"So the sergeant says you've been through hell."

"Hell?" she asked, and made a face. "Psssh, like in death-and-resurrection? As in I'm-using-this-second-chance-to-play-with-guns?"

"Look at you. Trying to act normal, like there isn't a cross under there."

"Ugh," was her graceful response, as she shifted the gun in her hands to avoid striking a passing cop. "Excuse me, sorry. No, it's one thing to believe in something more, but to add layers to it..."

"Well, you can't have a cake without layers, Lopez," Bradford said, as he left the building. He looked quickly to his left and said, "Not you."

Coming out behind him, Ella flashed Angela a grin and carried on to the shop.

"No, if you believe in unicorns, you believe they have horns," Bradford said, and her steps slowed as she wondered what Lucifer's face looked like in reality. "You believe they have powers, and...fart sparkles, or whatever people think they―come on, Boot, we're losing the light," he interrupted himself. She suddenly realized he was holding the trunk open and waiting for her.

She quickened her step, moving as quickly as she was able under all the weight.

"Well, maybe this'll build you up some," he muttered, helping her load it in. "Get in and don't touch the radio."

She went to the passenger side and got in, sighing. "Just...364 days and 22 hours to go," she told herself.

Then the trunk slammed and she jumped guiltily; thankfully she had recovered by the time Bradford got into the car. Damn it, shop! Shop, shop, shop, shop, shop; she would repeat that until she was sick of it, too. Shop! She wanted to smack herself. She could memorize every sign of murder, identify every cause of death with one look, and she couldn't remember to call the damn thing a shop? Maybe it was the constant combination of nightmares and insomnia, maybe it was how bad her day was going, but she felt overly ashamed as she slumped in the seat, trying to pull herself together.

Bradford looked ahead at a honk, to see Chen wave at him from inside her vehicle. He waved back, and so did Ella, prompting Chen to grin at her before driving off of the parking lot.

"I bet you want her to be sitting here."

At her wistful tone, he glanced at her, then surprised her with, "Not at all. As I'm sure you know already, we're engaged... But like I said, we leave our personal lives in the locker. As much as I enjoy my personal life, I also enjoy my work, and at work I am just a sergeant."

"That's not true..." she said discouragingly. "You're also stationed at Metro."

He smiled grimly, following Nolan's car off the parking lot.

"Gosh, is everyone going for a drive?"

"Everyone's doing an important part of police work," he said simply, and happened to glance down at her uniform. "For God's sake, Lopez, turn on your bodycam."

"I can't do that, sir."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because nobody taught me how."

The brakes squeaked as Bradford came to an abrupt halt, jolting the shop. "Shit," he cursed, "I'm sorry."

He leaned over, pointing. "It's this button here. One push and you're set."

She pushed it, feeling only moderately stupid. "Thanks."

"FYI, I don't normally tell a rookie this, but since you were so impressive at the target, there is a spare loaded gun in the glove compartment. Put it on. Always watch your partner's six; today, that's me."

"I thought you were my training officer. Slash, sergeant."

"And partner. I will continue to be your training officer, but you should expect to be partnered up with someone else sometimes."

"Understood. Actually, as good of a T.O. as I'm sure you are, I'm kind of excited to hear it! A big reason I left my last station was to meet new people. I mean, back there I knew basically everyone. But after my friends quit or died, there just wasn't a point in me staying. I was all alone, you know? And, gosh, the memories in that place, I just... I couldn't work there without looking at their desk, thinking they should be there, expecting them to show up. And my second-last lieutenant―dude just totally vanished, and I put out a BOLO, but...nothing. It's like he never existed. Isn't that crazy?"

"Yeah, and very interesting... That a forensic scientist could issue a BOLO."

"I was... Oh, I was good," she sighed. "Every time a body dropped, I was on the scene, I was talking to the cops, it was like I was one."

"Well, now you are one. Remember that. If I say Detective Lopez, I'm talking to her. If I say Officer Lopez, you better hear me."

"Yes, sir."

"7-Adam-100, we have a 10-80 on Newell Street. Details to your box."

As easy as blinking, Bradford picked up the walkie-talkie and responded. "7-Adam-100, show us responding."

Ella barely sighed as he returned his hand to the steering wheel.

"Something on your mind, Lopez?"

"I just... I'm supposed to be a scientist. What's a 10-80?"

"Domestic disturbance," Bradford answered, and added, "You know, in order to do this job, you need to read and memorize your Rook Book, which you don't even have. That's also in my glove compartment; I'm ordering you to take it home and stay away from the precinct until you know the book inside out and backwards. Should take you a couple weeks, two months is pushing it. Hell, cozy up to this Jessie person and test each other on The Three Pros: Procedure, Protocol, and Professionalism. Until you do that, you are 10-7. That's off-duty," he clarified, at her puzzled stare.

