Chapter Text
Athena, just like the captain said, is a lone wolf. She simply dislikes working with another person. But it seems like Captain Elaine Maynard doesn’t care, because for the second time this week, she’s being assigned a rookie to mentor.
“Elaine…” Athena sighs, her expression showing every ounce of her frustration as she stands in the captain’s office, the fluorescent lights already giving her a headache. She barely managed to change into her uniform before Elaine called her in — another reckless kid with a hero complex in her pocket.
“I know, Athena. But this one’s not Sparks. He’s… a special case.”
“Special case?” Athena frowns, shifting her weight off her bad leg. The injury’s more embarrassing than painful at this point, and she refuses to let anyone see her favor it. It’ll heal soon, so she hides the limp as best she can.
“Yeah. SWAT rookie. Got kicked off his team. He’s a good kid, Athena. Just… needs some stability. And you’re the perfect example of that.”
Athena huffs. Another hotshot with a superhero complex, and from SWAT, no less? Right. The universe must really love her.
Elaine sighs, the long, weary kind only a career cop or an exhausted parent makes, and sinks down into her chair. “Will you please just… give him a chance?”
Athena exhales through her nose. “Fine,” she mutters. “But don’t expect me to go easy on him.”
***
Jim Street.
Twenty-six. Father dead. Mother freshly out of prison. Probably has a death wish, judging by how often Athena’s seen his SWAT team on the news. Top of his class at the academy, which tracks — a little too good, a little too eager, a little too reckless. Also way too young to have made SWAT, which she figures is half the reason he got kicked.
Past leader and mentor: Sergeant Daniel “Hondo” Harrelson. Someone Athena’s met and heard about more than a few times.
Athena snaps his file shut and steps out into the squad room.
The usual shift change chaos is in full swing. Radios crackle, officers swap stories, someone laughs too loud at a terrible joke. None of it touches Athena’s mood as she moves to the roll-call board, arms crossed, boots tapping against the floor.
She scans the room: familiar faces, a couple of eager new hires, and one figure standing slightly apart, pretending to read the bulletin board. Average height, lean, dirty blonde hair, brown eyes. The way he looks is not what makes him stand out, though — it’s the way he shifts from foot to foot, like he’s uncomfortable in his own skin. Athena clocks him immediately.
And just like that, it hits her. This is the SWAT stray that’s been station gossip for a week now.
God help her. The station’s rumor mill is no better than a high school’s, though she’ll admit she sometimes enjoys swapping it with Hen over drinks.
She threads her way through the room, offering the occasional nod and greeting when necessary, until she stops a few feet away from him. He notices her immediately — straightens up, rolls his shoulders back into a practiced confidence she’d seen in a hundred SWAT files.
“Officer Jim Street?” she asks, though she already knows the answer.
“Yes ma’am — uh, Sergeant.” He flashes a grin, cocky and too easy. Athena mentally curses herself for agreeing to this. Too late to turn back now.
“Lose the ‘ma’am.’” Her voice is cold, flat, professional. It has the desired effect — Street’s grin falters into something smaller, unsure around the edges. “You’re riding with me. Get your gear. You have five minutes.”
And without waiting for a response, Athena turns on her heel and heads for the door. If she’s going to be stuck with a stray, she’ll damn well make a good cop out of him.
***
Street slid into the passenger seat of Athena’s patrol car like a man settling into a world he didn’t belong to. Of course, that was to be expected — he was a top graduate in the academy, spent barely a year in patrol, and somehow got the golden ticket to S.W.A.T right after. Being kicked down after such an opportunity is not an easy thing to swallow, but he’ll have to make do. Athena is not here to coddle him.
She didn’t bother speaking as she started the engine, her fingers tapping briefly against the steering wheel before pulling out of the lot. The quiet stretched, only the crackle of dispatch filling the space between them.
“Radio check.” Athena orders.
Street keyed the mic. “Unit 7-adam-100, ten-eight.”
His voice was steady, professional. Athena gave a noncommittal grunt and drove on.
On good days, when Athena is lucky, the first half-hour of the shift is..uneventful. Today must be one of those days, because the only thing currently bothering her is the chatter of Street, who seemingly got comfortable enough, or uncomfortable enough to fill in the silence.
