Work Text:
The glass doors of Mid-Wilshire Division slid open and she stepped through, ATF credentials swinging against her chest, the weight of sixteen years settling across her shoulders like a coat that no longer quite fit. The bullpen sprawled before her—same layout, different people. New paint on the walls. New faces at the desks. New rhythm to the place that had once been hers. She could feel it immediately, that subtle shift in the pulse of a division that time and personnel turnover had reshaped. Some of the rhythm was still familiar—the cadence of shift change, the way voices carried—but much of it was new. Uncharted. She preferred it that way. Uncharted meant uncomplicated.
She approached the front desk. Young guy, maybe twenty-four. Nameplate said Penn. Talia didn't recognize the name, which meant someone had brought in a new batch of rookies in the sixteen years she'd been gone. Fresh meat for the grinder.
"Talia Bishop, ATF." She held up her credentials. "Here for the joint task force briefing. Need to check in with the Watch Commander."
The rookie scanned his screen. "Okay, Lieutenant Bradford will be right with you. Have a seat."
Bradford.
Talia's brain stalled. Bradford was Watch Commander? He was running the division floor now. She’d figured he’d make a name for himself, but…
"Thanks."
She turned and walked into the bullpen, and there—sitting at a desk near the window, surrounded by case files and the particular organized chaos of a detective who'd been at it for years—was Angela Lopez.
Older now. Gray threading through her dark hair, more pronounced than it had been even in Talia's last sparse communications with her. Reading glasses perched on her nose in a way that suggested years of late-night case reviews. A lunch bag on her desk, covered in children's drawings, but the drawings were older now, more sophisticated than simple stick figures. More confident. Angela had always been good at her job. It didn't surprise Talia that she'd risen.
"Angela."
Angela looked up. Her face cycled through confusion, recognition, and then genuine, warm surprise—the kind of surprise that comes when someone you hadn't expected to see suddenly appears, and your body reacts before your mind can catch up.
"Talia Bishop." She set down her pen and stood, moving around her desk. "Holy shit. Sixteen years?"
"Sixteen years."
Angela pulled Talia into a hug—firm, quick, the kind of hug that said I'm glad you're alive without needing to say it. Talia returned it, but she felt the slight tension in Angela's shoulders, the way she held on just a second longer than strictly necessary. Angela was one of the ones who'd wanted her to stay. Talia had never quite understood why. People left. It was what they did.
"I heard ATF was sending someone, but I didn't think it would be you." Angela pulled back, studying her face. "You look the same."
"You look like a detective sergeant."
Angela's mouth curved. "Yeah. I do, don't I?" She gestured to her desk, to the detective work that had clearly taken up significant real estate in her life over the past sixteen years. "Six years now. Commander Grey signed off on it. Nyla and I run the detective unit together."
"That's good, Angela. You always had the instincts for it."
"It's been good." Angela's expression shifted into something more serious. "Is this visit personal, or is this case actually as bad as the preliminary briefing suggests?"
Talia felt the ground shift beneath her. "You've seen the briefing?"
"The preliminary one. Grey sent it around yesterday." Angela pulled up a chair. "Marcus Reeves. Former Metro SWAT. Discharged under circumstances that apparently involved some kind of corruption or misconduct that nobody wants to talk about. Weapons trafficking ring with three separate operational sites. Distribution patterns that suggest deliberate destabilization of high-tension neighborhoods." She paused. "And possible LAPD involvement."
"Yeah."
"Yeah like maybe someone in the department is helping him, or yeah like we're pretty sure someone is?"
Talia chose her words carefully. "We're pretty sure someone is. Or was. The trafficking ring we've been tracking has too much operational knowledge about police procedures. They knew where to avoid camera coverage. They knew which neighborhoods had minimum police presence during specific time windows. That level of intelligence suggests either someone inside or someone with family on the job."
Angela sat back. "Fuck."
"I'm sorry to bring this to your door."
"Don't be sorry. Be thorough." Angela's voice shifted into detective mode—professional, sharp, focused. "Lucy's going to want to know everything. And Talia—she's going to want to know it from you, personally. No briefing slides, no bureaucracy. She's going to need to understand exactly what we're walking into."
