"Sally in the Alley"

Author: carmen_085

Disclaimer: I don't own any Rookie Characters. All original characters belong to me

Summary: They stared at each other in the darkness; the endless Wyoming sky above them. It was another dead end and she knew he was at the breaking point. They were risking it all to find a killer, hundreds of miles from home and no back up. But they wouldn't go back, not until they found justice for her. (Takes place after 2x11)

Author's Note: Some of my inspiration for this story came from the movie "Wind River". Along with that there are several interesting online articles detailing the reality of life on a reservation and the violence that is endured, especially by women.

Epilogue

Three Months Later

Lucy Chen smoothed her uniform as she stared at herself in the mirror. Three months had passed since Isabel had been found dead in that alley. Today…Today was her first day off probation; her first day as a P2…a real cop, finally. She couldn't help but be a little nervous although she knew that she was ready. Her probation had undoubtedly been more challenging than almost any other rookie's in the department.

Stepping from the locker room she almost ran right into someone coming the opposite direction. "Hey…." Looking up she met Tim's soft brown eyes with a smile. Settling back against the wall they just looked at each other for a moment; she found that they did this a lot. Talking without talking.

Shaking her head she forced a reassuring smile. "I'm going to be fine."

He was silent for a moment, the muscles of his jaw flexing. Looking down at her, the corners of his lips twitched up. "I know you will…just nothing too crazy; at least not yet."

Turning she let her hand brush his as he caught her fingers in a moment of contact that made her spine tingle. They had, more or less, stayed away from each other since getting back from Wyoming and it had been torture. Both of them were ready to see where this went between them and start the next chapter of their lives together.

Smiling up at him, Lucy rolled her eyes, "I'll try." Inhaling sharply he pushed off the wall needing some air before he lost all control. She was good at doing that to him. Together they began walking to the roll call room. "Are you leaving tomorrow ?"

Tim nodded his head. "Yeah early and I'll be back late…"

Lucy nodded, a semi-hopeful look in her eyes. "Sure you don't need me to come along?"

Tim shook his head, "No. I need to do this. I should have done it a long time ago…..Besides I think your new partner will miss you too much." Entering the roll call room Jackson threw an arm up as he waved Lucy toward a seat he had saved for her…a seat in the third row; the row where the experienced cops sat. Tim, meanwhile, took his usual place at the table with the rest of the TOs near the back.

"Are you ready? Because I am so READY!" Sliding into the chair next to Jackson she nodded, a wide grin breaking out across her face. For the next year they would be partners as Gray had already lined a new rookie up for Tim. In the beginning she was disappointed but after a while she realized this would make the transition in their personal life a lot easier…and a lot less interesting to the department.

"Alright…Listen up People !" All eyes turned toward Gray in the front of the room as he brought the meeting to order. "We have a new crop of boots here today ! Fresh from the academy…" Coming to stand in front of the first table, Gray looked down at the three young cops, hands behind his back shaking his head. "First we have Angela Lewis…." A young black woman turned around to greet the room as Gray continued. "You'll be with Angela Lopez…" pausing he chuckled to himself. "Angela and Angela…" Casting a momentary glance to the back of the room Lucy saw the scowl on Lopez's face and the clear message that she found nothing funny about Gray's somewhat weak attempt at humor. "And then we have Mike Thompson…former Park Ranger…" A man who looked just a hair younger than Nolan turned around to look toward the table of TOS. "And just like I feared, John Nolan has turned my station into an Eat Pray Love Mecca for middle aged reinvention." Next to Lucy, Nolan opened his mouth before quickly shutting it again. "But that's ok because I have a TO that specializes in geriatric rookies…" Casting an apologetic glance at his former TO, Nolan shrugged in deference. "Harper….you'll be with Thompson. And last but certainly not least. Steve Gusler…"A skinny white kid hesitantly turned around, fear in his eyes, as he met Tim's intense gaze before turning quickly toward the front. "You'll be with Officer Bradford….living legend." Smirks and snickering followed as Gray turned back to the rookie abruptly, "And Gusler? "

"Yes Sir ?" The kid's voice was high and nasaly as Lucy didn't miss the way Tim's lip turned up in disgust.

