❪ 𝖚𝖑𝖙𝖗𝖆 𝖛𝖎𝖔𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊 ❫ ˖ ׁ ⁩ 𓂃
𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚁𝙾𝙾𝙺𝙸𝙴  ⸻  ✧˖°.ᐟ
❝ MORALS OR LAWS? ❞

「𝜗𝜚 . ❝ they're partners on the field, but every time they're side by side, she can feel the tension in the air—a silent dare neither of them is ready to take ❜

𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐸𝑀𝑂𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁𝐴𝐿 toll of being a police officer is often the most challenging aspect, yet it's rarely discussed openly. While the physical and mental demands are daunting, it's the emotional burden that weighs heaviest on their hearts.

It's the gut-wrenching decisions they must make, like prioritizing gathering evidence over rushing to save a life in the heat of the moment. How they have to sacrifice their humanity for the rest of the world to keep theirs. The weight of these choices can be crushing, leaving a lingering ache in their souls long after the adrenaline has faded.

"LAPD. Hands," Bradford commanded with unwavering authority, his expression stern, eyes ablaze with determination. The streetlights cast long shadows over the scene, their harsh glare illuminating the tension etched on his face.

Anxious, Charlotte chewed on her lip, echoing his command but with a softer tone. Bradford shot her a skeptical look. "Don't move, show us your hands," she urged, hoping for compliance. The smell of burnt rubber and gasoline filled the air, a sharp reminder of the crash that had led them here.

The suspected DUI driver grunted in response, assuring them of his compliance. "Don't worry. I'm not going...grunt...a-anywhere." His voice was slurred, a mix of defiance and resignation.

Observing Bradford's furrowed brow, not out of pity but sheer anger, Charlotte watched as he strode purposefully towards the car, popping the trunk with force. The metallic clank echoed in the still night, a stark contrast to the muffled sounds of the city beyond.

She turned back to the driver, attempting to maintain a serious demeanor, though a frown inevitably formed. She shook her head, anticipating the comments Bradford would make later if she allowed her emotions to show. The weight of her duty pressed heavily on her shoulders, the lines between right and wrong blurring in the dim light. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat echoing the conflict within her.

Unbuckling the radio from her belt, she lifted it to her lips. "7-Adam-19, DUI suspect crashed at Melrose and Serrano. We need ambulance and fire, stat. Code 3," she repeated, her voice steady despite the turmoil within. The radio crackled in response, a lifeline to the outside world

The sirens wailed loudly in the background as the emergency vehicles swiftly pulled up. Charlotte gulped, feeling a surge of anxiety wash over her, her mind clouding with traumatic flashbacks from when she was stabbed. Each blaring siren felt like a painful echo of that past experience, threatening to overwhelm her in the present moment.

Her breathing grew shallow, each inhale a struggle against the rising tide of panic. The lights from the emergency vehicles cast eerie shadows, making the scene feel surreal. Each blaring siren felt like a painful echo of that past experience, threatening to overwhelm her in the present moment.

Bradford's jaw was set in a rigid line, his movements swift and precise as he handled the bolt cutters. Each snap of the tool felt like a jolt to Charlotte's nerves, her muscles tensing involuntarily. The weight of the situation bore down on her, pressing like a vice on her chest.

She stole a glance at the driver, his face pale and contorted with pain. Despite the dire circumstances, his eyes held a surprising slight glimpse of steadiness, a resigned acceptance of his fate. Her own breath came in shallow gasps, the effort to maintain her composure a battle against the rising tide of panic within her.

She faced the DUI driver, crouching down to look through his broken window. "Sir, just hang in there. The ambulance is here." Her voice wavered slightly, the effort to remain calm taking its toll. She could see the fear in his eyes, mirrored in her own reflection.

The smell of blood mixed with the burnt rubber, creating a nauseating scent that clung to the back of her throat. The driver's lips curled into a grimace, a weak attempt at a reassuring smile that failed to reach his eyes.

