#daydreamabout

Tim is usually the type of person who keeps to himself. Grumpy, quiet, always focused. He doesn’t go out of his way to annoy anyone, but that’s not what’s happening today. Oh, no. Today, he’s absolutely relentless, and he’s making it his mission to mess with you.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says, his voice loud enough for you to hear, but with a slight edge of mischief you don’t quite trust. “What’s that look on your face? You finally about to crack under the pressure?”

You narrow your eyes at him, trying to keep your tone neutral. “I’m fine, Tim. Thanks for asking. Just trying to get some peace.”

He tilts his head to the side, eyeing you like you’re some kind of puzzle. “Yeah? You sure about that? Because you look like you’re about to explode.”

You exhale sharply, the last thing you need right now being Tim’s unnecessary commentary. You turn your back to him for a moment, focusing on your coffee, trying to regain a little bit of composure. But Tim has other plans.

He steps closer, and you can feel his presence looming behind you like a quiet storm. There’s a pause, and then…

“Are you mad at me?” his voice is playful, but there’s a note of teasing there, something that doesn’t quite fit with his usual vibe.

You whip around, shooting him a glare. “I’m not mad at you, Tim. I’m just… tired.”

“Well, that’s an understatement,” he says with a smirk, leaning a little closer than necessary. “You look like you need a nap. Maybe even a hug.”

Something sarcastic almost leaves your mouth, but the words stick in your throat. You can’t help it; despite your annoyance, the thought of a hug from Tim, of him softening just a little bit, makes your heart do a weird flip. You fight to hide the smile creeping onto your face.

“I don’t need a hug,” you mutter, pushing him lightly in an attempt to regain some space. “What I need is for you to stop being so damn… Tim. You’re annoying me. What's up with you today?”

But he doesn’t back off. Oh no, instead, he steps even closer.

“Annoying you? I thought we were partners, Y/N. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? Annoy the hell out of each other?”

You can feel your resolve starting to crack, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips against your will. Quickly you turn your head to hide it, but it’s no use.

Tim’s smirk deepens. “Ah, I see that look. You can’t fool me, Y/N. You like when I annoy you.”

You roll your eyes, trying to bat his hand away when he gets too close, but for some reason, your hand lingers near his. You don’t pull it back. Your fingers brush his, just for a moment, and you freeze.

Did that just happen?

Tim doesn’t seem to notice at first, too focused on your growing annoyance to care. But when his eyes flick down to where your hand is, just resting on his, something shifts in the air between you. He clears his throat, almost awkwardly, but doesn’t pull away.

“You, uh, seem to be… holding on to me there.” His voice is lower now, less teasing, and he’s obviously trying to hide a grin.

You jerk your hand away like it burned you, but not without a trace of a smile creeping onto your face.

“No—” You stammer, trying to play it off. “I wasn’t—ugh, I’m not some softie who likes—stop annoying me, Bradford.”

You cross your arms defensively, but the smile you can’t quite contain makes it obvious that you’re not as annoyed as you’re pretending to be. The fact that you’re still standing there, your heartbeat a little faster than it should be, tells you everything you need to know.

Tim raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Uh-huh. Sure, Y/N. Keep telling yourself that.”

Before you can respond, he shifts slightly, his shoulder bumping into yours in that casual, not trying to be intimate way that only he can pull off. His touch lingers just long enough for you to feel that familiar, electric warmth.

You can’t help but laugh, the sound escaping without warning. “You’re impossible,” you mutter under your breath, though the words have no weight behind them.

“Yeah, but I think I’m the kind of impossible you like,” Tim teases, still standing way too close, his voice low and steady. He gives you a knowing look, one that’s warm and uncharacteristically soft.

The tension in your chest eases just a little, your annoyance melting away as you try—unsuccessfully—to ignore the way your heart skips a beat.

Shaking your head, you step away. “Whatever, Tim. I can’t even be mad at you for more than five minutes.”

He grins at that, fully aware that he’s won. “I’ll take that as a win.”

The two of you stand there for a moment, sharing the kind of quiet, easy moment that’s become so familiar. You’ve been partners for what feels like forever, and in some weird way, you’ve gotten used to him annoying you in the best possible way. It’s… comfortable.

“Well, now you’ve got me curious,” Tim says, as if he’s reading your thoughts. “What would you do if I just… didn’t stop being annoying?”

