❪ 𝖚𝖑𝖙𝖗𝖆 𝖛𝖎𝖔𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊 ❫ ˖ ׁ ⁩ 𓂃
𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚁𝙾𝙾𝙺𝙸𝙴  ⸻  ✧˖°.ᐟ
❝ CALM BEFORE THE STORM ❞

「𝜗𝜚 . ❝ she has no idea the impact she's made on him. maybe one day he'll tell her, but for now, watching her grow is enough. ❜

𝐶𝐻𝐴𝑅𝐿𝑂𝑇𝑇𝐸 𝐻𝐴𝐷 never been one to entertain the idea of luck or fate, nor did she bother with superstitions.

She put her trust in the things she could see, measure, or control—facts, science, the tangible. But today... today felt off. A gnawing unease clung to her like the heavy smog that hung over the city.

Maybe it was the call to work on her day off, or the heightened security for the Vice President's visit.

Whatever it was, something about the air felt thicker, almost electric.

She adjusted the radio on her shoulder, the familiar static crackling through the air, but her mind wandered. The sun sat low in the sky, casting a golden hue over the city of angels, though there wasn't much beauty in this part of town.

Tents littered the sidewalk, some sagging under the weight of dirt and neglect, others holding their own as makeshift homes. The stench of unwashed clothes, garbage, and stale air hung in the atmosphere, so thick it seemed to coat her skin.

Charlotte snapped out of her thoughts when she heard Tim's voice bark out an order. His tone was sharp and commanding, just like always.

"All right, listen up!" Tim's voice echoed over the muffled street sounds. "Until tomorrow at 3:00 p.m., the stretch of Vine between Melrose and Franklin is off-limits. Sanitation services will be here in 20 minutes. You've got until then to pack up."

He directed the announcement toward the small crowd gathered in front of the homeless encampment, where people looked back at him with weary, sunken eyes. Some of them were already shuffling to gather their belongings, but most moved with the kind of lethargy that comes from years of living in survival mode.

Charlotte exhaled softly, feeling the heaviness of the scene press into her chest. She scanned the street, catching sight of an older man slumped against a tent, his hood pulled low over his face, shielding him from the world—or maybe just from the reality he couldn't bear to face.

She walked over, her boots crunching over discarded wrappers and debris that littered the sidewalk. Each step felt louder in the heavy silence of the camp.

"Sir?" she called out gently, stopping a few feet away from him. He didn't stir, so she tried again, crouching slightly as she spoke. "Sir, I'm sorry to wake you, but I'm gonna need you to start packing up, okay?"

The man stirred then, slowly pulling his hood back to reveal a face lined with grime and years of hardship. His eyes met hers, tired and resigned, but after a beat, he gave a small nod.

That simple motion sent a wave of relief through her. She hadn't even realized she'd been holding her breath. The last thing she needed was trouble.

Not today.

But the calm didn't last. Behind her, a loud shout rang out, followed by the sound of a scuffle. Charlotte's body tensed, her training kicking in before her mind could catch up.

Two women were tangled in a vicious fight, their shrill voices rising above the city's noise. One of them screamed about something stolen, while the other spat insults, each word like gasoline on a fire. They clawed at each other, pulling hair, throwing wild punches that landed with dull thuds.

Without a second thought, Charlotte sprang into action, rushing toward the women. "Hey! Break it up!" she shouted, grabbing for one of the flailing arms.

But the moment she got too close, one of the women latched onto her, pulling her into the chaotic struggle. Charlotte's feet slipped out from under her, and before she knew it, she was on the ground, grappling with both of them as they tumbled to the pavement.

The concrete scraped against her elbows as she hit the ground hard, her heart racing in her chest. She struggled to get the women apart, her arms wrapped tightly around one of them while the other continued to claw and kick. The smell of sweat and unwashed bodies filled her nostrils, making her stomach churn.

In a blur of motion, Tim was by her side, grabbing one of the women and yanking her away with a strength that seemed effortless. He tossed her back with a grunt, leaving Charlotte to finish what she'd started.

