Chapter 29: The Ride-Along
Tuesday, November 13, 2018 - Mid-Wilshire Station, 7:47 AM
Marcus Chen (no relation to Lucy, he'd clarified immediately) stood in the briefing room looking simultaneously excited and terrified. Seventeen years old, considering law enforcement, here for community outreach ride-along.
"Officer Bradford, Officer Mercer," Grey announced. "Marcus is yours for the day."
Tim's expression promised murder. I understood—babysitting a civilian meant by-the-book everything. No shortcuts. No instincts.
No powers.
"Marcus." Tim shook his hand. Professional. "Ground rules. You observe. You don't touch anything. You don't interfere. You stay in the shop unless we explicitly tell you otherwise. Clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"And whatever you see today stays confidential. People's worst days aren't entertainment."
"I understand."
Tim glanced at me. The subtext was clear: Professional behavior only. No unexplainable instincts. The kid's watching everything.
This is going to be exhausting.
First Call - Traffic Stop, 9:23 AM
Routine stop. Broken taillight. Driver nervous, hands shaking on the steering wheel.
My lie detection fired the moment he spoke.
"License and registration, please."
"I... I have my license. Registration's in the glove box."
Lie. He doesn't have his license. Suspended or never had one.
But I couldn't say that. Had to wait for Tim to run the check.
"Go ahead and get the registration," Tim said.
The driver fumbled with the glove box. Too much fumbling. My danger sense pulsed—low-level. Nothing immediately dangerous, just wrong.
Warrant? Drugs? Something in that glove box he doesn't want us to see.
Tim noticed the excessive nervousness too. Positioned himself better, hand near his weapon.
"Step out of the vehicle, please."
"Why? I didn't do anything—"
"Sir, step out."
The driver complied. Tim ran the license—suspended, three months. Plus an outstanding warrant for failure to appear.
Arrest. Clean. Professional.
Marcus watched from the shop car, eyes wide.
I knew ten minutes ago. Could've saved time. But had to wait for normal procedure.
Back in the car, Marcus asked, "How did Officer Bradford know to check him so carefully?"
"Experience," Tim said. "You learn to read nervousness. Most people are nervous during traffic stops—that's normal. But excessive anxiety, hands shaking, avoiding eye contact—those are flags."
"Officer Mercer, did you notice those things too?"
Yes. Also my supernatural lie detection told me he was lying before he finished his first sentence.
"I watched Officer Bradford's positioning. He tensed, so I stayed alert. You mirror your training officer until you develop your own instincts."
Tim's glance in the rearview said he heard the careful phrasing.
Second Call - Domestic Disturbance, 11:07 AM
The apartment building looked tired. Peeling paint, broken security gate, the kind of place where calls happened weekly.
"Marcus, you stay in the shop," Tim ordered. "This is not a ride-along situation."
"Okay."
We approached the apartment. Door open. Shouting audible from inside.
My danger sense screamed.
Something will escalate. Violence incoming. Object thrown—plate? Something ceramic.
But I couldn't act on it. Couldn't position defensively without explanation.
Tim knocked. "LAPD."
The shouting stopped. A man appeared—mid-thirties, drunk, angry.
"What do you want?"
"We received a noise complaint. Everything alright?"
"Fine. Mind your business."
Behind him, a woman. Bruised eye. My danger sense intensified.
He's about to throw something. Plate. Three seconds.
Tim stepped closer. "Sir, we'd like to speak with—"
The man grabbed a plate from the counter, threw it.
I dodged. Barely. Ceramic shattered against the doorframe where my head had been.
I knew. Could've moved sooner. But had to wait for the actual threat.
Tim tackled the guy. I secured the woman, checked for injuries.
"Are you okay, ma'am?"
"He didn't mean it. He's just stressed—"
Lying. She's protecting him. Again.
But I played along. Took her statement. Got her resources information. She wouldn't use it.
Lunch Break - 12:34 PM
Marcus bought a sandwich but didn't eat much.
"That was intense," he said.
"That was Tuesday," Tim replied.
"Officer Mercer almost got hit by that plate."
I forced a smile. "Reflexes. You learn to stay alert."
"You moved before he threw it."
Shit. He noticed.
"Saw his hand move toward the counter. Educated guess."
Tim's expression was carefully neutral. But I felt his attention.
He knows I knew. He knows I couldn't act on it with a civilian watching.
"Police work is about reading situations," Tim said. "You learn patterns. Mercer's learning fast."
"How long have you been a cop, Officer Mercer?"
"Thirteen weeks."
Marcus blinked. "That's it? You moved like... I don't know. Like you knew what would happen."
Because I did know. Four seconds before it happened. Danger sense warning.
"I didn't know," I said. Honest answer. "I paid attention, listened to my training officer, and got lucky. Police work is ninety percent preparation and ten percent luck. When I seemed confident, I was probably terrified."
Marcus considered that. Nodded.
Tim watched me. Long moment.
"That's the realest thing you've said all day, boot."
End of Shift - 5:47 PM
Tim Bradford's POV
Marcus left, thanking us profusely, already talking about academy applications.
Mercer looked exhausted. Not physically. Mentally.
"Long day?" I asked.
"Yeah."
"Harder to not use your instincts than to use them, isn't it?"
He tensed. "What do you mean?"
"I watched you all day. Traffic stop—you knew that driver was lying before I ran his license. The domestic—you started moving before that plate was thrown." I leaned against the shop car. "You suppressed every instinct you had because Marcus was watching."
"I don't know what—"
"Don't bullshit me. Not after today." I cut him off. "You showed restraint. That's growth. Most boots with an edge like yours? They'd show off. You made yourself appear normal. Mediocre, even. That's discipline."
He met my eyes. Calculating.
"I can't use things I can't explain," he said quietly.
"I know. And you shouldn't. Not in front of civilians. Not in front of cameras. Not in court." I straightened. "But on patrol, with me? Use every advantage you have. I'd rather you prevent danger than react to it. Even if I don't understand how you know."
"You're okay with that?"
"I'm okay with you keeping people alive. However you do it." I headed for the locker room. "Just remember—your instincts aren't perfect. Don't get cocky. And if you're ever wrong about something, I need to know immediately."
"I will."
"Good. Now go home. You look like hell."
Ethan's POV - Driving Home
My phone buzzed. Emma: How was the ride-along?
Exhausting. Had to pretend I'm a normal rookie all day.
You're not normal?
I'm exceptional, clearly.
Humble too. Pause. Still on for Friday?
Wouldn't miss it. Where are we going?
Still a surprise. Wear something nice.
Define nice.
Not cop clothes. Not gym clothes. Actual date clothes.
I can do that.
Prove it. 7 PM. I'll pick you up.
I smiled despite the exhaustion. Emma grounded me. Reminded me there was life beyond powers and investigations and preventing canon deaths.
See you then.
Home. Empty mansion. I collapsed on the couch, let the day's suppressed power usage wash over me.
All day, every instinct firing, every lie detected, every danger sensed. And I couldn't act on any of it.
But I protected my secret. Maintained cover. And Tim knows—really knows—but accepts it anyway.
That's progress.
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