“So is it true there’s a cursed traffic light on Melrose? Like.. people keep crashing into each other under it every couple weeks? or is that just something they tell the new guys?” The kid asks, sneaking a glance at Athena before turning his face back towards the road. “‘Cause I have a couple of buddies in Long Beach, my, um.. hometown, and they’ve got the same thing going on. A crash every couple months, always the same road, the same light. Swear it’s cursed.”
Athena shrugs in response. Regardless of all that chatter, Street never once mentions his SWAT experience, which, for the sergeant, is.. unusual, to say the least. Mostly because SWAT guys would rather die than not tell some heroic story and stroke their ego. It’s infuriating, too. Because curiosity is a natural human feeling, and despite her best efforts to prove otherwise, Athena is still just a human.
She doesn’t respond right away.
The city rolls past, life bustling in every direction you look. The sergeant keeps her eyes on the road, her fingers tapping a steady rhythm against the steering wheel. Curiosity, unfortunately, wins her over.
“So what’d you do to get kicked off SWAT?” It’s abrupt, unprofessional and rude, Athena knows it. But she simply cannot help herself – They were bound to talk about it, so why not get it over with right now?
She only feels a little guilty when she notices his mood completely change.
For a beat, the rookie doesn’t answer.
Then, without looking at her, he mumbles, “Made a mistake.”
His voice is quiet, flat. Too practiced. Athena knows there’s more to the story, but with that kicked puppy look the kid has going on, she’s not sure she wants to prod.
“Must’ve been one hell of a mistake to drop you back to patrol.” She says, and before Street can answer that, the radio crackles to life.
“7-Adam-100, respond to a possible domestic at 1200 West 78th. Neighbor reports shouting, sounds of struggle. Code two.”
Athena grabbed the mic. “7-Adam-100, en route.”
She threw Street a look. “Buckle up, rookie. Let’s see if you can actually do the job.”
Street nodded, grateful for the out. “Yes, Sergeant.”
And just like that, the conversation was over.
For now.
***
Athena pulls the cruiser up to the curb in front of a faded two-story apartment building. The dogs on the other side of the street barked as one of the upstairs windows cracked open and a woman’s voice, shrill and angry, drifted into the humid morning air.
“Rule number one,” Athena says, reaching for her radio and unbuckling her seatbelt. “In a domestic, everyone’s a threat until they’re not. You don’t get comfortable until you see empty hands and calm faces. Got it?”
a confused smile comes up on the kid’s face. “I’m not a complete rookie, Sarge, I know how to–” before he can finish that sentence, Athena fixates him with a look.
“Shutting up now,” he says instead, stepping out of the car.
They moved up the walkaway together, Athena’s stride easy and confident, Street trailing half a step behind. He scanned the windows, the shadows, the hidden corners of the porch like a man who’d spent too long in high-stakes entries.
They reached the door. Athena raised a fist, banged hard enough to rattle the frame.
“LAPD! Open up!”
No immediate answer.
Athena exchanges a glance with Street. “Watch my six.”
Street shifts his weight, one hand hovering near his belt, eyes sharp. The yells inside quiet down for just a moment, and the door creaks open; a middle-aged man stands in front of them, eyes bloodshot, one cheek flushed like he’d been slapped. Sweat dampens his collar.
Athena doesn’t hesitate.
“Sir, we received a report of a disturbance. Is everything alright?”
From inside, a woman shouts, “Tell those pigs to get the hell out of my house!”
The sergeant sighs. It is way too early for this. “Sir, step outside, please.”
The man hesitates, clearly uncomfortable as he continues looking over his shoulder every few seconds.
“Step. Outside.”
When he finally does, Athena catches Street giving a quick glance past the man, scanning for threats like muscle memory.
“Who else is inside?” she asks.
“Just my wife. Her name’s Stacy.” the man mutters, wiping a hand down his face. “She's had a few.”
“Okay, sir. We’ll handle Stacy. Are there any weapons in the house?”
“No. No..just bottles.” Another crash from the inside interrupts them.
Athena jerks her chin towards Street. “You stay with him. Don’t let him move.”
