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fluentmoviequoter · 1 day

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Call a Truce

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader

Summary: You and Tim have a rivalry that began when you were rookies. Years later, you continue competing in everything you do, even when you're helping Tim get out of a dangerous situation.

Warnings: Tim gets hurt (tased, cut, broken ribs, goes to the hospital), angst, mentions of robberies, fluff! pretty standard Rookie warnings I think

Word Count: 3.6k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

“You’re going to pass your rookie exam,” your TO said on your second day of training. “But there’s one thing I need you to do. Score higher than Bradford.”

And, like that, a rivalry was born.

Years after you started competing against Tim Bradford to be the best rookie, your rivalry has only strengthened. Everyone in your station knows about your competitive natures, but to outsiders and visitors, it seems like you and Tim hate one another. There has never been any real animosity, only competition and everything that comes with it.

“We’re riding together today,” Tim says.

You turn quickly, surprised to see him standing beside you. “What?” you ask.

“I just talked to Grey. We’re riding together, but he wouldn’t tell me why. Something to do with the string of robberies, I presume.”

“And he thought you would need help from a competent cop,” you reply with a nod. “I guess I can make time for that.”

“If that’s what you need to hear to actually try for once. I could find the guy on my own faster than you can get out of the shop.”

“We’ll see about that,” you scoff.

“We certainly will. The first one to spot anything gets a point, making contact gets five, and the arresting officer gets fifty. Deal?”

You look at Tim’s hand and wrinkle your nose in faux disgust before you shake. “You’re going down, Bradford.”

“And you’ll break the fall, boot.”

“You’re a jerk.”

“Bradford!” Grey yells. “Let’s go! Roll call doesn’t wait for you.”

You smirk as you step backward toward the door. “Such a bad cop, Bradford. Keep your social schedule on your own time.”

“You wish you were part of my social schedule,” he counters.

“At least you’d have one then. When I have fifty-six winning points, maybe I’ll invite you to the celebration.”

Tim rolls his eyes and follows you inside. He can’t remember the last time he did anything with you that wasn’t a competition. You’re both good cops, though, so as long as you get the job done, your work rivalry isn’t hurting anyone.

“What’s it like?” you ask from the passenger seat.

“What’s what like?” Tim replies.

“Being a control freak that still loses.”

“Cute,” Tim mumbles. “At least I didn’t have to wear long sleeves for an extra month like someone I know.”

“Yeah, Lucy didn’t deserve that,” you agree. “You’re just a terrible TO, so you knew she wasn’t ready.”

“Or maybe she picked the wrong cop to idolize,” Tim snaps.

“Tim? Did you just admit that Lucy thinks I’m a better cop than you?” you ask happily. “Because I knew she had good taste, but I wasn’t sure if you knew that.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be looking for a suspect instead of obsessing over how people see you?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be driving instead of getting angry because I’m right?”

Tim takes a deep breath and returns his attention to the road. You push his buttons, but he pushes you just as hard. Everything between you is competitive, there’s a deep-seated need to prove that you’re better because of how your TOs treated you in your boot days.

Your phone rings, and you wave Tim off before he can tell you not to answer it.

“Detective Lopez,” you greet, though you say it toward Tim. “How can I help you?”

“Can you come back to the station or are you too busy flirting- I mean competing with Tim?” she asks.

“I can come back. Tim?” you begin.

“Got it,” he interjects softly. He hits his blinker and enters a turn lane to take you back.

“I’ll be there in ten,” you tell Angela.

“Thank you. We got a lead on where the stolen goods may be stashed but we’re shorthanded.”

“No problem.”

Angela ends the call, and you look at the road as you think about the details of the case. Something isn’t adding up. They know plenty about the suspect, but not where he lives or where all of the stolen property ended up. The guy seems homeless.

“Guess she figured out that you’re not going to find anything out here that I can’t find alone,” Tim muses.

“Or she knows that I’ve got a better chance of blowing this case open if you’re not aimlessly dragging me around the city.”

“What’d she say?” Tim asks.

“They found a lead and don’t have enough people to trace it. You can ride alone, as far as they know, so I get to track down tips.”

“I’ll find our guy before you find anything helpful,” Tim declares.

“Yeah, right!” you argue, turning in your seat to face him. “First one to find something that the detectives deem useful wins.”

“Wins what?”

You purse your lips as you think. There are not many rewards left that you and Tim haven’t already competed for. Maybe it shouldn’t be a material item, you think.

