Mid-Wilshire Division – 5:58 AM
The morning rolled in with a calmness that felt suspicious. Alice Hartwell leaned against the railing just outside the precinct, her tea thermos cradled between her gloved hands. In the quiet, she could almost pretend the world was simple — before the calls started coming, before sirens replaced birdsong.
But even the quiet had edges here.
She looked up just in time to catch Tim Bradford walking toward her.
He looked exactly like he always did: pressed, unreadable, boots clicking in rhythm with his pace. And yet, something about him was different this morning. His eyes, maybe. Or the way his shoulders weren't quite as squared as usual.
"You're early," he said, pausing beside her.
"You're still surprised by that?"
"Just surprised you're not feeding raccoons again."
"They were squirrels," she replied calmly. "And they needed breakfast."
He didn't smile, but she noticed the faint twitch in his jaw — his tell when he found something secretly amusing.
Tim glanced down at her thermos. "Tea again?"
Alice nodded, taking a small sip. "It helps me think."
"You think too much."
"You feel too little."
He arched a brow. "You don't know that."
"I'm learning."
There was a pause. Heavy, but not uncomfortable.
He looked out at the city. "Today's different."
Alice tilted her head. "Why?"
"Ride-along. Civilian observer. You'll be playing tour guide."
She blinked. "You're letting a civilian sit in while I prove I'm not a liability?"
"I'm not letting them. Grey is."
"And you're not thrilled about it."
"I'm not thrilled about anything."
That got a small laugh from her. "Except protein bars and solitude."
He opened the cruiser door. "Get in, Hartwell."
"Aye aye, Captain Wolf."
---
7:12 AM – Civilian Ride-Along
The ride-along was already waiting at the station — a man in his late thirties, nervous but trying to hide it with humor. His name was Darren Kyle, a local real estate agent participating in a community policing program.
Tim gave the usual speech — don't touch anything, stay in the car, keep your mouth shut unless someone's bleeding.
Alice, on the other hand, gave Darren a polite smile and offered him a mint.
"Why do I feel like she's the dangerous one?" Darren joked.
"She is," Tim replied flatly.
Darren laughed.
Tim didn't.
---
8:00 AM – Noise Complaint in Koreatown
First call of the shift: a noise complaint outside a karaoke bar where a group of young adults was filming a live stream while blasting music through an open SUV.
Bradford handled it like he always did — fast, direct, all business.
But Alice...
She knelt beside one of the girls holding a phone and smiled warmly.
"Didn't realize we were going viral this morning," she said. "But the neighbors aren't your biggest fans."
The girl blinked, surprised at the soft approach. "Sorry... we're just doing a birthday stream."
Alice nodded. "Want to make a cool birthday memory? Help us turn this down before my partner uses his scary voice."
The girl giggled and complied.
Back in the car, Darren turned to Alice. "You're not what I expected in a cop."
"Let me guess," she said. "Less shouty, more Alice-in-Wonderland?"
"Exactly."
Tim glanced at her in the rearview. "Just wait. The tea parties don't last forever."
---
10:22 AM – Armed Robbery in Progress
The call came fast.
Two suspects robbing a corner store in Boyle Heights. Weapons visible. Hostages unconfirmed.
Tim's posture shifted instantly — all tension and readiness. Alice straightened in her seat, eyes narrowing.
"You stay in the car," Tim ordered Darren. "No exceptions."
Darren nodded, face pale.
They approached silently. Tim went left, Alice right.
One suspect bolted out the back door. Alice gave chase.
"LAPD! Stop!"
The suspect glanced back — then stumbled on the curb. Alice tackled him, hard, rolling over gravel.
He swung a fist — she ducked, struck his knee, and got him cuffed in seconds.
Back at the car, Tim had the other suspect down, face in the pavement.
Darren stared, speechless.
Tim turned to Alice. "You good?"
She nodded, brushing dirt from her hands. "He didn't even get a punch in this time."
Tim stared at her a little longer than necessary.
Then muttered, "Nice work, Rabbit."
---
--
12:05 PM – Lunch Break in the Cruiser
They sat in the car beneath the shade of a rusted billboard that once advertised soda, now faded to a whisper of color. Traffic hummed in the background, and Darren — the ride-along — was scrolling through his phone in the back seat, mercifully quiet.
Tim Bradford sat behind the wheel, munching on a protein bar. Alice, in the passenger seat, cradled a pale blue thermos of tea like it was an old friend.
"You always bring that thing?" Darren asked.
"She'd sooner leave her gun behind," Tim muttered.
Alice smiled. "Tea is my weapon of choice."