Before Talia could respond to that, before she could even fully process what Angela was implying about Lucy's role in this investigation, a familiar voice cut through the bullpen from behind her.
"Angela, I need those ballistics reports from the—"
Talia turned.
John Nolan stood three feet away, coffee in hand, frozen mid-sentence. He looked older. Grayer, with the kind of distinguished silver threading through his dark hair that suggested a man who'd earned his years. More settled into himself. But his face when he saw her was exactly the same as it had been sixteen years ago: open, surprised, genuinely glad to see her.
"Talia."
"Hi, John."
He set down his coffee slowly, like the movement required careful thought. "You're the ATF lead?"
"I'm the ATF lead."
"Huh." He shook his head slowly, processing. "I always thought you'd come back eventually. I just didn't think it would take so long."
"Neither did I." Talia hesitated. "I had—I needed the distance."
John nodded like he understood what she wasn't saying. Maybe he did. They'd worked together long enough to know that some people had to leave to survive, and that didn't mean they didn't care about what they left behind.
A beat. Something passed between them—not awkward, exactly. Just acknowledged. Sixteen years was a long time. But they'd worked together, trusted each other, saved each other's lives. That didn't disappear.
"How's Bailey?" Talia asked.
John smiled. "Good. Really good. She's a firefighter. You'd like her—she's terrifying and competent and she doesn't put up with my shit." He paused. "And you? ATF treating you okay?"
"Yeah. Different. Good different." Talia hesitated. "I heard you're a training officer now."
"I am." There was pride in his voice, quiet and earned. "Got a rookie named Penn. Kid from Texas. Asks too many questions, which means he's either going to be excellent or a complete disaster."
"Those aren't mutually exclusive."
John laughed. "No. They really aren't."
The conversation drifted into easy rhythms after that—catching up, filling gaps. Talia learned about John's son Henry, about Bailey, about the life he'd built in the years since she'd left. It was comfortable in a way she hadn't expected. The years didn't feel like distance. Instead, it just felt like time. Like the kind of time that people who'd once mattered to each other could survive, as long as they didn't let resentment grow in the silence.
Then a woman appeared from the direction of the detective bureau, tall and sharp-eyed, moving with the kind of stillness that suggested she'd already assessed everyone in the room twice before they'd noticed her looking. Talia didn't recognize her, which meant she was new since Talia's time.
Angela looked up and gestured her over. "Nyla, come meet someone. This is Talia Bishop. She used to work here—left about sixteen years ago for the ATF."
The woman—Nyla—extended her hand, her grip firm and assessing. "Nyla Harper. I've heard your name. You trained John Nolan, right?"
"For a few months, yeah." Talia shook her hand, reading the assessment behind Nyla's eyes. Sharp. Intelligent. The kind of cop who made it her business to know everyone's history. "You're new since I left?"
"I transferred in right after you left, actually." Nyla's mouth curved slightly. "I completed the rest of John's training. He was still a rookie when I got here."
"And you?" Talia asked. "Detective now?"
"Detective sergeant, actually." Nyla's voice was matter-of-fact. "Five years now. Angela and I run the detective unit together. I spent about ten years as a detective before that, after I finished training John."
Talia absorbed that. Detective sergeants. Both of them. The division had changed more than she'd realized. "Impressive. You've both done well for yourselves."
"We've done the work," Nyla said, and there was something in her voice that suggested she wasn't looking for validation. "So what brings you back? ATF doesn't usually send people just for social calls."
"Joint task force. Weapons trafficking ring with possible LAPD connections." Talia let the words land, watching both women's expressions shift into professional focus. "I'll brief everyone in a few minutes. Watch Commander's expecting me."
Nyla nodded slowly. "Then we should probably get to it." She paused, and her gaze sharpened. "You know who you're dealing with, right? On this?"
Talia felt a warning bell go off somewhere in her tactical training. "How do you mean?"
"Reeves. He was Metro. He worked with some of the people still in this building. Not closely, but enough." Nyla's voice was quiet. "If he has contacts inside, this investigation is going to get complicated fast."
