S2 EP20

"What I'm about to tell you stays between us," Tim stated in a hushed voice as he trudged through the station lobby with his rookie.

"Got it."

"For the last nine months, Vice has had an active informant inside Ruben Derian's operation. Cisco Fane. Third-generation bottom-feeder," he showed her a mugshot of the Cisco, "He's helped generate three search warrants netting over two million in narcotics."

"He could give us Serj," Ollie suggested.

"That's the hope," he nodded. "But Cisco's been radio silent since he was sent a request for a meet yesterday."

"You're worried he's been compromised?"

"I'm worried he's been dumped in a shallow grave," Tim clarified, holding the door as they headed out of the station.

The rookie glanced at him. "You think Erin's the only dirty cop on Derian's payroll?"

"What do you think?" Tim gauged her.

"That we should plan for the worst?" Ollie proposed.

Tim nodded at her response. "Yeah. Which is why we're keeping this op quiet."

"Okay," Ollie furrowed her brows as they stopped by their shop. "Any idea where Cisco could be? If he's not dead."

"Well, the Derians have been muscling in on the east side sex trade. They've taken over SROs, massage parlours, and a karaoke bar where Cisco works."

The rookie grimaced.

➤➤➤

As they pulled over by a building, the pair of officers exited their shop and headed into the place. Ollie glanced at her phone when the first text message came through. She read it through her lock screen, frowned, and shoved her phone back into her pocket. Then, another text came, and another, and another.

"Ugh, for hell's sake," she cursed out, finally tapping into the chat to shoot back a reply.

Tim glimpsed at her curiously as they climbed up a flight of stairs.

Ollie, sensing his stare, groaned out loud in exasperation. "Mason's asking me out for drinks tonight," she blabbered on, "Says that he wants to apologise for yesterday. And I am going to tell him to shove it up his—"

"He just lost two of his best friends. Maybe not that harsh of a reply?"

The rookie snapped her head towards her T.O. with a hung-open jaw. "Whose side are you on?"

"Yours. Definitely yours," Tim answered quickly. "But, hey, ask him if he's buying. If he is, why not?"

"Should I remind you of what happened the last time I went out with a guy who bought me drinks?" Ollie snarled back. Tim glanced at her concernedly; she rolled her eyes.

"I could come with?"

Ollie gave him a look that was between a glare and a worry. "Who are you and what have you done with my cranky, snappy T.O. Bradford?"

"Forget I asked." Tim rolled his eyes at her in response. "What did you see in him, anyway?"

Ollie seemed to shrink at her spot, her voice barely above a mumble. "He's a rich kid with a nice accent — I know — don't say a word." She let out a sigh as they headed down a walkway towards the club, placing her phone back into her pocket. "Alright. What's the plan?"

"We're gonna go practice our ABCs," Tim answered.

The rookie peered at him slowly. "What if we find Cisco?"

"Improvise."

Ollie walked into the club and up to the counter, where a woman stood, grumbling under her breath. Tim entered right after her, letting the glass door swing close behind him. "Good morning," the rookie greeted. "We're here conducting an Alcohol Beverage Control compliance check."

"Kiss my ass," the lady scoffed. "We don't serve minors here. I follow the laws— even the dumb ones."

"Convincing argument, yet we're gonna need to put eyes on everyone here," Tim interjected displeasingly.

"It's the Police Department. I need everyone to step out into the hall now."

The pair of officers walked down the hall where people were filtering out of the line of rooms. "Come on. Let's go. I.D.s out." They commanded several more who looked too hung up in their act to notice their announcement from before.

"Tim," Ollie called out, nodding at a closed door at the end of the hallway. Her T.O. carefully drew out his gun.

The lady from the counter leaned by the hallway, unamused. "Don't you shoot up my club. I just had it painted."

Tim rolled his eyes, gesturing for his rookie. "Get everyone back," he told her before approaching the closed door. "This is the police. Need you to step out into the hall now."

Ollie watched as two more women left the room, still adjusting their clothing. She caught a glimpse of Cisco in the room cursing out in protest, but the man was swiftly pushed up against a wall by Tim.

It was not long before Tim concluded his talk with Cisco, leaving the man back in the room while he stepped out. "He's clean."

The lady from the counter scoffed. "I told you. We don't serve minors."

Tim walked past her with a glare. "Yeah, you did. But I noticed a half-dozen other infractions. I'd get those fixed before Code Enforcement shows up in the morning."