You look at him, your eyes meeting his for the first time in a while. His teasing expression is gone now, replaced with something a little deeper, but you’re still trying to make sense of it. You shift your weight, crossing your arms again, trying to act like you’re not a little flustered by the way he’s looking at you.

“I’d probably punch you,” you say, the words coming out more jokingly than you intended.

He chuckles, a sound that’s soft and real. “I’ll take my chances.”

And just like that, despite your earlier annoyance, you can’t stop smiling. Maybe you did need a hug after all, even if it’s from the one person who drives you crazy more than anyone else.

Tim doesn’t even look at you, eyes fixed ahead as usual. He’s dressed in his standard attire— and obviously entirely uninterested in your commentary. "We’re here to do our job, not play romance novel."

You scoff. "Yeah, because nothing screams 'romantic' like sitting in a car on Valentine’s Day, tracking down flower thieves."

He barely reacts, his voice dry. "If I had to pick a case for tonight, I wouldn’t have picked this either. Let's just get it done."

You glance at him, but the corner of your lips betrays you. You’re not really mad. The whole thing is ridiculous, but somehow... fun in a strange way. "I’m just saying, a robbery case would have been better than hunting down some guy who’s stealing flowers from local vendors."

A pause, as he shoots you a sideways glance, almost amused. "What did you expect, Y/N? A bank heist?"

Before you can respond, the radio crackles.

"Unit 42, be advised. Suspect reported in the area of 5th and Main. Flower theft suspected. Handle with caution."

"Are we really doing this? I thought it was just a prank."

Tim's already putting the car in gear. "Let’s go, Y/N."

The drive to the florist district is short. You pull up behind a row of stores—mostly small, family-owned shops selling overpriced bouquets to all the people who forgot it was Valentine’s Day until the last minute. Sure enough, there's a man standing near one of the displays with a large bouquet, looking suspiciously out of place.

Tim glances at you. "Keep it cool."

You nod, stepping out of the car. As always, he's the first to approach the suspect, his serious demeanor making everyone around him think twice.

"Flower thief," you say lightly, but with enough authority to make it clear you’re not here for a friendly chat. The suspect immediately flinches.

"I—I didn’t steal anything," the guy stammers, clutching the flowers like they’re his lifeline.

Tim keeps his distance but studies the guy carefully. "Where’d you get those flowers?"

The suspect starts to crack under pressure, his eyes darting to the street and then back to you. "I—uh—bought them. I swear. From the shop back there." He points to a little boutique across the street.

"Yeah, well, I don’t see a receipt," Tim says flatly, not buying it for a second. "You’ve got about thirty seconds before we call it in."

You add, "And a very romantic night in a holding cell. You don’t want that." Your smile is so sweet it could be considered a threat.

The suspect gulps. “I—uh—look, I was going to buy them, but then the shopkeeper caught me eyeing them for too long, and I just thought... what the hell? It's Valentine’s Day, I needed something for my girl, and they were just sitting there all perfect, waiting to be taken. It’s not like I was robbing the place."

You raise an eyebrow. "You can’t just walk in and take them. That’s not cool, buddy."

Calm but firm, Tim steps in. "You’re lucky we’re not putting you in cuffs for an actual robbery. But I’m going to need you to hand those over and head home. Don’t let me catch you trying anything else tonight."

The guy nods quickly, practically dropping the flowers in Tim’s hands. "Thanks! I’ll pay next time!" he blurts, before running off into the night, leaving the two of you standing in the fresh February air.

You stand there for a second, trying to process the situation. "Well, that was..."

Tim turns toward you, and the tiniest hint of a smirk twitches at the corner of his lips. "No one ever said Valentine’s Day crimes would be exciting."

You snort. "Could’ve at least been a flower heist gone wrong. You know, something dramatic."

"That would’ve made your night, huh?" Tim says, his voice dry. "How about you focus on the fact that we just stopped someone from stealing more flowers. You’ll sleep better knowing you protected the integrity of the floral industry."

You laugh. "I’m just glad we’re done with this. Now we can go grab a burger or something. No more heart-shaped nonsense for me tonight."

Tim nods, stepping back toward the car. “Let’s go. And no more talking about flowers. This night never happened.”

