Tim Bradford x Rookie!reader [PLATONIC] — Ongoing series: Like Father, like Rookie.
POV: A rookie who forgets to eat. A training officer who notices. It starts with late-night takeout, and ends with quiet care. Tim Bradford doesn’t say much—but actions? They speak loud enough.
TW: Reader goes through the motions of poor eating habits due to prioritising work, resulting in brief mentions of weight loss. Tim ensures reader gets back on track with eating in various ways, including often asking reader if they’ve eaten and observing if they’ve eaten enough.
A/N: Okay, first of all, I literally whipped up 70% of this oneshot and forgot to save it. So, apologies if this oneshot doesn’t hit different because it was made with frustration (Because I had to rewrite it all over again,) and not love like usual. :( Which also explains why I didn’t post once a week because my motivation went downhill after I realised it didn’t save—but we persevere!! So, here it is!
It was nearing the end of shift, and Tim could already feel the exhaustion setting into his shoulders. The paperwork was never-ending, the bullpen too loud, and his patience was at about 4%.
But when he looked across the room and spotted you, hunched over your desk with a blank stare and twitching fingers—he knew something was off.
You hadn’t said a word in the past hour. Not since the last dispatch call ended. Not since you got back to your desk.
Your knee bounced restlessly under the table, fingers twitching against the edge of your laptop. Your eyes were glassy—focused on nothing, staring straight through the screen in front of you like it wasn’t even there.
Tim watched you from across the bullpen, jaw ticking.
“Kid.”
You didn’t answer. Didn’t even flinch. Just blinked—slow, like the thought had to travel a long way before it reached your brain. Then you looked up, bleary-eyed and sluggish, like you’d been wading through molasses.
Tim pushed back his chair with a scrape and crossed the room, arms folding as he stood beside your desk. “You good?”
You gave a fast, jerky nod. “Yeah. Just… tired.”
Too quick. Too rehearsed.
Tim glanced down at your desk—the same granola bar had been sitting there since morning. Unwrapped, untouched. The coffee cup next to it was long since empty.
“Did you eat today?” he asked, voice low.
Your eyes flicked to him, then away. “Wha—yeah. I’m fine.”
“That wasn’t the question,” he said flatly, brow raised. “Did you eat?”
You hesitated. Just enough to answer the question for him. Then you muttered, “Had some coffee.”
Tim exhaled through his nose. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t call you out or scold you.
He just looked at you. Stared long enough that you started to fidget, then glanced at his watch.
“Come on.”
You blinked. “What?”
He was already walking away, grabbing his jacket. “Hurry up before I leave you here.”
For a moment, you just sat there, watching him near the exit before you shook your head profusely, as if snapping out of a trance that had it’s way with you for far too long before bouncing to your feet and jogging after him.
The ride was quiet—typical with Tim. No music, just the soft murmur of the radio and the occasional irritated grunt when someone on the road pissed him off.
You sat curled into your seat, arms crossed, stomach finally realizing it hadn’t been fed in over twelve hours.
Fifteen minutes later, he pulled into a faded parking lot. The diner looked like it belonged in a postcard from the ’80s—neon lights buzzing, chrome siding catching the glow of streetlamps. The windows glowed warm and yellow in the night.
You squinted. “Diner?”
“Midnight special,” he replied, cutting the engine and getting out like it was a regular routine. “Get moving.”
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of old grease, pancakes, and brewed coffee. You slid into a booth by the window while Tim nodded to the woman behind the counter. She brought two steaming mugs of coffee over like she already knew the drill.
Tim didn’t open the menu. Just sipped. Watched you.
“You’re gonna order,” he said finally, nudging a menu toward you with a finger.
You blinked at him. “What should I get?”
“All of it.”
You stared. “What?”
He took another slow sip of coffee. “Everything you’ve been skipping. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. Pick something from every section.”
Your shoulders stiffened. “Sir—”
“Don’t even start,” he cut in. “I’ve seen corpses with more color than you today. You’re running on fumes and stubbornness.”
You huffed, looking away, cheeks burning. “I’m not a kid.”
Tim raised an eyebrow, but didn’t push. Instead, he nodded toward the menu again.