"Have a nice day," Ollie inputted before departing the club with her T.O. "You got him?" she asked when they exited the building again.

"Yeah," Tim nodded. "Now, we just wait for his text."

➤➤➤

It was evening when they received the text from Cisco. They had gathered additional units and the SWAT team to help them on this operation to breech into Serj's known location.

"Go!"

One of the SWAT members broke down the door, and the rest of them swarmed into the house at once, yelling at and subduing Serj's thugs as they went.

"Get your hands in the air! Drop the gun!" Tim howled out, his gun trained on one of the thugs while his rookie moved to cuff the man. "Turn around! Get down on your knees!"

"One down!" Nyla shouted out from another corner of the room, "Two steps back! On your knees! Don't move."

Jackson and Angela stormed into the kitchen, finding a trapped Serj. "Don't move! Drop the gun!" Jackson yelled at him.

Serj had no other choice but to surrender, dropping his gun onto the floor at last. Angela's aim on him did not falter while Jackson moved over to handcuff him.

"You're under arrest for the murder of Chris Rios."

It felt like the least he could do. For Chris.

Each pair of officers had a thug handcuffed and hauled out of the house. Ollie had to refrain from shoving their guy up a wall when he started catcalling her; Tim did so before her, anyway. The guy was quiet soon after, only grunting when he was dumped roughly into the back of the patrol car.

Ollie spotted the head of blond hair before he saw her. This time, she walked up to him instead. "Mason."

The man spun around in surprise. "Oh, Ollie, hi."

She lifted her phone in the air, flashing him their chat messages. "I'll ask you once. Do you actually want to apologise— or is this also some scheme of you trying to win me back?" she asked. "Because I'm really, really not interested in you anymore. Just to be clear."

Mason stared at her for a beat before lowering his gaze to the ground between them. "I just thought I could use a friend," he replied quietly. "The two I've been with for the past year are dead. And you were the only one in the Academy who I still feel comfortable with..."

Ollie fell quiet. Had I been too harsh?

"Officer Marshall!" a voice joined them from the side; the rookies turned to see Nadia approaching them. "Has he asked you about the apology drink yet?"

Ollie blinked at her. "I was about to accept..."

Mason's gaze flickered back to her. "You were?"

"That's great." Nadia beamed at the pair. "The four of us are going to have a fun time."

Both rookies turned their heads at her. "Four of us?"

➤➤➤

Their go-to bar was as noisy and crowded as usual. Dim lights and loud chatters filled the air. Today, however, the dart boards were not occupied by some college kids, for once. The four cops, off shift, were paired up at took turns throwing a shot.

"Hell, you have a shit aim!" Ollie commented, taking a sip of her beer.

Tim rolled his eyes at her. "These darts are old."

Ollie snorted. "Of course, Tim Bradford would blame the darts before his crappy aiming skills."

"Hey— That was barely an inch from my target," he deadpanned. "My aim is perfectly fine."

"Sure," she hummed, holding another dart in front of him with a challenging smirk. "Prove it."

Tim glanced down at her outstretched hand. That smirk of hers, I swear to god—

He snatched the dart from her and took his stance. He took an aim, flicked his wrist, and landed on a double. He straightened his back again with a proud look. "That is good."

"Eh." Ollie shooed him aside while she took the last dart of their turn. She positioned her feet, gripped the dart, and stared intently at the board. Her hand was steady as she released her throw— it lodged perfectly onto the bullseye. With a smug grin, she turned to his scowl. "Not good enough."

"Jeez— And I thought Tim was competitive," Nadia huffed next to Mason, shaking her head at the pair. "Guess he finally found someone to match his competitiveness."

Mason let out a dry chuckle, crossing his arms. "Are you kidding? Ollie aced almost every component in the Academy. She came first in our year for a reason," he exhaled, "That woman will ace anything she sets her mind on... It was the reason I fell for her in the first place."

Nadia eyed him as he took a long swig. "Hmm... We are not going to win, are we?" she asked with a sigh when the other quarrelling pair finally turned back to them.

Mason shook his head sincerely. "No chance, ma'am."

"Alright, Mason. Our turn." Nadia pushed herself off the table, taking the darts from the other woman, who muttered the sassiest 'Good luck' to her. She was, in nowhere, good in darts— evidently. So, she passed the last two shots over to her rookie.

