Chapter Text
A crowd of police officers walked out of Mid-Wilshire Station, their bodies slumped and their faces tired. It had been a long shift for them, and they were more than keen to get home and fall right into slumber. Over the next hour, the day shift continued to filter out, making way for the night shift to clock in.
Sergeant Grey glanced at his watch on his wrist as he left the building. It was not too late, but the cases that day had been on the wild side, which sent their team on wild goose chases and whatnot; paperwork was also a pain in the ass.
His car was parked next to Captain Andersen's, who was searching for her keys. "You're holding the keys, Captain."
Andersen sighed at her error. "It has been a long day."
"That, it has," Grey agreed. "And tomorrow, it's going to be a longer one." He unlocked his car door and turned to the captain. "This batch of rookies better not be like the last," he heaved, "or the one before that... and the one before— Damn, do you get the idea that they keep coming in worse?"
Andersen smiled. "I'm confident that tomorrow's batch will be better," she affirmed, receiving an unbelieving chuckle from Grey. "Do you not agree, Sergeant Grey?" she asked, "You've read their files."
"Well," Grey breathed in, "for starters, how ever you managed to get the top two in their class here to Mid-Wilshire is beyond me."
"Are you surprised?" Andersen challenged.
"No. Impressed," Grey corrected before furrowing his brows. "And the one closing his expiration date?"
Andersen smiled, knowing that the Watch Commander had voiced his concern with that particular rookie when she first handed him the new cohort's files for assignment. "It's getting late, Wade. Perhaps a conversation for another day," she suggested, "Good night."
➤➤➤
The group of four had agreed to drinks in the pub to support/celebrate Ollie's breakup.
They thrusted their shot glasses in the air, howling out an excited series of Cheers! before downing the shot of fiery liquid. Jackson and Ollie's faces were quick to pucker up; Lucy and John laughed loudly back at them.
"Have I said that straight vodka shots are not my thing," Jackson coughed, "at all!"
John shrugged with a half-sincere smile. "Only about five times tonight," he pointed out. The younger man groaned in agony as the rest of the group chuckled amusedly.
The bar was swarmed with lights and music; the couple on the stage nearing the end of their song. There were conversations and laughter from by the door to the back of the bar. Refills were being called for by the bar, and waiters were manoeuvring from the kitchen and through the packed floor to deliver ordered snacks to tables.
Jackson was still complaining about the shot with his arms waving in all directions when John offered to buy them another round of drinks. No more straight vodka! Jackson had called out, but he was certain that they were going for yet another round of the very same liquor.
"Alright, next up... Lucy, Jackson and Ollie!" the woman by the stage called out, scanning the crowded bar.
Lucy perked up in an instant, her arms looping through a pumped Jackson and a resistant Ollie. "C'mon, Ollie, it's our turn!" Lucy chimed, and Jackson promptly helped her drag the woman up from their table.
"Guys, guys, can I pass?" the woman in the middle asked, gaining stern glares from her two friends.
"Hell no!" Lucy exclaimed, gripping the other woman on her shoulders. "Look, Mason's a dick for dumping you one day before our rookie period," she huffed, "but you shouldn't let that — let him — ruin your night."
"And you were the one who suggested that we blow off some steam before officially starting the job tomorrow," Jackson added; Lucy passed over the woman, and he now grasped her shoulders. "You do remember that we don't get off days, right?"
"I know! But..." Ollie huffed apologetically, "Karaoke is really, really not for me." Lucy and Jackson gasped at her in betrayal, the latter releasing his grip on her. "Okay, okay. Hold on. Don't give me those faces," Ollie sighed, "Maybe tonight I just wanna... drink my mind off?"
Lucy cocked her head. "So that you'll finally open up and talk about your feelings?"
Ollie shrieked. "I feel attacked."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"No."
Jackson and Lucy exchanged a look, and the former stepped forward, placing his hands on either side of Ollie's arms this time. "Alright then, my beloved Ollie. You shall drink your guts out tonight. And maybe sob over getting dumped— or not, 'cause you're a tearless robot who I've never seen cry," he cleared his throat, "Oh, or maybe find a better man than that pathetic excuse of a guy!"