"That's why we need LAPD."
The door to the Watch Commander's office opened. Talia turned.
Lucy Chen walked out of the office.
Lieutenant Chen. The bars on her collar, bright and official and real. A wedding band glinting gold on her left hand—a band that had clearly been there for years, worn smooth by constant contact. And on her face—not the uncertain, eager-to-please rookie Talia vaguely remembered from sixteen years ago. This was someone else entirely. Someone who moved like she owned the floor beneath her feet. Someone who carried command in her shoulders, her spine, the set of her jaw.
Lucy's eyes swept the bullpen, landed on Talia, and held. There was no surprise there. No hesitation. She walked toward them with the easy confidence of someone who'd been in charge for years.
"Talia." Her voice was cool, professional. "Angela. Nyla." She nodded at each of them in turn. "Good. You're all here. We can start in five." Then her eyes returned to Talia, and something flickered in them—not warmth, exactly. Recognition. Assessment. "Walk with me."
It wasn't a request.
Talia fell into step beside her, and for a moment they walked in silence. Lucy was shorter than her, but the presence she projected made her feel larger. Talia had trained enough rookies to recognize command presence when she saw it. Lucy Chen had it in spades.
"Lieutenant Bradford." Talia tested the name. "I have to admit, I didn't expect this."
"What did you expect?" Lucy's voice was neutral.
"I don't know. Maybe that you'd still be in patrol. Or that you'd have burned out by now. Most rookies do, one way or another."
Lucy's mouth curved, but it wasn't a smile. "And yet here I am."
"Here you are." Talia studied her profile. "You're a long way from the kid who was dating her academy classmate and couldn't figure out which end of the report to fill out first."
That got a reaction. Lucy's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "I remember that conversation. You pulled me aside and told me I was making a mistake. That dating John would ruin my career before it started."
"I stand by that advice. It was sound."
"It was sound for a rookie who didn't know any better." Lucy stopped walking and turned to face her. "But I wasn't dating John by then. I'd already ended it. And I spent the next five years proving that I was more than just someone's girlfriend or someone's rookie."
Talia met her gaze. "Clearly."
Something passed between them—a silent acknowledgment that they were both assessing each other, both calculating. Lucy had learned that from Tim, no doubt. The man had never met a situation he couldn't turn into a tactical evaluation.
"I didn't think you'd remember me," Talia said. "We barely worked together."
"I remember." Lucy's voice was quiet. "You were the first person who told me I had potential. Who made me think I might actually be good at this job." She paused. "And then you left. Just like everyone said you would."
Talia felt the barb land. "People leave. It's what happens."
"Briefing first," Lucy said finally. "We can unpack sixteen years of history later. Grey's waiting."
She turned and walked toward the conference room. Talia followed, her mind racing.
_________________________________________________________________________________
Conference room B smelled like old coffee and new carpet. Commander Grey was already seated at the head of the table, older and grayer than Talia remembered, but with the same steady presence he'd always had. The kind of presence that made you believe he could handle whatever crisis you threw at him.
"Agent Bishop." He nodded. "Welcome back. It's been a long time."
"Commander." Talia took a seat across from Lucy, hyperaware of how Lucy immediately shifted into professional mode, pulling out a notebook and clicking her pen into position. The gesture was practiced, habitual—trained into her by someone else, over years Talia hadn't witnessed. "Thank you for hosting the task force."
"Joint operation. We're all in this together." Grey glanced at Lucy. "Lieutenant Bradford has been briefing me on the particulars. I trust her assessment."
Talia pulled out her folder. Her hands were steady—years of training made sure of that. But her mind was still processing the woman across from her, the one who'd just called her out for leaving and then shifted into professional mode like flipping a switch.
"The situation is more complicated than the initial briefing suggested," Talia began, falling into her task force voice. "We've been tracking a weapons trafficking ring for eighteen months. Started with stolen handguns, escalated to fully automatic conversion kits and tactical equipment. About four months ago, we started getting chatter suggesting coordination with at least two other rings operating in the Pacific Southwest region."