Beads of sweat started to form on her forehead and neck as her breathing labored. She chewed harder on her lip, trying to keep her panic down. The metallic taste of blood mingled with the acrid smell of smoke, a bitter reminder of the stakes. Her hands trembled, the urge to do something, anything, almost overwhelming.

Bradford's impatience was palpable, his eyes flickering with irritation as he continued his task. The EMTs hovered nearby, their urgency a constant pressure on the periphery of her awareness. Charlotte's mind raced, a cacophony of thoughts and fears threatening to overwhelm her.

"Should I pull it out?" The driver's question sliced through her haze of anxiety, grounding her in the present moment. She shook her head vehemently, her voice a strained whisper.

Her eyes widened with alarm. "No, no, no. Don't move, don't move," she murmured breathlessly, her heart pounding in her chest. Her voice was barely above a whisper, the effort to keep calm taking its toll. She could feel the weight of the night pressing down on her, each moment stretching into an eternity. Her hands trembled as she reached out to steady him. The rough texture of the car's interior pressed against her fingertips, a stark contrast to the smooth, cold surface of the driver's skin.

Bradford returned with a pair of bolt cutters from their shop, his movements efficient and determined. "Stay still. I'm gonna cut this pipe. Three...two..." he murmured, his voice focused as he carefully maneuvered the tool to clip a part of the pipe, leaving some of it still embedded in the driver's body.

The tension in the air was palpable, each second stretching into an eternity. The sharp sound of the clip made Charlotte flinch involuntarily. She hadn't even realized she was tensed until Bradford glanced over his shoulder at her, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he gave her a searching look. His eyes were hard, the lines of his face set in grim determination.

The driver's grunt of pain was a stark reminder of their reality, a reminder that every decision carried weight, every action had consequences. Bradford's gaze flickered back to her again, his eyes narrowing in confusion at her tensed posture. She forced herself to meet his gaze, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat.

He turned back to the DUI driver, his serious expression returning with the weight of authority. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to represent you. Do you understand each of these rights?" The words were a rehearsed script, each syllable delivered with mechanical precision.

The driver simply grunted, nodding in acknowledgment. "Yes, sir." His voice was weak, the fight draining out of him as the reality of his situation set in. The lights from the ambulance cast long shadows on his face, highlighting the lines of pain and resignation etched into his features.

EMTs started taking over, their urgency pushing them slightly out of the way to tend to the injured man. The flashing lights of the ambulance bathed the scene in a surreal glow, casting eerie shadows on the pavement. The urgency in their movements was palpable, a stark contrast to the controlled tension between Bradford and Charlotte.

Bradford continued undeterred. "Now, you're required to provide a chemical sample if suspected of driving while impaled—sorry, impaired," her T.O. corrected himself bluntly, ignoring Charlotte's pointed look.

"You can choose between blood, breath, or urine. A refusal will result in the immediate suspension of your license for a minimum of a year," he explained to the questioned drunk driver. His voice was a monotonous drone, the words a rehearsed script.

The EMTs grew restless, urging them to step aside as they rushed to attend to the injured driver. "We need to get him to surgery!" one of them insisted urgently. Their voices were strained, the urgency of their task clear in their every movement.

But Bradford shook his head adamantly. "No, not before I get my blood draw. 21-gauge-vial," he retorted firmly, his voice cutting through the chaos. His eyes were cold, the determination in them unyielding. The tension between them crackled in the air, an unspoken battle of wills.

Charlotte felt a surge of turmoil and anxiety coursing through her once again. She released a shaky breath, but Bradford shot her a confused look. "Can't this wait? He's obviously—"

"Wait, what? Huh? He's what? Oh, he's dying? You can't be serious, Charlotte," Bradford interrupted, his tone dripping with disdain. The way he said her name sent a wave of unease washing over her, sinking into the pit of her stomach. The gravity of the situation pressed down on her, the weight of her duty a constant reminder of the stakes. Each word felt like a blow, the tension between them a palpable force.