“The loser admits, in roll call tomorrow, that the winner is a better cop,” you suggest.

“It would be fun to hear you say that,” Tim says quietly. “Deal.”

He extends his right hand over the console, and you shake it firmly before sitting back in your seat. When he arrives back at the station, you exit the shop and salute him sarcastically before you walk inside. You begin to worry very quickly that the lead Angela called you back for may not be anything. No matter what, you have to beat Tim because you can’t lose.

“Control, this is Bradford, can you get me information on who owns 1219 Larga Avenue?” Tim radios.

“1219 Larga Avenue is leased by Corporeal Corporations,” control answers.

“A shell corporation,” Tim says to himself.

He’s been following a vehicle matching one listed on the case report. It isn’t the suspect’s vehicle, but one of his acquaintances’. Tim parks down the street and watches the house from his side mirror for several minutes. Whoever was driving the car seems to be staying for a while.

“Control, this is Bradford. I’m approaching the house, code 6-Charles.”

“Assistance on standby.”

Tim opens his door and then hesitates. In his uniform, he has no chance of getting close to anyone in that house. He could approach the house next door to gather intel about how many people are inside, but that could spook them and get innocent people hurt. The third option, one he will never admit to learning from you, is to play the part of a stupid cop at the wrong house.

“Officer!” a woman yells across the street.

Tim gestures for her to quiet before he closes his door and walks across the street. “How can I help you, ma’am?” he asks.

“There was this car that kept driving up and down the road yesterday! It was a young boy and an older man, and they would just drive down, turn around, and come back. I live here, my children play here, and if this is going to become a cesspool of gang people, someone needs to do something!” she explains.

“Ma’am, it sounds to me like a man may have just been teaching his son how to drive on a residential street, which is neither illegal nor gang-related. If you see them again, call the non-emergency line and someone will come make sure everything is alright.”

Tim has dealt with his fair share of stupid complaints, but he can’t even be bothered by this one. Not when something malicious may be taking place four houses away. The woman huffs as she turns to go back to her home. Just as she turns off the sidewalk, someone shoots.

Tim dives behind a nearby car and braces himself against the back bumper. Based on the spray of bullets destroying the car, Tim guesses it’s numerous semi-automatic rifles that he’s up against.

“Dispatch, I need that backup! I’m taking heavy fire,” he radios.

A moment later, dispatch calls, “Code 99” with his location. Tim curses; he doesn’t need every cop in the county coming to his rescue, just one or two. The bullets slow, and Tim moves carefully to the edge of the vehicle. Three men stand in the yard, and he aims his gun at the one closest to him. While he’s replacing the magazine into the gun, Tim shoots his leg, and he falls to the ground. The others open fire again, and Tim spins to be out of sight again.

A heavy hand lands on Tim’s shoulder, and before he can react, a knife is pressed to his throat. Everything goes silent as he’s lifted to his feet and shoved toward the sidewalk. The men have taken their injured partner inside, and Tim knows that once he’s in that house, he is as good as dead.

“Look, man, I just came to answer another call. Let me go and nothing happens,” he tells the man pushing him.

“You already called for backup.”

“And they’ll go to the other house, see a shot-up car. The most you have to do is answer the door and say ‘No, officer, I didn’t see a thing.’”

“You won’t see a thing if you don’t shut up,” the man growls as they near the door.

Tim stands up straighter, and when the knife falls toward his chest rather than his neck, he kicks backward and into the man’s knee. The knife scrapes across Tim’s uniform, but he doesn’t feel it as he turns to face the door and grabs his gun. His hand reaches the holster, but it’s empty. Tim looks around and realizes that his gun must be behind the car. He retrieves the knife from the ground and prepares to run for the car, but two prongs from a taser enter his chest before he can, and he collapses beside his fourth assailant. Sirens echo in the distance as Tim fights to stay conscious. The man on the porch squeezes the trigger again, and Tim only feels the first twitch of his legs before everything stops.

“LAPD, open up!” you yell.

You are moments away from punching the door when it swings open. Immediately, you recognize the long-haired man as your robbery suspect. The chances of him being alone are slim, though, so you can’t think about Tim right now, only about getting this man in custody without getting hurt or killed.

“How can I help, officer?” he asks, leaning against the door to block your view inside.

“I just have a question about the car parked down the street,” you explain with a friendly smile.