"Seriously though," Darren said, leaning forward a little. "You two are... kind of opposites, huh?"
Tim gave him a look through the rearview mirror. "We're not a buddy cop movie."
Alice turned slightly, eyes glinting. "Maybe not, but if we were, I'd be the charmingly chaotic one with a mysterious backstory."
Tim snorted. "You got the chaos part right."
Darren leaned back. "So what is your backstory?"
There was a pause.
Then — softly — Alice said, "I used to be a medic. Army. Overseas."
Tim glanced at her. He hadn't expected her to answer.
Alice continued, her voice quiet, but not fragile.
"Ten years. Saw too much. Came back to a brother I couldn't save and a country that didn't remember me. So I looked for something to believe in again."
Darren didn't speak.
Neither did Tim.
The silence felt respectful.
And then — from her lips, like a breeze: "Sometimes I think I became a cop because I wanted to carry a gun and still be the kind of person who heals."
Tim's throat tightened.
Not because of her words.
But because he understood them.
And that was the most dangerous part of all.
---
1:37 PM – High-Risk Traffic Stop
The call was a routine plate check — stolen vehicle spotted by a red-light camera. But the minute they pulled the black SUV over, Tim felt it: wrong energy.
"Darren," he said tightly, "stay in the car."
Alice exited on the passenger side, scanning the windows. Three occupants. The driver had his hands on the wheel — the others were twitchy. Too twitchy.
"I've got movement backseat right," Alice whispered.
Tim approached slowly. "LAPD. Everyone, hands where I can see them."
The driver complied.
The passenger... didn't.
Alice's hand was already at her holster.
"Sir," she called. "Let me see both hands."
He shifted.
Suddenly — a glint.
Gun.
Time slowed.
Alice moved first — ducked left, weapon raised.
"DROP IT!"
But he opened the door and ran.
Tim chased. Alice flanked.
They cornered him near a loading dock. The suspect aimed over a crate — Tim fired once. Not to kill. To warn.
The man surrendered.
Back at the scene, Tim looked at Alice as they walked back to the cruiser.
"You almost stepped in front of my shot."
"I was reading his eyes," she said calmly. "He was scared. Not ready to die."
"That doesn't make him less dangerous."
She stopped walking. "And thinking every suspect is a monster doesn't make you safer, Tim."
He turned, eyes flaring.
For a moment, they just stared at each other — two souls who burned in completely different colors.
Then Darren's voice piped up from the car. "I feel like I'm watching a weird cop soap opera and I don't know whose side I'm on."
Neither of them laughed.
But they did walk the rest of the way back in silence — just close enough for their shoulders to nearly brush.
---
3:40 PM – Civilian Drop-Off
Darren Kyle was dropped off back at the station without incident.
He shook both their hands, looking between them like he wanted to say something important.
"You two are... something," he said.
"What kind of something?" Tim asked flatly.
Darren grinned. "Like flint and kindling. You either make fire, or blow each other up."
Alice winked. "Sometimes both."
---
4:55 PM – The Locker Room
The end of shift hit harder than usual. Maybe it was the tension. The silence between calls. The way she'd almost thrown herself between a suspect and a bullet — again.
Alice sat on the bench in the women's locker room, peeling off her vest with a quiet hiss of pain. A bruise bloomed along her collarbone from earlier — the impact of the tackle she'd taken chasing the suspect.
Her hands trembled slightly.
She hated that.
"You okay?"
His voice came from the doorway — low, careful. Not commanding.
Alice glanced up, startled. "Didn't think you were the type to invade locker rooms."
"I'm not. The others are gone. I knocked."
She arched an eyebrow. "You knock? Didn't think you were the polite type either."
He stepped in, holding something in his hand.
A pack of cooling gel patches. The kind medics used.
She blinked. "You raided my kit?"
"You left it in the cruiser."
He didn't sit beside her — not quite. Just close enough to hand her the pack.
She peeled one open, pressing it to the bruise.
"You always jump in front of guns?" he asked quietly.
"I don't jump in front of them," she murmured. "I walk into the line where no one else will."
"That's stupid."
"It's human."
He studied her for a long time. Long enough that she had to look away.
When she finally looked back, his voice was softer.
"You scare the hell out of me sometimes."
"You hide it well," she replied.
He hesitated.
Then said, "You don't belong here, Alice."
Her chest tightened. "Thanks."
"I don't mean that the way it sounds."
She waited.
"I mean... you belong somewhere better than this."
Her voice cracked just a little. "Then maybe help me make this place better."
Their eyes met.
And held.
And this time, neither of them looked away.
---
6:20 PM – Code 3: Officer Down
The call came in with a piercing urgency that could shake the soul.