She quickly cuffed the other woman, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps as she tightened the metal around the woman's wrists. "Hands behind your back. Don't move," she panted, her voice firm but strained. The woman struggled for a second, but eventually gave in, too tired to keep fighting.

Charlotte stood, brushing dirt and sweat from her uniform as she helped the woman to her feet. Her body ached from the fall, and her muscles were tense, but she didn't have time to dwell on it. "All right. Stand up. Here we go," she murmured, pulling the woman up with more strength than she felt like she had.

But then she saw it—Tim's expression. His eyes were wide, and his face had gone pale. His gaze wasn't on the woman she'd just cuffed; it was locked on Charlotte.

"Von Liljah," he said, his voice low but urgent.

Charlotte frowned, her brows knitting together in confusion. "What?" she asked, her mind racing, trying to figure out what had him so rattled. She glanced down at herself, checking for injuries, her mind flashing back to the first day on the job when she'd been stabbed. Her blood ran cold at the memory.

"Stop," Tim said quickly, grabbing her forearms and holding her still, his grip tight but steady. "Don't move."

For a second, Charlotte's heart stopped, her breath caught in her throat. The world seemed to slow around her, the noise of the city fading into the background as her pulse roared in her ears. She didn't understand what was happening, but the look on Tim's face was enough to send a chill down her spine.

"What's going on?" she whispered, her voice barely audible as her eyes darted around, looking for something—anything—that would explain Tim's sudden urgency.

Tim didn't answer right away. His gaze dropped down to her side, and that's when Charlotte felt it—a strange, prickling sensation right over her belt. She looked down, where a dirty hypodermic was sticking out of her uniform.

She stood there, frozen, her body registering the threat before her brain could fully catch up. The needle was dirty, grimy from God knows what.

In that instant, every training course she'd ever taken on hazardous materials, contaminated needles, worst-case scenarios—all of it—flooded her mind in a chaotic jumble. It felt like she couldn't get enough air into her lungs, each breath catching in her throat, shallow and labored.

She blinked, the city noise around her dimming as if she'd been submerged underwater. Her gaze fixed on the needle—small, insignificant-looking but impossibly dangerous.

Was this how it ended? Her pulse hammered in her ears, and she could hear her heartbeat thudding with every panicked inhale. Time stretched out painfully, the seconds elongating like they were pulling her into some surreal nightmare.

Her T.O.'s voice was muffled, distant. Tim was saying something, but she couldn't make out the words. It was like the world had dulled around her—sharper sounds reduced to murmurings, background noise fading away.

Her thoughts raced uncontrollably. What now? What happens next? Visions of blood tests, ER visits, doctors in sterile masks flooded her mind.

Am I going to die?

It felt like she was.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and for a moment, she was drowning in her own fear. She didn't know what to do. Her hands were shaking now, her fingers twitching unconsciously at her sides, too afraid to touch the needle, too afraid to move at all.

Suddenly, her name cut through the panic, a lifeline in the chaos. "Von Liljah." Tim's voice came clearer now, like it had pierced the bubble of fear that had swallowed her whole.

Her head snapped up, her eyes wide as she searched his face, desperate for something—anything—that would ground her.

Tim's face, usually stern, was tinged with concern, his eyes locked on hers. For a brief moment, that steady gaze gave her something to hold onto, a thread of calm in the storm.

She sniffled, feeling the sting of tears she hadn't realized were there. Her breath hitched in her throat as she tried to form words, her voice trembling as much as her hands.

"I—I'm sorry," she stammered, her gaze flicking between him and the needle like she was trying to explain the impossible. "I didn't see it. I mean, it was— it was just there, on the ground, and—" her voice broke, overwhelmed by the panic clawing at her insides.

Tim's hands tightened gently around her forearms, the pressure enough to stop her from spiraling further. His grip was firm, grounding, pulling her back from the brink. "Hey. Look at me," he commanded softly, his voice cutting through her scattered thoughts.

"It's okay." His tone was calm, steady, like he was speaking to a frightened animal, trying to coax her back from the edge.

"But I need to pull the needle out." His voice softened even more, but the gravity of the situation hung between them like a tangible weight.

