Having slept in, Ella was in a rush as she arrived at the station, moving unsurely through the hall and urgently seeking familiar faces. She was late; Grey was in the middle of a speech, and she didn't miss how both sergeants checked their watches as she plopped into her first-row seat.

"Be safe out there."

Ella shot a horrified stare up front, where the two higher-ups looked at her in disapproval. Guess it wasn't bad enough she had woken up to her alarm with the Rook Book covering her face and Pretzels everywhere. And, as she was standing up to greet Bradford, she felt a hidden lump and realized her wallet was under her uniform. Again.

Damn. Speaking of curses.

"Why aren't you 10-7, Lopez? Thought I made myself clear."

"I am going to learn on the job."

Bradford moved even closer, staring at her until she lost all confidence and broke eye contact, looking at Sergeant Grey.

"You got into an argument about your career change and fell asleep two hours before your alarm went off."

Her startled eyes met his.

"Yeah... I don't need somebody this predictable under my command, Sarge. Predictability gets you killed."

"You're gonna stick with it."

Short and sweet. Grey walked out of the room, and Bradford began to leave as well.

"You're right about me," Ella said hastily, halting him. "I did... And I did," she added, as he turned around. "But I'm not just a rookie, okay, I'm an accidental rookie. I was never supposed to be here putting up with you. I mean, surely that gives me some...credit."

"Insulting your sergeant. You seem to have a penchant for bad days."

"You are not supposed to be my sergeant. I am supposed to be telling you about the ligature marks I just found on Jane Doe's neck, or―"

"Jessie Wells washed out already," he interrupted, and she stared at him in stricken silence. "And she was more equipped for this job than you are."

His eyes dipped down to the bulge in her pants and he gave her another disapproving look before he started to leave. "Meet me in the hallway when you're done digging for your wallet," he muttered.

"Yes, sir."

She turned her back to the door and extended her waistline, digging into her pocket; pulling out her wallet she rushed into the hallway.

"Good to know, Thorsen. Thanks," Bradford said into his radio. He disconnected and pocketed it, turning his undivided and intense focus to Ella. "Come here. I'm gonna teach you how to check out our gear. You want to be a cop? This is supposed to be a rookie's duty, not your T.O.'s."

She came to the counter, and Bradford momentarily turned his scrutinizing eyes to the desk clerk. "9076783," he said curtly, and she walked away, going towards a back room.

"Is that it?"

"No. When she hands them to you, you have to inspect 'em. Pull the triggers to ensure that you can. Load and insert your clip, taser should be fully charged. If something is malfunctioning, if you notice missing ammo, notify the person behind this desk. If nothing is wrong, turn on your bodycam and haul ass to the shop. License plate is 8Q49969. You get all that?"

"Yes, sir."

"Say our plate number back to me."

"8Q49-6-99."

"9-9-69, and put your radio on the other side of your belt."

She looked down, visibly confused as she quietly obeyed.

"You'll thank me later. Unless your predictability kills you first."

She went to the desk to test, inspect, and grab the gear. "Uh, sir. About my phone call incident..."

"I'll forget it if you will. We're all professionals here and the other cops, they've had their fun. Let's just move on."

"So you don't think I'm weird to use code names?" she asked.

"Yeah. You're weird. As your partner, T.O. and sergeant, your paranoia's a liability. But it wasn't predictable, so I approve. Come on," he added, beginning to walk, and she struggled after him with all their gear. "Say our license plate correctly and you don't get any homework tonight."

"Uh, 8Q4...9969."

"Badge number."

"53428."

"Good. Chapter title on page 47."

"I...didn't get that far."

"Horrifying."

They stepped out into the clear, fresh air of the young morning and Bradford opened the trunk. "Least, we're all professionals except for you," he muttered.

"And I'm counting on you to make me one," she said brightly, dumping the gear in. She turned to give him her thousand-watt smile. "I'm a baby bird waiting to fly."

"You won't fly."

"You don't know that! I might surprise you."