“All of my cars are here in my driveway. Maybe ask someone else.”

“So, you don’t know who owns the grey sedan with all the bullet holes and a dead body in the back?” you ask, raising your brows.

“Dead body,” he repeats. He looks past you like he’s trying to figure out how that got there.

“The owner?” you press.

“Oh, sure, uh Miguel, I think is his name. Big guy down the street.”

“Thank you so much for your help. Could I just get your name for my report?” you ask.

“Cody Lambert,” he answers, still looking past you.

You’re surprised that he gives you his real name. Your lie about the body in his car jarred him more than you expected.

“And are you here alone today?” you ask.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He shifts slightly, and you can see an empty living room behind him. You have an opportunity, but if you take it and you’re wrong, you may be putting Tim’s life on the line.

“Could you point out which house Miguel lives in? I’m terrible with numbers and directions.” You laugh at yourself to sell your dumb act and pray that it works.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, stepping out onto the porch.

He closes the door behind him, and you waste no time pushing him down onto the ground. You keep his face turned toward the dirt so he can’t yell as you secure the handcuffs.

“You’re under arrest,” you say in his ear. “And if you yell when I pick you up, I can’t promise anything. If you stay quiet, though, I’ll get you the best pro bono attorney in the state. Understood?”

He doesn’t acknowledge your offer, so you drive your knee between his kidneys and repeat, “Understood?”

He groans against the ground before a muffled, “Yes,” reaches your ears. You pull him up and walk him to your shop where it’s parked in front of the next house. As you reach for the radio to alert dispatch, a gun is fired inside the house.

“Too late,” your suspect says as you turn to look.

You abandon the radio on the floorboard of the passenger seat and slam the door. As you return to the front door and kick it in, you keep your gun ready. There isn’t time to waste in a situation like this, and Tim is counting on you. If he’s still here and still alive, that is.

When you reach a closed door at the end of the hallway after clearing the other rooms, you raise your gun before you and kick the door open. It hits the wall with a thud as you step over the threshold. One of Cody’s known acquaintances blocks your path, with a puddle of blood beneath him. You look past him to clear the room, but see what you’re looking for before you finish.

“Tim,” you say when you see him stretched out on a broken twin-sized bed.

“Took you long enough,” he mumbles. “And I won.”

You lean over him as you holster your weapon. He is injured and needs assistance, but his radio is smashed and yours is in the shop.

“Are there more of them?” you ask.

“There’s four.”

Tim hasn’t opened his eyes yet, which concerns you. More concerning, however, is the knowledge that there are two more people around this house. You cleared it, but they could be waiting in the attic or just outside.

“I’ll go call for help,” you tell Tim. “Stay alert.”

As you turn, heavy footsteps rattle the walls of the hallway. You look back to Tim and know you can’t leave him here. Even if you do argue, compete, and tease each other, you’re both cops and you have to protect one another. Plus, you care about him, and it hurts you to see him like this. Carefully, you push the door closed and lock it. There’s nothing in the room to block it with… except for the suspect on the floor.

“Did you shoot him?” you whisper. “How?”

“His gun,” Tim mumbles.

You tilt your head quickly, surprised and impressed, though you know Tim has more training in this kind of thing than the average cop. The guy is heavy, literally dead weight, but you roll him against the door as an extra cover before you sidestep the blood puddle and return to Tim’s side.

“Where are you hurt?” you whisper as you kneel beside him.

Tim hums, and you know he’s fading fast. You murmur an apology before you begin unbuttoning his uniform. When you begin to pull it open, you notice two taser prongs buried in his pec muscles. You pull them out quickly and squeeze your eyes closed when Tim grunts.

With his shirt open, you can see a several bloody spots, a scrape against his chest, and swelling on his right side. Gently laying a hand over his t-shirt, you know that his ribs are broken.

“I need to look, Tim,” you say as you grab the bottom of his shirt. “I’m sorry.”

You pull his shirt up carefully and inhale sharply when you see the bruises littering his torso and chest. The swelling looks worse without fabric over it.

“Can you breathe well?” you ask.

Tim shakes his head, a small movement that you feel more than see. There’s a chance that his broken rib has punctured a lung, and he needs medical attention now.

“Thank you,” Tim says. His eyes are still closed, but you watch his face as he says it.

A few moments later, Tim moves his left hand to catch yours as you look at the scrape spanning his chest. He squeezes your wrist softly and your eyes raise to his.