She spread crime scene photos across the table. Lucy leaned forward immediately, pulling out her notebook, her eyes sharp and focused. The gesture was trained, habitual, practiced a thousand times. Talia watched her and thought about Tim Bradford running briefings exactly like this. About the imprint he'd left on her.
"The weapons are being moved through several channels," Talia continued. "But the distribution pattern is what caught our attention. High concentration in areas where tensions between police and community are already elevated. South LA, parts of Rampart, neighborhoods with established gang presence and a history of police-related incidents."
"You think someone's trying to destabilize those specific areas," Angela said, appearing in the doorway with Nyla behind her. They slipped into the room quietly, taking seats near Grey. "Create chaos. Maybe incite a larger incident."
"We think someone's preparing for something specific," Talia corrected. "The guns are one thing. The conversion kits suggest whoever's behind this is building toward an event. Something significant enough to require multiple armed individuals, advanced equipment, and tactical coordination."
"Like an armed standoff," Nyla said quietly. She was studying the photographs with the intensity of someone who'd seen this kind of pattern before. "Or something worse."
"We don't know yet. That's why we need LAPD." Talia pulled out another document. "Six weeks ago, we got a breakthrough. One of the trafficking ring members got pinched on an unrelated charge and flipped. Gave us names, locations, operational procedures. Two of those names came back as LAPD affiliated."
The room went very quiet.
"Affiliated how?" Grey's voice hardened.
"One is a retired officer consulting with private security. Could be a coincidence. Could be he saw an opportunity." Talia spread a photograph across the table. "The other is more concerning." She tapped the image. "Marcus Reeves. Former Metro SWAT. Discharged about four years ago under circumstances involving excessive force complaints and anger management issues. The kind of officer who believed the job was about control rather than service."
Lucy's reaction was immediate and sharp. She went very still—not the stillness of suppression, but the stillness of a woman running calculations, assessing threat levels, planning responses. Talia recognized it because she did the same thing herself.
"We've tracked Reeves to three operational sites in the past two months," Talia said. "He's not just participating—he's training. We've got surveillance footage of him working with younger men, teaching tactical approaches, demonstrating equipment usage. He's building a team. A trained team."
"For what?" Angela leaned closer to the photographs.
"That's where we need LAPD's help." Talia pulled up a map, marked locations in red. "We're planning simultaneous operations next week. Three coordinated strikes on the three sites. But we need to know if Reeves has any remaining allies in the department. We need to know if anyone's been acting unusual, if there's been any hint of external organization or funding." She paused. "And we need to know if anyone in Metro had specific knowledge of his movements or methods that they shouldn't have had."
"You think he still has contacts here," Lucy said. It wasn't a question.
"I think it's possible. I think we need to consider it."
"And I think you came back here knowing that," Lucy said quietly. "You didn't request LAPD because you needed help. You requested LAPD because you wanted someone you could trust to help you figure out if the department is compromised from the inside."
Talia met her gaze. "Yes. That's part of it."
"The other part?" Grey asked.
"The other part is that I need someone with command authority to access personnel records without raising red flags. I need someone who can cross-reference Reeves' known associates with current LAPD officers. And I need someone who can do it quietly, without alerting whoever might be involved."
Lucy nodded slowly. "That's going to be complicated. If Reeves had allies, they're going to be watching for exactly this kind of investigation."
"Which is why it has to be internal. Someone who knows the department, knows the players, knows who to trust and who to watch."
Grey leaned forward. "Lucy will lead the internal side. She has the authority and the instincts for it. Angela and Nyla will support her. Tim will oversee from the captain's level."
Talia glanced at Lucy. "You're comfortable with that?"
Lucy's expression didn't flicker. "It's my job. I'm comfortable with my job."
"It's necessary," Grey said firmly. "If there's corruption, we need to know. If there isn't, Lucy's investigation will prove that. Either way, we move forward."
"And if we find someone?" Angela asked.
"Then we deal with it," Lucy said. "We deal with it like professionals. We protect the people who didn't know, we hold accountable the people who did, and we move forward. That's the only way this works."