Mason took his stance and threw. His first throw landed on the triple ring — good enough — his second throw frayed downwards and scored him only 3 points. "Damn it!"

Tim retrieved the three darts from the board, eyeing the groaning pair amusedly. He walked back to Ollie, handing her the darts. "Should we just end it quick?"

"Unless you'd like to do the honours to prolong the game?" she cocked a brow back at him.

Tim rolled his eyes with a scoff, gesturing her to the board. "Have at it."

Sure enough, their last three throws cleared their scoreboard, earning them their victory. Nadia and Mason looked at each other bitterly as the other pair high-fived.

"And the winner is," Ollie cleared her throat on purpose, "Mid-Wilshire team!"

"Which means— losers buy the rest of tonight's rounds," Tim added, smiling at Nadia, "Like the old times."

Mason groaned out in protest. "But that's—"

"Shut it, Boot," Nadia sighed, already dragging him towards the bar counter. "Let's go."

➤

Thankfully, Mason did mean it this time when he said he wanted to apologise. Ollie was glad that the four of them were having a great enough time despite their ironic pairing, and despite all that had happened in the past day.

It was nice to have a breath of fresh air above the drowning tides.

Stories were shared; memory brought forward. Tim was on edge every time Nadia brought up something about their Academy years, especially when her recount involved his younger self. The two rookies were listening absorbedly like children mesmerised at fables; Tim would have got out of their booth in embarrassment if it was not for Ollie blocking him. He had no other outs than to sit through the horror recollections.

"If you tell this to anyone in the station, I will have you run behind our shop." Tim glared at his rookie sternly, but Ollie merely smirked back.

"You know, you say that a lot, but it never happens."

"You want to try?"

Ollie shrugged, maintaining his stare. "I'll just mention you to my shrink," she replied. "Actually, you know, we talk about you a lot."

Tim narrowed his eyes at her. "About what?"

Ollie tilted his head, not giving him an answer. Tim rolled his eyes in defeat.

Mason poured the remaining beer into their glasses, then got up from his seat when their jug was now empty. "I'll get more."

"I'll come with," Ollie shot up immediately, already sliding out of the booth.

Mason eyed her puzzledly. "I thought I'm buying?"

"You are," she assured, already hauling him away from the table as she muttered with a hushed voice. "I'm not going to sit there with two exes. It's weird."

"And you feel better going off with your ex?"

"Pretty much," Ollie smiled back weakly.

Mason nodded at last. "Understandable."

Tim was still watching his rookie curiously as she scurried off with the blond man. Didn't she only want to ask him to 'shove it up his ass' just this morning? he thought, cocking a brow, Now she's smiling at him?

"I didn't realise you were dating your Boot."

Nadia's words probably drained all colours on Tim's face when he finally flickered his gaze back to the woman opposite him, sipping her beer entrancedly.

He cleared his throat drily. "That's because I'm not?"

"You're not?" Nadia's eyes widened in genuine surprise as she leaned back in her seat. "Oh. I see. It's just... you two seem pretty close," she pointed out.

"We've been through some intense couple months on the job," Tim deflected shortly, "It happens."

"And how many times in those months have you checked her out like you just did?" She pointed back to the space his rookie had just been in; he looked like he wanted to shoot her. "Forgive me for being so straightforward, I just had to ask!" she laughed, "'Cause you have that look in your eyes."

He frowned at her now. "What look?"

She sighed at him. "Of calmness. Like you finally get to wind down a notch," she stated, "It's like... you have that look of love like how you did me — and Isabel — but in a stronger way, more intense."

"Love's a strong word," Tim spoke warningly.

"Then what would you call it?"

What would I call it? The alcohol in his system dared him to wonder. Dared him to properly ponder. It was such a delicate question to prod on, after all. The night had been revisiting his mind lately; it was getting increasingly hard to push it to the back of his head.

She was hard to get off his head.

The realisation probably shook him awake a little, but he did not feel shaken— he felt eased.

"Attraction?"

"Aha—!" Nadia's roar countered with his quietness. "So, you do like her!"

The words, spoken out loud, likely snapped him out of his head. No, no, no. This cannot be. "Shut up—"

"Oh, she's coming back!" Nadia cooed, leaning towards him with wiggling brows. "Do you want me to be your wingwoman?"