"This guy got drunk and hit a kid with his car, maybe killed him. If we wait, his blood alcohol will return to normal, and we'll lose a crucial piece of evidence," Bradford explains, accepting the vial of blood from the EMT and sealing it in an evidence bag.

Charlotte looked down into the car, where a pool of blood had seeped into the driver's seat. The sight sent a shiver down her spine, and she couldn't help but feel a surge of empathy as memories of her own trauma resurfaced. The metallic tang of blood mixed with the sharp smell of gasoline, creating a nauseating cocktail that lingered in the cool night air. The flickering streetlights cast eerie shadows over the scene, making the blood glisten ominously.

Before Bradford could say another word, Charlotte turned around abruptly, feeling the panic rising within her like a tidal wave. The air felt thick and heavy, suffocating her with each rapid breath she took. Her chest tightened, and she struggled to catch her breath, the world around her spinning. The streetlights seemed to blur, casting distorted shadows that only heightened her sense of disorientation. She could hear the distant murmur of onlookers, their voices blending into an overwhelming cacophony.

Tears blurred her vision as adrenaline coursed through her veins, leaving her trembling uncontrollably. Bradford's voice was a distant echo as he rushed to catch up to her, his shouts drowned out by the blaring sirens of the approaching ambulance. The sound was a deafening roar, a reminder of the chaos and urgency surrounding them. She felt the cold night air against her skin, sharp and biting, contrasting with the warmth of her escalating panic.

He reached out, grabbing her shoulder and forcefully spinning her around, pinning her against the wall to prevent her from running away again. The rough brick pressed into her back, grounding her in the harsh reality of the moment. She could feel the gritty texture of the wall through her uniform, adding to her discomfort.

"Officer Von Liljah, you're gonna let a little blood bother you from working? If you wanna work in this branch, you're gonna have to toughen the fuck up," he snarled, his words like daggers as he pressed her harder against the unforgiving surface. His face was inches from hers, the intensity in his eyes burning through the fog of her panic. She could smell the faint scent of his aftershave, a sharp contrast to the foul odors surrounding them.

"Charlotte! For fuck's sake, we don't have time for this. Snap out of your little fit!" His voice boomed, echoing in the cramped space, as he tried to shake her out of her panic. The desperation in his voice was palpable, a mix of frustration and concern. His grip on her shoulder was firm, almost painful, but it kept her anchored in the present.

She gasped for breath, her hands trembling as they clutched her uniform right where she was stabbed weeks before. The memory of the knife piercing her flesh flashed through her mind, the pain and fear as vivid as if it had just happened. Bradford's sharp gaze quickly zeroed in on her panicked state, and he followed the trajectory of her trembling hands to the spot where the knife had pierced her flesh. The memory was a dark shadow over her consciousness, making it hard to focus.

A string of curses escaped his lips, muttered under his breath, before he softened slightly, his demeanor shifting. With gentle determination, he reached out and took her hand, pulling it away from her shirt. With almost practiced ease, he unbuttoned his uniform with one hand, guiding her trembling hand under his shirt. The unexpected warmth of his skin was a stark contrast to the cool evening air.

Charlotte felt the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against her palm, a surprisingly comforting anchor in the midst of her turmoil. "Listen to my heartbeat, Charlotte," he said softly, his voice a soothing murmur that cut through the chaos in her mind. The steady thump, thump of his heart provided a focal point, something solid to concentrate on amidst the swirling panic.

"Breathe, Charlotte. Breathe for me," he whispered gently, his eyes locking with hers, willing her to find calmness within the steady rhythm of his heart. The warmth of his skin under her hand, the solid presence of his heartbeat, was a lifeline she clung to desperately. She could feel the tension in her body slowly begin to release, the chaotic whirlwind of her thoughts starting to settle.

As their eyes locked, time seemed to stand still for a moment. Charlotte found herself lost in the depths of his gaze, his pupils dilating softly in response to the intensity of the moment. Unconsciously, her breathing began to regulate, syncing with the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her palm. The noise of the sirens faded to a distant hum, the world narrowing to just the two of them. She could see the concern in his eyes, a rare glimpse of vulnerability that made her feel less alone.