"You haven't turned on your bodycam and you seem to have left your wallet on the desk. Nope," he added, when she started to turn. "Forget it. It's safer with her than it is with you. Tell me our locker number."

"Uh, um," she floundered.

"Come on, Boot, I just said it. You want your wallet back, you're gonna have to know our locker number."

"Uh, 907... Uh, gosh, uh, 499―"

"No!" he yelled, and his exclamation made her jump and turned heads in every direction.

She stared at Nolan past Bradford's arm. Kind, quiet Nolan, who had actually sort of, kind of returned her embrace. Why couldn't she have lucked out like Juarez? Nolan had actually stopped walking to observe their interaction, probably to make sure he didn't strangle her out of frustration. Rubbing his forehead, Bradford dropped his hand harmlessly to his side and spoke in an exasperated but quiet voice. "It's 9076783. Now say it."

She waited for a slap on the arm and a "Boy, I really had you going!" but of course this guy was freaking serious. "9076783," she mumbled.

"No, confidence, Boot, you gotta project confidence. Nobody's going to respect you if you're timid. Yell it at me!"

"Sergeant Bradford, I'm not―"

"Yell it!" he shouted, giving her a push.

"9076783!" she said loudly.

"Yes! Yes!" he shouted back, as Nolan went back into the building, fading in the shadows. He pointed behind them. "Now what's this?"

"It's called a shop, sir!"

Bradford lowered his arm, looking slightly disoriented or excited or...something. "Alright," he said, sounding almost weak. "Get in."

Ella turned and began going to the passenger side, her steps faltering at his order, "And turn on your bodycam!"

She clicked it on and opened the car door.

"Sergeant!"

Grey glanced up, speaking into the phone. "Uh, let me stop you there, I have to call you back. Yeah... Thanks." He hung up, returning his eyes to Nolan's. "I have never had you barge into my office like this."

"Sorry, sir, um... It's Bradford."

Grey groaned. "What did he do?"

"Well, you know, he got a little over-zealous with his new rookie, and he, um...put his hands on her."

"What do you mean? He slapped her?"

"No, he pushed her."

"That boy," Grey grumbled with a sigh. "Thank you, Officer Nolan. I'll have a word with him."

"You'll have a word with him? Sir, she was rattled. I think she deserves a new T.O."

"And the one after that? Every single one after the one after that? He may be heated, but the man's a good T.O."

"Sir, I'm not saying he isn't, but with all due respect―"

"Nolan," Grey said simply, effectively silencing him. "I am not permitted to assign two rookies to one training officer. My hands are tied."

"Can't we break the rules? Just once."

"Get out," Grey said, his voice much too kind for his words. Nolan complied without another word; alone, Grey contemplatively glanced at his two-way radio.

Grey's words over the radio, "Bradford, go to channel 9," interrupted an uncomfortably quiet drive.

Bradford picked up his radio, barely looking as he made the switch. "Go for Bradford."

"I've been informed, by somebody I will not name, that you shoved Lopez."

"Yes, sir, I got a little carried away and I am...sorry," he said, directing his comment to her. "I've only been around people who know me so long, I forgot that she doesn't. It won't happen again."

"It better not. You know the rules, and if you cause her injury, I am just as responsible for letting you continue to train her."

"Yes, sir. It... I'll be more mindful."

"Lopez? You're good?"

Bradford clicked on again and said nothing, and Ella leaned closer. "Yes, sir. All good."

When the radio was quiet, Bradford set it down. And said nothing.

Ella remained quiet as long as she could...which wasn't long. The silence was becoming uncomfortably long again and she couldn't bear it. "You're a military man, right?"

"I am."

"I knew it," she sighed, sounding content.

"Guns, bombs, all of it, fascinated me by the time I was twelve. Signed up for the army and didn't look back."

She glanced at him with her mouth agape in awe. "I was doing science experiments when I was twelve, too!"

"Really!"

"Yeah, didn't start out so great. Like, I didn't realize my hamster got out and was running all over the place, and...well, I spilled some chemicals―"

"Oh, god, did you kill it?"

