehicles parked in a deserted corner of a region, a distance outside the warehouse Mitch had told them about. The group of cops got out of their shops and approached the building.

"Looks abandoned," John commented, speaking the words that were on the other officers' minds.

"It's probably intentional," Nyla explained. "If I were printing millions of dollars, I'd want to stay below the radar."

"Alright, look sharp, you guys," Armstrong instructed. "If these guys are ex-military, they're gonna put up a fight."

The officer got into position, immediately on alert. Tim walked up to the door first, checking for its lock. He nodded at the others to signal that it was unlocked; they quickly drew out their firearms and took their position.

Tim pulled open the door while the rest of the officers flooded into the warehouse.

Only to find nothing.

Holstering their guns and replacing them with flashlights, the cops set out to examine the place. But the warehouse was as clean as it got; the place had been properly cleared out, other than a few empty racks standing.

"Not exactly the counterfeit money-making operation we were sold on," Armstrong stated out loud.

"Still believe your Army buddy's story?" Nyla asked.

"Yeah. I do," Tim insisted, "They must've cleared out of here after Joe's murder."

Ollie shone her light on the ground when the rack led her nowhere, spotting a scrapped piece of paper on the floor. "I think I found something," she announced, walking to the middle of the building. "A name of a... security company? I can't tell."

The cops assembled towards her at once. John took a peek at the paper, and his eyes widened in recognition.

"I've seen that somewhere," he muttered; the attention of all the other officers turned to him. "This morning when I was canvassing, it was on the side of the van," he recalled, "Um, the worker with the van was fixing the camera across the street from where Joe was killed. Uh, he said the camera had been down for a week."

Armstrong glanced at him. "Did you get a name?"

"No. I thought it was a dead end," John replied but perked up immediately after, "I have him on body cam."

He took out his phone and pulled up the video from that morning while the others gathered around to watch. He scrolled through the time bar and paused right at the security worker's face.

"Okay. That's him."

"He must've taken down the camera so we couldn't trace it," Ollie suggested, "We should run his face through the database."

"Detective Harper. Go to channel nine." Grey's voice suddenly joined them through Nyla's radio.

"Hey, sir. We are here. Uh, we're in the building. It's empty," she responded. "We're about to call in T.I.D."

"Negative," Grey's voice opposed curtly, causing the other officers to look at her. "You're to exit the building immediately and come back to the station."

Nyla looked just as puzzled as the other officers. "Sir?"

"Shut it down and get back here— now."

➤➤➤

Grey had called the five officers into the briefing room as soon as they returned. "Got a call from the Chief. Your search warrant rang an alarm way up the food chain."

John stared at him. "So we're just supposed to walk away from a murder investigation?"

"No, but you can't follow it down this path."

"And what if that path leads us to our killer?" Tim questioned broadly, but Grey shook his head with no response.

"So, what are we into, Sarge?" Nyla asked again.

"I don't know. And I pushed hard to find out," the watch commander admitted. "But this comes from on high, and it's non-negotiable," he nodded at his officers. "Let's take the night. We'll regroup in the morning."

Neither of the cops looked satisfied with the watch commander's suggestion.

"That's it," Grey announced again, leaving the room.

Tim stalked up to the detective, who was about to walk out after the watch commander. "Hey, this isn't right."

"No," Armstrong agreed stoically. "But it's a direct order."

Tim scoffed in disbelief while they watched both Grey and Amstrong heading away; the three others stayed in silence. John's stress-level watch beeped, and he hastily turned it off, returning to the group with a sigh.

"What, we just walk away, now?" Ollie voiced out, sharing the others' dismay.

Nyla glanced at the rookie. "If we're smart."

Ollie cocked a brow at her. "That's not a yes."

Nyla nodded at her before eyeing the other senior officer in the room. "What do you think?"

Tim met her look strictly. "That this is clearly a federal operation and that we don't have enough information to know how to proceed."

"So, we get more."

Tim's voice remained even. "How do we get insight on a federal operation, Boot?"

Ollie pondered at his sudden test but quickly came up with an answer. "We call L.A. CLEAR."

"Exactly," Tim approved, already reaching for his phone to make a call.

