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

「𝜗𝜚 . ❝ her smile lights up the whole station, and he has to remind himself that he's supposed to be teaching her—not falling for her. ❜

𝐴𝑆 𝐵𝑅𝐴𝐷𝐹𝑂𝑅𝐷 confidently strode toward the lectern, the room fell into hushed anticipation, all eyes turning toward him. The faint hum of the air conditioning competes with the low murmur of conversations, a mix of excitement and curiosity rippling through the assembly. Bradford's presence commanded attention as he cleared his throat, a subtle gesture signaling the beginning of his address.

"Alright, settle down. Settle down," he announced, his voice carrying a note of authority and assurance that cut through the low buzz.

A smirk played across his lips as he leaned against the lectern, his posture exuding confidence. "Listen up, everyone knows what today is, and I just want to say that Team Bradford is gonna dominate once again," Tim declared, his words dripping with self-assurance.

However, his bold proclamation is met with playful skepticism from his fellow officers. Angela Lopez, Jackson's training officer, can't help but scoff at his boast. "Not this year, blondie," she retorted, her tone teasing but determined, a glint of challenge in her eyes.

Another officer chimed in, adding to the banter with a challenge. "You're goin' down, man!" he jests, a competitive glint in his eye as he exchanged playful taunts with Bradford.

"Dominate what?" Charlotte whispered, her curiosity piqued as she tilted her head slightly, exchanging a glance with Nolan, who mirrored her confusion.

Jackson responded with an eye roll, a smirk playing on his lips. "You guys know nothing," he teased, relishing the opportunity to enlighten them.

With a grin, he begun to unravel the mystery. "The Roundup. Happens every year when the rookies are a month into the job," he explains, his tone tinged with amusement. "The training officers sponsor a competition for the most felony arrests in one shift."

Nolan and Charlotte exchange a nod of understanding as the pieces fall into place. "Sounds like fun," Nolan remarked casually, his interest piqued by the prospect of competition.

Jackson and Charlotte share a knowing glance, stifling laughter as they reminisce about past experiences. "What?" Nolan interjected, puzzled by their amusement.

"We were both there when pub trivia and Yatzi almost got violent!" Charlotte chuckles, recalling the rowdy encounter as Jackson playfully nudges John, humming once in agreement, the memory bringing a smile to their faces.

The atmosphere in the roll-call room is charged with a mix of excitement and friendly rivalry. The familiar scent of coffee and the faint aroma of paper and ink fill the air, blending with the murmurs of conversations and the occasional burst of laughter.

The banter continued, each officer contributing to the lively atmosphere, their camaraderie evident in their teasing and jests. The room buzzed with energy, the anticipation of the competition heightening their senses.

Charlotte watched the interactions, feeling a blend of amusement and curiosity. Her thoughts drift back to the past, to moments of camaraderie and friendly competition, the memories tinged with nostalgia.

Sergeant Grey strode into the room with an air of authority that demanded instant attention and respect. The room fell silent, a palpable shift in the atmosphere as officers snapped to attention, their focus riveted on the commanding figure before them.

"Alright, settle down. Don't think I didn't see you up in my spot, Bradford," he admonished, his voice carrying a hint of amusement that softened the stern reprimand. The corners of his mouth twitched as he glanced at Bradford, but his eyes quickly resumed their usual steely focus.

Grey's eyes, sharp and discerning, swept over the assembled officers, assessing them with a keen intensity. Each officer felt the weight of his gaze, an unspoken demand for excellence and adherence to duty.

"So, I am aware that today is the day where our T.O. units compete for most arrests. Under no circumstance does the department endorse this," he declared firmly, his tone brooking no argument. His voice was deep and resonant, echoing slightly in the large room.

"Meaning I don't want to hear about your points or strategy. Am I clear, Officer Bradford?" His words were a clear directive, an unyielding command that underscored his unwavering authority.

Officer Bradford, standing at attention, nodded solemnly. "Yes, sir. This job isn't about winning. It's about good policing and teamwork," he replied, his tone reflecting a deep commitment to upholding the department's values. His posture was rigid, every inch of him exuding respect and seriousness.

As the daily roll call concluded, the officers filtered out of the briefing room into the crisp morning air. The sun had just begun its ascent, casting a golden hue over the precinct grounds. The sky was a vibrant blend of oranges and pinks, the early morning chill still hanging in the air.

Charlotte's fellow rookies dispersed, each pairing off with their respective T.O.s, leaving her to fall into step beside Tim Bradford. They headed towards the equipment locker, the routine of gearing up for patrol a familiar comfort.