"No. No, I saw this bright flash under my desk, and I looked down, and...there's Nibbles, just glowin' in the dark... Man, I scrubbed that hamster for two hours and it wouldn't come off."

God, he had an incredible smile. She felt her heart flutter even as she wished Nolan was in his seat. What was happening to her?

"What did you do?"

"Well, I tried giving him a bath in rubbing alcohol, but he just got really drunk, so," she paused, listening to his chuckles. "So I just decided, 'Okay, he's a pet and a lantern.'"

"You kept him like that?"

"Well, I didn't think I had a choice."

He kept on chuckling.

"It was kind of cool," she offered. "Long as he wasn't moving when I wanted to sleep."

"And of course he was."

"Non...stop. I had to put a blanket over his cage just so I could relax. But at least I never lost him again."

"Oh, man. I'd have loved to have seen that."

But soon after that comment, his chuckles died and he was back to staring grimly at the road―telling himself he had to be firm. They were not friends.

"So―did you ever have a mishap in the army?"

His brows went up and he looked at her, briefly. "No."

Again, that awkward silence. "Well, you're boring," she finally told him, and smiled when he looked at her, hoping to coax another one out of his handsome face.

"Well, I was already a pro. I enlisted when I was in my thirties."

"Oh..." she said, and looked again at him. "You, uh, don't look that much older than me."

His smile was sarcastic and nothing like before, not providing her the same rush. "Nah, I got shot in the back. Really fucked me up."

"Oh," was all she could say again. "Well, I would never have guessed. I mean, you look... Uh, you-you look really―"

Uncomfortable with her, he slammed on the brakes like something had jumped out in front of them. "I've been shot!" he yelled, even though Ella hadn't heard a bang. "Where are you, Boot?"

"What?"

"I'm bleeding to death. You have to call for help, where are you?!"

She stared for a moment, and her sudden grin made him frown in anticipation. "Oh, I get it, this is another test," she deduced, and remained calm. "Okay. Uh, we are on the corner of Wilton Place and 8th Street, and your car is actually hanging over the crosswalk, which it should not."

He looked away, giving a reluctant (disappointed?) nod. "Okay," he said, and frowned a little as he asked, "Is that in the Rook Book?"

"Well, not before page 47."

"7-Adam-100, we have a possible home invasion on Florence Avenue. Details to your box."

Bradford picked up the radio, with about the same amount of effort as he put into blinking. "7-Adam-100 responding," he said, and put it down, again returning his hand to the wheel. "And it's not a car, Boot."

"Sorry."

Ella had to wonder in the following silence, "Do you call me Boot because of all the legwork? Or because I barely barely got my foot in the door, or is it because―"

"It's because of the boot camp a trainee has to go through."

"But I mean, does that really apply to me?"

"No, I suppose not. Shit, Lopez," he added, "I guess when I really put a microscope on it, you're downright impersonating an officer."

She tried not to squirm in her seat. "I mean, maybe we can...we can put the microscope in a drawer for now?"

Another dry chuckle. "Yeah. Okay. Lucky for you I'm actually one of the more easy-going cops and I'll totally look the other way. Not for anybody, though; just a girl who weighs as much as her age and can't handle the immense responsibility of a wallet, and the rest of the world can go fuck itself! Do I look like a bleeding heart to you, Lopez?"

"No, sir."

"Do you know the punishment for impersonating a police officer? $1,000 and-or three years in prison. And they could easily give you a bigger fine. You want me to look the other way. You're conspiring, you want to bribe me."

"All I want is to pay my bills, and...maybe get insurance."

"You don't have insurance? Whoa, please tell me you're talking about your car."

She looked ahead, thoughtfully murmuring, "Yeah, I should probably get that insured, too."

"Ugh. I can't believe I let you in my shop."

She gave a breathless, humorless chuckle. "You act like you were never a rookie."

"I've got no problem admitting I was a rookie, but I was never such a stupid one."

Ella hushed and looked down at her lap, giving the dashboard camera that centered them in its frame a humiliated look.

"I mean, what if you get killed? You have to think about your family. You want to kick them when they're down, you don't get insurance."