"10-13. Officer down. Shots fired. Requesting immediate backup."
Tim and Alice were just pulling out of the precinct garage when it hit the radio. The tension in the air shifted — thick, sharp, electric.
Tim's hands tightened on the wheel. "That's two blocks from here."
Alice was already pressing her vest tighter against her chest.
No words.
No jokes.
Just instinct.
They arrived within ninety seconds.
The street was chaos — flashing lights, sirens, sobs. Officers converged around a sidewalk where a young patrol cop lay in a pool of blood, his TO trying desperately to hold pressure on a chest wound.
Alice didn't ask permission.
She sprinted forward, dropping to her knees beside the fallen officer.
"Let me work!" she shouted.
Tim covered them, scanning for threats, his own heart hammering.
Alice tore open the vest, her gloves slick with blood in seconds.
"He's crashing!" the TO yelled.
"Not yet," Alice breathed. "Not yet, not—"
The heart monitor flatlined.
"No."
She kept working.
Compress.
Breathe.
Shock.
Compress.
But her hands began to tremble.
"Come on," she whispered. "Stay with me. Come on..."
Still nothing.
Silence.
A hand touched her shoulder.
Tim.
She looked up — her eyes wide, lost. Her palms soaked in crimson.
"He was just a kid."
Tim's jaw clenched. "You did everything you could."
"He was breathing when we got here."
"And you kept him breathing longer than anyone else could've."
Her fingers tightened against her knees. "It's not fair."
Tim knelt beside her, shielding her from the others.
His voice dropped to something raw. "This job isn't fair. It never was."
Her voice cracked. "Then why do we keep doing it?"
He didn't answer.
Not because he didn't know.
But because the answer wouldn't help right now.
---
7:45 PM – The Aftermath
The precinct was quiet — too quiet. Grief floated through the air like fog, thick and suffocating.
Alice sat in the back corner of the breakroom, her hands finally clean, but her soul still drenched in the weight of the loss. A single fluorescent bulb flickered above her.
Tim entered silently, two coffees in hand. He set one down beside her.
"You need to hydrate," he said.
She stared at the cup.
Then whispered, "What was his name?"
Tim sat across from her.
"Officer Kevin Wolfe. Twenty-four. First year on the job. No priors. No complaints."
"Good kid."
"The best."
They sat in silence.
Finally, Alice spoke again.
"When I was a medic, I held a soldier in my lap while he bled out from a landmine. He was nineteen. Asked me if he was dying."
Tim said nothing.
"He was," she whispered. "But I lied. Told him he'd make it. That help was coming."
"You did the right thing."
"I never forgot his face."
She looked at Tim then — and her eyes weren't shining with tears.
They were burning.
"I'm so tired of watching people die."
Tim didn't try to comfort her.
Instead, he offered something heavier.
"I watched a partner bleed out in front of me. My first month as a TO."
Alice met his eyes.
"You blamed yourself?"
He nodded. "Still do."
Their pain mirrored one another. Different wounds. Same ache.
Without thinking, her hand slid across the table — gloved fingers brushing his.
"I don't want to become numb," she said.
"You won't," he said quietly.
"How do you know?"
"Because you still cry for strangers."
He didn't pull his hand away.
Neither did she.
---
9:10 PM – In the Cruiser, On Watch
They were both ordered off-duty after the shooting, but neither went home. Instead, they sat in the cruiser, watching the empty streets as night swallowed the city.
Alice stared through the windshield, eyes distant.
"Did you ever wish you could go back?" she asked suddenly.
"To what?"
"To before all this."
Tim thought for a long time.
Then shook his head. "No."
"Not even once?"
"Going back means erasing the lessons. The people. Even the pain. That's the only thing that teaches us to move forward."
She turned to him, something fragile in her expression.
"I'm scared I'm going to break."
Tim finally looked at her.
Full.
Direct.
"You won't."
"You don't know that."
"Yes, I do."
She smiled softly. "Because I'm Rabbit Girl?"
He shook his head. "No. Because you're tougher than you look. And smarter than you act."
Alice laughed, a shaky sound. "Wow. That almost sounded like a compliment."
He leaned slightly toward her. "Don't let it go to your head."
There was a pause.
Not tension. Not discomfort.
Just a space charged with something unspoken.
Alice reached down slowly and unclipped her gloves, one finger at a time.
Then — carefully — she placed her bare hand over his.
Tim flinched, but didn't move away.
The contact was electric.
Real.
Her fingers slid between his — not romantically. Not flirtatiously.
But intimately.
Like trust.
Like grounding.
And in that moment, she didn't feel like a rookie.