The heat in his chest was rising to his neck. "Do not do that, Nadia—"

Ollie slipped back into the booth with their refilled beer jug, placing it in the middle of their table. Tim had to take a sharp inhale at the abrupt awareness of it all; he felt as though his chest pounded on his fingertips.

Was he fucked? Probably.

"Okay, so Mason has been stolen away by a stripper," Ollie informed them with a chortle.

"Again?" Nadia raised her brow, earning two surprised stares. "Never mind about that," she chuckled instead, sliding to the front of the younger woman, "So, Marshall, what do you think about—"

The piercing phone call ringtone caught them aback. Ollie grunted apologetically. "Sorry, sorry. Hold on." She fished out her phone with a curious look. She flashed the contact on her screen to the man beside her before picking up, holding the phone up to her ear. "Lucy? What, what— slow down— John's been— what?!"

Tim frowned at the worrying change of her tone, and the deadened expression on her face. "What's going on with Nolan?"

Ollie's phone left her ear momentarily, her eyes flickering back to him distressingly. "Armstrong framed him f-for pretty much everything."

The two other cops looked alarmed at the knowledge. Tim's phone rang next, and he answered it quickly, still eyeing his rookie while he received instructions from the other end. "That's us," he told her, "Come on. We got to go."

Ollie nodded back hastily, sliding out of the booth. "Lucy, Tim and I are coming in— You are, too? Alright, alright. I'll see you." She ended the call at last, glancing back at Nadia, who nodded at them understandingly. "Um, thanks for the drinks, Officer Wilson."

Nadia smirked back. "Anytime for a friend of Tim's."

Tim flashed her a warning look before hurrying off.

➤➤➤

S3 EP1

So much for a breath of fresh air.

Ollie stood still on the porch of Nyla's house while Tim pounded on her front door.

No, she did not believe that John and Nyla had actually been conspiring with the Derians. But she still had a job to do, and she knew damn well of that.

Nyla finally answered the door when Tim pounded on it for the third time. The detective glanced at them tiredly, shrugging on her jacket, and sighed.

"Let's go," she muttered to the pair of officers, trudging down her front porch towards their shop. "Try not to make a mess. There is a gun safe in the hall closet. Keys are here. Lock up when you're done." She handed her closet keys to one of the officers before turning back to Tim and Ollie "We going to the station?"

"No," Tim replied, "Internal Affairs."

"Sorry," Ollie sighed out, opening the door to the back of their shop for the detective to head in.

Nyla returned her with an appreciative smile. "Not your fault."

➤

"Please tell me that Armstrong has got cops all over him," Nyla grunted as she was escorted into the LAPD Headquarters by her two fellow officers.

"I can't do that," Tim stated firmly. "You know why."

Nyla scoffed in frustration. "Come on. You cannot believe that Nolan is dirty."

"We don't," Ollie uttered.

"Marshall." Tim shot her a cautious look; his rookie sighed in response as they headed into the building.

Grey walked out to meet the three of them. "I got it from here," he stated, eyeing the two cops, "Head to Nolan's. Assist in the search."

"Yes, sir."

The two handed Nyla off to their watch commander, turning to leave the building once more. The air was tense, the situation ridiculous and unfair.

"You can't take a stand in cases like this," Tim spoke again, holding the door for her, "No matter how much you feel against it."

"I know that. It's just..." Ollie shook her head weakly as she stepped out of the Headquarters. "Two friends of mine died in the last forty-eight hours. Now, another two are being framed for being a part of their murders?" she sighed wearily, "Forgive me if I'm not thinking straight this late into the night."

Tim sighed in response; her look of blended sorrow and fury was hard to ignore. "I'm sorry about them."

"Yeah."

➤➤➤

Ollie headed into John's house, where several other cops were already dusting and searching through the place. John's place was torn apart, with damage in the walls and plaster scattered on the wood-board floors.

"Hey," Tim nodded at Avery and Lucy, who had already been there before them, "Find anything?"

Avery shook his head. "Not yet."

"Maybe there's nothing to find," Ollie murmured from behind her T.O.

"That's what I said," Lucy chimed in.

"Yeah, or maybe Nolan was trained to know where cops would look," Tim stated instead. "Hell, he built this place up from the studs. Probably designed a hidey-hole we'll never find."

Ollie circled the living room, frowning at the torn-up walls. "Did we do all this?"

"No, the walls were already ripped apart before he came in," Avery answered.

Ollie turned to them intently. "Okay. But why would John do that?"