"I'm not gonna get paid for it, am I?" she asked, defeatedly.

"No. But here, you have some experience. Might even be enough. You go anywhere else, you're gonna start at the bottom."

"And you need someone who can be an asset―"

"Don't piss me off."

"Yes, sir," Ella smiled out the window, wondering how many domestic disturbances this pricklepants sergeant had caused, himself. But as the drive progressed, her face darkened like a storm cloud as her thoughts turned to the mysterious disappearance of Lieutenant Pierce.

"Well, I think I might've found it," Bradford murmured, as he and Ella gazed upon everything a man could own, strewn about the driveway of a large, two-storey house. Its pastel color could be considered orange, pink, or beige, with a red to brown roof. And a strange, large flower outline between the peak roof and a little patio. There was an obvious protrusion of a fireplace, situated between two windows and in close proximity to what appeared to be a pet house, attached right to the outside wall of the building. The property was fenced and gated, but that was no problem for an old-time lock-picker.

They got out of the shop and approached the building; Bradford was getting ready to pull out his phone and ID the tenants when he noticed, "Oh, wonderful. My rookie is committing a felony," he observed.

"I'm breaching. Nobody's just waiting to let us in."

"They're sure to greet us with open arms after this."

She spared him a second of her luminous grin. "I know, right?"

Bradford shook his head in disappointment, but followed her through the gate. He put one hand on his gun and one hand on his rookie's little shoulder. "Newbies don't die on the job. Best if you get behind me."

So Ella got behind him, narrowly dodging a falling object that turned out to be a PlayStation; from upstairs they could hear a woman say, "Oh, good job, asshole, the police are here!"

"I'm the asshole? You're the one who's shouting!"

"Because you're throwing out all my shit!"

"Her shit?" Bradford muttered, ringing the doorbell.

"Judging by the toy...yeah."

"One of you brats get the door!"

As the woman started shouting about how dare he talk to them that way, a little boy answered the door. He held a little plastic toy, and his nearly-black eyes went down to Bradford's hand, which he quickly took off his gun. He knelt, forcing himself to do something he rarely did; smile. "Hi. I'm Sergeant Bradford. What's your name?"

"Carlos," he answered hesitantly.

"Is that your mommy and daddy fighting?" he asked, and watched the boy nod. "Well, one of the things cops can do is help people settle their feuds. Do you think they need help making up?"

Carlos was quiet for a moment, gazing back at him with impossibly big, impossibly dark eyes; then he thoughtfully scrunched up his face. "How often do people make up after one of 'em says 'I'm gonna kill you'?"

"Okay, buddy, you're gonna have to let me in now," Bradford said, as he stood up straight. The boy moved aside and Bradford went inside, turning back to face Ella. "You know how to work your radio, right?"

"I do, actually, yeah."

Bradford looked rather impressed as he turned and disappeared into the shaded interior; Ella leaned, vying for a glimpse as he made his way through an arch and took an inquisitive right turn. She sighed, shaking her head. "But when do I use it?" she muttered to herself.

"You call the station if you hear gunshots."

Ella's big eyes went to Carlos.

"And you ask for backup."

As her sergeant had done, she knelt to better speak with him. "Do you want to be a policeman one day?"

"I used to."

"What changed?"

"My brother died on duty, and so did my uncle."

She couldn't look away from him as he wandered back inside, still playing with the toy.

"Hey, Decker."

"Ella! Hey! How's the new job going?"

Ella instinctively glanced up at the second-floor window, where she saw Bradford just standing there, watching her. "Boring as hell. How are you and Lucifer?"

"Fine, fine. Me, fine. Lucifer... Al-also fine."

"Yeah, you, my friend, are lying," Ella enunciated, watching Bradford disappear from the window. "I thought you were past keeping me in the dark."

She heard Decker draw a breath. "Okay. You're right. Uh, Lucifer...is no longer on earth. He's living in Hell now. Uh, forever. Or at least until further notice."

"Ho-ly...bananas. That's got to be so hard, are you okay? Of course you're not okay, it's Lucifer. And he's in Hell―assumably not Norway, because...it's Lucifer! Oh! Is Maze with him?"

"Yeah, she is."

Ella smiled, hearing the instant warmth in Decker's voice. "Good. She must be happy."

"Hmm... Not sure Maze really does happy―wait, wait. Uh, sorry, I'm doing like ten things here, but did you just say Forensics is boring?"