You follow him, still smiling despite the oddness of it all. "Hey, at least we got the job done. Team of the year."

He glances over, an almost imperceptible look of acknowledgment in his eyes. "Yeah, whatever. But if you’re expecting me to buy flowers after tonight, you must be out of your mind."

You grin. "Disappointed, but not suprised. I’ll take you up on that burger."

You blinked, taken aback for a moment. Him? There was only one person he could be talking about. You felt a flush of heat rise to your face, and for a moment, you could’ve sworn you stopped breathing.

“Street?” you asked, keeping your voice cool, but inside, your stomach was twisting. You’d worked so hard to keep things professional, to keep yourself in check. And now, here was Hondo, calling you out on it.

He nodded, his expression unreadable. “Yeah, Street. I’m not blind, Y/N. I see how you look at him. How he looks at you.”

Your pulse quickened, a knot forming in your throat. You’d always prided yourself on maintaining a professional distance, on keeping the rest of the team at arm’s length. But Hondo was right, you had been looking at Street differently lately. His presence had started to mean more than it should.

The frustration already bubbling to the surface, when you stood up abruptly, your chair scraping against the floor. “Is that so?” You crossed your arms, your eyes hardening. “And what exactly do you want me to do with that information?”

Hondo didn’t flinch. He knew you well enough to understand your walls were already going up. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do, Y/N. But I can tell you’re holding back. And I’m just saying… you’re not fooling anyone.”

You exhaled sharply, the anger bubbling up, a mix of frustration and confusion. “It’s not about fooling anyone, Hondo,” you snapped, your voice rising with each word. “It’s about respect. It’s about boundaries. I’ve kept my distance from everyone for a reason. I don’t want to complicate things. And now you’re coming at me like I’m some kind of problem?”

Hondo’s eyes softened, but there was an edge of concern there. “Y/N—”

“No,” you interrupted, taking a step back as your frustration boiled over. “I’m not a problem. I’ve kept myself in check. I’ve kept everyone at arm’s length for so long. And somehow, I’m the one being called out?” You felt your blood pressure rise, and before you could stop yourself, you were shouting, “Does Street get the same treatment from you, Hondo? Is that how it works? Or is it just me, because I’m a woman?”

Hondo didn’t answer right away, and that was all it took for you to make up your mind. Your hands were trembling with anger as you turned toward the door, the weight of his words too much to bear.

You stormed out of the office, not even sparing Hondo another glance. You needed to get away.

---

You didn’t realize how much of a storm was brewing inside you until you stepped outside, the cool air hitting your skin, but it did nothing to calm the fire building in your chest. You were angry, confused, and most of all… hurt.

The frustration bubbled over, and you started walking with purpose, wanting to put as much distance between yourself and Hondo’s words as possible. But as you passed the parking lot, you came face-to-face with Street. Of course.

He was leaning against his motorcycle, a casual smirk on his lips, the kind of smile that always made your heart stutter in your chest. But right now, you were not in the mood.

“Hey, Y/N,” he greeted, clearly unaware of the storm that was brewing within you. “You look like you just—”

“I’m not in the mood for your usual antics right now, Street,” you snapped, not sparing him a glance.

The playful smile faded from his face, and for a moment, he was silent, watching you. “Whoa. Okay, what’s going on?”

You stopped, turning toward him, your eyes flashing with frustration. “You know what’s going on, Street. Hondo just had a little chat with me, pointing out how obvious it is that I look at you a certain way.” You paused, your anger rising again. “Apparently, I’m not as good at hiding it as I thought.”

Street’s face softened, but you could see the confusion there. “Wait… Hondo called you out for that?”

“Yes!” you shouted, throwing your arms up in exasperation. “And I’m pissed. He’s acting like I’m some problem for looking at you the way I do. It’s unfair, Street! Does he say the same thing to you? Does he treat you like this too?”

His expression shifted from confusion to concern. He pushed off the motorcycle, stepping toward you, but you took a step back, already knowing what he was going to say.

“No, Y/N. Hondo’s just trying to look out for you. You’ve been keeping your distance for a reason. He sees that.”

“That’s not the point!” you almost shouted, your voice breaking with the weight of it all. “It’s not fair, Street. I’ve done everything right, kept it professional, kept my walls up. But I guess that’s not enough, is it? I’m still being judged.”