“Then order like an adult who knows how to take care of themselves.”
You grumbled under your breath, but something about the steadiness in his voice—like he noticed the way you’d been shrinking lately, the way your uniform was a little looser—made you obey.
And for once, you didn’t have a retort. Just stared down at the laminated page, swallowing hard as your stomach let out a quiet growl.
You pointed, finally. “I’ll take the fries, pancakes, hashbrowns, and a milkshake.”
Tim grunted, satisfied. “Atta kid.”
Tim just nursed his coffee, occasionally stealing a fry off your plate once the food came. He didn’t push. Just watched you eat with that unreadable expression of his.
Halfway through your milkshake, your shoulders sagged.
“Didn’t realize how hungry I was,” you mumbled.
Tim gave a small nod. “That’s the thing with burnout. You don’t feel it ‘til it’s already bleeding into everything else.”
You looked down at your fork.
He leaned back in the booth, exhaling slowly. “You’re not a machine, kid. You don’t get extra points for starving yourself through the shift.”
“I wasn’t trying to—”
“I know,” he said, softer now. “That’s the problem.”
You went quiet again.
The syrup was starting to stick to your fingers. The milkshake was giving you a headache. But the warmth in your chest—warmth that wasn’t from the food—was harder to ignore.
And when he flagged down the waitress for a to-go box for the leftovers you couldn’t finish, you didn’t argue.
After the midnight diner run, something shifted.
Tim Bradford, usually content to let his rookies suffer through learning things the hard way, was now on your ass like a hawk about one very specific thing:
Food.
It started the next morning—quiet, early, just before roll call.
You were half-awake, rubbing sleep from your eyes and yawning into your shoulder as you fumbled with your locker. The clatter of boots on tile barely registered until a shadow stretched across the floor beside you.
“Did you eat?”
You blinked, turned your head, and found Tim standing there—arms crossed, face unreadable, looming like a silent judgmental stormcloud.
“Uh… yeah?” you offered, voice raspy from sleep.
He tilted his head slightly. “What?”
“Granola bar?” you tried again, already wincing.
He let out a low, unimpressed sound. Somewhere between a grunt and a sigh. “That’s not breakfast. That’s a snack pretending to be one. You’ve got five minutes. There’s a vending machine in the breakroom. Find something with protein—go.”
You opened your mouth—maybe to argue, maybe to ask if he was serious—but the sharp look he gave you shut it right back.
Your legs moved before your brain caught up.
By day three, the mission had evolved.
Now he was personally escorting you to the food trucks during break like your own surly, broad-shouldered chaperone.
“Go big or go home,” he muttered, squinting at the chalkboard menu propped on the sidewalk. “Get the loaded burrito.”
You stared blearily at the options. “Which one?”
He stepped forward slightly, pointing without hesitation. “Not that one. The other one—with potatoes.”
You followed the direction of his finger, and it took you a second to realize your own hand had drifted to match, your finger hovering just beneath the menu item like a trained reflex.
“Yeah,” he said with a small, victorious nod. “That one.”
You gave him a look. “Are you seriously micromanaging my lunch right now?”
“Damn right I am,” Tim said without missing a beat. “Not risking my rookie blacking out during a foot chase because you skipped breakfast again.”
You just rolled your eyes with a defeated huff, stepping up to the food truck to place your order.
By day five, it was no longer a secret.
In fact, it had become something of a running joke at Mid-Wilshire.
“Hey,” Jackson whispered across briefing during roll call, nudging Lucy with his elbow. “Why does Tim follow Y/N around like a grumpy golden retriever with a lunchbox?”
Lucy smirked without looking up from her notes. “He’s on full food patrol. They skipped a meal once and now it’s like… a vendetta.”
Even Grey caught wind of it.
During roll call, right as the morning briefing was about to wrap, Tim leaned over casually and murmured, “You eat anything yet?”
You muttered a tired “Yes, sir.” under your breath, and Grey paused mid-sentence.
His eyes flicked up. “You feeding your boot now, Sergeant?”
Tim didn’t even flinch. “Can’t train a rookie running on fumes, sir.”