Nyla quirked a brow at him. "You remember the personal questions they ask you for clearance, right?"

"Yeah..." Tim replied, then turned back to the rest in an abrupt self-consciousness. "Maybe you should all... step outside."

His rookie snorted. "Not a chance."

Yet before he could counter, his call had gone through. "Yeah, hi— Hello, uh, this is Officer Tim Bradford, LAPD, badge 34831," he paused for a reply, shooting them another look. "Yeah. Go ahead. Bethesda... Mm. Left clavicle... Uh, 'Lady Marmalade'..."

Tim was slowly turning away from them; Ollie, John, and Nyla continued to stare at him interestedly.

"Uh, tarantulas... Uh, yeah, it's, uh, Xanadu."

"Xanadu?"

He shot his rookie a warning glare, but Ollie struggled to hold back her chuckle.

"Yes, uh, ma'am, I'd like to run an address," Tim finally spoke after getting through the questions. "214 Mill Street, Los Angeles," he waited a beat for a response, "Okay, thank you."

The call hung up, and he turned back to the three others.

"Well?"

"They'll get back to us within the hour."

➤➤➤

"Why all the gloomy faces?" Avery asked as he joined the other training officers in the break room.

"We are waiting for L.A. CLEAR," Nyla gestured to her and Tim, then peering at Angela. "Lopez is..."

"Jackson-and-Sterling-drama," Angela sighed in exasperation.

"Huh." Avery poured himself a cup of coffee before taking a seat. "Well, I'm here to boost your night with gossip," he announced to the quiet group.

Angela looked instantly awake. "How juicy?"

Avery smirked back, lowering his voice. "It involves..." he whispered, slowly gazing over at the man on his left with anticipation, "Tim."

Tim snapped his head at the younger T.O. "What about me?"

"Oh," Nyla cut in this time, beginning to look interested, "do tell."

Avery sipped his coffee intently, leaning back against the chair with a smug grin. "So, a birdie told me that our boy Tim here..." he paused on purpose for a dramatic effect, "went out with his rookie."

Angela's and Nyla's eyes widened in surprise; Tim flashed the young T.O. a glare. "A, I did not 'went out' with Marshall— she lost a bet," he countered rashly, "And B, who is this birdie?"

"Chen," all three other officers chimed at once; Tim rolled his eyes at them.

"Wait, what was the bet?" Angela asked curiously.

Tim sighed out. "She said if I scored below the top ten in my sergeant's exam, I'd have to buy her dinner," he explained, "But I came in eighth, so the roles reversed. She bought me instead."

"Where did you two go?" Nyla asked now.

"Italian steakhouse three blocks down."

Avery choked on his drink. "And you made her pay?" he winced, shaking his head in disappointment., "That's very ungentlemanly of you, Bradford."

Tim rolled his eyes at them again. "She lost a bet!"

Yet he still received grunts of disapproval from the other T.O.s; Tim shook his head in defeat.

"But you gotta admit, you've gone soft on Ollie," Avery voiced out intently.

"No, I haven't."

"Yes, you have," Angela cocked a brow at him, "compared to all your previous Boots."

Tim caved with a reluctant sigh. "Intimidation wouldn't work on her," he huffed, "if that's what you mean."

"Uh-huh."

Tim folded his arms over his chest in annoyance. "She bites back— literally," he began elaborating, "If I want to train her to be her best, she has to be in there to learn. She got to do the work hands-on, learn from her own mistakes and pick herself back up."

Angela hummed. "Sounds like someone I used to know."

"Really? Who?" Avery asked absorbedly next to her.

Angela slowly rotated her head to Tim; Avery followed her stare, looking surprised; Nyla was just in for the gossip. Tim furrowed his brows back at Angela in doubt.

"Didn't you once forget to gas up your shop when you were still in long sleeves?" Angela cocked her head at him with an amused smirk. "Your T.O. had you push the shop back to the station— with him in it. Since then, you got in two hours before roll call to set up the shop."

Tim's jaw dropped open at once, his voice hitching up a pitch. "Why would you tell th—" His embarrassment was cut short when his cell phone rang, and he cleared his throat with gritted teeth before picking up. "Yeah, it's Tim Bradford," he answered, "Okay. Yeah. Understood. Thank you, ma'am."