She steps inside, and Street falls into position like he was born to it.
But this is where he messes up. It’s not a big mistake, per se. No one would notice it, even. No one but Athena.
The man starts to move, edging toward the door, and Street hesitates. Not long, just for a second. The man doesn’t bolt, but it’s a rookie mistake. Athena clocks it in her peripheral, noting the split-second hesitation before he stops the man.
And, well, she warned the Captain that she wouldn’t take it easy on him.
After coaxing the woman out and handling the situation, Athena pulls Street aside before he has the chance to get back in the car.
“You hesitated.”
Street opens his mouth, closes it.
“He was moving towards the house. You gave him a window.”
“I– I saw it, I just–”
“You don’t hesitate,” Athena snaps. “Not in a domestic. If you have to tackle someone to keep a victim safe, you do it.”
Street’s jaw flexed as his gaze dropped to the ground. “Yes, Sergeant.”
Athena studied him for a beat. Then remembered Captain Maynard’s words.
‘ He needs some stability, and you’re the perfect example of that.’
“But.. you corrected. Didn’t panic. Didn’t make it worse. That’s..something. Maybe you didn’t lie about being SWAT, after all.” She adds, rather awkwardly, attempting to brighten up his mood. It’s not praise. Neither is it the promised stability, but it makes the kid chuckle, so that’s something.
She slides back behind the wheel. “Let’s go, Street. Shift’s not over yet.”
***
The rest of the calls are all low-key, nothing too serious. Traffic stop, expired tags, a citation. The usual. Street handles it well enough – better than Athena expected him to – and on their way to buy lunch, opens a whole debate on which burger is the best in town.
“In-N-Out is a bio-hazard. How can you eat that? It’s pure chemicals.” Athena huffs, unsure when she started openly and genuinely chatting with the rookie. It’s completely different than it was with Sparks – the atmosphere is not hostile or tense. Street isn’t trying to better-up her. He’s just.. there. Just talking. Just doing his job.
It’s a nice break from the other rookies she had to mentor in the past.
“A burger’s a burger, Sarge.” Street shrugs, a stupid grin on his face as they pull up to a nice brunch spot – courtesy of Athena being behind the wheel, because there’s no way she’s stepping foot into an In-N-Out.
She catches herself on the thought that she should bring him by the 118 to try Bobby’s cooking, since the kid obviously never had an actual delicious home-cooked meal, but brushes it off.
Because he’s just a rookie. Just a work partner.
The radio crackles to life again, allowing the sergeant to focus on something else; “Possible armed robbery in progress. 6219 West Jefferson. Suspect may be armed. Code three.”
Street’s eyes meet Athena’s. “That’s only two blocks away.”
Athena, in response, flicks on the lights. “Hold on, rookie. Lunch is gonna have to wait.”
Street simply sits up straighter in his seat.
When they arrive, they’re met with one of those old, rundown corner grocery stores – flickering neon sign barely hanging on, bars on the windows, paint peeling from the awning. A few people gather near the exit, watching the scene and murmuring. Through the window, Athena can see a heavyset old man waving a bat around and a woman cowering near the wall of dusty snack racks.
Athena kills the lights, but keeps the car angled for cover.
“Okay,” she mutters, “Lets not get shot over a bag of cheese-its.”
As they enter the shop, the man immediately turns to them. “Finally! About damn time! You’d think 9-1-1 would show up faster when someone’s about to be robbed!”
Athena takes in the scene in two seconds – the woman is mid-thirties, skinny, pale under too many layers of cheap clothing, clearly distressed and crying as she sits on the floor. No visible weapon. The man is red-faced, furious, the kind of old angry jerk who hadn’t had a real problem in fifty years.
“Okay, sir, how about I take that bat?” Street says, already grabbing the weapon from the old guy’s hands.
“You said she was armed?” Athena asked, hands settling on her belt.
“I don't know, look at her!” The guy waved his hand vaguely. “She’s a crackhead. Figured she might have a weapon.” The woman, barely holding herself together, shakes her head at that.
“What did she try to steal?” Street asks, sharing a look with his sergeant.