From the back of the room, Nyla raised a perfectly sculpted brow. “Didn’t know T.O. stood for Take-Out Officer.”
Angela snorted beside her. “Please. More like Dad-ford.”
You buried your face in your elbow and tried not to laugh, whilst Tim just shook his head, deadpan as ever, but didn’t deny a thing.
Because by now, it was true.
And everyone knew it.
Later that day, when he caught you trying to sneak away with just a cup of coffee for lunch, he reached out, plucked it from your hands, and deadpanned, “Caffeine doesn’t count as calories, kid. Let’s go.”
You groaned but followed.
And maybe, just maybe, the food tasted better when he was sitting next to you, silently eating his own lunch like it was no big deal. Like he hadn’t made it his full-time side quest to make sure you were okay.
By day six, Tim was satisfied with not only the improvement in your eating habits, but also with the fact that everybody in Mid-Wilshire hadn’t mentioned a thing about his part in it ever since the day before in roll call.
Until..
Nyla and Angela decided that it was too good of an opportunity to not mention it once the break room was quiet, save for the low hum of the vending machine and the occasional clink of mugs against the counter.
Nyla perched on the edge of the table, sipping her tea, while Angela leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching Tim stir way too much sugar into his coffee.
“You know,” Angela started, her voice carrying that amused edge she always got when she was circling in on something juicy, “you’re not exactly subtle.”
Tim didn’t look up. He was leaned against the breakroom counter, hands wrapped tightly around his coffee mug like it was anchoring him. His shoulders barely shifted.
“About what?” he muttered, tone just this side of defensive.
Nyla raised a brow, sipping from her own cup as she leaned beside him. “Your rookie.”
He let out a small, tired breath. “I make sure they eat. Big deal.”
Angela gave a short laugh. “You make sure they eat. And sleep. And drink water. You drag them to food trucks, you check in before every shift, and I swear to God, I’ve seen you watch their plate like a hawk to make sure they finish what’s on it.”
Tim gave her a flat look but didn’t deny it.
“I’m not coddling them,” he said. “They weren’t taking care of themselves. I stepped in.”
Nyla crossed her arms, eyes steady. “You stepped in like a one-man wellness program, Bradford.”
He didn’t respond right away.
There was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. He stared down at his coffee like it might say something back to him. His voice, when it came, was quieter than before—less like a retort and more like the truth slipping out. “They’re young,” he said. “Too used to burning themselves out before they even recognize the damage. Always pushing through, always trying to prove something. I’ve seen that break people. I’m not gonna let it break them.”
Angela’s teasing faded into something softer, more thoughtful. She leaned forward, resting her arms on the table. “Most T.O.s would’ve chalked it up to ‘toughening up.’ Let them figure it out the hard way.”
He gave a small shake of his head. “Yeah, well. I’ve been the guy who figured it out the hard way. It sticks with you.” His tone had gone distant. Like he was seeing something none of them could. A memory, probably. One that hurt in ways he didn’t speak about.
The room quieted for a moment. Even Nyla, who usually had a comeback for everything, didn’t say anything right away. Then she tilted her head, voice quieter. “You’re a good T.O., Tim.”
Angela nodded. “Little overbearing. Lot grumpy. But yeah—solid.”
He rolled his eyes, but it didn’t quite reach the rest of his face.
Before he could respond, the door creaked open behind them, and your voice cut through the silence like sunlight filtering through blinds.
“Hey, sir? I grabbed you an extra taco.”
All three of them turned. You stood in the doorway with your jacket half-zipped, hair a little mussed from your earlier nap in the shop, holding out a foil-wrapped taco like it was a peace offering.
Tim’s entire posture softened in a blink.
His brows lifted—not in surprise, but in quiet warmth—and he straightened from the counter. When he reached out to take the taco from your hand, his fingers brushed yours gently. He didn’t rush it.
“Thanks, kid,” he said, his voice lower, more grounded.
You smiled—small but bright—and gave a quick nod before stepping back out, the door closing quietly behind you.
For a moment, the three of them just stood there.
Then Nyla took a long sip of her coffee and smirked. “Okay, but that was actually adorable.”