Charlotte nodded, her body moving on autopilot. The dread still twisted inside her, but Tim's presence was enough to keep her from collapsing under it. She wasn't sure why, but seeing the concern in his usually stoic eyes made her feel... safer.

She blinked rapidly, fighting back the tears threatening to spill over, her breathing still too fast, too shallow. The distant city noise, the shuffling of feet from the homeless camp, and the occasional car horn seemed muted, as if the whole world had taken a back seat to this one moment.

The air around them was thick with tension, the smell of exhaust fumes and sweat from the camp mixing with the musty scent of concrete and grime. It felt oppressive, like it was pressing down on her, making it harder to focus on anything other than the growing panic gnawing at the edges of her mind.

She glanced around, her eyes darting to the faces of the other officers nearby, then to the people in the camp, all of them oblivious to the chaos unraveling inside her.

"Charlotte," Tim's voice drew her attention again, anchoring her thoughts to him. His face was close now, and she could see the lines of tension around his eyes as he carefully maneuvered himself next to her. He was gloved up, ready to remove the needle.

She swallowed hard, her throat dry, the metallic taste of fear clinging to the back of her mouth. Her legs felt weak, but she forced herself to stay upright, her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides. "Just... do it," she whispered, her voice trembling but determined. She wasn't sure if she was giving him permission or trying to convince herself that she could handle this.

Tim nodded once, his movements slow and deliberate. He didn't say anything as he carefully reached for the needle, but his expression told her everything she needed to know.

He wasn't going to let this get worse than it already was.

He wasn't going to let her fall apart.

The moment his hand touched the needle, Charlotte flinched, a sharp, involuntary intake of breath escaping her. Every nerve in her body was on high alert, the sensation of the needle pulling free sending a shiver down her spine.

She squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to see it, not wanting to acknowledge the danger it represented. When she felt the cool rush of air against the bare skin where the needle had been, she exhaled shakily, her heart still racing.

"It's out," Tim murmured, his voice quiet but reassuring. He held the needle up briefly, inspecting it with a practiced eye before tossing it carefully into a biohazard container he'd pulled from his vest. "You're okay."

But Charlotte didn't feel okay. She still felt like her world had tilted on its axis, like everything was one wrong move away from collapsing. She stared at the spot on her uniform where the needle had been, her mind still spinning with questions.

Tim's voice cut through the thick fog of Charlotte's racing thoughts, steady and commanding. "What's the procedure when an officer is exposed on duty?"

It took her a second to realize he was asking her a question. Her head felt like it was full of cotton, and she blinked at him, his words not fully registering. What? She tried to focus on what he meant, her mind still buzzing with fear.

The needle—the dirty needle—it was still the only thing she could think about, still fresh in her mind like a neon sign flashing danger. But his voice, steady and insistent, forced her to grasp onto something more tangible.

She needed to focus.

"Focus. What do we do now?" Tim repeated, firmer this time, his eyes narrowing as he searched her face for any sign that she was coming back to herself.

She sucked in a breath, straightening up slightly, feeling the weight of his expectations settle over her. I'm a police officer, she reminded herself, trying to shake off the paralyzing fear and get her brain to cooperate. She exhaled slowly, forcing her mind into order.

"Um..." Her voice was shaky, but she reached back into her training, back to the protocols she had learned for moments like this.

"Collect the evidence," she said slowly, feeling her confidence build with each word. "Bring the officer and the item to the nearest hospital to test for infections and diseases that may have been transmitted."

Tim nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line of approval. "And where's the nearest hospital?"

Her mind automatically kicked into gear, the answer ready before she even had to think. "Shaw Memorial," she said, her voice steadier now, though she still felt the tremor of fear lurking beneath the surface.

Tim's gaze softened, though his face remained all business. "Good," he murmured, his eyes flicking to the other officers nearby, already back in control of the situation. "Make sure an officer posts up here until Veep passes through," he barked to one of the other cops, his tone sharp and clear.