"Don't let him get shot on your first day like Chen did…" The room broke out into laughter as Gusler stared forward in evident horror. "Alright…that's it people." Everyone rose at the same time the room breaking out into conversation as they piled toward the doors.

It was hard to believe that after all this time it would just be her and Jackson in the street. No TOS; just them to make all the calls on their own. It was both exciting and terrifying. Loading the war bags into the trunk, Jackson checked the back seat for weapons. From behind her, she heard a squad sharply hit the brakes as she turned.

In the driver's seat Tim glared at his rookie as the young kid braced himself against the dash. "Why the hell aren't you wearing your seat belt?" The kid stammered as he tried to undo the twisted belt that Tim had undoubtedly rigged in a test of his rookie's forethought and preparedness.

"It's twisted…sir." Casting an incredulous look at the kid Tim was poised to begin ranting; Lucy would know…she'd seen it before.

"Twisted?…This job is no joke, boot. You need to be ready for anything….always check your gear, check your shop, and most importantly check yourself." Lucy almost rolled her eyes. Classic Tim.

"I'm sorry sir…I…" Before the kid could finish blithering and stammering Tim jammed his finger toward the rearview mirror.

"You see that?" The wolf's tooth Bennett had given him hung by the mirror. "That's from a wolf that I killed….big black bastard with yellow eyes….he was charging my partner…" Lucy smiled at the reference. "And I killed him…dead… can I depend on you for something like ?"

Gusler looked between the tooth and Tim clearly at a loss for words. "A wolf ? Sir ?…".

Shaking his head in disgust Tim turned back toward the road flooring the accelerator. "That's what I thought."

Laughing to herself Lucy shook her head. How much had changed in just a year. She wondered, silently, where she would be in another year. Life was crazy but this time she was more than ready for the ride.

If Wyoming in the spring was beautiful; the summer was absolutely breathtaking. Wildflowers bloomed across high golden prairie grass as the hot sun made the blue hue of the mountains even more brilliant. Evergreens bent and swayed in the cool morning air as Tim rolled the window down relishing in the natural beauty of this place. LA was home and it always would be…but LA wasn't here and never could be. He wasn't blind; he knew the reservation was beleaguered with drugs and poverty, hopelessness and death. But…he was beginning to truly understand and feel what Bennett and Wallace meant when he said that God gave this land to their people. It was rugged and untouched, and if one listened close enough he was sure that the echoes of the past could be heard. A people and a way of life that no longer existed. Something that was labeled savagery by invaders who were the real savages. A part of marginalized American history that became diluted into figurines on the Thanksgiving table and Halloween costumes. Shaking his head, Tim took a familiar turn off. He had never given much thought to Native American culture or way of life. Never had any reason to. But he should have and so should everyone else because this was their country before anyone else's.

Stopping the car in front of the cabin, he cut the engine sitting there for a moment. When he first met Charlie Wallace he thought the man was dangerous, and he was, but not like that. Wallace was a trained killer but he wasn't crazy. He protected his own, got revenge for his own, and, Tim had a feeling, didn't mind dying in the name of a righteous cause. And then he saw that photo of the military unit in Bagram and something about it made a distant memory flicker. In the Army, gossip was rampant, even more insidious than a hair salon. Tales of glory were amplified to superhuman levels while accounts of savagery were never spared a single gory detail.

It was fall 2002 and Tim had been in country almost six months; but his unit wasn't even close to being the first deployed. Thousands of soldiers were already posted across the northern regions, preparing for the inevitable push into Kandahar, a Taliban strong hold. Some of the first soldiers deployed, aside from special forces and already established units, were a company of all Native American soldiers. Despite the being shit all over by the US Government throughout the years, this group was some of the first men and women to sign up after 9/11. Seeing this as an opportunity, the Army took the best of the best and formed a fifty man company of all Native Americans. They were among the first companies deployed to the Middle East and they had a very specific mission. Embed themselves inside the northern alliance, a militia of native Afghans that wanted to take their country back from the Taliban. They were dark skinned and dark haired and without looking closely could be easily mistaken as an Arab. Many of them were already expert horsemen as this was the only mode of transport in the rugged countryside. Lastly, several of them still spoke their native dialects, which unlike English, could never be remotely understood by the enemy.