Nyla turned to him anticipatingly.

"Harper, get the Boots. And you two, out," Tim gestured towards Angela and Avery, who stared back at him in confusion. "Sorry. This room has the most privacy."

The two officers groaned and got up from their seats grudgingly, making their way out of the break room after Nyla. Avery was still prodding Angela for the details of that story after the two other officers hurried off.

➤

Ollie shut the door behind her after walking to the break room behind Nyla and John. Tim was already there with a serious expression on his face. "It's a D.I.A. operation."

"Defense Intelligence Agency?" Nyla repeated in shock, setting down her coffee cup, "That's national security."

"L.A. CLEAR tell you anything else?" John asked.

Tim shook his head. "Just a contact name: Colonel Norman Jangus."

The officers in the room shared a baffled and bewildered look.

"What the hell is a national security agency doing counterfeiting money?" Ollie frowned.

"This is way bigger than we thought," Nyla stated, glancing at the rest. "We should take the night, like Grey said, and see how we are feeling in the morning."

Tim nodded shortly. "Harper's right," he turned to the rookies, "Conducting an off-the-books operation is high-risk on a good day. And this ain't a good day."

The two rookies looked lost at their place, staring at each other with lots of questions and no answers. Tim and Nyla were still exchanging a look as though communicating through silent nods and eyes.

Ollie held John back when the latter was about to leave the break room. She narrowed her eyes at the two training officers, who still looked odd despite their previous words.

"You two don't actually mean that," she stated carefully, "Do you?"

Nyla looked from her, then to her rookie with a formulating thought. "There is..." she sighed, "always a plan..."

➤➤➤

Ollie tapped on Tim's shoulder when she spotted a figure in dark clothing pulling over down the street of John's house. They recognised the man at once; it was the face of the security worker they had seen on John's bodycam.

That's our guy, she mouthed to him.

Yes. Stay low, he replied in silence.

They waited behind one of the many thick, tall bushes for the man to walk up to the house and knock on the door. After John answered the door and let the man in, they waited for a few more moments before sneaking into the man's vehicle.

"Okay, make sure to place this on a flat surface," Tim whispered, pulling the tracking device out of his pocket and handing it to Ollie.

"Got it," Ollie nodded back before crossing the road hurriedly while Tim stayed behind as a lookout.

Ollie circled to the back of the car and lowered herself, reaching below the bumper, finding a clean, dry surface, then she stuck the device securely onto it. She stood back up and nodded to signal her success, then quickly paced back towards the mansion.

"What do you want?"

John's voice was faint as the two officers cautiously crept towards his backyard.

"To warn you and your little cop buddies. Just leave this alone. Calling L.A. CLEAR? Big mistake. Let it be your last."

"All we want is whoever killed Joe Delacruz."

"The homeless guy? Why?"

Ollie could hear their conversation better now that she had approached and was hiding in the backyard. She was able to catch sight of the two men standing in the living room.

"He was a human being. The man was a soldier. He sacrificed—"

"Time-out, time-out. Let's understand something here. We're on the same team. You, me, Joe? We make sacrifices on the daily to save people's lives. I just do it on a more... global scale than you."

John's face turned sour. "And that's why it's okay for you to murder people?"

The other man stepped towards him. "There are casualties in every war," he warned, "You just really don't want the next one to be you."

The man gave John a friendly smack on the arm before walking himself out of the house.

They waited a moment longer before the three officers emerged from different parts of John's place. John turned to gulp down a glass of water before turning back to them. "You get the tracking device on his car?"

"Yeah. It's under his bumper. We can follow him wherever he goes," Ollie responded with a firm nod. "Shall we hit the road?"

"No," Tim was the one who interjected. "This is a two-person job. Harper and I got it from here."

Ollie gaped at him bewilderedly. "Uh— hell no? You go, we go."

Tim sighed. "That's admirable, really, but if this thing goes sideways, we could face demotion, suspension, even jail."

The rookies exchanged a frustrated look.

"Look, I've got a golden ticket. Bradford has an unblemished record," Harper added, "Odds are, we can weather the storm. Rookies are at-will employees. They don't even need a reason to fire you."