"Don't know. Don't care," Tim shrugged.

"No, think about it," Ollie insisted, stalking over to him. "Armstrong insists that Nolan tried to kill him. But then why did Nolan leave before the job was done? Why rush back here and tear the walls up?"

Lucy furrowed her brows by the kitchen side. "Because he's looking for the evidence, too."

"Exactly!" the other rookie exclaimed.

Tim sighed at her when another cop in John's bedroom called for him. His rookie followed closely behind him. Lucy and Avery, too, wandered along curiously. The four officers stood in a line in the bedroom, staring at the large hole behind the headboard.

"You see, now, that's a proper hidey-hole," Tim pointed out.

"For a civilian," Ollie deadpanned, sending him a weary look. "You just got done saying he'd build something we'd never find."

Tim shrugged instead. "Maybe I overestimated the guy."

Lucy shook her head at them. "No. Nolan's a lot of things, but he's not sloppy," she clarified, retracing back to the doorway. "He comes in here, desperate, rips open the walls, ends up in the bedroom, finds the opening behind the bed filled with whatever Armstrong hid in there..."

"And then what?" Avery asked her.

"And then, we follow the prints," Ollie chipped in, cocking her head when she saw a footprint made with drywall dust on the floor. She followed the trail to the patio door; the three other officers followed after her.

They found a garbage bag on the other side of the fence, down the small hill, in the neighbour's yard.

"Does anyone think that that's random garbage?" Ollie asked the group.

"Nope. That's Nolan being smart," Avery replied, "He knew we'd find the goods, so he chucked 'em down the hill."

"Our warrant is for Nolan's property, not the neighbour's," Ollie pointed out, still eyeing the bag, "So, if we open that bag without a Steagald warrant, anything we find in there will be inadmissible."

"Exactly," Tim nodded. "So, let's go get that warrant."

"Go for it," Lucy spoke this time, "But it's a waste of time."

"What?"

"Look, that is not the evidence," Lucy insisted, circling back into the living room. "Nolan wouldn't jeopardise evidence by throwing it down a hill, where it could be damaged or destroyed. If we're right and he's innocent, then that means the real evidence is hidden somewhere in this house."

"That bag is just a fake-out meant to buy him some time," Ollie added in realisation; Lucy nodded at her.

The two T.O.s watched their rookies, still confused. "Time for what?" Tim asked.

Ollie sighed. "To talk his way out of this."

➤➤➤

"It's Commander West," Tim informed the group when his phone rang. He picked up the call hurriedly. "Bradford."

The three others watched him intently as they spoke; Tim's expression dropped into a deep frown.

Tim lifted his head to them. "Where's Nolan's water heater?"

"He's what?" Avery blinked. But Lucy was already walking off from the group.

The other officers followed her into the laundry room; Tim was still on the call; Avery watched intently as his rookie climbed up the washing machine. Lucy stabled her stance and removed the top of the heater machine, finding another garbage bag in it.

"Told you so," she scoffed, pulling out the wet bag.

Ollie had her arms folded when she spoke to Avery. "Did you know they used to date?"

Avery snapped his head at her in shock. "Lucy and Nolan?"

"Yeah. Weird pairing. I know," Ollie nodded back. She crouched down next to Lucy when the latter opened the bag on the floor; the two rookies flipped through the items in the hidden plastic bag.

Tim spoke into his phone again. "We got police files, a couple pistols, and a bunch of cash," he informed, listening to the response and new instruction coming from Percy West on the other end of the call.

"Alright. CSU will process it. If there's as much as a single DNA strand from Armstrong on it, we'll know he's involved. You up for another assignment?"

"Whatever you need," Tim replied.

"Drive up to Chowchilla and retrieve the security footage of Nolan's meeting with Rosalind Dyer yesterday."

Tim shifted on his feet alarmingly. "Sir, I'm— I'm not sure we're the right team for that assignment, given Marshall's history with Rosalind Dyer."

Ollie stood back on her feet when she heard her name; she stared back at her T.O. solemnly. "What assignment?" she asked, "What's going on?"

"He wants us to get the surveillance tape from Nolan's meeting with Rosalind yesterday."

"What the hell was he doing meeting with Rosalind?" Ollie sighed aloud; both Lucy and Avery, too, mirrored her exasperation.

"It's your call, Bradford. You're her T.O. I trust your judgment."