Tim groaned and tipped his head back against the wall. “I swear to God, if that name sticks—”
“Oh, it already has,” Nyla said with a shrug. “You’re toast.”
Angela raised her cup in a mock toast. “To the dadliest T.O. in Mid-Wilshire.”
But the thing was—Tim didn’t argue. He didn’t snap back with a sarcastic jab or roll his eyes too hard.
Instead, he just looked down at the taco in his hand. His thumb brushed over the warm foil, slow and thoughtful, like he was still hearing your voice echo in his head.
And there, alone with his thoughts while the others teased, Tim let the smallest smile pull at the corner of his mouth.
|Pairings: Lucy Chen x Fem!reader; Tim Bradford x Lucy Chen x Fem!Reader platonic friendship. | Rating: M | TW: Pregnancy, police work, violence, cussing, drinking, implied smut. | Word Count:
an: here is the first of many SMAU’s, I hope you guys like it. Before Requesting, Please read my guidelines. REQUEST ARE OPEN.
✧ taglist ✧ Masterlist ✧ submission guidelines✧
| part 1 | part 2 | part 3 |
18+ MINORS DNI
‧˚₊ ⊹ ‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹ ‧˚₊ ꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦‧₊˚⊹ ‧˚₊
—————————————————————————-
I woke up to the sound of the phone ringing, my wife’s legs were tangled with mine and since there was no light coming through the window I knew it had to be my phone. “turn your phone off before it wakes up El, it took me forever to get her down last night” Lucy groaned before turning away from me. I grabbed the phone and answered “This is Chen” the line was silent before I heard someone clear their throat, “Wait did I call the wrong Officer? Is this K9 Chen?” I groaned, “yep this is she, what can I do for you.” “We need a K-9 unit on stand by and Sgt. Grey said to call you.” I sat up and prepared to start my day at 1:30am. “Give me 15 minutes and I’ll head in.” I hung up the phone and leaned over kissing Lucy on the head. Thankfully when we bought the house our closest is in our bathroom which means we don’t wake each other up on days like this.
I threw on my uniform, my vest, and my rig belt, opened the safe and grabbed my service weapon. When I was fixing my hair the door opened and a very sleepy Lucy was staring at me, “Did we actually think being parents and both being on patrol would be easy? Plus you being on call 24/7. Tell Grey to hire another K-9.” I chuckled lightly, “Right, because Grey listens to me. On the other hand, we do have a really cute kid, so sleepless nights are worth it.” When Lucy finished using the bathroom she walked over to me and wrapped her arms around my neck, I could smell the scent of her shampoo. “I have to go my love.” I smiled and gave her a quick kiss. She groaned loudly and went back to bed.
I walked quietly into my daughter’s room and kissed her on the forehead. I heard my K-9 Rocky standing up in his kennel, I bent down and opened the door letting him out. I clipped on his vest and his collar, “let’s go buddy.” I grabbed my backpack and my water bottle, and walked out the door to head to the detail.
———————————————————————————-
I met Lucy, Juarez, Lopez, Harper, Nolan and Bradford at our local diner near the station. When I parked I saw my wife and best friend talking outside near the entrance, walking up I heard Lucy say “I just think we should have one more while El is still young enough to be able to play with the new baby!” Juarez chuckled “getting her to sign off on that will be tough, after your pregnancy with El and the delivery scare I don’t know if she will ever recover from that.” I cleared my throat once I was close enough, and kissed Lucy on the cheek. “Let’s go eat.”
I zoned out at the table as there were 4 different conversations happening. Is she serious about wanting another baby…? "Babe, hello, earth to my wife.." I snapped out of my thoughts and looked at Lucy's worried face, "Hm?" I looked around the table at our friends staring at me, "What's wrong?" Juarez raised her eyebrow. I smiled "Sorry, i was thinking about how tired I am right now." Bradford laughed "Fuck off Bradford." I flipped him off. Lucy rested her hand on my upper thigh, "Tim be nice, also can you take El this weekend? I would like to have my wife back after all of these extra hours." Tim looked at Lucy and I smirking, "holy shit, Chen actually talked you into having another baby didn't she?" I could tell my face was red, I looked over at Lucy and smiled, "we are still talking about it."