By the time the story had reached Tim it was hard to discern what was fact. Passed around over card games and boozing, used as a 'ghost story' to scare the new guys; the tale took on a life of its own. He didn't put much stock in it, they had bigger problems but he never forgot the ominous feeling it carried. The things that could happen in this God Forsaken place….he didn't even want to think about it. That story along with everything else that happened 'over there' wrapped itself into a ball of tangled webs that lived in the back of his mind; too important to forget, too tangled to try and understand. Until he saw that picture in Wallace's house; he knew it meant something but he didn't know what until Lucy said it out loud.

Cheveyo

'When they found the bastard all he could say was one word. Cheveyo.'

Stepping out of the car, Tim closed the door. Looking around the property he heard not a sound; however, the front door was wide open. Stepping up to the front door he looked inside and saw movement out the back door in the yard. Stepping off the porch, he walked around the house, the cool summer breeze swaying the evergreens side to side. Wallace was bent over in a well tended garden and without even looking at Tim he spoke.

"Didn't expect to see you back here so soon." Tim looked over his shoulder to see if he could possibly be talking to someone else, even thought he knew they were alone. The man's situational awareness was almost innate; a highly cultivated sixth sense.

Stopping Tim opened his mouth before closing it and shaking his head silently. "I had some unfinished business I guess." Stopping what he was doing, Wallace stood up straight as he eyed his visitor.

"Bennett told me…said you're speaking in Casper." He paused looking at the ground briefly.

Tim swallowed hard and nodded. "I am. About Isabel…and Christina…" Wallace looked up at him. "I think you should come…"

Dropping the spade from his hand, Wallace looked away out over the prairie his eyes distant yet full of emotion. "I don't know it will do much good.." He trailed off as he stepped out of the dirt and walked across the grass toward his fire pit where a small fire crackled. Following, Tim came to sit down across from him. After a few moments Tim hesitantly began to speak.

"I was in Afghanistan for a few months when stories began circulating about an American soldier… a Native American….and the things that happened to his men…" Wallace met his eyes before his gaze drifted back to the fire. "And the things that he did afterwards to make that right…"

Wallace let out a wry laugh, "That's kind of my brand, I guess, avenger. Always trying to right a wrong." Shaking his head he didn't make an attempt to stop Tim when he began talking again.

"I heard the stories…everyone did…and then I forgot all about it until I saw that picture in your living room. I didn't remember right away but something didn't feel right. So I was suspicious and it almost cost me my life and Lucy hers." Wallace stared at him not making an effort to deny any of it. "I couldn't place it until Lucy told me your Arapaho name."

Cheveyo

"And then I knew…I remembered the stories…but most people, myself included, never really knew the truth."

Staring at the fire Wallace shook his head as his eyes drifted to another place and time.

The camp was quiet, at least for now. They were still moving with the Northern Alliance, taking the city of Mazar and moving south toward Khandahar. No one knew they were Americans; they looked just like the Afghans at first glance. They also had their own language; cobbled together by five different native dialects allowing them to communicate in absolute secrecy. Wallace sat back on a rock staring out at the rugged mountain terrain, it was nearly dark.

While most of their time was spent collecting intelligence and performing reconnaissance; they would occasionally need to break away from the Alliance and perform a patrol or lock an area down for other troops. Taking a drag on his cigarette he blew the smoke out into the cold mountain air. This place reminded him of home, except instead of natural beauty it was scarred and gouged from centuries of war. Tonight, he had sent three men on a patrol to secure a crossroads just one mile away. There wasn't much in the area; a small village but according to the Alliance the Taliban was on the run, heading back to Khandahar to fortify the city as their last stand.

Hurried footsteps as he felt his stomach twist into a knot. That was never good. "Sir….Sir…." Wallace turned, he was a staff sergeant, in charge of a squad; ten men, his decisions meant life and death for every man and he knew it. "Sir….something has happened." Grabbing his rife he was on his feet within seconds, the rest of his squad rallying around him.