"Sir, about yesterday... I just wanted to say..." Charlotte began, her voice trailing off as she struggled to find the right words. The memory of the previous day's events weighed heavily on her mind, a mix of guilt and uncertainty clouding her thoughts. The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the hallway, mingling with the faint scent of disinfectant.

Bradford raised a hand, his gesture silencing her before she could finish. "It's none of my business really," he interjected, his tone softer than usual, a rare departure from his typically stern demeanor. His eyes, however, avoided her gaze, betraying a momentary discomfort. The cold lights overhead cast harsh shadows across his face, emphasizing the lines of tension around his eyes.

"I heard and saw nothing. You have my word," he assured her, his voice carrying a note of sincerity that seemed almost out of character.

Charlotte nodded gratefully, her voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you, sir."

Bradford's expression hardened once more, his demeanor shifting back to its usual firmness. "We win at any cost," he declared, the weight of his statement hanging heavy in the air.

Charlotte's brow furrowed in confusion as they walked down the hall, the contradiction with Sergeant Grey's earlier directive gnawing at her. "But Sergeant Grey just said–" she began, but Bradford interrupted her with a blunt tone.

"He said he doesn't want to hear about it, which is different than saying don't do it," he clarified as they stepped into the garage. The dim light cast long shadows across the concrete floor, adding to the room's somber atmosphere. The scent of oil and rubber was pervasive, a constant reminder of the vehicles that rested within.

Charlotte opened the trunk, leaving the gear inside as usual, but Bradford didn't head to the car door like he typically did. Instead, he gestured for her to follow him, a curious look in his eyes. She followed him, her curiosity piqued as she watched him hold something wrapped in parchment paper, cradled delicately within his large hands. The paper crinkled softly with each step he took.

"What– What is that?" she inquired, her curiosity growing with each step.

"Insurance," Tim responded, his voice steady and assured. He swung open the door to the dispatch room, striding purposefully towards a woman Charlotte didn't recognize. The room was filled with the hum of computers and the occasional ring of phones, creating a backdrop of organized chaos.

"Nell," he called out, his voice suddenly infused with an alarmingly charming tone.

The woman spun around in her chair, her smile brightening as she greeted him. "Hey," she responded, her voice warm and welcoming. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity and recognition.

Bradford returned the smile, and Charlotte couldn't help but feel a pang of discomfort at the sight. It was so unlike him to seem... happy. "Look at you. You are positively glowing. What's your secret?" His words practically dripped with flirtation.

Charlotte shifted uncomfortably, feeling like an awkward third wheel in their exchange. She crossed her arms, her gaze darting around the room to avoid watching them. The walls were adorned with various notices and schedules, a cluttered bulletin board showcasing the daily grind of precinct life.

"I hiked Malibu Creek yesterday. You should try it. Good for the soul," Nell responded, chuckling at his unexpected tone.

"I bet," Tim nodded, his charm still evident. "Listen, I saw this at the bookstore yesterday, thought of you." He handed her the wrapped book, and Charlotte tilted her head in surprise. The present was for her?

"That is so sweet," Nell exclaimed, eagerly unwrapping the paper to reveal the book inside. "Oh, my gosh. Kilimanjaro! I have been dying to go someday," she said excitedly, her eyes widening with delight.

Tim chuckled, crossing his arms in a casual yet persuasive stance. "You will. Hey. So, listen, as calls come in that sound like felony arrests, can you send them to us? And not over the radio?" He asked, his voice smooth and convincing.

Nell inhaled sharply through her teeth, scrunching her nose in contemplation. Tilting her head slightly to the left, she weighed her options. "Um, that would qualify as favoritism. So–"

"But I am your favorite," Tim interjected with a playful grin, softly tilting her chin to make her look up at him. She blushed, her lips parting in surprise. The room seemed to shrink around them, the moment intensifying.

Bradford added his charm, brushing his thumb lightly across her skin. "Come on. For me?"

As they stepped out into the bustling booking halls, Charlotte felt a weight settle in her chest, heavy with guilt. Cheating the system like this felt wrong, an unfair advantage in a game that should be about justice, not personal gain. The air was thick with the mingled scents of sweat, coffee, and the faint, acrid tang of cleaning supplies.

"Isn't that cheating?" she murmured under her breath, her gaze fixed on the ground as they made their way towards the booking area. Her stomach churned with unease.

Bradford's response was swift, his confidence unwavering. "I'm celebrating the unsung heroes of the LAPD," he retorted with a casual shrug, as if justifying his actions. His eyes held a glint of defiance.

Charlotte's brow furrowed in concern. "In exchange for hot calls," she interjected, her pace quickening until she was standing directly in front of him, forcing him to halt.