Talia watched her as she spoke—the calm authority, the quiet certainty, the way everyone in the room was listening to her like she was the obvious person to lead this. This wasn't the young woman Talia had warned about dating a fellow rookie. This was someone who'd earned her place, who'd built something solid, who'd become exactly the kind of leader the department needed.
It was impressive. Talia could admit that, even if she wasn't sure how she felt about the woman herself.
"So here's what we know," Talia said, pulling the conversation back to operational details. She spent the next hour walking them through the intelligence, the operational timeline, the threat assessment. By the end, they had a plan: Lucy would run the internal investigation, with Nyla and Angela assisting. ATF would coordinate the simultaneous operations. They'd move next week, on Thursday, with all three sites targeted within a thirty-minute window.
"This has to be clean," Grey said when it was finished. "If we're going to investigate officers, we need to be absolutely certain we're not engaging in misconduct ourselves."
"Agreed," Talia said.
"And if we find that someone in this department was involved?" Lucy's voice was carefully neutral.
"Then they go to the federal prosecutor," Talia said. "That's not negotiable."
Lucy nodded slowly. Like she'd already expected that answer. Like she'd already made peace with it.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________
The room emptied slowly. Grey left first, then Angela and Nyla, already deep in conversation about next steps. John had left twenty minutes into the briefing with a phone call about something operational. That left Talia and Lucy alone in the doorway, the silence between them weighted with sixteen years of distance and the complexity of what they'd just set in motion.
"So," Lucy said. Not challenging. Just present.
"So." Talia paused. "You run a good briefing. Grey trusts you."
"He should. I've earned it."
Talia nodded. "I don't doubt that." She hesitated, then decided to push. "I have to admit, I'm surprised. You were so uncertain back then. So eager to please. I didn't think you'd make it this far."
Lucy's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. "And yet here I am."
"Here you are." Talia studied her. "Lieutenant. Watch Commander. Married to your training officer." She let the words hang. "That's quite a trajectory."
The temperature in the hallway dropped several degrees.
"Is there something you want to say, Talia?" Lucy's voice was quiet, controlled. The voice of someone who'd learned not to show her cards.
"I'm just making an observation. You were always like this, even with Nolan. Throwing yourself into relationships." Talia shrugged. "I told you back then it was a bad idea. That it would mark you. That people would talk."
"People always talk." Lucy's jaw tightened. "That doesn't mean they know what they're talking about."
"No? So tell me I'm wrong. Tell me that dating your training officer wasn't a risk. That marrying him didn't complicate your career in ways you're still dealing with."
Lucy was very still for a long moment. When she spoke, her voice was measured, careful. "You don't know anything about my marriage. You don't know anything about what Tim and I went through to get here. You weren't here, Talia. You left."
"I left because I had a career to build. Priorities."
"And I stayed and built mine." Lucy stepped closer. "You want to judge me? Fine. Judge me. But at least have the decency to admit that you don't know the whole story. That you weren't here for any of it."
Talia met her gaze. "I know that Bradford was your training officer. I know that you were his rookie. And I know that every person in this building has an opinion about how that turned out."
"Their opinions don't pay my salary." Lucy's voice was ice. "And they don't keep me up at night."
"No? Then why are you so defensive?"
Lucy's eyes flashed. "I'm not defensive. I'm explaining something to someone who clearly doesn't understand the basics. Tim didn't marry his rookie. He married the love of his life. The fact that I was his rookie sixteen years ago is irrelevant. We were partners for years before anything happened. We were friends. We built something that had nothing to do with training officers or protocols or any of the things you're implying."
Talia studied her. The passion in her voice was real. The conviction. It was almost enough to make Talia reconsider her assumptions.
Almost.
"You really believe that," Talia said. "That's interesting."
Lucy opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, the door to the bullpen swung open.
___________________________________________________________________________________________
Tim Bradford walked through the door, and for a moment Talia didn't recognize him.
He was in civilian clothes—jeans, a henley, a smear of blue marker on his collar that looked relatively recent. He was holding a preschool craft project covered in glitter and pipe cleaners, the kind of art supply explosion that only preschoolers and their enthusiastic parents could create together. And attached to his other hand was a small girl, maybe four years old, with dark hair and an expression of intense determination.