Street’s face softened, but there was no judgment in his eyes, only understanding. Slowly, he stepped forward again, but this time, you didn’t move away. His hand gently brushed against your arm, a silent offer of comfort.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, barely audible, but Street heard it. His thumb brushed lightly over your arm, his touch soft and reassuring.

“No need to apologize,” he said, offering you a small, understanding smile. “But hey, maybe next time, you won’t have to storm out so dramatically.”

You make your way toward the briefing room, your footsteps echoing through the empty hallway. Each step feels heavier, the tension in the air creeping up your spine. You haven't seen Tim since the divorce, and the thought of being in the same space with him again, working side by side for three months, is... unsettling.

You push the door open and step inside. The room goes quiet for a moment, eyes flicking toward you. Most of the officers don’t know who you are—just that you're the one here to help out. Your eyes immediately search for the familiar face you used to wake up to every day. There’s Tim, standing by the windows, arms crossed over his chest. He looks exactly the same. Maybe a little more worn down, but it’s him. His eyes meet yours for a fraction of a second, but he quickly looks away. You can’t tell if it’s relief or discomfort on his face.

Sargeant Grey is at the front, looking like he hasn’t slept in days. He clears his throat, and the chatter dies down. You take your seat at the back of the room, feeling all the eyes on you now. Tim doesn’t acknowledge you further, though you can sense him there, just within reach. It's almost suffocating.

"Alright, listen up," Grey’s gravelly voice cuts through the tension in the room. "We’re short-handed today, so we need to make it count. Y/N, welcome back. You’re only here for three months, so let’s make this time worth it. We need all hands on deck. Get familiar with the new assignments, hit the ground running. You’re in with Tim for your shift today. I trust you two can handle it."

You don’t miss the way Tim’s jaw tightens at the mention of your name. He doesn’t look at you, but his body posture shifts, a barely noticeable tension seeping through his rigid stance. Sargeant Grey gives a brief rundown of the cases that need immediate attention, but your mind keeps drifting back to your ex.

It’s strange. Working together again feels... weird. Your whole relationship feels like a lifetime ago, but the remnants of it are still there, sitting between you both. You’ve built your life, your career, apart, but here you are—back together in the same room. The silence between you both says everything that words can’t. He’s still the same —strong, sharp, focused. But there's a distance there now, a wall between you that wasn’t there before.

Grey finishes up with the details. "Any questions? No? Good. Get out there and stay safe."

The briefing wraps up, and officers start filing out, but you linger, just for a second. You grab your bag and head out to the garage where the cars are parked. Tim's footsteps follow behind you, the sound too familiar. You can feel him closing the space between you but neither of you says anything. He grabs his keys, but you don’t meet his gaze. Instead, you focus on the cruiser parked in front of you, doing your best to ignore the sharp pang in your chest.

“Ready?” Tim’s voice is low, controlled. He doesn’t wait for a response, just opens the door and slides in.

You hesitate for a moment, taking in the sight of the passenger seat you once called your own. The silence stretches out, thick and suffocating. Finally, you slip into the seat next to him, and the moment your seatbelt clicks, you feel the tension in the car increase. Neither of you says a word as the engine roars to life.

The drive to your first assignment feels longer than it should. Neither of you speak, both of you caught in that strange limbo of once being partners—both on and off the job—and now, just colleagues, with an unspoken history lingering in every shared glance and every breath you take in the confined space of the cruiser. You’re here to do a job, but underneath it all, it’s so much more than that.

The silence is almost suffocating as the cruiser rolls through the city, its headlights cutting through the darkened streets. You try to focus on the task ahead—on the job—but your thoughts keep drifting. His presence in the car, right next to you, brings back a rush of memories. The good, the bad, and everything in between. You can still picture him in your mind—the way he would always drive with his hand resting on the wheel, his jaw clenched in concentration, his brow furrowed when things got tense. It’s all still there, etched into your memory. But now, it feels like looking at a stranger.

The first call comes through over the radio.

“Domestic disturbance,” Tim says, breaking the silence. His voice is neutral, businesslike. No trace of the warmth that once was between you two. His hands grip the wheel tighter, his knuckles white.

“Right,” you reply, your voice a little more clipped than you intend. You don’t want to sound cold, but you’re finding it hard to slip into the routine of working together like nothing has changed.