"Isn't our job to respond to any crime, no matter the anticipated outcome?" She met his gaze head-on, her expression serious and unwavering. He let out a sigh, crossing his arms as he regarded her with a mixture of annoyance and begrudging respect.

"Of course. But if you're gonna be some... Pollyanna on my shoulder all day, I'll be happy to loan you out to clean the drunk tank. Heard there were some heavy pukers there last night," he quipped, tilting his head towards the direction of the drunk tank, where someone was indeed mopping the floor.

A grimace flickered across Charlotte's face before she forced a smile. "Clearly, I misspoke when I said cheating," she replied with forced cheerfulness as he chuckled lightly, shaking his head. Suddenly, Bradford groaned in defeat.

Jackson and Angela strode into the room, each accompanied by a pair of tough-looking individuals, their hands secured with handcuffs. The air seemed to crackle with the sudden shift in energy as all eyes turned toward the newcomers. The suspects, dressed in shabby, mismatched clothes, shuffled along with downcast eyes, their shoulders slumped under the weight of their circumstances.

"Oh, hey! Look what we found just two blocks away. A burglary and a conspiracy lookout," Jackson declared, his voice carrying a note of satisfaction that echoed in the otherwise silent room. His face was flushed with the adrenaline of the recent chase, a proud grin spreading across his features.

Charlotte observed as they led the suspects to separate benches, firmly securing them in place. The benches were cold, metal, and bolted to the floor, adding to the already uncomfortable atmosphere. The air was charged with tension as the newcomers settled into their temporary confines, their expressions ranging from defiance to resignation. The sharp, metallic scent of the handcuffs mingled with the faint odor of sweat and fear emanating from the suspects.

"Are you here booking someone?" Angela inquired, her tone laced with a hint of playful challenge as she glanced up at Tim. Her eyes sparkled with a teasing light, and a small smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.

Tim shook his head in response, his stance shifting subtly. He crossed his arms over his chest, the leather of his jacket creaking softly. "No, just here for some paperwork," he lied blatantly, his voice steady but devoid of any hint of competition. The muscles in his jaw tightened slightly, a barely perceptible sign of his annoyance.

Officer Lopez hummed thoughtfully, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. "Oh. Then I guess we're first on the boards. 14 points," she declared, reveling in their apparent victory. Jackson and Angela exchanged triumphant looks, their eyes gleaming with the thrill of their success.

They high-fived, the sharp slap of their hands resonating through the room, a stark contrast to the low hum of conversation and the distant clatter of equipment. The suspects on the benches shifted uncomfortably, the reality of their situation sinking in as they watched the officers celebrate. The air grew heavier, thick with a mixture of triumph and tension, as the unspoken competition among the officers continued to unfold.

𝐴 𝐵𝑈𝑍𝑍 from the rookie group chat interrupted the charged atmosphere, drawing Charlotte's attention away from her surroundings. She sighed, retrieving her phone, and scrolled through the messages until she found the latest update. "7 points," John's text read.

Her heart sank a little at the news. "Nolan and Talia are on the board," she muttered under her breath, frustration creeping into her voice like an unwelcome guest.

Tim caught her exasperated expression and shot her a knowing glance, his eyes practically rolling in their sockets. "Damn it, call Nell. Put her on speaker," he instructed, his tone tinged with urgency.

Charlotte dialed Nell's number, her fingers moving quickly but her mind a swirl of anticipation. The phone rang twice before connecting. "Hello?" Nell's voice came through, tinged with confusion and the faint sounds of a bustling office in the background.

"Hey, it's Officer Bradford," Tim chimed in, his tone suddenly infused with charm. "You haven't forgotten about me, have you?"

Nell's sigh was audible, followed by the subtle sound of her teeth nibbling on her lip. "No, of course not. Um, we've actually just... we've been a little slow," she admitted, her fingers tapping away on a keyboard, the sound rhythmic and steady.

"Oh, um, we just got a 911 call. DUI hit-and-run, teenage pedestrian injured. Black 528i. Last seen eastbound on Melrose," she relayed the urgent information, her voice steady despite the gravity of the news.

Bradford's grin widened, a spark of excitement igniting in his eyes. Charlotte noticed the tension easing from his grip on the steering wheel as he seemed to relish the thrill of the chase. The dim light of the garage cast long shadows across his face, highlighting the determined set of his jaw. "Perfect. Attach us to that, please. And, Nell—" he began, his voice filled with appreciation.

Nell responded with a soft hum, ready to carry out his request. "You're the best," he added, a genuine note of gratitude in his tone.

Charlotte gave him a knowing look as she hung up the phone, noticing the subtle shift in his demeanor. "Nell seems nice," she remarked, breaking the silence.