Gates…Jackson…Baptiste…..He repeated their names in his head over and over as they moved quickly but carefully toward the crossroads. A horse and cart, some goats, and signs of a struggle; Wallace looked at the clues left behind, a theory forming in his mind. His men most likely stumbled upon a band of insurgents that were attacking an Afghani farmer at the crossroads. Circling the back of the wagon he peered inside; suitcases, pots and pans, a few toys. Swallowing hard his stomach sank. It wasn't a farmer but a family traveling north, most likely, to safety. Ambushed by the Taliban and somehow his men got mixed up in the middle of it. Sighing he set his sights toward the village.

There were a few huts near the location; the outliers to the village that followed. It was completely dark as Wallace quickly formulated a plan to clear the huts. Briefing the men, they moved out in textbook formation. Two men cleared the first hut as the rest of the element held long cover. The second hut was empty like the first as the team moved toward the third and final hut. Wallace's hair stood on end as they approached the door.

What he saw inside was something he often wished he could forget. Physically he had to force himself to stand there and not turn and bolt. Every nerve in his body screaming one thing…RUN! On the floor against the wall his three men sat in a neat row clearly posed. They were naked, their bodies severely mutilated and disfigured, their throats were cut and blood pooled on the dirt floor.

The hut was silent as the rest of his squad stared at him; they knew what they wanted to do but he had to give the order. Swallowing Wallace looked at the three men on the floor once more before turning and exiting the squat structure. He had no plan and he didn't want one right now. He saw red and the only thing he could think about finding the bastards who did this.

"On me." Without question they followed him as he stalked toward the village not particularly caring about stealth. He didn't know how many were in there and he should have retreated back to the Alliance for more fighters. But that wasn't going to happen; this was personal. Reaching the edge of the village they crouched behind a wall in the darkness, straining to listen for any noise. The American Flags on their shoulders barely visible in the low light. When they moved with the Alliance they wore traditional Afghani garb over their uniforms; when they undertook their own missions like they made no secret what team they played for; lest they be mistaken by other Americans as the enemy.

Peering over the wall Wallace saw the village mostly dark and quiet. Closing his eyes he took a deep breath; concentrated on nothing more than the world around him he listened. His grandfather had taught him this years ago. It was how his people had survived for centuries; listening and being completely in tune with the world around them. He heard the wind and the scrub brush, he heard the pounding of his own heart and the way his breath hitched in his throat, and….then he heard it. A muffled cry and a low voice. They were here.

Turning to his men he made the hand signal to move out. Despite the massive amount of gear they toted along, they made not sound as they moved through the village. Most of the buildings were dark and empty as they passed these structures sparing a glance as they moved toward the soft thrum of voices ahead. Briefly, he wondered what the Taliban had done to the people who once lived here.

Rounding a sandstone hut they stopped seeing another similar structure with low lights and a man standing guard at the door; Russian era AK hanging from his neck and a cigarette in his mouth. Pausing, the squad silently took a knee looking up at him for the signal. Peering back around the wall, Wallace saw the bodies of an adult man and woman laying just beyond the sentry at the door. They were dressed as Afghani peasants, the woman's face was completely covered with a Burqa that was saturated in blood. He still didn't see the kid, if there actually was a kid, and wondered if it had run off into the night or worse.

Turning back he took a deep breath, he had no idea how many of them were in there and he only had eight men left. There was no one to call, though, if they fell back and rejoined the Alliance or radioed for their own troops, these fuckers would scatter into the hills never to be seen again. Gates….Jackson….Baptiste; he repeated their names over and over in his head. Giving the hand signal for two men, the first two behind him rose. Flashing a single finger, they nodded their understanding; it was one man they needed to take out. Pulling his trench knife from the sheath Wallace ran it across his own neck indicating that they had to do it quiet. Repositioning their rifles, they unsheathed knives as they moved out quietly and together.

The haji in the door turned just a moment too late as Wallace's men were on him before he would swing the rifle around. Dragging him to the ground one held him down as the other slit in throat; he didn't even get the chance to scream. Moving, the rest of the squad just outside the door, Wallace regrouped the men. It sounded like maybe four or five different arabic voices inside. They could do this…and he wasn't going to lose another man tonight.