Ollie was in no mood to be cut off from a case, especially after having to work on it so hard already; her expression turned serious. "You think that scares me? I've been buried alive by a serial killer. I'm very much unfazed."

"I love this job more than I imagined I could," John joined in, "The day I stop giving it my all is the day I walk away."

The two senior officers shared a look, knowing that there was no sense in arguing with their hard-headed rookies.

"Alright. Let's roll," Tim announced at last, "And hope he leads us to the money."

➤➤➤

"We're in position."

"Copy that."

Tim set down the comms after receiving a response from Nyla. They had followed their tracked car to the freight yard, where they were now parked out of sight behind a giant container.

"Why are you the reason Mitch lost his leg?" Ollie asked in the shared silence.

Tim spared her a glance before shaking his head with a regretful expression. "'Cause I let him slide on something."

"On what?"

"It doesn't matter what. Just that I cut him a break when I shouldn't have," he grunted, "And because I did, he went back out on patrol, got blown up."

His rookie shrugged lightly. "You showed humanity. That's nothing to feel guilty about."

"Rules matter, Boot." Tim peered over at her now, his voice stern.

"Yeah?" Ollie maintained his gaze, her voice hushed when she spoke. "Then what are we doing out here?"

Tim stared wearily into her eyes. "Some things matter more."

"Bradford, Marshall, let's go."

Both officers switched into intense mode at once.

"Hang on." Tim had to lean over to hold the passenger's side door shut when his rookie acted a bit too quick in moving to open the door. "First lesson in black ops— make sure the lights don't come on when you open the door."

"Yep." The rookie cleared her throat, abruptly frozen in her seat while Tim reached up to shut their vehicle's lights.

They got out of the car in unison.

They carefully made their way past the container they parked behind, meeting the other pair of officers. The four cops then moved through the yard, taking cover behind every object they passed.

Ollie caught sight of a forklift loading some pallets into a container while they took cover behind another container. Tim staked out on the front of their direction while Ollie followed him closely, covering their rear. The T.O. signalled for the other pair of cops to join them; John and Nyla dashed over at once.

"That's got to be the pallets of money," John voiced out as the two rookies stood in between their T.O.s behind the container wall, "Waiting to put it on a ship to who knows where."

"Do we call Long Beach PD?" the other rookie questioned.

"Not yet," Tim glanced back at her. "We don't know if that's the counterfeit money. Pallets are covered."

"We've only got one shot at this," Harper inputted. "We absolutely cannot be wrong."

Ollie furrowed her brows, glancing left and right at the two T.O.s. "So, we confirm that's the counterfeit money before calling in reinforcements," she schemed, "Then, use the arrest to figure out who killed Joe."

Her T.O. nodded sharply. "Exactly."

"Okay. So, how do we do that?"

"No idea."

"Great plan."

The four of them remained behind the large container while Nyla and Tim tried spying on the items on the forklift. The former frowned when she noticed some commotion in that area. "Something's up," she notified.

Ollie took a step away from the walls of the container curiously, wanting to peek.

Tim sucked in a breath as his rookie slanted over him to take a glimpse at the forklift area.

"They're getting a new forklift?"

A few of the D.I.A. men got into a car and drove away immediately, leaving the forklift unattended. The four cops realised the opportunity and moved in at once.

"I'll take it from here. Watch my six," Tim whispered to them when they stopped behind a container. He took off solo, cautiously keeping away from the remaining D.I.A. team and inching towards the container.

The three other cops waited behind the container with their firearms trained at the D.I.A. members nearer to the forklift—

—not noticing the ones, they thought had driven away, were now cocking their guns at them.

Ollie's first instinct was to strike one of them by the groin — which she did — but only landed herself with four more guns aimed at her from different directions. She scanned each of them carefully.

"Marshall, don't even think of it," Nyla urged her, and the rookie grudgingly surrendered at last.

Ollie lowered her gun onto the ground and kept her hands interlaced behind her head, along with the two other officers. The man whom she had attacked jabbed her back with his gun's muzzle while another one of the D.I.A. men ordered them to walk.