He furrowed his eyebrows, a hint of confusion crossing his features as he met her gaze. "Yeah. What's your point?" he asked, his tone guarded.

Charlotte shot a glance his way, her words carrying a weight of truth that seemed to catch him off guard. "She obviously likes you, and in all honesty... sir... you're being a dick to her," she remarked casually, shrugging as she did.

His gaze met hers, a flicker of surprise crossing his features at her blunt honesty. "You know I'm your T.O, right? I can make your current rookie status a living hell, princess," he retorted, his tone tinged with a hint of warning.

He shook his head, dismissing the topic. "She's doing me a favor. That's all. I'm married, Officer Von Liljah, and this isn't something you and I talk about. Keep your eyes peeled for our DUI," he instructed, redirecting the conversation to the task at hand.

Charlotte chewed on her lip, feeling a pang of discomfort as she averted her gaze. He was right. This wasn't a conversation they should be having. It wasn't any of her business. "Yes, sir," she mustered a whisper.

The tension in the car was palpable as they drove through the city streets. The hum of the engine and the occasional crackle of the radio were the only sounds breaking the silence. The city was alive with activity; the streets bustling with pedestrians, and the air filled with the distant sounds of car horns and chatter.

The scent of exhaust fumes and the faint aroma of street food vendors wafted through the open windows, mingling with the cool breeze. Neon signs flickered, casting colorful reflections on the wet pavement, creating a kaleidoscope of lights that danced in their eyes.

As soon as Bradford spotted the getaway car, Charlotte grabbed the radio. "7-Adam-19, DUI suspect sighted heading east on Melrose," she announced swiftly. Bradford immediately stepped down on the gas, accelerating the car to keep up with the fleeing vehicle.

The getaway car suddenly sped up even further, executing a sharp turn onto a side street. "7-Adam-19, turning north onto Serrano," Charlotte reported, her voice tense with urgency. They slowed down, following the same turn and coming to a halt as the car crashed.

Exiting the vehicle alongside Bradford, Charlotte braced herself for action. The air was crisp, filled with the distant hum of city life, yet the chaos of the scene demanded her full attention. "Let's go, Officer Von Liljah. He might try and run," Bradford directed, his tone firm and commanding. Guns drawn, they moved cautiously towards the crashed car, each step measured and purposeful, ready to confront the suspect.

The scene was chaotic as they approached the wreck. The yellow fence, now crumpled like a discarded piece of paper, bore the brunt of the impact. Its twisted metal contrasted starkly against the dark asphalt, creating a macabre sculpture of destruction. The acrid scent of burnt rubber mixed with the sharp tang of gasoline hung heavy in the air, assaulting her senses. The cool breeze carried the faint sound of distant sirens.

Charlotte's breath caught in her throat as she drew closer, her eyes widening at the horrifying sight before her. One of the metal pole pieces from the fence had pierced through the car windshield, impaling the man's chest and pinning him to his seat. The windshield was a spiderweb of shattered glass, glittering ominously under the streetlights. Blood seeped from the wound, pooling around the base of the pole, its metallic scent mingling with the gasoline.

The man, slumped in his seat, was a gruesome sight. His face, pale and contorted in agony, was a mask of terror and pain. His eyes, wide with fear, flickered weakly as he struggled to remain conscious. The scene was both tragic and horrifying, a stark reminder of the fragility of life and the brutal consequences of reckless actions.

Charlotte felt a surge of pity for the trapped individual, her heart aching for the man's suffering. Despite the gruesome scene, she remained vigilant, scanning the surroundings for any potential threats. Her training kicked in, overriding her initial shock, and she focused on the task at hand.

"Stay with us," Bradford commanded harshly, his voice steady as he holstered his gun and moved to the driver's side. He tried to assess the man's condition, his eyes sharp and calculating. "Officer Von Liljah, call for an ambulance. We need paramedics here, now."

Charlotte nodded, her hands shaking slightly as she reached for her radio. "7-Adam-19, requesting immediate medical assistance at our location. Suspect is severely injured, impaled by debris," she reported, her voice tight with urgency. The radio crackled in response, confirming that help was on the way.

As she finished the call, she glanced back at the man in the car. His breathing was shallow, each inhale a painful struggle. His lips moved, trying to form words, but only a faint, gurgling sound emerged. The sight was gut-wrenching, and Charlotte felt a knot of helplessness tighten in her chest.

thank you for all the support lately!! you guys are the best <3

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

❪ 𝖚𝖑𝖙𝖗𝖆 𝖛𝖎𝖔𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊 ❫ ˖ ׁ ⁩ 𓂃
𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚁𝙾𝙾𝙺𝙸𝙴  ⸻  ✧˖°.ᐟ
❝ 15.07.24 ❞