And he didn't feel like a TO.
They just felt like two broken pieces finally fitting together.
---
10:30 AM – Three Days Later – Officer Wolfe's Funeral
The sky mourned in silence.
No rain. No clouds. Just a gray stillness that draped itself over Los Angeles like a burial cloth. Rows of officers stood in formation outside the cathedral, black uniforms sharper than grief could dull. The air held its breath. Every cough, every footstep, every whisper sounded like a sin.
Tim Bradford stood near the end of the front row, his sunglasses hiding more than just the sun.
Alice was beside him, quiet as snowfall. Her dark dress uniform fit differently — too stiff, too symbolic. The blue stripes felt heavier today.
Across the courtyard, a trumpet began to play.
"Taps."
It never got easier.
Alice's fingers twitched slightly at her side.
Tim noticed.
He didn't speak. Just shifted slightly so their shoulders touched.
The gesture grounded her.
She didn't move away.
---
12:00 PM – The Wake
The reception was held at a community center, modest and full of people trying to smile through heartbreak. Photographs of Officer Kevin Wolfe lined the walls — training photos, Academy shots, a candid picture of him smiling beside a cake that read "First Shift."
Alice lingered by that photo.
She didn't cry.
But she stared for a long time.
"I didn't even know him," she whispered when Tim joined her.
He looked at the photo. "Doesn't mean it hurts less."
"I keep thinking about his mom. What she's doing right now. What she'll do tomorrow."
"She'll survive," Tim said. "Because someone will make sure she does."
Alice turned to him.
Her voice cracked, just once. "And who makes sure we survive?"
Tim hesitated.
Then answered, "Each other."
It was a simple truth. But it felt like a promise.
---
4:05 PM – A Bar on Pico Blvd
Tim didn't want to drink. But tradition said otherwise.
So he sat in a booth at a quiet bar frequented by LAPD officers, nursing a beer he hadn't touched, while the world buzzed around him in low tones and clinking glass.
Alice found him there, still in uniform, cap removed, curls down.
She looked tired. But solid.
"I figured you'd sneak out after the first round," she said, sliding into the seat across from him.
"I did. I just snuck into silence."
She studied him. "You always carry grief like armor?"
He met her gaze. "And you carry it like a question you're afraid to ask."
That landed.
She leaned forward slightly. "Do you believe in redemption?"
"For who?"
"For people like us."
Tim looked down at his hands. "I think redemption isn't something you earn once. I think you fight for it every single damn day."
Alice nodded slowly. "That's what I thought."
A beat passed. Then she said it — so softly he almost didn't hear it.
"I dreamed about you."
He blinked.
She looked him in the eye. "Three nights in a row. After the shooting. You weren't in uniform. We were walking somewhere... no weapons, no weight. Just light."
Tim's breath caught.
"What did I say?" he asked.
She smiled. "Nothing. But you listened."
He looked away, jaw tight.
"You don't know what you're doing," he murmured.
She reached across the table, fingers brushing his.
"Yeah, I do."
---
6:45 PM – Tim's Truck, Outside Alice's Building
He insisted on driving her home.
She didn't argue.
The city passed in silence, orange light slanting through the windows. Her hand rested on the armrest. His was on the wheel. They didn't need to look at each other to feel everything humming between them.
When he pulled up to her building, he killed the engine but didn't unlock the doors.
"You okay?" he asked.
"No," she replied. "But I will be."
She turned to him.
"You?"
He hesitated.
Then said, "I don't know."
It was the most honest thing she'd ever heard him say.
Alice undid her seatbelt. The click echoed like a starting pistol.
She leaned toward him — not fast. Not desperate.
Just real.
Her forehead brushed his.
His eyes closed.
"You don't have to kiss me," she whispered.
"I know," he murmured.
"But if you do," she said, "don't make it an apology."
He opened his eyes.
And kissed her.
Not like in the movies.
Not perfect. Not choreographed.
But honest. Like breaking. Like healing. Like finally breathing after holding it for too long.
It was brief.
But devastating.
When she pulled away, her eyes stayed closed a moment longer.
"See you tomorrow, Wolf," she said, voice soft.
"Don't be late, Rabbit," he replied.
---
Later That Night – Bradford's Apartment
Tim stood in the dark, the city's noise muffled by the thick walls of his home. He poured himself a glass of water and stared at the photo on the fridge.
Him and Isabel, back before everything collapsed.
It didn't hurt the same way anymore.
He picked up the rabbit's foot keychain Alice had dropped once in the cruiser — she must've forgotten it again.
Or maybe... she hadn't.
He smiled.
Just a little.
Then clipped it to the edge of his keyring.
---