Caleb's knife was poking on her back again.

Ollie swallowed a gulp, her throat suddenly dry.

➤

"You'll be dead before you break leather."

Tim turned around at the voice, only to see several guns pointed at him, with the man from John's living room standing before him. Just close to Jangus were his three fellow officers, in surrendered stances after getting caught, each with a D.I.A. man covering them with a gun.

Left with no choice, Tim held his arms up and exited the container, slowly joining the other cops in line.

Our play isn't over yet.

"John, what the hell?" Jangus strode over to John now. "I warned you."

John remained even. "You did."

"But you didn't listen."

"I didn't."

"I'm disappointed," Jangus chided. "Thought you were smart."

"No. Smart one's my T.O.," John gestured to his right, "She plans for everything."

Nyla still had her predator-like stare fixed on Jangus when she extended three fingers in the air, then pointed at him. On cue, a red dot appeared on the man's jacket; Jangus stared down at his chest, stunned.

"That's a .50 cal," Nyla enlightened. "I don't need to tell you what that bullet will do to your body."

Jangus let out a weak chuckle, peering over his shoulder. "Hey, Pettigrew, didn't we face this exact scenario down in Colombia?"

"Yeah," Pettigrew replied, "We're all still here."

"'Cause it's a no-win situation," Jangus turned back to the cops. "Your shooter turns me into mist, but my guys turn you into organ donors."

"So, what we need is a negotiated settlement," Tim stepped up.

Jangus glanced over at him. "I'm listening."

"One of you killed Joe Delacruz," Tim prefaced. "You give him up, we walk away."

"And the money?"

"Not our problem," Tim resolved.

Jangus watched him with an even face as he pondered on his negotiation. The red dot on his chest remained at its spot without faltering, and that seemed enough to let him reach a decision.

"Fine," he answered at last. "Pettigrew. Surrender yourself."

"What?" Pettigrew scoffed. "After everything we've been through, you're just gonna turn me in like that?"

"Your sloppiness jeopardised our operation, so you are being sacrificed for the greater good," Jangus retorted, eyeing the cops again. "But all they have is circumstantial evidence. So, keep your mouth shut, listen to the lawyer, and you'll be out in no time."

"Yes, sir," the man finally gave in, handing his weapon to Jangus before walking over to the cops to be handcuffed.

Ollie lowered her arms to reach for her handcuffs, feeling the muzzle poking on her back again. She whirled her head around with a glare that burned her pupils. "You want to get your balls kicked again?"

The man rolled his eyes and backed down.

"We good?" Jangus asked again. Nyla gestured in the air again, and the red dot on the man's chest finally diminished. With a smirk, he returned to his team, "Alright, let's get this done."

"What happens with the money?" John interjected loudly.

Jangus turned back to him. "It'll fund black ops for the next five years," he replied pleasingly. "The U.S. government spends billions in covert operations— I bet Bradford here watched backpacks full of ghost money being handed out in Afghanistan."

"I did," Tim admitted flatly.

"See, that money has to be authorised and tracked," Jangus continued.

"But counterfeit money doesn't," John concluded.

"We didn't print money. We printed freedom," Jangus was grinning back at him. "Alright, let's wrap this up."

The D.I.A. men returned to their operations while the four cops walked away with one of their men in cuffs. Pettigrew was being a hard-ass about his arrest while John attempted to shut him up.

"Do you think Lopez will take me under her wing?" Ollie caught up to her T.O., who peered back at her bemusedly. "That target dot never moved an inch. Did you see?"

Tim rolled his eyes at his rookie but ended up replying to her earnestly. "She has been complimenting on your aims on calls since the start of the program..."

Ollie appeared star-struck. "She has?"

➤➤➤

Grey stood before his cops in the bullpen, looking utterly unamused.

"Let me get this straight," he glowered, "You all just happened to be taking a stroll on the docks, and Joe Delacruz's killer appears and turns himself in?"

"Yes, sir," five voices answered in unison.

"And when the Chief calls me tomorrow screaming—"

"He won't," Tim assured steadily.

Grey eyed each of the officers' solemn looks, and he ended up sighing in response. "I'm going back to bed," he gave up. "The paperwork on this better be spotless."