Ollie snorted, shaking her head at him. "Love you, Jacks."
Jackson blew her a kiss in response, and Lucy was next to push him aside to cup Ollie's face in her hands.
"Okay, girl, look," Lucy drew in a breath, "we know you're not going to cry over your breakup 'cause you subconsciously believe that it makes you weak — which you're not — and, well, you've probably already decided that Mason is not worth a shit, and you're in the phase of pretending he never existed 'cause that's how you not deal with things— not the healthiest coping mechanism, by the way."
Ollie squirmed. "Way to call me out...?"
Lucy chuckled. "But you already know that I'm here if you wanna talk about, you know, the breakup— or anything else, actually. Call me any time," she affirmed, "And, well, you can really do better than Mason. Really. You're worth so much more, Ollie. Please go find someone better than a rich blond guy with an accent."
The woman whose face was squashed between a pair of hands grumbled. "Ugh, fine."
"Oh, and if you do find a guy tonight," Lucy smirked, "I want all the details."
Ollie finally rolled her eyes and finally freed herself from her friend's grip, walking backwards towards the bar counter. "See you guys tomorrow!" she called out, "Oh, and kill the song!"
She spun around, striding away from the stage and their table and towards the counter. She came face-to-face with John, who was just on his way back to their table. "Whoa— almost spilled our drinks," John shrieked before lifting his head back at Ollie, noticing the latter's complex mood. "You sure you're alright?"
"I will be," she shrugged and sighed, "Well, who knows, maybe Mason is right. This breakup is good, and I'll have no distractions in becoming a cop now. Maybe getting dumped is a good thing, huh?"
"It could be," he smiled. "And... where are you heading?"
"Counter," Ollie replied, taking one of the shot glasses from John with a muttered thanks. "Jackson and Lucy said that I should find myself a better guy," she prefaced, "Maybe that's what I'm gonna do. Maybe not," she tilted her head backwards and gulped down the shot, "Honestly, my social battery's drained, and I just want some quiet time to myself."
John chuckled, nodding understandingly. "Well, if you do find one... remember to use protection," he muttered in his 'dad voice', quickly receiving a sharp elbow in the ribs from the woman, causing him to almost spill the remaining shots but managed to catch his balance in time. He chuckled, "Have a good night, Marshall. See you in the morning."
"Back at you, Nolan."
Ollie ducked past a dancing crowd, clinking the shot glass on the countertop as she took a seat. One of the bartenders made their way to her corner, eyeing her empty glass. "Same of that?"
As much as she would love to drink her mind off like she said she would, she was wiser than to do so, especially tonight. "Nope, can't be hangover tomorrow. Just a beer will do. Thanks."
She muttered thank you again to the bartender when they brought over a new glass filled to the brim with pale yellow liquid. She sipped the beer slowly, in no urgency or rush, while she took in her surroundings.
The bar's counter was in a quieter section of the place, much to her liking. Individuals ranging from sad-and-sorry to eager-to-fuck occupied the row of barstools surrounding the counter. The speakers blasted with Lucy and Jackson's voices as they rocked out to their song of choice, and she noticed John recording the duo up front. Another moment to look back to, she thought with a smile.
Years ago, she would not have believed that she would be here today. Sure, she had just gotten dumped hours before by a pathetic guy she had dated for a bit, and the next months were going to be both wearying and challenging. But she was living on her feet, rid of the life that one clutched onto her like a parasite. She was happy with friends, bounded by those who she fatedly met and stuck with throughout her academy days. She was on the road to building a career for herself, finally living a life for herself.
She was not going to let anything interfere with her success, this time.
She felt a pair of eyes observing her, which promptly snapped her out of her thoughts. At the same instance, the barstool next to hers scraped against the floor, and the man offered her a smile.
She studied him cautiously— it had become a habit at this point in her life. Could be a survival instinct, could be more; she seemed to have a 'you're a bad guy unless proven otherwise' mindset carved somewhere at the back of her mind, and it was a tough one to correct.