It was chaos as they poured into the structure, three men sat in the front room as they were dealt with quickly, all receiving a bullet to the head. Looking around, Wallace saw that there weren't many places to hide. A curtain separated the back of the hut from the front as he heard whimpering above all the chaos. Bringing his rifle level, he advanced along the wall toward the curtain, his heart pounding. Parting the worn, tan fabric he paused for a moment.

There was a bed, or something that resembled one, against the wall. A small square window cut from the sandstone just above it. A piece of fabric flapped in the night air. A lantern sizzled and burned on the bedside table. The bed had a rusted, iron frame. There was nothing else in the room, the once home, having been looted over and over since the owners had been forced to abandon it. He drew a breath in as the fabric over the window flapped, inky blackness and a thousand stars visible in the endless Afghan night. On the bed was a girl, not more than twelve, naked and being held down. Her terrified eyes stared at Wallace as tears rolled down her cheeks. The dirty mattress was stained with blood. They had all heard of this….the infinite brutality the Taliban inflicted on the people of this country, sparing no one, not even a child….but to see it up close like this was something else.

The three of them stared at each other for a moment, frozen in place. And then the switch flipped. In two bounding leaps he was there, the man didn't even have time to pull his pants up. Hitting him square in the jaw, he stumbled backwards away from his AK as Wallace kicked it to the side. He could kill the man, but that was too easy. This prick was going to suffer. Raising his trench knife he hacked at the man's right wrist, the haji screaming in agony. Blood squirted all over the dirt floor as his right hand was severed. Curling into a ball, he babbled Arabic as Wallace felt no mercy toward him. Kicking him in the ribs as hard as he could, he grabbed his left wrist and doing much the same as he did with the right and he didn't stop hacking until the left hand was removed as well. Blood sprayed his face as the man attempted to get up, but Wallace still wasn't done.

A few of his men had come to the door and seeing the scene inside made no effort to stop their sergeant in his quest for vengeance. The man hadn't been able to get his pants up and without thinking Wallace raised his knife, coming down in one decisive cut that was met with a howl of primal agony. What this bastard was doing to that little girl….it would never happen again. The girl shuffled off the bed, hastily dressing herself, as she watched in terror at the scene before her. Now completely desperate, the Haji scrambled to his feet, pants around his ankles and soaked in blood he pushed himself up onto the bed and swung his upper body out the window as Wallace watched him struggle. He could have killed him ten times over, that wasn't the point here, he wanted this prick to suffer for the rest of his life.

Casting a glance toward the girl who was standing there, haphazardly dressed and trembling, he sneered as he moved toward the window. Pulling the man back inside he he laid his knife against the man's hairline and raked backwards with unhinged brutality. Black hair flew everywhere as the man begged in Arabic. When he was done Wallace leaned down and whispered in his ear one word. 'Cheveyo' Before throwing the bleeding, half dead bastard out the window.

It was nearly dawn when a platoon of American soldiers, en route to the crossroads, came upon a man, blabbering and weeping. He had no hands….his pants were soaked in blood….and his scalp was missing right down the middle as his face was unrecognizable through the layer of caked, dried blood. He spoke not a word of English and the men didn't have a translator with them. Despite that, he kept repeated one single word over and over.

'Cheveyo'

The fire crackled as Tim and Wallace stared into it silently. "I lost my squad after that. The Army was 'disturbed by my behavior' but considering the circumstances allowed me to stay in and serve out the rest of my tour." He shrugged. "Maybe we are all just a bunch of savages in the end…". Trailing off he looked at Tim.

"The only disturbing thing, my friend,…" Tim met his eyes seriously. "Is that the Army didn't recognize the undeniable courage and determination you and your men showed that night…". Tim looked away toward the prairie as he shook his head, "No one will ever understand the shit that goes on in a place like that….the things you see….the losses you take…and the never ending fight to survive. That haji deserved everything he got and more…" Wallace's eyes briefly met Tim's before he looked back down at the fire nodding slowly. Reaching into his pocket, Tim produced a velvet bag as he passed it over.

Carefully Wallace undid the strings at the top as he upended it into his hand. It was a Purple Heart. Looking down at it he nodded at Tim. "You were wounded?"