Tim lowered his phone briefly, nodding at his rookie. "You don't have to if you—"

"I'll be fine," Ollie stated instead, feeling staunched, "Not a problem."

Tim studied her look; her look of determination triumphed. "Okay," he spoke back into the phone, "Yeah, we can handle it."

➤➤➤

Ollie rolled her eyes as they headed down the corridor in the visitors' area of the facility. "What kind of a prison doesn't have audio on their surveillance cameras?"

"Sound costs money," Tim explained shortly. "Head back to the shop while I go get a statement from Rosalind."

"Pfft— No way."

Tim turned to her intently. "It's for your own good. You have a personal connection."

Ollie let out a dry chuckle. "I appreciate the concern, sir, but Rosalind wasn't the one who put me in the barrel," she stated firmly, "So unless Caleb comes back from his grave, this is just another prisoner interview."

Her look was solemn, fierce, eager. Tim gave in to her persistence with a sigh. The guard buzzed them into the room, where Rosalind stood in a cage waiting for them. She turned around cheerfully when the door opened.

"We have a few questions to ask you," Tim declared as they stepped in, "Shouldn't take long."

"Mm. This is about John, isn't it?" Rosalind asked casually, stepping closer to the pair of officers.

"We know you talked to him about Armstrong yesterday," Tim answered. "Can you describe the content of that conversation?"

Rosalind's focus was elsewhere, though, at the other cop in the room. "You know, I am so impressed with you," she spoke to the rookie, "The way you handled what was obviously a very traumatic experience— it's inspiring."

"Yeah. Thanks," Ollie muttered back, maintaining the redhead's stare, "That should mean a lot coming from you, but... oh well."

The cocky tone in the officer's voice enthralled the woman in the cage. "So defiant—"

"Let's just stick to Nolan," Tim cut in, but Rosalind paid him no attention.

"—just like you were when the lid came down on that barrel," her voice pierced the rookie's head, "You know, it must have driven Caleb crazy— denying him the fear he so desperately wanted to see in you."

Ollie froze. "How—"

"—do I know that?" Rosalind chuckled at the officer's hard stare. "You think the camera in the barrel was for Caleb?"

"Don't listen to her. She's just playing mind games," Tim cut in again.

"Oh, I am totally playing mind games. But I'm not lying," Rosalind assured in delight.

"I ripped it off the lid as soon as I got in," Ollie countered, her expression even, "Unfortunately, I don't think you got to see much."

"Ah..." Rosalind hummed, taking a step over to the rookie officer, who held her hard stare. The prisoner was sparked by the rookie's hard-headedness. Yet she was more intrigued in breaking her down. "But unlike this prison, my camera has audio— I heard everything," she shared, finally glancing over to the other cop. "Did you know that she was calling for you the entire time? When she still had air, of course."

Ollie felt her body caged in rigidity, in her own flashbacks. The sandy terrain under her fingertips, the acres of lifelessness, the claustrophobic space within the metal tin can, the hitch of her breath catching up to her.

"Tim, where are you... Are you coming yet... It's getting hard to breathe... Where are you, Tim... I can't stay awake any longer... Why haven't you come and get me... Tim, why did you convince—"

"Knock it off," Tim snapped when he noticed Ollie's expression started to falter.

"The fierce protector," Rosalind's grin grew sickly wide, "No wonder she called for you."

"We're done here," Tim declared sharply, signalling for the guard to let them out. "Let's go. We'll have I.A. follow up."

The door buzzed open again, and Ollie could not be gladder to leave.

"Armstrong's lasted this long because his contingency plans have contingencies," Rosalind spoke at last, just before they stepped out, "Whatever you've already found, there's more."

"Armstrong's prepared to run," Ollie voiced out, though tonelessly, "He's got a go-bag hidden somewhere."

Rosalind looked impressed. "Smart girl. She's quick," she noted, "despite being all shaken up."

Tim slammed the door shut after them, dialling for Angela to notify her about Armstrong's possible go-bag. When the call ended, he realised that he was still quickening his pace to catch up with his rookie.

Ollie wanted nothing more than to get out of that place— before her head imploded on her. What was this? Humiliation? Distress? Trauma? With every step she took away from the facility, her breathing shallowed, her throat dried.

It felt like stitches getting ripped out of her still-bleeding wound in one swift go; like the sunlight was snuffed out above her when the lid shut over.

"Ollie," Tim called out when he finally caught up, but she was avoiding his gaze.