"No, my family wouldn't appreciate death benefits. They're all so wrapped up in their lives, and...and their crime," she reluctantly, quietly confessed. She sighed, shaking her head and feeling his eyes on her. "Man, I really wish you'd keep your eyes on the road."

He looked forward again, but had to ask, "Why did you tell me that?"

"Well, it makes me uncomfortable if my driver isn't watching where you're going."

"You know what I mean. And I don't care if you shut down on me now, but we will be having this discussion."

"Because I'm tired of it! And who can help them, if not a cop?"

"A cop?" he scoffed. "You think I'm taking on your criminal family by myself?"

"They're not that bad. They just need a little kick in the pants. Small crime, small punishment, and they're not―"

"Believe me, Boot, there is no small crime."

"No small crime, Sergeant Bradford? So...uh, so stealing lipstick. That crime's just as offensive as killing a guy?"

"You're being too literal."

"Well then you're being vague," she smugly countered.

He spared her a glance. "Listen, I'm gonna be looking into your family, and I'm gonna be deciding their punishment. Worst case scenario is, you'll be the one getting death benefits."

"Best case scenario?" she asked hopefully.

"See, unfortunately for you there isn't one. The best case scenario would be if everybody in your family was an upstanding goddamn citizen, full of Martin Luther King Juniors and Florence Nightingales. Name one historical figure I should compare them to."

She stammered nonsense, wondering if he was serious while her mind raced with names.

"Yeah, that's not a good sign."

"Well, I'm...thinking!"

"Mother Theresa! Queen Elizabeth! It's subjective, Boot!"

"Whoa! Stop screaming before you get us killed."

And he was quiet. So very, very quiet. Like a UXO. She sat in her seat, trying not to bite her nails as she waited for her training officer to detonate.

"This place again?" Bradford muttered, as he pulled into the driveway.

"You've, uh, been here before?"

"No. Thought I'd just say it for the hell of it."

She rolled her eyes, getting out of the shop. Seeing him reach for her gun, she reached for hers.

"Oh, that is better," her gleeful remark met him from behind. "Smart. Thanks!"

"Eyes up front. Observe your surroundings, Boot, what do you see?"

She gave a light sigh as she came to stand by his side. She tilted her head at the gaping hole where the lock used to be. "There's nothing possible about this home invasion."

Bradford pushed open the door, and Ella stepped into a dream. The hardwood floor reflected the light of the crystal chandeliers, and large windows hugging a glass door gave way to a pool. To their left was the large and opulent living room, which was actually over-furnished, with an embarrassment of vases, sofas and paintings. Ahead were the stairs, and Ella found herself under instruction to ascend them. She obeyed her training officer, trying to mimic the way he held his gun as she climbed the large, palatial, slightly curved steps. Alone.

Bradford wandered into the posh living room, disappearing within. Ella had noticed a gigundo TV and hoped he wasn't going to watch some football game while she was risking her life.

"Pol..." she began, and was ashamed at the squeak that came out. She quietly cleared her throat and shouted, "Police!"

There was no vocal reply, but she did start to hear a soft, repetitive thumping. She followed her ears towards the sound.

"Clear," Bradford's voice carried up from downstairs. "Clear!"

Ella tried tuning him out and focusing on the noise. This was not the sound of an intruder trying to make a hasty getaway. It was much too...rhythmic, and not hasty at all. She began to rush, coming into a lavish bedroom where she saw first a woman, then two children, all strapped into chairs. They all faced away from the bedroom door, and the mother was kicking the dresser.

"Okay. Okay, I see you," Ella said, and the mother instantly quieted. "Uh, shoot, I have to clear the other rooms and I'll be back."

She stepped out into the hall again and slowly crept towards the other rooms; there appeared to be four others before the hallway took a right corner. From downstairs she heard Bradford call again, "Clear!"

Ella inspected the four bedrooms and took the corner to inspect three other bedrooms. Three of the seven upstairs rooms were bathrooms, and her mind reeled. Then her heart began to hurt with a mounting anger as she ran back to the top of the stairs. "All clear up here! Three victims."