A wry smirk tugged at Tim's lip as he nodded. "I walked out of building and caught a piece of shrapnel in my thigh…". Slipping it back unto the bag Wallace move to pass it back to him. Shaking his head, Tim lifted a hand. "No….I want you to have it."

Wallace froze in place knowing the weight of that statement before he quickly shook his head. "Tim…I can't.."

"No…you deserve it more than me. For what you did over there and what you did right here." Tim shook his head as he stared into the fire. "If not for you…both Lucy and I would be dead…..and while I don't care much about myself, I would do absolutely anything to keep her safe."

Wallace brought his hand back into this lap as he stared down at the Purple Heart before nodding solemnly at Tim. Rising his feet he extended his hand. Returning the gesture, Tim met his eyes and nodded, nothing more needing to be said between them.

Tim waited to the right of the podium as the moderator announced him as the next speaker. The Wyoming House of Representatives was voting on a bill to limit drilling sites on natives lands and also make them the jurisdiction of Tribal Police. Bennett, as he understood, had created quite a stir at the Town Hall meeting a few months back and had been able to rally support for the proposal to be brought before the State Assembly.

The moderator stepped aside as Tim moved in front of the microphone. He wore his LAPD dress uniform, freshly starched and pressed. Looking around the room for a moment he saw Bennett in the front row, a slight nod of acknowledgement between them.

"Good Afternoon…my name is Tim Bradford and I am a Police Officer with the City of Los Angeles. My ex-wife, Isabel Bradford…was also in the LAPD until she became addicted to drugs during an undercover assignment. A few months ago my partner and I found her dead in an alley laying in a pile of trash." He stopped for a moment, a slight tickle of emotion in the back of his throat. Swallowing he took a breath before continuing. "I quickly found out that the man who killed her was hiding here, in Wyoming, at a drilling site on the Wind River Reservation. When I arrived and met Chief Bennett he told me that another young girl had recently been brutally raped and murdered and he suspected the men working at the site to be responsible." Pausing he looked up for a moment. In the back of the room he saw the mahogany door open and shut as a familiar face entered, leaning against the wall. Wallace stared at him giving him the barest of nods as Tim returned the acknowledgment before continuing. "I don't need to tell any of you in this room about the complications tribal police face securing their own lands…..or their inability, under current laws, to engage the often times rough, crude, and dangerous men that are posted there with little to do outside of work except cause trouble. " He paused nodding his head as he continued. "I am here today to tell you about Isabel Bradford and Christina Wallace and how we, as a society, failed them both. They were human beings…not always perfect….but they mattered. And until the violence against women in places like Wind River…and Los Angeles…stops. I will not quit telling their story."

The assembly erupted in applause as Tim looked around, a genuine smile spreading across his face.

The END

That is all for this story. Thanks to everyone who stuck it out and kept reading. I don't know if I'll write any more rookie fanfics, this one struck me like a bolt of lightning and story that just had to be told. I do have more fanfics in other fandoms on both here and if you are interested in reading more of my work. Again thank you all and I hope you enjoyed it.

-The first cop show I ever loved was Third Watch (1999-2005), if any you remember watching you will get the reference above about Tim's new rookie Steve Gusler, who played a whining, unsure young cop on that show as well. Charlie McWade was the actor if anyone wants to look him up

-I created a board on Pinterest to share some of my inspiration for this piece and so that you may see what I see while reading. Please check it out

Pinterest User Name: carmenk543,

Board Name: Wind River

Original Characters Inspired By:

Charlie Wallace: Rodney Grant / Dances with Wolves "Wind in his Hair"

Chief Bennett: Wes Studi/ Hostiles "Chief Yellow Hawk"

Christina Wallace: Q'Orianka Kilcher/ The New World "Pocahontas"

Emily Wallace: Tanaya Beatty/ Hostiles "Living Woman"

Mikey Wallace: See Pinterest Board, not inspired by an actor

Chris Porter: James Jordan/ Wind River "Pete Mickens"

Joey Ferguson: John Bernthal (a drug addled, skinny, toothless version)/ The Walking Dead "Shane Walsh"

Again Thank You and Be Safe in these uncertain times !