“Caught her trying to put this under her coat.” he grumbles, waving a loaf of bread in front of them.
Athena lets out a sigh, steps toward the woman and crouches near her, trusting Street to watch her back. “Ma’am, did you try and steal the bread?”
The woman wipes a tear away. “My ex took everything from me and I don't have any money,” she says, her voice trembling. “I’m not a drug addict, I just wanted to make my boy a sandwich.”
“You gonna arrest her or what?” The guy huffs.
“Sir, how much is the bread?” Street asks as Athena gives him a sharp look, one that says; ‘you got this?’
Street nods, and while Athena tries to calm the blubbering woman down, he speaks to the man.
Their conversation is quiet, so Athena barely catches any of the shared words, but it doesn’t shock her when the guy bursts out, his face reddening even more. “This junkie tried to rip me off! Do your job and lock her up or I'm gonna call the real police.”
Athena helps the woman stand up and turns around to see an expression she had not seen on Street’s face yet – anger.
“Oh, really?” Street scoffs. “Hear that, Sarge? He wants the real police. Alright, well, now you’ve got them. Let's follow this by the letter of the law, shall we?” The kid looks around the shop, his face set with determination. “That business license of yours right there?” he points to a frame on the wall. “Looks pretty expired to me. Oh, is that emergency exit blocked? That’s a fire hazard. Clear health violation on that meat display. And unless you’ve got a permit for that camera you’ve got pointed at the street, that’s a city ordinance fine.”
The man sputtered, unable to give a good enough answer. “What? What’re you– you can’t–!”
“I can,” Street says, “And I will. Unless there’s another option to end all of this.” He shrugs, sarcasm dripping in his voice like venom.
Athena bites back a smirk as the man’s bluster deflates. She feels a sudden sense of pride bloom in her chest.
“Just– get her outta here.”
“How awfully nice of you, sir.” Street smiles, stepping to the register. He pulls two crumpled bills from his pocket and slaps them down on the counter. “For the bread.”
He hands the loaf to the woman as Athena leads her toward the exit. She had calmed down by now, thanking Street a thousand times as they both pass him. Athena deals with assholes like that shop owner every day, so the situation hasn’t exactly surprised her – more like.. disappointed her. But when Street took over the scene like that? Well, she’d never admit it out loud, but he did a damn good job.
By the time Athena finishes talking to the woman and strolls back to the car, Street is already leaning against the cruiser, arms crossed.
Athena gives him a look. “Not bad, rookie.”
The kid smirks, little to no cockiness in it. “Thanks, Sarge.”
***
The rest of the shift passes without incident. A traffic stop here, a noise complaint there. The sun dips lower in the sky, washing the city in that dusky orange haze Athena had always liked best — the brief calm before the night crowd kicked up.
Street handled the last couple of calls well enough. No backtalk, no grandstanding, no hero complex stunts. Just a rookie doing his job, and while Athena wouldn’t admit it even at gunpoint, it was.. nice. Not exciting, not life changing — just easier than she expected.
As they pull back into the station lot, Street yawns, leaning his head against the headrest for a second before sitting up, trying to play it off.
“Tired already? Thought you were used to the late hours from all that overtime in SWAT.” Athena teased lightly.
“Just pacing myself, Sarge.” Street replies, not allowing the sergeant to see the mere hesitation at the mention of SWAT. He flashes a grin. Not the cocky one from the start of the shift. This one’s a little worn, a little tired, and a little more real.
The sergeant shuts the engine off and glances at him, letting the moment stretch.
“You did alright today.”
Street blinks, clearly not expecting it. “Yeah?”
“Don’t get used to it,” Athena adds, smirking. “You’re not Sparks.”
The kid’s brows furrow. “Who the hell is Sparks?”
Athena huffs a laugh. “No one important.”
She steps out of the patrol car, feeling the evening air settle cool against her skin. Street followed a beat later, trailing after her towards the locker rooms.
And maybe — maybe — she’d tell Bobby about him later. Or Hen. Over a drink. Not because she cared. Not yet. But something about him is sticking in her head, and she knows better than to ignore it.
Still just a rookie.
Still just a work partner.
But not Sparks.
And in Athena’s book, that is a damn good start.