Tim Testing
Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader
Summary: After transferring to the Mid-Wilshire division because of toxic male officers harassing you, you find yourself partnered with Tim Bradford. When you are injured during a Tim Test, you hide the injury so he doesn't think less of you.
Warnings: angst to fluff, misogynistic comments and actions toward reader (from police officers), reader is injured and passes out, Tim is a softie
Word Count: 2.5k+ words
A/N: This was such an amazing request!! Tim (and everyone at Mid-Wilshire) would be so welcoming after dealing with something like this, so I really enjoyed writing this one. I hope you enjoy and please feel free to let me know what you think!🤍
Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List
Picture from Pinterest
You knew from the beginning that it would be different for you, that being a female cop would have its pros, cons, and tough moments. What you didn’t expect was the men who were supposed to be your equals harassing you and making each moment far worse than it should have been.
Between the crass comments about how your uniform fit, questioning whether it was your time of the month whenever you tried to stand up for yourself, and their inability to trust you in the field, you learn your place quickly.
“I’d like to request a transfer to a different station,” you tell your commanding officer.
“Why?” he asks.
“Because there is no respect, no trust in this station. Looking over my shoulder while I’m trying to work, and having to defend myself against the very people who are supposed to have my back is exhausting and it makes me unable to do my job.”
He sighs, rolling his eyes as he slides a form to you. “Your decision. Though showing how weak you are by moving around every time things get hard, or your feelings get hurt isn’t plausible.”
“And you had to ask why,” you mutter, snatching the paper off his desk and walking out to fill it out in private.
“Hey, princess, before we leave on patrol I need to know you don’t have your gun at the front of your belt,” someone calls. “Don’t want to risk getting killed by your poor aim.”
You remain silent, which makes them quit or spurs them on to push you further. As if your day isn’t going poorly already, they take your silence as a weakness.
“Just her gun? You should be more worried about how her attitude changes if her bra rides up or her hormones spike,” a second voice adds.
“You’re on your own today,” you reply. “I’m on desk duty.”
“Finally, someone put you where you belong.”
The men laugh as they walk toward their shops, and you take a deep breath as the quiet settles over the station. Once your paperwork is complete, you take it to the captain. You can only hope it goes through quickly before you get fed up and quit forever.
✯✯✯✯✯
Your commanding officer yells your name as you walk in, intercepting you on your way to the locker room.
“Your transfer just came through, you’re expected at the Mid-Wilshire division for roll call first thing in the morning; today’s PTO while we complete the paperwork,” he informs.
You accept the paper he hands you and pretend not to hear as he adds, “I hope they know what they’re getting into and have the patience to deal with you.”
Smiling as you empty your locker, you hope things are looking up. Although, you know it will be hard to open up to new people and trust new cops, even if they are different than your previous team.
✯✯✯✯✯
Entering the Mid-Wilshire station, you cross your fingers that transferring was the right decision. Sergeant Wade Grey is your new commanding officer, and your day (and your future) relies on this meeting going well.
“Sergeant Grey?” you ask, knocking on his open door.
He looks up, smiling as he beckons you inside. Saying your name, he opens a folder and compliments your arrest record. “I was surprised to hear you asked for a transfer, it seemed like you were doing well at your previous station.”
“The environment was making it difficult to do as well as I know I can, sir,” you answer.
Grey nods. “I can understand that. Our people are good, though, so I expect you will fit in well and succeed in all you do here.”
“I appreciate that, sir.”
“And you can drop the ‘sir,’ we’re not as formal as some other stations.”
Blinking in surprise, you look away from Wade when another cop enters the small office.
“Sergeant Bradford, I’d like to introduce you to your new partner. I will warn both of you this is likely a temporary partnership, but one I trust will do you both some good.”
You smile at Bradford, who tilts his head to the side as he looks you over. It’s clear that he isn’t thrilled about having a partner, having grown used to working alone since becoming a sergeant. As long as he doesn’t treat you like a boot, or worse, like a girl who doesn’t have what it takes to be a cop, you can survive working with him for a few weeks.
What you don’t see, though, is that Tim can look at you and tell you’re a good cop. He reviewed your paperwork and arrest record with Wade yesterday, and he’s impressed by you. You’re good, but you have the potential to be better with the right help. And, for some reason, Wade is convinced that Tim can give you the push you need to be your best.