Behind him, a second girl—older, maybe ten, with the same dark hair and a sharper version of Lucy's face—was carrying a backpack and a notebook, already writing something as she walked.
"Daddy, Sophie's boots are still mismatched," the older one announced. "I told her they don't match, but she says you said it was okay."
"I did say it was okay." Tim's voice was patient, warm, completely unrecognizable from the sharp-edged man Talia remembered. "Because it is okay. They're her boots."
"But they don't match."
"Sienna, not everything has to match. Some things are better when they're a little different."
The younger girl—Sophie—looked up at her father with obvious adoration. "Daddy says I'm good at problem-solving."
"You are good at problem-solving."
"I know."
Then Tim looked up. Saw Talia standing next to Lucy. Stopped dead.
The children, noticing their father's sudden stillness, also stopped. Sophie peered around his leg at Talia with the unblinking scrutiny of a small child who hadn't yet learned that staring was rude. Sienna closed her notebook and studied Talia with the focused attention of someone twice her age.
"Bishop." Tim's voice was careful.
"Bradford." Talia's voice sounded strange. "I heard you're Captain now."
"I am." He nodded slowly. "Lucy runs the floor. It works."
"It seems to." Talia glanced at the children, then back at him. "You've been busy."
Something flickered in his eyes—amusement, maybe. Or challenge. "You could say that."
Sophie tugged on his hand. "Daddy, who's that?"
"This is Talia Bishop. She used to work here. A long time ago."
"Oh." Sophie considered this. "Is she a police?"
"She's ATF. That's like the police, but different."
"Oh." Sophie nodded sagely, as if this explained everything. Then she held up her mismatched boots. "Look! I have dinosaurs and sparkles."
Talia looked at the boots. One was covered in dinosaur stickers. The other was sparkly pink. Neither matched anything. "That's—creative."
"Daddy says it's good problem-solving."
Talia glanced at Tim. This was not the man she remembered. The man she remembered would never have tolerated mismatched boots, much less encouraged them. "Your daddy said that?"
"Uh huh." Sophie beamed. "He's the best daddy."
Sienna, meanwhile, had moved closer to her mother. "Mom, we finished early. Grandma said we could come see you before we go home."
Lucy crouched down to her daughter's level, and her entire demeanor shifted. The ice melted. The command presence softened into something warm, something real. "That's fine, baby. I'm almost done here."
"Who's she?" Sienna nodded toward Talia.
"Her name is Talia Bishop. She's an ATF agent. We're working on a case together."
Sienna studied Talia for a long moment, her eyes sharp and assessing. She had her mother's intensity, her father's stillness. "Okay." Then she turned back to her mother. "Can we get pizza tonight?"
"We can get pizza tonight."
"Yes." Sienna pumped her fist. Sophie immediately demanded pizza too.
Tim stepped forward, Sophie still on his hip. He moved to Lucy's side, and without any apparent self-consciousness, he leaned down and kissed her—quick, familiar, the kind of kiss that said I'm glad you're here without needing words. Lucy's hand came up to rest on his arm, and for a moment they were just a couple, parents, partners, in a way that was so natural it was almost jarring to witness.
Talia watched them and felt something shift in her chest. Not longing—she didn't long for this, had never wanted it for herself. But recognition, maybe. Understanding that this was real. That whatever she'd assumed about them, whatever judgments she'd made, there was something here she hadn't accounted for.
Tim pulled back and glanced at Talia. "We should get them settled. You have work to do."
"I'm almost done." Lucy straightened. "Talia and I were just finishing up."
Tim's eyes met Talia's, and she saw it there—the same assessment he'd always given her, the same calculation. But underneath it, something else. Wariness, maybe. He knew what she thought of him. He'd always known.
"It's good to see you, Bishop," he said. The words were polite, but his voice was careful. "I hope the case goes well."
"Thank you." Talia paused. "You seem—different."
His mouth curved. "I get that a lot. Kids'll do that to you."
"They seem like good kids."