But before she could fully comprehend the significance of the moment, Bradford quickly shook his head, pulling her hand away from his chest and releasing it. The sudden break in contact jolted her back to reality, and she hastily wiped away her tears, trying to compose herself. The cold night air felt sharper against her skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of his touch. She took a deep breath, the crisp air filling her lungs and helping to clear her mind.

Bradford's demeanor shifted back to its usual coldness, and he cleared his throat, stepping back from her. His gaze flickered briefly around the surroundings before settling on her, his head tilted ever so slightly in silent inquiry. The stern lines of his face softened just a fraction, a silent acknowledgment of her struggle. She could see the remnants of concern in his eyes, though he tried to mask it with his usual gruff exterior.

Charlotte nodded softly in response to his unspoken question, silently assuring him that she was okay. The tension in her chest eased slightly, though the weight of the events still pressed heavily on her shoulders. She straightened her posture, drawing on the inner strength that had gotten her through so much already.

"Now, Officer Von Liljah," Tim's voice broke the silence, the sternness returning to his tone. "Are you going to be a problem?" His eyes bore into hers, searching for any sign of weakness. She could feel the weight of his expectation, the unspoken demand for resilience.

Charlotte shook her head firmly, her resolve strengthening. "No, sir," she replied, her voice steady despite the lingering tremors in her hands. She met his gaze head-on, a silent promise that she would not falter.

With a nod of acknowledgment, Tim began to walk back towards their shop. "Attagirl," he muttered, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. The tension between them dissolved, replaced by a renewed sense of determination. She followed him, her steps steadier now, the night air feeling a bit less oppressive. The road ahead was still uncertain, but for the moment, she felt ready to face it.

𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐽𝑂𝑈𝑅𝑁𝐸𝑌 to their next destination was enveloped in an uneasy silence. Charlotte found herself lost in her thoughts, her mind swirling with the events that had transpired mere moments ago. She chewed on her lip gently, a nervous habit that helped to distract her from the tumultuous emotions churning within her. Despite her best efforts to push the memory aside, it resurfaced with vivid clarity.

She couldn't shake the image of Tim's gentle touch, guiding her hand to his bare chest with a tenderness that belied his usual stoicism. The rhythmic beat of his heart against her trembling palm echoed in her mind, a haunting reminder of their brief but intimate connection.

The car hummed along the road, the rhythmic sound of the engine providing a steady backdrop to the tension brewing between them. She could feel Bradford's gaze boring into her, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, but his attention clearly divided. The interior of the car smelled faintly of leather and the lingering scent of coffee, a mundane contrast to the charged atmosphere.

Charlotte shifted uncomfortably in her seat, the weight of his scrutiny pressing down on her like a leaden blanket. Her fingers absentmindedly toyed with the hem of her sleeve, her teeth drilling into her bottom lip like a damn drill, a nervous habit she'd developed over the years to quell her rising anxiety. The city lights outside flickered and danced, casting fleeting shadows inside the car, creating a disjointed mosaic of light and dark.

Bradford's voice cut through the silence, sharp and accusatory. "Do I need to be worried that your mood is gonna affect our chances in this competition and my shift?" he asked, his tone laced with thinly veiled concern, but mostly arrogance and irritation. His words hung in the air, heavy and oppressive, amplifying the already tense atmosphere.

Charlotte met his gaze briefly, a flicker of frustration dancing behind her eyes before she quickly averted her gaze. She wasn't frustrated with the question itself, just frustrated with herself. She'd made too many mistakes so far in her rookie year, and crying in front of her T.O twice was one of many. The memory of those moments burned with embarrassment, her cheeks flushing at the thought.

"I'm fine," she replied tersely, hoping to put an end to the conversation before it escalated further. Her voice was a strained attempt at calm, the words forced through the tight knot in her throat. She could hear the distant hum of the city outside, the occasional blare of a horn or the murmur of passing pedestrians.

