Chapter Text
“Get your gear on Y/n, we’re going on a raid”, Nolan yells to you from the other room. You immediately jump into action. This raiding of some smugglers in the LA harbour was set up a while ago, but it is the first time you are actually being taken along on a raid. You transferred only a few months ago, and the Suffolk County Police Department never had quite as much of all this action as the LAPD does. That is one of the reasons you transferred in the first place; it was an offer you could not refuse. A beach ánd more action? Come on.
What you did not consider was that going to the LAPD felt just like returning to high school; there were no connections to be made anywhere for the first couple of months, which was the exact opposite of the friends you'd made back home. Sure, some officers would smile at you out of politeness, but for the most part, the relations were kept professional. Nolan was the only one who’d shown you even a little more than the required dose of sympathy. You were aware that Nolan had better connections than you did within the station; that is just what his status as the oldest previous rookie will accomplish. He had an entire friend group, all of which looked deeply intimidating to you.
Officer Chen would nod at you in the hallway, but that was about as far as the two of you had ever gotten. It was a stark difference from the teasing you had experienced in Suffolk County. No, back home had been good, you even got a nickname, “the sensitive one”. It started as a jab during your rookie year, but eventually it grew on you, and it stayed. It was a nice reminder that not everything needed to be emotionless, a thing that too often seems to be forgotten with the police actions of the past few years.
Being sensitive had its downsides, too, of course. A prime example of which came along with the death of your former T.O May. She was the greatest agent you ever met, and she did not even go down in the line of duty. No, her death was caused by a sudden cancer, which was only discovered after it was already too late. When she was gone, she took her wisedom and the friendly banter with her, so there was no reason for you to stay at the station.
Sometimes, when you find yourself in a particularly stressful situation, you cannot help thinking about what she would have done.
The entire ride is tense; everyone knows what is about to happen, and no one likes it. Some of the people sitting in there with you have been doing this for over 15 years. You cannot imagine that. Sure, you loved the feeling of helping people, but no day goes by that you do not wonder if you made the right choice. A desk job would've been so much easier; it would have pleased your parents, and you wouldn't have had to deal with seeing blood on a daily.
The drive goes by in a blur; nothing truly registers once the adrenaline level gets to a certain height. Before you know it, the vans open up. You get out, a bulletproof vest weighing you down, providing an anchor for you. Helmets are on too, which makes it harder to recognise anyone, although you've been at the station long enough to notice certain body language. Nolan, for example, is always looking out for others, so his head is always turning a little more.
As smoke billows out of the container, loud pangs can be heard. Shots are being fired all around before you know it. Your unit hides behind the blue containers when you freeze.
Every time during a high-stakes intervention like this, there is a moment when your body needs to decide whether to push through or let go. Usually, the pushing through works just fine; you've not had any complications since your rookie days.
But now, as the air gets black around you, it is hard to focus on anything, a problem that you had never encountered before. You count to three a final time before getting out from your hiding place. Realising that staying there at this point was sure to get you fired. However, as a gun gets fired some meters from you, and you feel a sharp pain in your arm, you realise it had been a mistake.
- - -
The thing about getting shot is… that it really fucking hurts. It is an especially harrowing situation because the other agents have already gone inside. Nolan stayed back for a bit, but a few moments ago, even he had to leave. It is time to fend for yourself, like the training had taught you, no big deal really. It is over before you know it; the adrenaline makes it that way. All you know is that your weapon is at your side and a man lies bleeding out in front of you.
You’d killed men in the line of duty before, but it still hurt every time. Supposedly, it was a good sign; it meant you'd not lost your empathy. A remark that, by everyone so far who had made it to you, was followed with the most menacing implication: “yet”.
The next few days were followed by chaos, interviews, reviewing of body-cam footage. All the while, you were kept completely in the dark. It's not like there was anything you could have done; your arm was still healing from the wound, and every little movement hurt like hell. A brief upside was provided in the fact that Chen, or Lucy, felt bad for having left you when she noticed you were not okay. It was not her fault at all, but that did not mean you had to deny her amazing chocolate pudding.
Things ended up taking a turn for the worse when it became clear that the brother of the dead man had resorted to suing the city and, by proxy, you. He couldn't believe that his little Julian Wyatt had done something so heinous that the police had to get involved. It was a laugh, considering he and his brother had not spoken to each other for around 7 years at this point. Sadly, though, the brother happened to be extremely rich, and thus a bigger threat to you.
Practically, this meant more interviews, more time spent waiting, and you had to get a lawyer. Luckily, the station provided one; it's not like you could've paid the fees otherwise. Your dinner had consisted of instant noodles more times than you could count, and the couch had more holes than your average block of cheese.
- - -
The day was a day like any other; your lawyer had been late again. He always was, the bloke was creeping ever closer to retirement, so he did not really seem to care anymore.
You were supposed to meet the Wyatt brother and his attorney in a private meeting. Wyatt cancelled at the last minute, though, so it looked like it was going to be just his representative.
Then two very important things happen at the same time:
1. Your phone beeps with a text saying your lawyer is stuck in traffic. Instructions say to just wait and not speak to the attorney until he arrives.
2. The door opens, and in walks the most terrifying and beautiful woman you have ever seen.
It is as if time stops around you when she walks in. Firey red hair is the first thing that jumps out at you, volume for days, yet it seems the softest and most healthy you've ever seen. Blue silk blouse that perfectly hugged her shoulders and waist, paired with the most perfectly fitted black leather pencil skirt. Everything about this woman screamed luxury. No, only a man like Wyatt, or worse, could be able to afford her; you were sure of that. Her legs were miles long, adorned with red-bottom heels that could not be anything but expensive, and made that perfect click-clacky sound when walking.