You’ve been through hundreds of calls like this, but tonight, the familiar rush of adrenaline feels different. You can’t help but notice how Tim moves through the motions with ease, just like he always did. He’s in his element, despite the tension. He’s a cop, through and through.

He pulls up in front of a small house, the flashing lights of the squad car casting long shadows on the cracked sidewalk. A woman stands on the porch, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her eyes wide and scared.

You both get out, and Tim’s already moving forward, his pace measured, controlled. You follow, but everything feels slow, like you’re wading through water. The distance between you both is tangible, and it’s hard to ignore.

“Ma’am,” he starts, his voice calm, authoritative, but soft enough to not add to the fear in the woman’s eyes. “What’s going on here?”

You stand off to the side, arms crossed over your chest, watching the interaction with practiced eyes. Tim does this so effortlessly—he’s always been the one to take charge in situations like this, his presence reassuring. It makes you realize, once again, how much of your own confidence came from being able to work alongside him.

Flashback

Tim sat next to you in the passenger seat, his presence a force in the small car. You’d learned to appreciate the quiet moments with him, the way he seemed to ground everything in an otherwise chaotic world. The air smelled faintly of stale coffee and something more like... pizza, maybe? But you didn’t ask.

“Do you ever just—” Tim started, his voice cutting through the quiet. “—stop thinking?”

You glanced at him as you maneuvered through the empty streets. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” he continued, looking out the window. “You’re always so... together. Even when things are crazy, you handle it like you’ve got everything under control.”

You couldn’t help the dry laugh that escaped you. “It’s called faking it, Tim. You should try it sometime.”

He glanced at you, raising an eyebrow, but the corner of his lips tugged into that small, familiar smirk. “Right. But that doesn’t explain how you make it look so easy.”

Your heart skipped, but you pushed the fluttering feeling aside. Tim wasn’t one for compliments, so when he said things like this, it threw you off a little. You didn’t even know how to respond.

You had learned to keep a cool head, to act calm and confident on the outside, especially with him around. Working alongside wasn’t just about being a good partner. It was about survival. He had a way of making you feel like you could take on anything. And maybe, somewhere in the back of your mind, you’d begun to believe it.

But his question made you realize something. That confidence you projected? It wasn’t just something you’d built from your own experience. No, it was more than that. It came from the way Tim had made you feel when you worked together, the way he trusted you without hesitation, the way he always made sure you knew you were capable, even when you doubted yourself.

You turned your attention back to the road. “It’s... it’s easier when you know you’ve got someone watching your back.”

“Sounds nice,” Tim repeated softly, a thoughtful look crossing his face as he shifted in his seat. “You always seem like you’ve got it handled. Like you don’t need anyone.”

You didn’t look at him this time. “Well, I don’t need anyone to tell me how to do my job.”

There was a pause, and then he asked, almost like he was still testing the waters, “But you’re okay with me being here, right? With me helping out?”

You were taken aback, your fingers tightening on the wheel. It wasn’t a question you expected, not from him. There had always been a kind of unspoken understanding between you two, a connection that didn’t need words. But something in his tone made you realize maybe he was starting to see you differently, maybe even see through the walls you’d put up.

You had never thought about it like that before, but the truth was, you did rely on him. Not just in a professional sense, but in a way that ran deeper than that. It was something you hadn’t admitted to yourself. You didn’t need him to carry the weight of your confidence, but somehow, working alongside him made everything feel a little bit lighter.

“I never said I didn’t need you,” you finally said, the words coming out more vulnerable than you intended. “But I like to keep it... controlled. Keeps things simple.”

Tim didn’t respond immediately, but you could feel his gaze on you, searching, like he was seeing something you weren’t saying. His lips parted, but then he just nodded. “I get it.”

The conversation lingered between you for the rest of the drive, quiet and unspoken. But as you pulled up to the precinct and parked, something about the way Tim looked at you felt different. It wasn’t pity or judgment—nothing like that. It was just... understanding.

That understanding continued through the day as you went through your shifts. You weren’t sure when it happened, but you could feel Tim’s eyes on you in a way that wasn’t just professional. It was like he was seeing you for the first time—really seeing you—not just as his partner, but as someone who had built this unshakable front because of everything you had been through. Because of how much you depended on him, and how much you feared depending on anyone at all.