The other officer gave a curt nod, immediately moving to follow orders as the weight of the situation hung heavy in the air. The lights of the squad cars bathed everything in a rhythmic pulse of blue and red, casting the street in an eerie glow. The homeless camp was in chaos behind them—people moving in all directions, packing up their belongings, trying to figure out where to go next.

The smell of the city, a blend of exhaust fumes, stale sweat, and decay, clung to the air, thick and suffocating. But for Charlotte, the world felt distant, blurred around the edges. All she could hear was the sound of her own heartbeat, pounding in her ears.

Tim turned back to her, his expression unreadable, but his eyes were sharp. "Come on, let's go," he said, his voice quieter now, but still commanding.

Charlotte hesitated for just a second, her feet glued to the ground as if her body was betraying her mind's orders. The needle—it had been so fast, so unexpected. She hadn't even seen it. It had been lying there, in the grime and dirt of the sidewalk, almost camouflaged.

How had she missed it? The wave of guilt hit her hard, making her stomach turn. She was supposed to be vigilant, sharp—this was her job. She couldn't afford mistakes like this. Not in a world where one wrong move could mean everything.

But then Tim's hand brushed against her arm, a gentle nudge that brought her back to the present. His touch was firm but not rough, grounding her in reality. She looked up at him, finding comfort in the way he held her gaze, steady and sure.

He didn't need to say anything more—his expression was enough to tell her that now wasn't the time for regret or second-guessing. Now was the time to act.

She nodded, exhaling the tension that had been building in her chest. "Right," she muttered, feeling her legs start to move beneath her again, albeit a little shakily.

She could feel Tim's presence close beside her as they walked toward the patrol car, his calmness acting like a barrier between her and the flood of panic still threatening to overwhelm her.

She was thankful for that, for him.

The street around them blurred as they moved toward the car, the chaos of the homeless camp still buzzing in the background. The sky above was turning a dull gray, heavy with smog and the oppressive weight of the city.

It felt like the world itself was bearing down on her, but Tim's steady presence at her side kept her grounded, kept her from spiraling into the panic that still lingered beneath her surface.

"Breathe, Charlotte," Tim said softly as they reached the car, his voice breaking through the haze. "We'll get you checked out. You're going to be fine."

She nodded again, though the knot of anxiety still clenched tight in her chest. Her mind kept flashing back to that moment, the feel of the needle pricking her through the uniform, the cold, sharp sensation that had frozen her in place. But now wasn't the time to fall apart. Tim was here, and for some reason, that made her feel just a little bit more in control.

They slid into the car, and Tim immediately flicked on the lights, the sirens cutting through the early morning city noise. The world outside blurred past as they sped toward Shaw Memorial, the city a chaotic mix of light and shadow as they raced through the streets.

Inside the car, it was just the two of them. Tim glanced at her every now and then, as if to make sure she was still holding it together. She wasn't sure if she was, but at least she wasn't falling apart. Yet.

"You did good back there," Tim said suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence, surprising her.

Charlotte looked at him, the words catching her off guard. "I didn't even see it," she whispered, the guilt still gnawing at her. "I should've—"

Tim shook his head. "Doesn't matter. You handled it. That's what counts."

She wasn't sure she believed him, but the warmth in his voice, the reassurance, made the panic in her chest loosen just a little. Maybe she didn't handle it perfectly, but she was still here. Still breathing.

And right now, that was enough.

𝐶𝐻𝐴𝑅𝐿𝑂𝑇𝑇𝐸 𝐴𝑃𝑃𝑅𝑂𝐴𝐶𝐻𝐸𝐷 the intake desk with cautious steps, the sterile smell of antiseptic and the low hum of hospital machinery filling the air around her. Her fingers twitched slightly, still buzzing with the adrenaline of the day, as her eyes landed on the male nurse seated behind the desk.

Tim hovered just behind her, his presence a solid, protective force, scanning the waiting room with sharp, vigilant eyes. The tension between them and the world outside hadn't eased up—it felt like a heavy weight, pressing down on Charlotte's chest, making each breath feel slightly harder than the last.

