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Why are you being so nice to her?
The question doesn’t surprise him.
In fact, he’s more amused than anything, especially that it’s taken her two days to demand answers on the subject. If Lucy Chen is one thing, it’s perceptive. And she’s never been afraid to broach a difficult topic. Especially with him.
No, what surprises him is her fury.
He put her through hell – He’s not afraid to acknowledge that.
He knows she had a hard year as a rookie, and that he was the cause of most of it. He also assumes that she understands why he did it. She’s self-aware enough to see the good that came out of his constant tests, his endless quizzing, his unreachably high standards. She told him herself that she’s grateful for the lessons she learned and that she couldn’t have done it without him.
He doesn’t expect her to forgive and forget just like that, but she hasn’t expressed any issues with his methods ever since making P2, aside from some teasing and rolling her eyes at certain memories.
But now . . . She’s actually angry.
There’s an edge to her words that he didn’t see coming. Her voice breaks at the end of the sentence, and he looks up from his paperwork long enough to notice her intense stare, her hands propped up on her duty belt, her eyes wide and eyebrows drawn tightly together with rage.
He knows her well enough to recognize that face, having been on the receiving end of it for the better part of the last year.
My first few days on the job, you kicked me out of the car, tormented me. A month later you stole my duty belt while I had to go pee. You called me “boot” so many times, I get triggered when I go shoe shopping.
And didn’t all those experiences mold her into the fully-competent, outstanding cop she is today?
Of course she can see that much . . . can’t she?
They weren’t pointless torture. He would never push a recruit all the way to their breaking point, only to where they think it is.
Every single one of those examples had a purpose, and he won’t apologize for them.
Kicking her out of the car was necessary. If she hadn’t known exactly where she was at all times, doing the job would be a nightmare. She would have to run to find a street sign during every call and traffic stop, and using Google Maps to get around isn’t an option.
Walking beside the shop was a surefire way to get her brain working overtime to identify the street.
And within just a couple minutes, identify it she did.
Success.
The duty belt thievery was one she should have seen coming.
If, at a month in, she didn’t know the exact rules for something as simple as relieving herself in a public bathroom, how could he trust her with anything bigger?
She knew the rules. But she wasn’t willing to follow them to the letter, in favor of convenience in the moment.
And she never made the same mistake after that.
Again, success.
Being called “boot” is just a part of being a rookie. If you can’t handle a nickname, how are you going to handle gunfire?
He knows it’s one of the oldest tricks in the book. Reduce someone down to a single word – a nickname, a rank, a number. Depersonalize them, ever so slightly, so that they become cogs in the machine. Strip them down of individuality. Force them to lean on the group instead of being stupidly independent. Then, after they’ve learned what it means to work as a whole, rebuild them into cops who can make educated, independent decisions outside of any sort of military objective or orders.
Like he’d told Barnes, cops are supposed to be proactive. To think for themselves. To act on the fly.
But boots have to earn their rank.
Admittedly, he has to smile at her rant.
Partly because the memory of those tests elicit a knee-jerk sort of fondness in his mind, not because torturing Lucy was fun, per se, but . . . Because they worked.
Because she’s still being too dense right now to see past the momentary inconvenience and acknowledge the bigger picture. That despite all her moping and complaining and griping, she came out the other side better.
And maybe the selfish part of his mind likes the thought that she’s successful in her career now because of his training.
But also, he’s glad she feels willing to rant at him.
Not many of his rookies have ever had the courage to confront him like this. It means their relationship as rookie and TO has officially ended, and while he still technically outranks her (just barely), seeing her treat him as more of a peer or coworker than someone she has to fear is not entirely unwelcome.
But she’s still missing the point here.
Chen is not Barnes, and Barnes is not Chen.
Surely she can see the difference.
Look, Officer Barnes has other issues.
Years of his own time in the military flash through his mind.
Gunshots and fallen brothers and the raw, clawing fear that he would never see the other side of the ocean again. A fear which slowly, with every passing day, turned into a numb acceptance of his fate. That he was nothing but cannon fodder, and that all he could do was his best, even if his best got his own men killed.
Talking with Barnes is like talking with a younger version of himself, who at just barely twenty-six finally landed his feet on solid American soil again . . . and had a choice to make.
What kind of person would he be now?
And how could he leave what happened in the past and move on? Was that even possible?
Thankfully he’d had people guiding him. Helping him through. Checking in with him almost every single day, whether he felt like talking or not.
Even in the police academy, he’d wrestled with the very questions Barnes faces now.
How do you find peace?
He remembers the reflexes that were seared into his psyche.
The habits that he couldn’t let go.
The habits that ended up making him a damn good cop.
Like what? Like, she’s fit and beautiful and smart–
He almost doesn’t process Lucy’s words.
She’s in her own headspace. Her own view of the situation has taken hold of her mind and created a false narrative that can’t be further from the truth.
He feels a lump form in the back of his throat in defense of his new rookie. And Lucy’s accusations and, dare he say, jealousy – however misplaced – feels like an attack against him, too. Not just Barnes.
It’s not her fault she can’t understand.
