Maybe we figure it out in the morning... || Chenford / The Rookie

Part 1

When Nyla first approaches him about helping with the UC operation, his response is immediate. "No," he snaps as he continues his way down the hall to the break room.

"Tim, wait. You're gonna want to hear me out on this."

Tim stops once again, taking a deep breath before turning back to face her. He glowers at her. "Was there something unclear about the word, 'No'?" he huffs.

Nyla rolls her eyes, thinking that they don't pay her nearly enough to deal with these overgrown toddlers with egos the size of Texas. "Tim. I know this is hard, but if you'd listen for two minutes, you'd realize this isn't about you. It's about Lucy."

He freezes. He hadn't thought it would be possible for Nyla to piss him off more than by badgering him about UC work he wants nothing to do with, but here they are. His eyes flash as he growls at her, "Seriously, are we really doing this again?"

"Tim—"

"No. NO. She's still on patrol. She has at least six months before she can test for UC. You already know how I feel about this. Why can't you just give this a rest?"

"If you let me SPEAK, I will tell you." Nyla takes a deep breath, reaching deep to find patience. "Tim, she is good. Really good. You saw her on the Solanga bust, and more than that you trained her for over a year — I don't need to tell you that. This is a great opportunity for her to get her foot in the door, and she is going to take it with or without you. But it's also her first basically solo mission. It could really make a big difference — having someone she's comfortable with there to back her up."

"It's low stakes," Nyla quickly continues before Tim can interrupt her again. "Just the first step in establishing a cover she can use down the road; she just needs to be seen and confirm some intelligence on a mid-level dealer for us. You'd only be there keeping her company, giving her someone to interact with until she can confirm the intel; give a little credibility to her just being there to have a good time."

"And if I say no?"

"That's your prerogative." Nyla lifts an eyebrow and shrugs casually, "I'm sure we can find another UC who's willing to put the moves on her and keep her occupied at the bar."

Nyla lets the teasing tone fall out of her voice and stares directly at him, "I just thought that you, of all people, would jump at the opportunity to make sure she's going in with the best possible setup for her safety."

Tim shakes his head at her effective manipulation, knowing that she's playing on his protective instinct toward Lucy and betting it will work. It's been six months since Lucy graduated, and six months since they've ridden together or seen each other outside of the occasional casual run-ins at the station, lunch, or happy hour. He's a bit caught off guard that — despite the time and distance — the emotions Nyla is triggering are no less intense than they were the day Lucy went on the Solanga mission.

Resigned, Tim sighs deeply before responding, "Fine," throwing in a Tim Bradford TO glare for good measure.

Nyla's face lights up, only generating further irritation from Tim, "Atta boy!"

At his intensifying scowl, she tries again, smacking him on the shoulder, "You know that look only works on rookies, right? Come on — you're getting paid overtime to hang out at a bar and flirt with a pretty girl. I'm sure there are worse ways you could spend your Friday night."

***

The music has gotten progressively louder for the 30 minutes he has been parked at the bar. And the people have gotten progressively drunker. The transition from after work to late evening is almost complete — the number of bodies packed into the room rapidly multiplying. The incessant thumping combined with the burn of whiskey down the back of his throat is making it close to impossible for him to form a coherent thought.

He's stiff; the entire situation has him on edge, and he knows his rigidity is doing him no favors when it comes to playing his role of anonymous bar patron unwinding after work and looking to pick up a companion for the night. He inhales deeply and rolls his shoulders trying to alleviate some of the tension, casually scanning the room for what must be the dozenth time, starting to wonder if this is some sort of elaborate setup to punk him and ruin his Friday night. He wouldn't put that past Nyla — or Lucy — for that matter.

Especially not Lucy. Absentmindedly, he checks for his money clip.

He's lifting the glass to his lips once more when he finally sees her. He freezes, his throat going suddenly dry as he takes her in.

Her hair is loose and flowing down over her shoulders in dark waves, somehow just a bit wilder than her normal off-shift look. Her makeup is heavier than normal — the smoky shadow and deep red lipstick make her normally sweet, youthful features appear almost... sultry.

The short black halter dress is a far cry from the flowy, girly Lucy-esque apparel he is used to seeing her in outside of work. It's hugging her curves in all the places he [logically] knew existed, but, at the same time, has never really let himself know existed.

Her strappy, too-high heels work together with the too-short dress to elongate her legs in a way that has him second-guessing whether he is actually looking at his tiny, bouncy, former shotgun-riding companion.

It takes a minute for Tim to realize he's been staring before he manages to regain brain function.

Fortunately for him, the idiotic look that must be on his face as he ogles his former boot from across the bar works in his favor. He is, after all, supposed to be playing the moron at the bar that is absolutely going to shoot his shot.

Unfortunately for him, it's in that very same moment that he gets smacked in the face with the realization that his sudden attraction to his boot has zero to do with playing that role.