Later that day, when you were taking a break, Tim leaned against the edge of the car, his usual calm demeanor still present, but with something else in his eyes. “Hey,” he said, his tone lighter than before. “If you ever need to talk, you know... I’m here.”

You looked up, surprised by the softness in his voice. It wasn’t the standard "don’t hesitate" cop speak. It was... genuine. Maybe that’s what hit you hardest—how much he had always been there, even in the background. Always steady. Always reliable.

And maybe, just maybe, you realized that the confidence you carried wasn’t just because you were good at your job. It was because you had someone who believed in you, who was there in the trenches with you, whether you showed it or not. Tim had always been your anchor in the chaos and you allowed yourself to see it.

You smiled, a little more honestly than you expected. “I know, Tim. I know.”

You realized how much of your confidence had come from being able to work alongside him—because with Tim Bradford by your side, you didn’t have to fake anything. You could just be you, and that was enough.

Flashback end

You almost catch yourself looking at him, but you quickly look away, focusing back on the woman’s trembling form. She explains in a shaky voice, detailing a fight with her partner, a mix of shouting and pushing, nothing too serious but enough to scare her. It’s routine. No weapons involved, just tempers flaring.

He nods, taking in the information, his expression unreadable. You both move through the process of taking statements, confirming details, and ensuring the situation doesn’t escalate. Tim handles it like he always does—efficient, calm, with just enough authority to keep things from spinning out of control.

After everything is wrapped up and the woman is safely back inside, his head turns to you, his expression guarded but not unkind.

“You good?” he asks, his voice still holding that professional distance.

“Yeah,” you reply, though you’re not sure you are. The tension between you both is like a wire pulled taut, ready to snap at any second. But for now, you push that feeling aside. “Just... like old times.”

“Yeah.” His gaze lingers on you for a moment before he turns away, heading back to the car.

You both fall back into the cruiser without another word, the quiet between you hanging heavy in the air. The drive to the next call feels just as tense, if not more so. It’s hard to focus on the work when everything else feels like it’s shifting beneath your feet. You’re no longer the partners you once were, but here you are, side by side, forced to navigate the job together again.

Another call comes through, and this one’s more serious. A robbery in progress, shots fired. The words slice through the air, and Tim’s reaction is instant. His body tenses, his focus sharpening. He slams the gas, and you feel the jolt of speed as the city blurs around you. The momentary distraction of adrenaline sweeps the tension between you both aside. There’s no time for personal issues, not with this on the line.

“Stay sharp,” Tim says, his voice a low growl, a tone that makes it clear he’s in full cop mode now.

You nod, your body moving on autopilot as the car skids around corners, sirens blaring. Everything else falls away as the job takes over. The past is shoved to the back of your mind, at least for now. It’s just you and him again—partners in the field.

When you arrive at the scene, chaos unfolds before your eyes. Officers are already moving in, securing the area. The suspect is barricaded inside, and you can hear the distant crackle of gunfire. The tension is palpable, but Tim’s instincts take over. He’s the one you always relied on in these situations.

Without hesitation, he starts directing officers, calling the shots. You move with him, side by side, working in sync, though the connection feels distant now.

You both position yourselves at the entrance, ready for whatever happens next. But this time, there’s a stark difference between you and him. A line you both can’t cross, no matter how much you wish you could. The job demands all of you, and right now, that’s all that matters.

“Cover me,” Tim says, his voice steady but with that sharp edge you know all too well. He doesn’t need to say more—you know what he means. You always did.

As he moves toward the building, you stay behind, your hand resting on your holster, eyes scanning the surroundings. The air is thick with danger, and your heart races, not from the nerves of the situation, but because you’re working with him again.

As the situation continues to unfold, you can’t shake the feeling that something is missing—the warmth, the camaraderie, the bond. It’s all there in the motions, in the way you both know what the other is thinking without words. But it's not enough anymore. It never will be. Not after everything that’s happened.

When the dust settles and the situation is handled, you both stand in the aftermath, silently assessing the damage.

“Good work,” Tim says, his voice colder than before. But there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—something you can’t quite place.

You nod. “You too.”

As you head back to the cruiser, the weight of the day presses down on you, and you realize just how much you’ve missed this—being out here, in the field, with Tim.