"Yeah, there's been a little blip in my application, so I'm actually kind of, sort of training to become a police officer."

"What? Are you serious?"

"As serious as a gunshot. Hey, remember that article in the newspaper, with that really hunky officer?"

"Yeah. Uh... Bradford. Wasn't it?"

"Yeah," even though it really sucked that Chloe remembered his name. "He's my T.O."

"Oh, god. You're so lucky. But―isn't he a bit of a bully?"

"Well, dude is a cop. Oh, I'm getting another call, can we talk later?"

"Anytime, babe. Good luck."

Ella disconnected with Decker and moved on to her next call. "Uh, Officer Lopez," wow, that felt weird. She couldn't help but grin at the bizarre taste of her new title―well, unofficial, but it wasn't like she could go around introducing herself as Rookie Lopez to every caller. But her mirth was transient, thanks to the hypothetical wake-up literal call of her sergeant.

"You're talking to the whole station, Boot."

Feeling her face go hot, Ella slowly raised her eyes back to the window, where she saw Bradford again, shaking his head at her.

"Copy," she murmured numbly, and disconnected from him. She glanced briefly at her phone, trying to figure out what she had done, then pocketed her phone and covered her eyes with both hands. So, so stupid. So not only moderately stupid. Record-breakingly, astonishingly, horrifically stupid! And the worst part? She would never know if Maze would be happier in hell, or watching her be tortured by her own record-breaking stupidity.

This time, when the cops applauded somebody's entrance, it wasn't because they were being supportive after a trauma. They were showing their other side, teasing Ella over her embarrassing, inappropriate phone call. She ducked her head, turning fifty shades of crimson as she rushed through the precinct. Her heart hurt so bad as she wished for somebody like Dan to flash her a grin and say they were being jerks, but when it came down to it, they were all family here...

But nobody came, and she escaped into Grey's fish tank of an office. Only then, her steps slowed as she went to the chair on her side of his desk. "Sergeant?" she asked, hardly able to believe how childish her voice sounded. She frowned at the desk, knowing she could never be somebody's partner. "I-I can't do this."

"You didn't have enough time to hear this, and I accept full responsibility for that, but humiliation is part of the job. You'll pull through."

"I don't know if I want to," she said, barely able to hear herself over the pounding of her own heart. She was much too aware of the Rook Book under her arm. "This has been the worst day of my life. I don't think I can do this for the rest of it."

"It gets easier." He smiled kindly at her. "A wise woman once said nobody goes into this profession with their eyes wide open."

She spared him a grumpy glance. "It is hard to argue with myself."

"Do you think I became a sergeant without being a clueless rookie first? Sit down," he added, and leaned forward in his chair when she complied. "See, I was like you. Sort of," he added. "I already had experience holding a gun. But the first time I set foot in this station, I was going to jail. Thought I had ruined my life. And when I saw the cops, saw what they were doing, saw their satisfaction when they caught me... Well, I decided to turn things around. You... You have a headstart. You were never arrested."

"Now I know you didn't read my file."

"What?"

"What?" she parroted, realizing her mistake.

But he only smiled and said, "I'm going to be lenient with you, Lopez...for now. Because I know what it's like. My recommendation is, take that book home, take a few weeks to prepare, and make an informed choice. Work on earning the badge, and then you can work on earning your stripes."

Maybe her fellow officers would forget about it by then. Who knows? So she bobbed her head in halfhearted agreement and walked away, carrying with her the Rook Book―or, as she was considering referring to it, the bad idea she had intended to leave on his desk. Fortunately the officers seemed to have lost interest in her already and paid her no mind, even as Bradford suddenly fell into step alongside of her. His sudden presence made her jump, but he either ignored it, or didn't see it; he was already addressing her.

"Turns out the husband was upset with his wife because she was more interested in her games than washing his underwear."

"Oh. Well, if he works hard―"

"He doesn't. He's unemployed. She, however, works the graveyard shift. Told me she only sees her son on weekends, and they play together; finally told her husband to get off her back and wash his own underwear, and he started throwing her things out the window."

"Wow."

"Paperwork's taken care of. Aren't you 10-7?"

"Yes, sir, going home now."

"Good. Don't come back until you feel equipped to take the quiz. And Lopez," he added, loudly. She turned back to face him where he had stopped. "Next time your partner goes into a building, maybe go in with them and watch their six."

"I-I'm sorry," she stammered, petrified the other officers would laugh at her again. Fervently wishing her hair was loose so she could hide behind it, she ducked her head in shame and bolted to the exit.