But Bradford wasn't one to let things slide so easily. He leaned slightly towards her, his expression a mix of scrutiny and exasperation. "You're chewing on your lip like a damn vampire," he pointed out, his words a blunt observation that hit uncomfortably close to home. She froze, her lips stilling their incessant movement as she contemplated his words. The comment stung, a raw reminder of her visible vulnerability.

With a heavy sigh, Charlotte turned to face the window, seeking solace in the passing scenery outside. The streets blurred together in a monotonous haze of asphalt and concrete, the cityscape stretching out before them like an endless maze of possibilities and pitfalls. The glow of the streetlights painted the buildings in a pale, sickly yellow, casting long, distorted shadows that seemed to dance and shift with every passing second.

The car's engine purred steadily, a constant companion in the otherwise silent journey. She watched as they passed by rows of storefronts, their signs flickering in the night, advertising everything from late-night diners to 24-hour convenience stores. The air outside was thick with the scent of city life—exhaust fumes, the faint aroma of street food, and the ever-present undertone of damp concrete.

Charlotte's mind drifted back to Tim's heartbeat, the steady, reassuring thump that had momentarily grounded her. It was a stark contrast to the current reality, the tension between her and Bradford palpable and suffocating. She closed her eyes briefly, trying to recapture that fleeting sense of calm, but the moment had passed, leaving her adrift once more.

She could feel the rough fabric of her uniform against her skin, the tightness in her chest refusing to fully dissipate. The memory of her own trauma lingered at the edges of her consciousness, a shadow she couldn't quite shake. Every beat of the car's engine seemed to match the racing of her heart, a relentless reminder of the night's events.

Bradford's presence loomed beside her, a constant, imposing figure. His earlier words replayed in her mind, each syllable a prick against her already fragile composure. She knew he was watching her, waiting for a sign of weakness, and it only added to the pressure weighing her down.

As they drove on, the city's lights began to thin out, replaced by the darker, quieter stretches of road leading to their destination. The car's headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the path ahead in stark, white light. The silence between them stretched on, heavy and unyielding, as if daring either of them to break it.

Charlotte's fingers continued to toy with the hem of her sleeve, the repetitive motion a small comfort in the midst of her turmoil. She glanced briefly at Bradford, his face set in a mask of determination and frustration. Despite everything, there was a flicker of concern in his eyes, a hint of something softer beneath the surface.

She took a deep breath, letting the cool night air fill her lungs, and tried to steady herself. The road ahead was uncertain, filled with challenges she couldn't yet foresee, but for now, she had to focus on the present. The rhythmic hum of the car's engine, the passing scenery, and the distant glow of the city were her only constants.

With each passing moment, Charlotte felt a small measure of calm begin to return. It wasn't much, but it was enough to remind her that she could face whatever lay ahead. She straightened her posture, her resolve strengthening as she met Bradford's gaze once more.

"No, sir," she repeated, her voice firmer this time. "I'm not going to ruin our chances in this competition." The words hung in the air between them, a promise and a challenge all at once. Bradford gave a curt nod, acknowledging her resolve, and turned his attention back to the road.

Charlotte's mind raced with a thousand thoughts, each one vying for her attention as she grappled with the weight of Bradford's expectations and her own inner turmoil. The car's interior was dimly lit by the soft glow of the dashboard lights, casting shadows that danced and flickered with every bump in the road. The scent of leather mingled with a faint trace of coffee, a mundane yet oddly comforting contrast to the tension brewing between them.

She chewed on her lip, the nervous habit helped distract her from the tumultuous emotions churning within her. Despite her best efforts to push the memory aside, it resurfaced with vivid clarity. The rhythmic beat of Tim's heart against her trembling palm, the warmth of his skin, the softness in his usually stern eyes. It was all too much, and yet, she couldn't let it go.

"Can you answer something as a random cop and not my strict T.O.?" The question formed on her lips almost hesitantly, breaking the silence that had enveloped them since they left the scene.