Angela, Celina, Nyla, and Tim were all talking about the idea of us having another baby when a shots fired call came over our radios. I took out a hundred-dollar bill and tossed it on the table, as all five of us took off running out of the door. I stopped dead in my tracks when a scream came over the radio, "Officer Down."
Tim Bradford x FBI!FormerRookie!reader
Fandom: The Rookie
Summary: You are a former FBI agent and come back to your roots after many years. Little did you know Tim waited for you all these years.
A/N: This is my first Tim Bradford one ever and I know I need some improvement in this police area. I'm thinking about making a part two of this. Anyways, let me know what you think. Have a wonderful day, bubs! Lots of love.
Requested: Yes
Words: 2.5k
Requests for Tim Bradford are open!
GIF not mine, credits to the owner.
The flight was exhausting and the shitty bed from that cheap motel was even worse. They'd think an FBI agent would afford a five star hotel and a warm meal, instead of that reheated noodles you had last night, but LA is expensive as shit. One thing you didn't miss about this city were those self-centred Hollywood "stars" and the exorbitant prices.
You watched the time over and over again, shaking your foot nervously. You are ready to go, but you just can't gather the courage to face those police officers again. The bathroom light is dim and you put the blame on that for your horrendous bun, not because you lost practice. You redo the bun one more time and watch yourself in the mirror. LAPD uniform hugs your curves so perfectly and the overloaded belt accentuates your waist. You allow yourself to wear a small smile today, for the sake of old times.
The tranquility of the morning was shattered by the unmistakable sound of gunshots ringing out in the distance. Instantly alert, with your heart pounding in your chest as adrenaline surged through your veins, you grabbed your service weapon and badge, slipping them into your waistband as you hurried out the door and into the cool morning air.
As you made your way down the narrow staircase of the motel, the sounds of the gunshots grew louder, sending a chill down your spine. Stepping out onto the sidewalk, you quickly assessed the situation—a group of armed men engaged in a shootout with one another only a few blocks away. Confusion made its way to your mind; why would some people from the same gang fire at each other?
As you analyse their tattoos, some have it on their neck, some on their wrist, it snapped. You recognise those tattoos from your FBI files that lay on your motel bed, two different markings, two different gangs. Dangerous ones, wanted ones.
Without a second thought, you sprang into action, ducking behind parked cars and storefronts, you closed in on the scene, your heart pounding in your chest as you prepared to confront them. There's no time to wait for backup. And who'd you call anyway?
With a burst of adrenaline, you emerged from cover and sprinted towards the gunmen, your weapon drawn and ready. The element of surprise worked in your favor as you caught them off guard, their attention momentarily diverted as they turned to face you.
"Drop your weapons! FBI!" you shouted, your voice ringing out clear and commanding above the chaos of the shootout.
For a moment, there was hesitation in their eyes, uncertainty flickering across their faces as they weighed their options. But then, with a defiant snarl, they raised their guns once more, their fingers tightening on the triggers.
Time seemed to slow as the standoff unfolded, each moment stretched to its breaking point as you and the felons locked eyes, the tension thick in the air. And then, with a burst of gunfire, the situation erupted into chaos once more.
Bullets flew past you in a deadly dance as you returned fire, each shot ringing out like a thunderclap in the stillness of the morning. You managed to hit two of them, one in the shoulder, that dropped the gun and grabbed their wound in shock and the other one in the thigh, forcing them to fall into the ground. You didn't had enough handcuffs to secure them all, so it was your priority to stop them from running away until the officers arrived.
It's crazy to see how four rival gang members united to get rid of you when seconds before were about to blow their heads off.
"I said, drop your weapons, now!" you demanded to the masked one still standing, gunshots finally stopping. You didn't see any response or will to do so and that made you place aim for their legs as well, forcing them to collapse. "Hands behind your back, intertwine your fingers."
Before handcuffing them, you pulled up your phone and searched for that one number.
"Sergeant Grey" the voice on the other side responded.
"Agent Y/L/N, FBI. I have in custody two of Crenshaw and two of Tongan. I need backup and R/A. Crenshaw bulevard with W 66th Street." you informed Sergeant Grey.