"Copy," his voice was faint and it echoed.

She hurried back into the bedroom and began freeing up the nearest person, which was the mother. Despite it being almost 2:00 on a Wednesday, each victim had bedhead and wore pajamas; in the mother's case a long pastel nightgown. Her red locks appeared to be partially combed. The mother's arms had been taped to the wooden arm rests of her chair, whereas the children's arms had been tied. So at least there was that.

Ella carefully removed the gag in her mouth. "Did you see who did this to you?"

"No," she sobbed, "No, I didn't. I didn't see anything."

Ella moved on to the child, who was obviously the youngest. She couldn't have been more than five years old, and her brother couldn't have been more than ten. She was freeing the girl when the mother stood up and rushed from the room, calling, "Kyle? Kyle, honey, are you okay? Where are you?"

"There you go, sweetie. I'm so sorry," Ella muttered, and moved on to help the boy. She hadn't gotten very far when she thought she heard the closet door open, and she barely had the time to turn around before she was under attack. By a child. She couldn't feel a thing as long as he was punching her vest, but she didn't want him grabbing the gun. So she spun him away and hugged him tight. "Kyle, I presume?" she asked breathlessly, and his little head nodded against her chest. "I found him!" she shouted, and it didn't take long for the mother to come running back.

She stood up as the mother pulled her defensive little boy into her arms. "You're welcome," Ella said, barely able to hear herself over the mother's cries. Wondering why her partner hadn't come up, she went back out into the hall. It was very quiet downstairs; he wasn't clearing rooms, even though the place clearly had a lot of them. Or he was clearing rooms, but he was halfway around the world. Groan.

The front door swung open and Ella caught a glimpse of an expensive car. "Honey? The police are here!"

Then Bradford, perpetually aiming his gun, emerged in the doorway, scaring the husband with his words, "No shit, Sherlock."

The husband turned to stare down the barrel. "What's going on here? Why are..." His words ran out as he caught sight of Ella, walking down the steps. "Where's my family?"

"Upstairs, and you're all under interrogation by the LAPD."

"Even the children?"

"They might have seen something your wife didn't. Fetch," he added in Ella's general direction, and more than halfway down the stairs she turned right back around. "We're taking you with us to the station for questioning."

"Wha― No! Can't you talk to us here?"

"It doesn't work like that."

Their voices faded as Ella got back up to the top level. "Uh, my superior says you're coming to the station for questioning, so...sorry. I have to insist."

"Officer... Lopez," the wife said, hastily checking out her name. "He wore a mask, and gloves. I never saw him, but he wiped out my jewelry drawer. It's all gone."

"I'm very sorry. Now, ma'am, I have to insist, so please..."

Ella managed to coax the family downstairs, where the wife tearfully informed her husband while they went to the shop. They loaded the family in.

"What did she say?" Bradford asked, when they were the only ones outside of the vehicle.

"Never mind that, where were you?"

"Clearing rooms. I actually, uh, made it all the way to the garage. Boy, they're gonna be pissed," he shook his head. "It's a two-car garage, and even with the husband's arrival, there's only one shop―car inside. Shut up," he added, noticing her grin, "And tell me what she told you."

Her mirth faded. "Uh, she didn't see what he looked like, but he stole all of her jewels."

"Do you believe it?"

"Well, they were all strapped to a chair, so yeah, got a gut feeling."

"Fine. Now two of these kids were being babysat. After we question them, we need to notify their parents," he said, and observed the subtle disdain on her face. "The LAPD has a pretty good closing rate with previously unidentified criminals."

"Well, you better, considering it's your job."

"Then why the look? What was the look?"

Ella shook her head, reluctantly meeting his hard but curious gaze. "I...I hate them."

"You hate our victims?" he asked, and his eyes flitted up to the large house. "Why, because they're wealthy?"

"Yeah, it just... It's always the same, you know?" she asked, and shrugged her slender shoulders. "The smaller the family, the bigger the house."

She huffed a sigh, turned around and circled the shop to the right side.