Bradford's grip on the steering wheel tightened imperceptibly, a subtle indication of his growing impatience. He glanced at her briefly, his expression unreadable, before returning his focus to the road ahead. The city lights outside were a blur of neon and headlights, creating a kaleidoscope of colors that reflected off the car windows.

"Depends on the question," he replied curtly, his tone betraying a hint of skepticism.

Charlotte swallowed hard, steeling herself for his reaction. "Do you ever feel like... like this job changes you?" The words spilled from her lips before she could stop them, raw and unfiltered.

There was a long pause as Bradford considered her question, his brow furrowing in thought. For a moment, it felt as though the weight of the world rested on his shoulders, the burden of his experiences and responsibilities bearing down on him like a leaden shroud. The soft hum of the engine and the distant sounds of the city provided a soothing backdrop to the heavy silence.

"Yeah, it does," he admitted finally, his voice low and measured. "But that's the nature of the beast, isn't it? You either adapt or you get swallowed whole." His words hung heavy in the air, lingering like a bitter aftertaste.

Charlotte nodded slowly, absorbing his wisdom with a mixture of apprehension and acceptance. The passing scenery outside became a blur, the cityscape stretching out before them like an endless maze of possibilities and pitfalls. The streetlights cast long, distorted shadows inside the car, creating an eerie yet oddly mesmerizing pattern.

"Have you ever had a traumatic experience during your rookie year? One that you still get reminded of every day?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

She stole a glance at Bradford, his profile bathed in the soft glow of the dashboard lights, his features etched with the weariness of someone who had seen too much, too soon. His gaze flickered briefly to meet hers, a fleeting glimpse of vulnerability before he retreated behind the mask of stoicism.

He answered her question with a nod, a silent acknowledgment of the demons that haunted them both, lingering like ghosts in the recesses of their minds. The air in the car felt thick and heavy, laden with unspoken truths and shared pain.

"And I mean, that's okay, that's.. life," he said, his tone gruff yet oddly comforting.

Charlotte exhaled slowly, releasing the tension that had been coiled tightly within her. His words washed over her like a soothing balm, offering solace in the face of uncertainty. She felt a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips, a flicker of hope breaking through the darkness.

"Thank you," she murmured softly, her voice barely audible over the sound of the engine.

Bradford's nod was subtle, but it spoke volumes. In that simple gesture, Charlotte found a glimmer of understanding and empathy that transcended the confines of their strained relationship. His words lingered in the air like a balm for her troubled soul, offering reassurance in the face of her own uncertainties. And though his demeanor remained stoic and guarded, there was a flicker of warmth in his eyes that belied his gruff exterior.

"Anytime," he murmured, his voice surprisingly gentle. It was a small gesture, but it carried a world of meaning, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken bond that now bound them together. The road stretched out before them, a long and winding journey filled with unknowns, but for now, they had each other, and that was enough.

As the car continued to hum along the road, the rhythmic sound of the engine provided a steady backdrop to the fragile peace that had settled between them. The city outside seemed quieter now, the lights dimmer, as if reflecting the tentative truce within the car. Charlotte leaned back in her seat, her mind finally beginning to quiet, her heart finding a measure of calm in the midst of the storm.

In that fleeting moment of connection, Charlotte realized that perhaps, just perhaps, there was hope yet for this unlikely partnership forged in the crucible of adversity. The journey ahead would undoubtedly be fraught with challenges, but for the first time in a long while, she felt a spark of optimism. And as she closed her eyes, letting the hum of the engine lull her into a sense of tranquility, she clung to that spark, determined to keep it alive.

hi its been a while hehe

please feel free to engage with the story !!
– comment, like, & interact. your participation keeps me motivated! thank you!!

❪ 𝖚𝖑𝖙𝖗𝖆 𝖛𝖎𝖔𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊 ❫ ˖ ׁ ⁩ 𓂃
𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚁𝙾𝙾𝙺𝙸𝙴  ⸻  ✧˖°.ᐟ
❝ 20.07.24 ❞