Tim blinks his eyes open and waits until he finds your face to ask, “Why are you helping me?”

“Tim,” you begin. “Why wouldn’t I? You can’t tell me that you think I hate you because of our rivalry. That’s all it has ever been, competition.”

Tim nods as his eyes close again. “I thought you’d be a better cop than me,” he mumbles. “But I got a promotion first.”

You chuckle, trying to ignore the pressure behind your eyes as you watch him lose the battle to stay conscious. In this moment, you feel something that you’ve never experienced before. All the teasing, and the competition to stay close to Tim, were different than this. The care you show him now helps you to see him differently.

Similarly, though his thoughts are jumbled in a mix of pain and adrenaline, Tim sees you as he never has before. Your soft touches, apologies, and clear care and concern for him awaken something in him. Maybe it’s been sleeping or maybe it wasn’t there before today, but Tim likes having you close like this.

“Promise me something,” you whisper. “When we get out of this, we’ll know that we both won.”

Tim nods, and you carefully remove your hand from his. With your gun, plus the one Tim used to kill Cody’s goon, you climb out of the window to get Tim help and the first aid kit from your shop. He knows you’re a good cop, but without you by his side, he can’t take the pain and the worry together, and he finally succumbs to the darkness again.

“I feel fine!” Tim argues with the nurse. “I can go home. There’s no reason to keep me here.”

“The doctors want to observe you overnight to ensure there’s no long-term damage, Officer Bradford,” she replies. “If you stop complaining, it will go faster.”

You knock on the open door with a bag in your hand, and the nurse waves you inside before she leaves. Tim looks at you from his hospital bed, and you offer a small smile. In the minutes after you left Tim in the house, you called for backup, searched the house again, put another suspect in custody, and got into a one-on-one fight with the last one. Tim doesn’t know just how much you went through in those five minutes that you waited for more backup, and he doesn’t need to. All that matters is that he’s safe and is getting better.

“How are you?” you ask.

“Fine,” he answers, watching the bag in your hand.

“Yeah, it’s for you.”

You pass him the bag with his favorite food, a play-by-play of last night’s game, and a picture of Kojo from the dogsitter. As he looks through it, you decide to tell him what you stayed awake thinking about. You finished filing your report as the sun rose over LA, and then you spent the few hours before you could visit Tim thinking of only one thing.

“I think we should call a truce,” you suggest. “A lot has changed in the last twenty-four hours.”

“I don’t want a truce,” Tim answers quickly. “We push each other to be better. We need that.”

“Okay,” you say slowly. “Then what do we do? Because I can’t go back to just competing all the time, not after what happened.”

“What happened?”

“If you didn’t feel it, I can’t explain it to you, Tim,” you answer softly, wringing your fingers together.

“You want to be more than competitive friends?” Tim guesses.

You shrug, and he shakes his head.

“I won’t stop competing with you or-“

“Taking figurative shots at me?” you finish playfully. “Better than real shots. I’m fine with not changing that part of our relationship, Tim. Besides, you and I both know that our friends are nosy, and it would be awful if we just started being nice to each other.”

Tim nods, and after a moment, looks at you. He extends his hand toward you, and you happily take it.

“Would you like to go to dinner after I get out of here?” he asks.

“I’d love that. I’m also planning to pass you during the next promotion. Then you can call me Sergeant when you try to tell me you’re better than me.”

“We’ll see about that,” Tim responds. “But I get to pick where we go since I did win the last competition.”

“I saved your life!”

“But I found our guy.”

“Maybe we both won,” you remind him.

A few weeks later, you kept your promise and now outrank Tim. Not for long, you assume, because he’s a great cop with a bright future, but for now it’s fun to remind him that you’re a Sergeant while he’s still an Officer. “Whoever makes the first arrest today gets to pick where we go on our date Saturday,” you say.

“Whatever you want, Sergeant,” Tim answers.

He tilts your chin gently before he kisses you. You sigh in contentment, happier than ever with Tim. When he releases you, you both climb out of his truck and walk toward the station.

“When I get a position on Metro, I get to say it first,” Tim says as he opens the door for you.

“That’s not fair!” you argue, blocking the doorway.

“If you’re scared that it’ll happen too soon, just say so,” Tim taunts.

“Fine,” you agree, offering your hand to shake.

He shakes your hand, then pulls you into a quick kiss.

“Have a nice day, Sergeant,” he calls as he walks away.

“You too, boot.”

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