And he’s glad she doesn’t. The military would have shattered every last bit of empathy and kindness Lucy possesses, and even with her endless optimism, he’s not sure she would have made it through the same person she is now.
He’s grateful for who she is. For the officer she’s turned out to be.
But the thought that she could be jealous of someone who is struggling so deeply, so intensely, just like he did, all those years ago . . .
It hurts.
She won’t wear perfume.
That conversation had almost broken him.
It was an innocent comment about the putrid smell after they booked a suspect, who left the shop reeking of smoke and week-old garlic.
Barnes had laughed, saying that she had to get used to smells like that when she worked at a boarding kennel in her teenage years. But back then, she had shelves of perfume to mask the scent of wet dog that followed her everywhere. Now, she had added casually, she can’t touch the stuff.
Because it had been drilled so thoroughly into her mind that any loose scent, anything that wasn’t dirt or body odor, could get her whole squad killed.
And he had felt his heart shatter for her.
What does that have to do with anything? What?
She’s absolutely incredulous.
She can’t understand.
She doesn’t see the connection.
He appreciates her innocence. He knows it makes her stronger in the long run. But right now . . .
Right now she’s being thick-headed and jealous and stubborn, and he won’t have it.
Look. I teach my recruits according to what they need. Officer Barnes won’t wear perfume because she’s still worried it’ll give away her position. A part of her is still waging a war in Afghanistan. And if she’s gonna be a cop, that has to go.
You are a kind and insightful person. You see the good in people. So much so, that I had to show you that the world can be a scary place.
Officer Barnes only sees a scary place, and she needs to know that not everyone’s out to hurt her.
At that, all her previous anger melts away.
Her face relaxes, she releases him from her murderous stare. She lets out a heavy sigh, and he knows he’s gotten through to her. Her sense of empathy is just too strong to ignore the obvious pain that Barnes is feeling.
It’s an angle she hadn’t even considered, and that leaves a sour taste in his mouth.
But unlike Chen at the moment, he is able to see the bigger picture.
And that is: Why did she confront him in the first place?
There’s one thing about Lucy Chen that not everyone picks up on right away, because she has so much true empathy and kindness in her soul that her flaws don’t shine through as brightly as they would for any lesser cop.
It’s something he picked up on after only a few shifts together, that he noticed through her endlessly cheerful attitude and rigid moral compass.
Lucy Chen craves recognition.
He knows she doesn’t do this job for a pat on the back. For medals from the chief or stripes on her arm.
She’s said it often, and he believes it wholeheartedly, as corny and typical it is. She does this job because she wants to see that she’s making a difference in this dark world. Every time a mother is reunited with her daughter, or one more person is given a second chance . . . That’s why she became a cop in the first place. That’s what makes her such a damn good one.
But everyone has a side of themselves they’d rather not put on display.
And Lucy has a pathological need to be the best at everything she does, and to be recognized for it.
And as he was her superior officer for a year, that duty has fallen onto his shoulders.
It kills her that he’s so reserved with praise.
It’s not as if he doesn’t appreciate her or think she’s top-notch. She’s the best of the best. She’s probably the best rookie he’s ever trained. She has all the qualities of a solid, reliable police officer. Qualities that she doesn’t always recognize in herself.
And maybe that’s why she’s so desperate for outside validation. She loves the job, but she can’t see how good she is at it.
Barnes has potential – that’s not a question.
But her past will be a roadblock for her, and one that she’ll have to work overtime to overcome.
Is she gonna be okay?
And there it is.
The true reason Lucy is who she is. The true example of her character, that she has the emotional maturity to listen to what he’s saying, to let go of her own preconcieved picture of the situation.
To feel empathy for this woman who just a moment ago Lucy saw as her rival.
He knows it doesn’t solve all the problems. Barnes will struggle and Chen will watch as he guides her gently through her trauma instead of sending her through a metaphorical obstacle course of insecurity and second-guessing decisions.
The empathy she feels now might not last.
She’ll watch him give praise instead of criticism. She’ll listen to rumors and whispers around the station that maybe Bradford is playing favorites for some other reason, and that he hates his old boot and did nothing but torture her for a year because she wasn’t good enough, not like this one.
He needs her to know that those rumors won’t be true.
It’s what she needs to hear, and the little voice on his shoulder is telling him to do it. Just this once. Let her understand. It might boost her ego for a minute, but he can live with that.
She needs it as much as he needed people telling him that there is life and peace after service.
She needs it as much as Barnes needs to hear the same thing.
If she’s going to continue to be the best of the best, she needs to know that he doesn’t see her as his biggest failure. Quite the opposite.
He’s tough on her because she can handle it. Because every time he put her through the wringer, she came out stronger. Because every harsh comment is a way to build her up through self-reflection at best and spite at worst.
But he’s perceptive enough to know that right now is not the time.
She’s had her fair share of harsh comments from him. Maybe . . .
Maybe just this once, a change would do her good.
Most people don’t believe he has a soft side, but he’s been known to subvert expectations.
I think so. And who knows?
One day, she might even be as good as you.