"Um," Charlotte began, her voice coming out quieter than she intended. "I need to get my blood tested. I got stuck with a used hypodermic needle." The words felt clumsy on her tongue, the reality of what had happened still weighing down on her mind.

The nurse looked up, startled, and she could see the moment it registered with him. His brows lifted in mild surprise, his fingers fumbling with a clipboard.

"Oh. Uh, yeah, one sec," the nurse stammered, suddenly looking flustered as he rifled through a few papers on the desk. He reached for a form, hurriedly pushing it across the counter to her.

"If you could fill this out... Have a seat in the waiting room, and we'll be right with you," he added with a half-hearted smile. His voice was calm, but Charlotte's heart pounded louder in her ears. She nodded, reaching out with hands that still trembled, the weight of the day starting to settle into her bones.

Before she could take the form, Tim stepped forward. His large frame blocked her from view, and his voice—low and hard—cut through the air like a blade.

"You must be new," he said, the words dripping with quiet authority, "because no experienced nurse lets an armed cop sit with civilians."

His eyes locked onto the nurse, unwavering and cold. "What do you think happens if somebody attempts to grab her weapon?" There was an edge in his voice, not angry, but pointed—like he was daring the nurse to make sense of what he was saying.

The nurse blinked, taken aback by Tim's sudden shift in tone. He hesitated, looking from Charlotte to Tim, the confusion plain on his face. "Uh... I..."

Tim didn't give him time to finish. His face darkened, the frustration seeping through his calm exterior as he spoke again, each word sharp as glass. "Hospital protocol dictates that an armed officer be seen immediately. So set her up in a room right now and find a doctor."

The nurse's expression shifted from confusion to embarrassment. He nodded quickly, the clipboard nearly slipping from his hands as he moved around the desk, his face flushed. "Yes, sir. Right this way," he muttered, his voice tight with nerves. He turned and led them down the hallway, his steps quick and slightly uneven, like he was trying to make up for his mistake.

Charlotte followed, her legs feeling strangely detached from her body. Each step felt heavy, like she was walking through water, the familiar smells of disinfectant, the faint scent of bleach, and the ever-present hum of fluorescent lights buzzing overhead blurring together.

She could hear the quiet murmur of other patients, the occasional beep of medical equipment, but everything felt distant, almost muted. All she could think about was the needle—the small, innocuous thing that had turned her entire day upside down. Her mind kept playing it over and over again, the prick against her side, the sudden realization, the rush of fear that had followed.

Tim was right behind her, a silent shadow as they moved through the halls, his eyes flicking to every doorway, every nurse that passed by. He was scanning for threats, always on alert, always ready. It was something she silently admired about him, that constant readiness, the way he could flip a switch and be fully in control, even when everything around them felt chaotic.

They were shown into a small, sterile room. It smelled faintly of alcohol swabs and cold metal, the kind of scent that always made Charlotte's stomach twist with unease. The nurse gestured for her to take a seat on the exam table, fumbling for a second before he mumbled something about getting a doctor.

Tim leaned against the hallway wall, his eyes distant, the dull murmur of hospital staff and beeping monitors fading into the background. He had a lot of practice compartmentalizing, keeping the situation in focus while pushing his emotions into a quiet, locked corner of his mind. The nurse who had messed up earlier approached again, his footsteps quick, an apology already forming on his lips before he even reached Tim.

"She's all set," the nurse said, his voice quieter now, contrite. "We're going to put a rush on the tests. Results should be back in a few hours. I'm... I'm sorry about earlier. I-I didn't know."

Tim didn't flinch, his expression as still as a stone. His gaze flicked over the nurse for a brief moment before he offered a short, dismissive nod. "It's okay. Thanks." His voice was flat, and without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel, his large hand reaching for the door handle.

He stepped back into the exam room, the door closing with a muted click behind him, as if he was shutting out not just the hospital noise, but the weight of the world outside.

Inside, the room was eerily quiet, except for the sound of Charlotte's fingers tapping her phone screen, the faint glow illuminating her face in the dim light. Her posture was tense—hunched over the device like it was a lifeline, her thumb scrolling quickly, eyes glued to the articles she was reading.