She put her purse on the table and sat down. Her mannerisms were laced with such grace and confidence that, even as she had just been walking in, it felt like the room had been electrified.
It was only as you looked up into her discerning blue eyes that you realised you were absolutely staring. The thing was, she seemed to be staring back.
“Hello, I am Monica Stevens, and I will be representing Boris Wyatt. Though I assume you have done your research, and we both know why we are here.”
She said to you with a chilling calm that immediately proved your initial terrified impression correct. This woman was lethal.
You were still struggling to form words through all the surprise and confusion. Last you heard down the rumour mill was that Wyatt's lawyer was some old wench who insisted on doing his family a favour, but the woman sitting across from you now hardly seems like an old wench. You get so lost in the train of thought that you almost forget to introduce yourself.
“Hi, I am Officer Y/l/n.”
You know you were not supposed to talk to her, but a simple introduction couldn't hurt, right?
“I am aware of that”
The reply comes fast and sharp, you hardly have any time to think before she continues…
“I am also aware of your evaluation of me; your eyes have been anything but subtle”
You cannot do anything but blink back. Even if you were allowed to talk, what is there to say? You are sure that Ms Stevens here has a reply for everything, whilst not even sparing you a glance.
A couple of notable seconds go by. Monica leans back in her chair, resting her elbow on the armrest. She texts a bit, but that eventually seems to grow boring to her, and she starts inspecting you instead. It is exceedingly clear that she wants to do anything but waste her time, which your lawyer is currently doing by not having had the sensibility to leave 10 minutes earlier.
You are surprised to hear Monica be the one to break the silence.
“I know you are not supposed to talk to me, and by all means, continue to be silent… But if you have a question to ask me, you can, in fact, just do so.”
She looks up at you when saying this, her eyes laced with a sort of curiosity that feels like a predator assessing its prey. She seems to be able to read your mind as she follows her initial remark up with:
“It is exhausting seeing you wrack your poor little brain, and despite popular belief, I do not bite”
You would have chuckled to yourself if the situation had been any different, and decide in a flash that maybe you don’t have to stay silent, just not mention the case.
“You don't?”
You act coy, but want to push some buttons on purpose. It is getting boring. You've been waiting for minutes already, your phone is about to die, and your lawyer is still not here. Although now that you think about it, you gladly would have him stay away longer if it meant you got to remain in the presence of this glorious woman.
“You say that as if you have experience with it yourself.” It is not a question; you are in doubt over whether this woman would ever ask a question she did not already know the answer to. That being said, you cannot seem to resist answering it.
“Well…” You smirk to yourself. “Only in circumstances a little different from this.”
You smile at her, but immediately want to hit yourself over the head. What were you thinking, saying that?! Like she would ever be interested in knowing the instances where you would or would not bite. You have to redirect the conversation… and swiftly, because her gaze is burning right through you.
“Do you like your job?”
Monica opens her mouth as if to answer. You see her change her mind at the last possible second, when her reply changes to something else.
“I would advise you not to speak of my job, as that could influence the case”
“Ah, yeah, see, that's a little difficult when your job is to pin me down for doing something I did not do, in order to take money from me I do not have.”
You drag out the last couple of syllables.
“It's either that or put you in prison”, Monica smiles at you; it's enchanting, you immediately want to see more of it.
“Ah, so you do find joy in your work”
“Sometimes, when I can put people like you in their place….”
It is like you can hear something inside you click. You knew you had heard the name Monica Stevens before somewhere, she said the exact same thing in an interview about being the best defence lawyer in LA. Something about having too much time on your hands, reading all the magazines the hospital had to offer.
“Aren't you supposed to be a defence lawyer, which means you should be defending me?”
“I am supposed to be doing whatever I want”
Monica leans forward to put her hands on the table as she says this; she has got the entire energy of the room in a magnetising grip. You can almost hear the air buzzing around you, but it is too late to stop at this point, so you continue.
“So you just hate cops, is that it?”
“Hmm”
She knowingly shrugs and leans back like nothing is happening. It is precisely at that moment that your lawyer comes running through the door. He is all sweaty and balding. His hair is also red, but not in the magnetising way that Monica's is.
You have never hated the man more for interrupting whatever was going on between the two of you. Monica had to have heard him run up to the door, which is why she broke the conversation… but she could have let it go on. That would probably have been more beneficial to her, as your lawyer would be cranky from you breaking his boundaries. Yet, she didn’t.
The interview itself goes by fairly quickly. You cannot help but notice the precision with which Monica exercises the power given to her by her job. It would be a beautiful sight if she were not actively using that power to try to get you punished. Not losing track of the conversation is a lost cause, as lawyer-y terms are used all around you.
Your lawyer, Allen, tries his best, but there is no way that he would ever fill a room the same way that Monica does. For a moment, fear besets you. If you are so mesmerised by her now, what will the city think when you are actually in court? Surely the LAPD would not take kindly to their newly taken-on officer racking up a bill for the city. Allen does most of the talking for you, not like there would have been much to say. The man shot you; you had every right to shoot back, and your body cam should prove it.
Nevertheless, Monica is hellbent on getting as much out of this as she can. She is good at her job after all. Every once in a while, she looks directly at you to make a point, which you defiantly return every time. You cannot help but get lost in your thoughts a little, like her ocean-blue gaze has made you forget about what you were here for in the first place.
The meeting goes on for longer than you would’ve originally liked; you had dinner plans to go to with… yourself. But somehow you cannot seem to care much. When it is over and finished, there is no clear conclusion reached. Allen tried his hardest, but you will still have to testify in court. You cannot blame him when he is put up against someone with such a presence as Monica has.
When you walk out of the meeting, the court date is scheduled away in your calendar. It should be a chore, but just seeing Monica in her element again somehow seems worth it.