"Copy that."
Not long after you made the call, three cars and an ambulance pulled up to the address you gave. The look on the officers faces when they saw you holding one handcuffed suspect and three injured on the street, was as satisfying as catching those. Adrenaline still coursing through your veins, you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride wash over you.
"Y/L/N, FBI." you presented yourself to the officers, you showed your badge and shake their hands, each wearing a mortified expression after they heard your name. "After they're checked, let's get going. I'm late for my first day." you demanded and the six officers nodded as an understanding.
You could tell by the look on their faces, some of them are rookies. You can't forget those eyes, you had the exact same expression when you were a rookie and as Tim as your T.O. didn't help much.
"Agent Y/L/N." a serious tone came from just as a serious man. Sergeant Grey standing tall and imposing in the booking room as you walked the men to one of the benches and let another officer take care of him. As you approached the man, a big and friendly smile appeared on his face "It's so good to have you back."
"Good to be back, sir." you accepted his handshake with that small smile from the morning that you promised yourself you'd be wearing all day.
Your name was on everyone's lips as you walked through the station besides Grey.
It had been years since you last walked these familiar corridors, but as you made your way toward the meeting room, a sense of nostalgia washed over you.
"Is that Y/N?" one officer whispered to another, having the impression you didn't hear them.
"Yeah. Still hot. Heard she's working with FBI now." that remark made you turn your head in their direction, locking your eyes with one of them as he swallowed the lump in his throat and returning to his seat.
Inside, the meeting room was filled with the buzz of conversation as officers gathered for the morning briefing. All eyes turned to you as you entered, whispers and murmurs following in your wake. You could feel the weight of their scrutiny, their curiosity palpable in the air as they watched the former FBI agent return to their ranks.
"Good morning everyone. Sorry I'm late, had to take care of something so early this morning because someone doesn't sleep." he glanced at you and the murmur stopped when the eyes landed on you standing in the doorframe. "Take a sit." you nodded and sat down in the first row.
"Is that Y/N?" Lucy whispered to Nolan and Jackson. It was impossible to shake the feeling of being under a microscope, every move you made scrutinized by your colleagues.
"Hell, yeah, she is!" Jackson laid his eyes on you and gave you an appreciation smile.
As the sergeant launched into the details of the day's assignments and priorities, you found it difficult to concentrate, the weight of everyone's eyes on you making it hard to focus. But you pushed through, determined to prove yourself in your new role as a police officer.
"Today we made serious progress towards the gangs that won't let Los Angeles sleep in peace. Agent Y/L/N, first thing in the morning had in custody four men, almost as important as the gang leaders." your mind zoned out, you already knew that story. But what you didn't know and what's really eating you inside is that specific blond man.
In the corner of the room, Talia and Angela exchanged knowing glances, their whispers barely audible over the sergeant's voice.
"Can you believe she's back?" Angela muttered.
"I heard she was with the FBI," Talia replied, her voice tinged with curiosity. "Wonder what brought her back here."
"From an FBI agent to an officer? Seems like a joke to me..." Lopez paused as she looked at Tim for a moment. "Maybe something bad happened. Maybe she did something bad." the excitement of her voice was unquestionable.
Meanwhile, Tim Bradford watched from his seat at the front of the room, his expression unreadable as he observed the scene unfolding before him. Memories of your time together as rookie and training officer flashed through his mind, the bond you had shared still lingering despite the years apart.
"I heard she was the best rookie this station ever had. And it was his rookie, can you believe that!" Angela's mind was focused on one subject and one only. She is more than convinced that something has happened between you and Tim.
"Almost 100 on every exam and she was the only person this grumpy smiled to!" Talia added, making Tim shift uncomfortable in his seat, his eyes not letting the sight of you even for a second.
"That's not true. And I'm not grumpy, I do smile..." Tim responded to their feminine gossip, something he's not doing too often. He still thinks it's a waste of time this kind of conversation and one's personal life is no one's business, but maybe, maybe he wants to know more about you. "Sometimes"
He was wondering as well what could've possibly had happened to make you come back to LA, knowing very well how much you hated the city and how much you suffered the moment you stepped on that plane.