"Yes, sir."

➤➤➤

The rookies hollered out a toast before clinking their shot glasses and swallowing down their drinks. Jackson's face remained twisted while the others broke into laughter.

"This sucks," Jackson huffed. "Why did I even agree to this again?"

"Because you, Jacks, are a wonderful friend," Ollie sang, "who has close-to-zero resistance when it comes to your favourite, favourite people."

Lucy and John chuckled while Jackson grumbled in reluctant agreement.

"I can't believe I agreed to come out for shots after I've gotten ready for bed," Jackson murmured with a sigh as he washed the taste in his mouth with beer, "My pillow was right there..."

"But who are we to refuse free drinks?" John hummed.

Ollie grumbled at his words. "Why do I keep losing on bets..."

Lucy quirked a brow at her. "What other bets have you lost?"

"Just... some bet," Ollie cleared her throat, "that cost me an arm, as well."

"Should we call it a night, then?" John offered, and the other muttered in agreement; Lucy went on to order her final refill of beer first, though.

Ollie glowered as she reached for her pocket— other pocket— back pocket?— don't have a chest pocket, this time—

"Ollie, did you not bring your wallet...?" Jackson muttered slowly.

"I swear, for hell's sake..."

Lucy took a loud sip and smirked at the other woman. "Fancy a night behind a sink?"

"No." Ollie deadpanned, but she still failed to find her wallet. She let out a frustrated grunt and quickly scanned the bar. She cocked her head slyly while watching at a booth in the corner. "I have an idea..."

The rookies followed her gaze to the corner of the bar, their jaws hanging open.

"No way," John snapped his head back at Ollie.

"Watch me." She smirked, already waving the bartender over.

➤

Avery yawned.

"Past your bedtime, Morrison?" Nyla teased.

"Fuck off, Harper."

Nyla snorted in response while Angela chucked next to her. Tim sipped on his beer with a roll of his eyes at the others.

Drinks after paperwork had sounded like a good idea after their day, and after Tim had heard Ollie mentioning it to her fellow rookies. Avery was about to head home when he overheard Tim offering to buy drinks for Nyla and Angela after the case that resonated with him.

Avery held onto the belief that Tim secretly enjoyed having him around; that's why he had extended his offer to the younger T.O. as well.

He now slumped against the wall at the booth, tapping mindlessly on his empty glass.

"You up for another round, Avery?" Angela asked him.

"Are you planning to carry him home?" Nyla turned to her.

"Fair enough. Best not, then," Angela nodded finally at Avery, who did not even get the chance to debate with her. "Tim?"

Tim downed the remaining of his drink and nodded. "Yeah. I'll get it."

Yet before he could get up from the booth, an individual busted into their grouping with a cheeky smile on her face. Tim was sat back down by a forceful press on his shoulder.

"Hi, fellow T.O.s," Ollie chimed in with a beam, "I have a, uh, note, that I was told to pass it to Tim." She held out a folded piece of paper at Tim, who took it from her curiously. "Good night!"

His rookie zoomed off just as swiftly as she appeared, ushering three other rookies out of the bar.

"What is it?" Avery poked his head over.

Tim unfolded the paper and sighed aloud. "Their bar tab."

Nyla snickered at him. "Well played."

Tim rolled his eyes and pocketed the receipt, making a mental note to pay for it afterwards. The three others traded a look.

"Alright, I'll say it again," Angela blurted out and leaned forward in her seat. "You have gone soft on her."

"Or maybe, she has softened you," Nyla chipped in her suggestion.

"But that's not necessarily a bad thing," Angela cut Tim off before he could speak, "I like this Tim Bradford. He's a much less pain-in-the-ass."

"I am not—" But he ultimately sighed. "You know what? I'm too tired to argue. Let's just drink. Avery, another round?"

The man next to him perked up. "Yes!"

And with that, Tim got up from his seat, eager to step away from the booth, from the prodding questions once more.

━━━━━

Angela, Nyla, Avery: 😏
Tim: 😒

They are ✨catching feelings✨
(but neither are gonna realise/admit for a bit 🫢)

Also um I fear that Kojo isn't in this book.... 😀🥲