"They are." There was pride in his voice, quiet and fierce. "They're the best thing I ever did."
Sophie squirmed on his hip. "Daddy, I'm hungry."
"I know, baby. We're going." He looked at Lucy. "You good?"
"I'm good. Go feed the tiny humans."
Tim nodded. He glanced at Talia one more time—something complicated passing behind his eyes—and then he turned and walked toward the break room, Sophie chattering on his hip and Sienna trailing behind, already writing in her notebook again.
Before he disappeared through the door, Talia saw him reach down and squeeze Lucy's hand. A small gesture. Private. Not for her.
The door swung shut behind them.
Talia stood in the hallway, processing what she'd just witnessed. The man she'd known—sharp, closed off, convinced that sentiment was a liability—was gone. In his place was someone she barely recognized. Someone soft. Someone settled. Someone who kissed his wife in front of strangers and encouraged his daughter's mismatched boots.
"That's not the man I remember," she said quietly.
Lucy turned to her. "People change. Some of us for the better."
Talia heard the edge in her voice. "I wasn't criticizing."
"Weren't you?" Lucy's eyes were steady. "You've been criticizing since you walked in. My relationship. My choices. My marriage. You haven't asked a single question about the work I've done, the cases I've solved, the unit I've built. Just judgments about who I married."
Talia opened her mouth to respond, but Lucy held up a hand.
"I don't need your approval, Talia. I stopped needing that a long time ago. But if we're going to work together on this case, you need to understand something." She stepped closer. "Tim Bradford is my husband. He's the father of my children. He's the reason I'm still alive, more times than I can count. And I don't care what you or anyone else thinks about how we got here. It's none of your business."
The words landed hard. Talia felt them, even if she didn't want to.
"I wasn't trying to—"
"Yes, you were." Lucy's voice was quiet but firm. "And that's fine. You're entitled to your opinions. But keep them to yourself while we're working. I have a job to do, and so do you. Let's focus on that."
She turned and walked toward the break room without waiting for a response.
Talia stood alone in the hallway, the bullpen humming around her.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
She didn't leave immediately.
She stood there, watching the break room door, trying to process what had just happened. Lucy Chen had just dressed her down like a rookie, and Talia had let her. Because she was right. Because Talia had been judging her since the moment she walked out of that office.
"Hey."
Angela appeared beside her, two cups of coffee in hand. She offered one to Talia.
"You look like you need this."
Talia took it. "Thanks."
They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the bullpen hum around them. Officers moved through their shifts, paperwork shuffled, phones rang. The rhythm of a division that had kept going, kept living, while Talia was gone.
"So," Angela said. "That was intense."
"That was intense."
"You didn't know. About any of it."
"No." Talia shook her head. "I didn't know Lucy was lieutenant. I didn't know Tim was captain. I didn't know about the kids, the marriage, any of it." She paused. "I just—I didn't know."
Angela studied her. "You could have. Sixteen years is a long time to not call."
Talia flinched. "I know."
"I'm not saying it to guilt you." Angela's voice was gentle. "I'm just saying—you left, and we kept living. Lucy kept living. She became a sergeant, then lieutenant. She and Tim spent years figuring out what they were to each other. They got married, they had kids, they built a life." She paused. "It wasn't a secret. It just wasn't your story to witness."
Talia absorbed that. "She's different than I expected."
"Different how?"
"Stronger. More certain. She doesn't take shit from anyone." Talia paused. "She didn't take it from me."
Angela laughed. "No, she wouldn't. She learned that from Tim, and then she taught it back to him. That's how they work."
"He's different too."
"Yeah." Angela's voice was warm. "He is. Having a family changed him. Having her changed him. He's still sharp, still tactical, still the best cop I know. But he's also... softer. In the ways that matter."
Talia considered that. The man she'd known would never have been described as soft. The man she'd just watched kiss his wife and carry his daughter would.
"I never thought I'd see Tim Bradford like that," she said quietly.
"No one did." Angela sipped her coffee. "That's the thing about people. You never know who they're going to become."
Talia nodded slowly. It wasn't an absolution. It wasn't closure. But it was something.
__________________________________________________________________