“Okay, let’s go,” Tim says, turning away as Wade tells you to have a good day.
✯✯✯✯✯
Tim acknowledges that you’re not a rookie but warns you from the beginning that you still have something to prove.
“I know you’ve been a cop for a while, but I haven’t seen you in action. Your records are admirable, but I need to see proof that you’re still that good,” he explains. “So, I will test you and challenge you while we’re riding together, but don’t view it as starting over, more like proving grounds than qualifications.”
You nod, remembering something Wade muttered about “Tim Tests,” which you’re sure are unique to Bradford.
“I understand. I’ll do my best, and I want to learn to be better.”
Tim doesn’t reply, and you raise your guard, unimpressed with how shut off he is with you. In general, your past has made you wary around men; after Tim’s insistence that you have something to prove, you are determined to hide everything that could be taken as a sign of weakness. You will do whatever it takes to show you are a good cop, worthy of respect.
Slamming on the brakes, Tim yells, “We’re being ambushed; what do you do?”
“Radio for backup, stay in the shop, stay low, and fire only if necessary,” you answer, nearly robotically, as he catches you off guard.
Tim eases back onto the road, ignoring you once again.
✯✯✯✯✯
Just before your scheduled lunch break, something which you haven’t actually enjoyed in far too long, Tim parks between two old warehouses.
“There’s a suspicious package in the gray building, you’re riding alone and need to check it out,” he explains. “Radio any information as you find it.”
You switch your radio to a private channel with Tim, accepting the call as you exit the shop and enter the building. It’s dark and wet, but you refuse to accept any comments or disdainful looks from Tim if you fail this test, so you will find the package and impress him as quickly as possible.
“7-Adam-9, located suspicious package: brown paper bag situated between steel beams,” you radio.
“Dispatch, requesting additional information,” Tim replies.
You sigh, moving forward to look at the bag because you can’t touch it. When you move, the beams sitting upright in the warehouse shift. Stepping back a second too late, one side of the heavy structure hits the back of your shoulder, shoving you forward into the crate holding the package.
Pain radiates through your shoulder as you move to the side, pulling yourself away from the mess you made with a sharp inhale.
“7-Adam-9, false alarm. Suspicious package is empty. Code 4.”
“Copy 7-Adam-9.”
Taking a step toward the door, you hiss in pain as the pain moves from your shoulder around to your ribs, where you fell against the crate. It seems likely that you broke something or at least got a deep bruise, but telling Tim would be like admitting that you’re weak. So, as you level your expression and cover your pain by walking normally, you decide to hide your pain.
Being labeled weak or incapable, or as before, giving Tim a reason to view you as less than is not an option anymore. Buckling your seatbelt, you press your lips together to keep your pained sounds muted, and the feeling of the seat on your shoulder makes you count down the minutes until you can get out of the shop.
✯✯✯✯✯
As the day goes on, your pain grows in intensity. Each breath causes immeasurable pain, and your stomach turns when you move your shoulder in any direction.
“Wade’s going to ask me, so how’s your first day going?” Tim asks, turning down a residential street to respond to a noise disturbance.
“Fine,” you answer quickly, clenching your jaw to stay quiet.
“Good,” he replies, though his voice sounds different. “Glad you found a station that works for you.”
You can’t tell if his comment is passive-aggressive, implying that you are the issue rather than the station you transferred from. The overbearing pain you’re feeling makes it nearly impossible to care.
“You take point on this one,” Tim offers as he parks by the curb.
“Yes, sir.”
Asking questions and explaining the city’s noise ordinances to the tenant, you’re momentarily distracted from your pain. The moment you turn to return to the shop, though, you’re reminded that your new position isn’t quite as enjoyable as you were expecting.
“Take us back to the station,” Tim says, tossing the shop keys to you.
When you raise your hand to catch the keys, your shoulder screams in protest, and you close your eyes momentarily to hide the pain.
“You alright?” Tim asks.
Nodding, you release a sigh when Tim climbs into the passenger seat, too easily convinced by your answer.