"Don't."

"Hey—" he tried again, his voice soft. He reached out to grab hold of her when he noticed her tremor; but she recoiled away so quickly, he knew better than to push. "Are you..."

"Just don't."

Yeah, he cared for her too much to see her like that.

➤➤➤

Angela had found Armstrong's go-bag before he did, buried on top of his wife's coffin.

John had volunteered to go meet Ruben Derian on a wire, insisting on making a right out of this whole situation, this whole mess, in sheer desperation. Reluctantly, and after deep discussion, the department had agreed on it.

Doubtlessly, John found himself roped into a much more disastrous situation than he had anticipated. But, John being John, managed to get out of it with minimal harm done to himself.

Armstrong was dead; Derian was arrested at last.

The two officers were free from their accused charges, though the rookie got extended on the program as a result of his actions.

➤➤➤

"Boot," Tim called out, following his rookie out of the station after their shift. "Ollie, hey—"

Ollie exhaled heavily, still trying to stalk away from him. "You are actually the last person I want to talk to right now," she confessed shortly.

"Oh." He definitely felt a sting there; he shook his head slowly. "Is it because of... what Rosalind said?"

Ollie finally stopped in her tracks in front of the parking lot. She turned to him wearily, still avoiding his simmering gaze. "Just forget about that, okay?"

He took a hesitant step towards her. "Hey, it doesn't matter what she said, or what you said when you were literally buried alive," he spoke surely, "You held on. You survived. That's what matters." She nodded weakly at his words; he exhaled again. "I really hope what happened today doesn't screw with your head."

"Bit late for that," she mumbled, shaking her head. "This is gonna haunt me forever, huh?"

"Only if you let it," he affirmed. "But I'll be here to help you deal with it. If you want me to."

Ollie finally glimpsed up at him; a worried frown was set on his face, but the genuine look behind his eyes did comfort her a little. Tim stared back, a part of him wanted to hold her, to assure her, to let her know that he was sincere about his words; his head prevented him from doing just so.

"It's not part of your job description, though."

"Oh, I know," Tim mused, shaking his head with a light chuckle. "Where are you heading?" he asked again, walking her to her car.

Ollie let out a long sigh. "To put my therapist in overtime."

➤➤➤

"If you're going to let me punch in O.T. hours, the least you could do is talk," Dr Lee glanced up from their clipboard with a heavy sigh.

"I don't know what to say," Ollie finally spoke, hugging the pillow at her chest like her life depended on it. "I thought that seeing Rosalind wouldn't affect me, since it was Caleb who had done all those things. But... when she brought up what happened in the barrel, I just..." she let in a sharp breath, "I felt like I was stripped open. I felt so vulnerable. I felt like I was in there again," she chuckled weakly, "Hell— it feels like all our progress has been undone by one prisoner visit today."

"That's not true," the psychiatrist assured her. "When coming face-to-face with the root of a traumatic event, it's normal for you to react that way, even if your mind had convinced you otherwise. Trauma is an unpredictable thing, Ollie, and today, you decided to face it. And you faced it well. I call that progress."

The officer slumped into her seat, staring at the carpeted floor. "Sure feels like it sucks."

Dr Lee chuckled lightly, pushing up the frame of their glasses. "Do you want to tell me what she said to you, so we could start from there?"

"It's more like what I said in the barrel..."

"Oh. Are you ready to share that with me?"

Tim, come on, why can't I hear your footsteps? Why can't I hear any of your footsteps?

I'm getting so tired. I don't know if I still want to hold on.

Tim, am I going to be dead before you find me?

If you do find me after my last breath, don't get me flowers at my funeral.

Tim, why did you convince me to go get a drink? Why didn't you just come with?

Ollie gulped uneasily. The words that had been replaying in her head would not pour out through her voice. "Some other day," she muttered out lastly in defeat, "I don't wanna think about what I said. I don't wanna think about... him."

Dr Lee raised a brow curiously. "Is this the 'him' we've been discussing about?"

"Yes."

"I see."

"Yeah," Ollie sighed, "My feelings are just so raw right now. I just..."

The psychiatrist nodded understandingly at her loss of words, taking the small piece of what she shared into thought. "How does lying down and staring at the ceiling sound?"

Ollie kicked her feet up onto the couch immediately in relief. "Perfect."

━━━━━

Me writing this chapter: Ouch ouch ouch ouch so vulnerable oUCH—