Tim's heart was below the sea's surface, buried inside the burning hell somewhere since the moment he caught a glimpse of your siluete walking around these hallways again. His hands were sweating and the lump in his throat could swallow him.
But you were nowhere far away from that feeling either. All the feelings from back then were coming alive faster than the light-speed and the memories of the time you were his rookie, the looks, the touches, the sweetness of his words alongside the glances from your colleagues made your eyes fill with bittersweet tears. You had to raise your head a little and blink as fast as you could to make those tears disappear and take a few deep breaths to calm down. You have to put this feelings aside. Now.
As the meeting drew to a close, Sergeant Gray turned his attention to you, his gaze lingering for a moment before moving on to the next item on the agenda.
"You're dismissed and be safe out there!" Gray closed the meeting and everyone rushed to start the day.
You waited for everyone to clear the room, mostly because you hate crowded places and people jostling around. You kept your head low, already full of everyone staring. When the room cleared just enough, you wanted to make your way to Sergeant Gray's office when a big, warm hand landed on your shoulder, freezing you on spot.
Some time ago, you knew by heart every single trace and curve of that hand, and now your mind doesn't disappoint you remembering it all with just a blink. His breath winding down your spine as minty as always.
You hated him. You hated yourself. Damn, you hate everyone and everything this moment.
"Y/N." his voice was as overwhelming as always and it made your feet weak. It made you weak and it hit you hard right into your bones. You didn't think twice and as you raised your chin up high and faked a confident expression, you turned to your heels to face him. Once and for all. "I can't believe you're back."
"Tim" you nodded, greeting him with a smile. This time a genuine one, wider and more powerful than the one you had forced yourself to wear all day. Not a forced one, but one that you found you couldn't hide. "It's been a while." you cleared your throat and searched his eyes.
They were staring right into your soul with the same spark and love you've missed so much. It seems like you've never changed, seems like everything is just the way it was. Like he was your TO, teaching you, teasing you, caring for you, having your back and you were his rookie, learning from him, turning into the best version of him, making him proud.
The air between you crackled with unspoken tension as you struggled to find the right words to say. The spark that had once ignited between you still burned bright, despite the years and distance that had separated you.
"How are you? How's Isabel?"
"Uh-Yeah..." he paused for a moment, the light in his eyes fading. "We separated a few months ago."
Tim wished this words would hurt more admitting them in front of you, would hurt just as much as he hurt you. But it didn't. That wound is almost healed, making room for another one to open.
"Oh, Tim. I'm so sorry" you were sincere, though not with all your heart. You knew it must've hurt like hell having in mind how much Tim loved his wife. But at some point he loved you too. Maybe not as much as her, maybe more, maybe less.
"But I'm fine, yeah. It's past now." he cracked a smile, resting his arm on the table as close to your thigh as you could feel its warmth. "What about you? Making an entrance for sure. Catching those guys from Crenshaw and Tongan, impressive. I taught you well." oh, he knows what he's doing and watching your shield breaking before his eyes, he's delighted.
"Oh, don't be so cocky—"
"Why are you here? Why now?" he asked. You rested your hand on your belt and raised an eyebrow as a response to his questions.
"You know I can't tell you." he sighed at your words, realising just now maybe the things are not how they were. You are not as open to him or talkative as before. You are not in love with him as you were before. But he's not done trying yet.
"Dinner tonight?" Tim was bold for sure and his question took you by surprise. You weighed the answer, but before you could say yes, he continued "I can't lose the chance again. I can't lose you again, Boot."
"Okay, yes!" you pushed your finger into his chest "Stop making those puppy eyes, you know I can't resist." he laughed and before you can walk away, he grabbed your waist and kissed your forehead gently. His lips lingering on your skin few more seconds, memorising your sweet scent, trying to remember it, like if he could ever forget.
"It's good to have you back, Boot!"
"Stop calling me 'Boot'!" you fought back, annoyed, but he enjoyed every moment. He missed you like hell and now all of this is hitting him hard in the face like a... boot. "I'm not your Boot" you persisted.