There was a strained look on her face, her lips drawn tight, and Tim could see the telltale signs of her spiraling. He didn't have to guess what she was reading; the haunted look in her eyes told him everything.

He strode over, and without a word, he snatched the phone from her hands. Her eyes shot up to meet his, wide and startled. He glanced at the screen—a WebMD page, the kind that sent anyone into a full-blown panic over a paper cut. He huffed, shaking his head with a mixture of frustration and sympathy.

"Falling down the WebMD rabbit hole isn't gonna change your results," Tim said firmly, his voice steady as he dropped the phone onto the nearby counter, out of her reach.

He knew the drill—fear digging its claws into your brain, making you obsess over worst-case scenarios until they became your only reality.

He'd seen it before, with rookies, with himself.

But this, Charlotte was... different.

Charlotte's eyes flickered, her mind still swirling in the mess of her anxiety. "But... HIV is three times more prevalent in the homeless community than it is in the general population. Hepatitis is five times—"

Tim cut her off, his voice firm but not unkind. "And cows kill more people a year than sharks. The facts are whatever you make them." He gave a slight shrug, trying to diffuse her spiraling panic with a bit of logic, but he could tell it wasn't sticking. Her mind was still racing, her thoughts tripping over each other as she fought to regain control over her fear.

Charlotte shook her head, her hands trembling slightly as she pushed herself up from the exam table, her voice rising in pitch, bordering on frantic. "What if... what if I get hep C from this needle, and one day I get shot, and you're trying to stop the bleeding and you forget that you have a cut on your hand?"

She was pacing now, her body trembling as she spoke faster, the words tumbling out without pause. "Or worse—a kid gets shot and I'm the one with a cut? And it's just—" Her voice broke, the sheer weight of the what-ifs overwhelming her.

Tim stepped forward, his voice cutting through her panic like a knife. "Then you'll be a cop with hep C and a cut." His tone was steady, unyielding. "You signed up to put your life on the line. That means your health too."

Charlotte's frantic pacing slowed, her words trailing off as she processed what he was saying. She knew he was right—this job was dangerous, in ways that went beyond guns and knives. It was the unseen threats, the ones that crept up on you when you least expected them, that were sometimes the hardest to face.

She looked down at the floor, her thoughts still buzzing in the back of her mind, but quieter now, more subdued. The room felt cold, sterile, the faint smell of disinfectant hanging in the air. The harsh fluorescent lights made the white walls feel too bright, too clean, a stark contrast to the grime and chaos of the streets she had just come from.

Tim watched her for a moment, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes softening just a little. "Focusing on fear isn't gonna change the outcome," he said, his voice quieter now, more measured. "Lab results are gonna take hours. Do you want to hang out in the worst-case-scenario panic room, or do you want to get back to work?"

Charlotte hesitated, her hands curling into fists at her sides. Her mind was still racing, still playing out every possible scenario where things went wrong, but Tim's words cut through the noise. She exhaled slowly, trying to steady herself, her breath coming out in a shaky sigh.

She looked up at him, searching his face for something—reassurance, maybe, or just a sign that she wasn't completely falling apart.

Tim didn't move, didn't waver. He was a wall—solid, unflinching.

"Let's get back to work," she finally muttered, her voice quiet but resolute. She wasn't okay—not yet. But she was still standing. Still fighting. And for now, that had to be enough.

Tim gave a curt nod, his face unreadable but his eyes lingering on hers for just a second longer than necessary. He turned and opened the door, the fluorescent lights spilling into the hallway, bright and harsh.

As they stepped out of the room and back into the noise of the hospital, Charlotte couldn't help but glance over her shoulder at the door, as if leaving the sterile, white room behind meant she was leaving the fear there too.

But the fear followed. It always did.

pay attention to details is alllll im gonna say...

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

❪ 𝖚𝖑𝖙𝖗𝖆 𝖛𝖎𝖔𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊 ❫ ˖ ׁ ⁩ 𓂃
𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚁𝙾𝙾𝙺𝙸𝙴  ⸻  ✧˖°.ᐟ
❝ 18.10.24 ❞