A/N It's a brand new season of The Rookie, and this story comes in right after the season 4 premiere. It includes SPOILERS for that episode. This tale is not in the same alternate universe as Recovery. At this point, it's pretty close to canon but will probably diverge before long. I hope you'll come along for the ride.
Fallout
Chapter 1
Angela's eyes flash with anger. "Since when are you defending drug dealers?"
"I defend whoever needs defending," Wesley retorts. "And that includes you and our baby."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Angela demands.
Wesley sinks into a chair with his head in his hands. "Look, I didn't know how to tell you. The only way I could get into La Fiera's fortress was to make a deal with Elijah."
"The biggest drug distributor left in L.A? That Elijah?"
"No one else would have had the juice. You know the way I run my practice, Angela. No frills, just an office next to the aquarium supply store. So he came to me before, thinking I needed money. He wanted me to be a dirty lawyer, his bagman. He needed someone to carry messages into prison, smuggle things in and out, make payoffs."
"But you turned him down."
"Of course I did!" Wesley exclaims. "But when I went back to him, he knew I was clear on the job. Defending his lieutenant is probably the most honest part of it. I'll be practicing straight law, even if my client is a total scumbag."
"But it's not going to end here," Angela assumes.
"No, it isn't," Wesley confirms.
Angela begins to pace the path among the baby things in their apartment. "So what are you going to do when Elijah tells you to break the law? Just go along with it?"
"You're the detective. What do you think I should do? If I go back on my word, Elijah will take back what he regards as his end of the deal. He'll come after you and Jackson."
"I don't know," Angela confesses. "I'm willing to put myself on the line but not our son. We need a detective who knows more about the drug trade than I do – probably more than anyone in the department."
"Harper?"
"It has to be Nyla. She lived in the drug world for two years. And she knows how to keep her mouth shut. She put her ass on the line to save me. She'll want to finish the job."
Wesley scrubs his palm over his whitening beard. "I can't be seen with her. Elijah will know something is up."
"We can run it through Nolan. They're tight. She tried to save his butt too. So did you. And Nolan went after you in that orchard. He cares. And he's always coming over here with something for the baby anyway. He'll probably show up today. Then we'll figure something out."
Wesley blows out a long breath. "I hope so."
The Journal of John Nolan.
I'm encrypting this now. My friends, with Angela and Wesley topping the list, could die if the wrong person reads it. And God forbid, someone might even go after Baby Jackson. Harper is the only other person who knows, and she won't talk about it until we come to an action point. So I'm putting it down before the wrong words overflow my mouth.
The only way Wesley could save Angela and the baby was to make a deal with the devil – a devil named Elijah. But Wesley hasn't sold his soul, at least not yet. So he'll be acting as a c.i. with me as his contact. I'll pass things on to Harper, who will know the right path from there. The plan is to take Elijah down – somehow. But in the meantime, Wesley's going to be a pariah to the L.A.P.D. Angela may even be one, too, if we can't get this wrapped up before she finishes her leave. It's going to be hard to see my fellow cops looking at Wesley with disgust. And it will be even harder to pretend I feel it as well. But as La Fiera did, Elijah has eyes and ears in the department. We still don't know who helped her escape or tipped her off to the location of the wedding. That person would have to be constantly among us and could be working for Elijah now. To make things with Wesley work, we can't afford any leaks. And what even my closest friends don't know, they can't tell.
Wesley will be in and out of the division all the time, talking to newly arrested clients. That will make it easier for him to pass information to me but harder for me to keep up my act. So to keep from obsessing too much about that, I'll try to deal with my other problem.
Bailey and I were getting along really well at the wedding. She even started the conversation about our first kiss. Then I found Angela's bracelet, and all hell broke loose. At least half of Mid-Wilshire was at the wedding. And every one of us wanted to spring into action to get Angela back. I don't know what happened to Bailey. I didn't even think to arrange a ride home for her. I left her standing at the bar. We texted a little but didn't say much. If I'm going to even think about another date, I have a lot of fence-mending to do.
I hope I get the chance. I still have credits to finish, so I can get my degree. Without it, I'll need at least another year to become a T.O. And with the extra time it took me to become a P2, I can't spare it.
The good news is that I aced my ethics class. That qualifies me for the next step, a course in how to deal with people and communities that regard me as the enemy. I'm not talking about someone who tries to pull a knife or a gun. The academy handled that. I mean finding a way to open a dialogue with someone who believes I either don't care about them or am actively trying to keep them down.
Everyone at the division went through some of that with Jessica's instructions on putting ourselves in the other person's shoes. But in L.A., I have to overcome a history of brutality. Some of it, probably a lot of it, was racially motivated. And being a slice of Wonder Bread in a cop suit doesn't help me much with that. Some of the rest of it has to do with cops like Smitty or Wrigley, who try to put in their time with as little effort and risk as possible. They don't give a damn how the people on the street feel or how we can serve them better. They just want to get through their shifts. So what happens while they're downing a beer or planning a family vacation is no skin off their noses.
I don't want to be that kind of cop. If I was going to be, I might as well have stayed in Pennsylvania, putting in kitchen islands and building gardening sheds. I'm hoping my next class won't just earn me credits; it will make me more the kind of cop I came to L.A. to be.
So, I'll be juggling my regular duties, working with Wesley, and keeping up with my classwork while attempting to seem worthy of Bailey's time. I suppose with being a firefighter, National Guard Reservist, and a capoeira instructor, not to mention a house sitter, she's doing plenty of juggling of her own. I'm hoping she'll understand.
I toyed with knocking on her door and groveling. But my problem with that is that she's no longer housesitting across the street and I don't know where she lives. I could run her, but it would be making unauthorized use of police resources. And I can just imagine Grey's reaction if he found out. My best bet is meeting up with her at a fire. I get called to enough of them. So I'm crossing my fingers she'll be understanding and give me another chance.