But, as for the man beside her?
There was one thing she knew for sure: she would definitely not be complaining if this fine, eye-candy decided to sit close to her reach for the rest of her night.
His short, neatly-cut hair and light stubble already had her hooked beyond her liking, beyond proper reasoning. She would point out that his blue button-up was a size too small, wrapping a wee bit too snugly around his arm. Hell, what could those muscles do? she pondered, How about—
Olivia Jean Marshall, get yourself together.
She was supposed to be getting over her breakup... of some sort.
Keyword: supposed to.
Then again, what better way to free her mind of it than—
Ollie, stop.
The devil and angel on her shoulders were clearly fighting for dominance over her mind.
She cleared her throat as the man in blue finally took his seat on the barstool. How ever she managed to stretch her thoughts from cautious to attracted, even the angel on her shoulder shook its head. Of course, she resolved the blame on the alcohol.
(Poor alcohol.)
But the alcohol was also what fed her courage to boldly meet his eyes when he sensed her burning stare.
He was intrigued, to say the very least.
"I'm Tim," he broke the silence, holding his hand out.
The woman seemed to lag for a second, glancing at his extended hand, then back at him; whether it was the alcohol or her thoughts, he could not gauge. "Olivia," she finally took his hand in hers to shake. His grip was firm, and warm— like a blanket of warmness clinging onto her throat. "But my friends call me Ollie."
He tilted his head. "What about guys who want to buy you a drink, maybe two?" he asked slowly, "Perhaps more?"
She chuckled at his straightforwardness. "Well," she turned to face him, "call me flattered."
She watched as the corner of his mouth curled upwards, clearly amused at her play back at him. He nodded before flagging over the bartender. "I'll have a whiskey, please," he requested. "And, uh," he leaned closer, tapping on her empty glass, "a refill for the pretty lady."
He turned to face her again, a smile surfacing his look.
Hell's sake.
He was gazing back at her with a half-grin, and she may as well have imploded there and then.
Her stomach did the thing — something she had never felt for a good while now — and she knew then she was a goner for tonight.
More looks stolen, more words exchanged, more laughs echoed.
It was getting increasingly difficult for him to keep his eyes on hers as they spoke; they seemed to linger down, lower— to her moving lips. She had already given up on maintaining their gaze, the scent of him luring her in, drowning her deliberately. He pulled her stool closer to him; she smacked his chest at a poor joke. Their faces were literally inches away from each other.
Anyone around them could feel the tension, feel the burn, feel the yearn—
Why were neither of them making a move? Even the bartender was curious.
It felt like they had unknowingly participated in a competition: a challenge to see who would give in first.
Who knew how many more time ticked away before one of them cracked.
"So, handsome," she cleared her throat, meeting the pair of dilating eyes. Her hand snuck towards the opening of his button-up, pulling him even closer that she swore she saw him gulping. "How early do you have to be up tomorrow?"
He let her tug him by his shirt, one hand resting on the back of her seat while the other trailed her neck. His lips barely grazed hers, their breaths heavy on each other. He tilted her head, whispering to her ear, "I could ask you the same thing."
➤➤➤
Her keys were not obeying her as he littered kisses from her nape. To say that she melted instantly in his embrace would be an understatement. It felt like forever before she managed to unlock the door, and it was swung open impatiently, the pair already disappearing into the apartment. He kicked the door shut behind him, his hands more focused on cupping her face and waist while hers scurried to peel the shirt off his top.
Their lips met heavily, eagerly, hungrily. Their minds in a wild frenzy. The only moments they took to breathe were when they were tugging clothing items off each other.
Her back met the wall, his arm resting on it beside her. She pushed him off and his legs felt the couch on the back, losing his balance for a second. Her lips left his, trailing kisses down his chest as he inhaled sharply, head tossed back. He pulled her back up before she could sink any further, reaching for her top.
"Which way is your bed?" he asked hastily, barely managing to pull her top over her head.
She hooked her fingers through the loop of his jeans, yanking him up and close while she fumbled with his belt, slowly walking them backwards. "Stop talking."