✯✯✯✯✯
After a quick meeting with Wade, discussing your new role, and signing a few documents, you head for the locker room. When you pull your shirt off, you glance in the mirror, surprised to see the size and color of the bruise; your entire shoulder, over to your neck and down around the front of your ribs, is a sickening purple. The yellowish tint around the edges is a sign that it will only worsen before it begins to heal. Attempting to raise your arm again, you feel something shift under your skin and step into one of the bathroom stalls, kneeling as you try to keep yourself from being sick. When you lean your head against the metal wall, the coolness is soothing, and as you finally let yourself acknowledge the pain, it becomes all you can feel.
✯✯✯✯✯
Tim opens Wade’s door, furrowing his brows when he sees you’re not there.
“She left a few minutes ago,” Wade answers.
“Her car’s still here.”
“Must be in the locker room then.”
“Why’d she transfer?” Tim asks, stepping inside to close the door.
“I don’t know, Bradford. You’re going to have to ask her.”
Tim nods, turning away to search for you. He knocks on the locker room door, and when no one answers, he opens it and says your name. Once again met with silence, he steps inside and looks around. Your locker is open, but you’re nowhere to be seen. As he rounds the last row of lockers, he sees someone sitting on the floor in one of the bathroom stalls.
Tim says your name, knocking on the door. It opens at his touch, and he catches it before it hits your arm. Kneeling beside you, he looks across your face, pressing his hand behind your neck as he tries to find the source of your unconsciousness. His hand dips to your upper shoulder, and you groan, opening your eyes.
Tim ignores you as you wake, gently leaning you forward as he surveys the bruise where it’s visible past your tank top.
“Stay awake,” he says, moving you again. “Just your shoulder?”
You nod, and he demands to know: “Home or hospital?”
“Home,” you whisper. “But I can-“
“Obviously you can’t,” Tim snaps, his arms gentler than his voice as he lifts you from the ground.
✯✯✯✯✯
You stay conscious, fighting against the pain as you give Tim directions to your home. After getting you inside and as comfortable as possible, he leaves your side to gather a few things before returning. He gives you a glass of water and a few pain reliever pills, waiting until you’ve taken them to lay an ice pack across your shoulder. You take a deep breath at the cold before catching yourself.
“What else hurts?” Tim asks.
“My ribs,” you admit.
He leans you back gently, pushing your tank top to your sternum as he surveys the darkening bruise across your lower ribcage. Gently moving his hand across your skin, he doesn’t feel anything obviously broken, apologizing as you whimper at the pressure. Pulling the first aid kit he brought from your kitchen to his side, he places several cooling packets over your ribs.
Satisfied that he’s done all he can do for you, Tim moves to sit across from you, making himself comfortable in your living room.
“What are you doing?” you ask.
“I’m not leaving,” he answers quickly, “what if you collapse again?”
“I’ll be fine.”
Tim silences, closing his eyes as he leans back. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
You’ve heard that question dozens of times, but previously, it was asked in a much different tone. Always an accusation that you hadn’t handled something correctly or that you should have let someone else do whatever it was that needed to be done.
When you look back at Tim, his eyes are on you, and you shrug. His eyes narrow as his gaze intensifies, demanding your answer.
“The last station that I worked at made me nervous to tell people things, especially other cops. All of the guys that I worked with harassed me constantly, and they tried to convince me that I wasn’t a good cop because I was a woman. So, I have trouble trusting other police officers with personal things. During your Tim Tests, I thought that if I acknowledged something had happened, you’d see me the same way.”
“Which way?”
“Weak, incapable,” you answer, trailing off.
“They were bad people,” Tim explains. “They may have been okay cops, but no one deserves to be treated like that.”
You nod, licking your lips as your gaze drops to the blanket across your lap.
“Want to tell me what happened today?” he pries.
“The steel beams around the bag?” Tim nods, so you continue, “They fell. One of them hit my shoulder and knocked me forward.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You couldn’t have known that would happen. Besides, you helped me. My last partner would have found a way to blame be.”
“Like I said, bad people. But you… you’re a good person and a good cop,” Tim continues. “I’ve known that since you walked in, but I needed to know that you knew. Getting hurt or being unable to do something on the first try doesn’t make you less of a person, or a cop. Being a woman doesn’t either. And if they didn’t see that, it’s their loss.”
“Thank you,” you whisper, looking into his eyes.
“And my gain.”
You furrow your brows at Tim, but he leans back and closes his eyes instead of elaborating.
935 notes
·
View notes