Chapers of the week
Chapter 28 – Voices That Remain
The presiding judge, a stern-faced vice admiral, opened the proceedings:
"Military Tribunal session convened to try Chief Petty Officer Derek Alan Davis, on charges of homicide of civilians during a military operation on September 23, 2010, in Helmand Province, Afghanistan."
Major Redford rose.
— "Your Honor, we intend to demonstrate that, even in a wartime environment, there are lines that cannot be crossed. And that the accused, under the guise of his mission, crossed those lines, taking lives that, according to our analysis, did not pose a direct threat at the time of the action."
Hendricks stood slowly, firmly, his uniform impeccable.
— "Gentlemen, my defense will demonstrate that Chief Davis's decisions were made in fractions of a second, based on legitimate intelligence, hostile behavior, and under circumstances that threatened American lives. We will prove that, if there was an error, it was the war's fault. And not the man's."
The judge nodded.
Chapter 30 – The Day Everyone Stood Up
Derek Davis stepped out.
Full LAPD uniform. No vest not yet. He wore only his dark patrol shirt, with the department insignia on the shoulder and his badge gleaming on his chest. His hair was a little shorter. His beard was trimmed. But his eyes... his eyes were as always: alert. Focused.
He closed the car door, adjusted his belt, and walked toward the entrance.
And then it happened.
One by one, the Mid-Wilshire officers began to pull up.
First, the rookie at the front desk. Then the administrative sergeant, followed by the second-floor detectives, the traffic officers, the patrol officers, the investigators, the HR personnel. The entire station began to file out of their stations.
And everyone stood.
Silent
There was no music. No speech.
But there was something more powerful than any official tribute.
It was recognition.
It was respect.
Chapter 31 – That Which Grows in Silence
The apartment was simple. A loveseat, a bookshelf, discreet paintings, and a low lamp. Angela kicked off her shoes and put on a chill-pop playlist. She sat on the couch. Derek took off his jacket and sat beside her.
"This is your refuge," he said.
"And now it's ours, for today."
Silence.
She rested her head on his shoulder.
He rested his hand on her thigh.
They stayed like that. No urgency. No script.
It was just the beginning.
But it was real.
Chapter 32 – All That Was Kept
She moved closer, until their faces were inches apart. Her breath fanned his face.
"Derek…"
"If you want me to stop, say so now."
"I don't want to."
That was all they needed.
The kiss came like a break of tension, of silence, of restraint. It wasn't gentle. It was urgent. Hot. With years of longing condensed into one night. Derek tugged at the nape of her neck, his fingers strong but gentle. Angela leaned over the center console of the police car, her body molding to his with disconcerting ease.
Chapter 33 – Between Stares and Closed Doors
March 4, 2018 – 7:22 AM
Mid-Wilshire Police Station – Inside Parking Lot
Life went on. Three years had passed since Derek Davis first donned the blue LAPD uniform. Three years since the curious stares of officers trying to understand how a former DEVGRU officer would become a patrol officer. Three years since Angela Lopez had to accept that her new partner wasn't just skilled he was someone who, little by little, had found his way between the cracks she'd hidden so well.
Now, no one at Mid-Wilshire remembered he'd been a rookie.
Derek was respected, efficient, discreet. His eyes were sharp and his speech measured. He was the partner who always knew where to look, what to say, and when to keep quiet. Angela, for her part, remained the fearless officer, the tactician with a quick heart. Together, they became one of the most effective duos in the precinct. And from afar, they seemed just that: perfectly synchronized patrol partners.
But anyone watching from afar... wouldn't know a thing.
8:10 AM – Mid-Wilshire Locker Room
Angela was quickly tying her hair into a bun in front of the mirror. Her uniform was already in place, the uniform aligned, the holster fastened precisely. Talia appeared behind her, adjusting her belt.
"Are you two still in that 'just work partners' vibe?" she asked with a half-smile.
Angela gave a small laugh.
"Do you think I was going to confirm anything for you?"
"No. But the way you look at him when you think no one's looking... it gives it all away."
"It's the same way you look at donuts on Mondays."
Talia laughed, raising her hands in surrender.
— "Okay, okay. But I'll just say one thing: you guys are good at hiding it."
Angela turned, ready.
— "That's the deal, right? The Captain turned a blind eye. Grey grumbled a bit, but said, 'I don't care, as long as you get the job done.' And that's what we do."
— "And when the shift ends... then you're no longer 'patrol partners'?"
Angela blinked mysteriously.
— "After the shift... I become his priority."
8:47 AM – Patrol 7-Adam-15
Derek adjusted the mirrors and looked at the tablet attached to the dashboard with the day's events. Angela came in and sat beside him, naturally. The interaction was precise, without excess. They knew where they were. They knew what they were. And they knew what they couldn't be there.
— "Coffee from the bakery or the diner?" he asked, picking up the radio.
"The diner. The bakery one makes me hyper."
"Then the diner wins."
They exchanged conversations like this daily. Short. To the point. Professional.
But when their eyes met, there was something more.
A layer of complicity that no one heard, but everyone felt—although no one had proof.
12:33 PM – Quick Lunch on a Mission
They were sitting side by side in a small square, eating tacos in silence, watching the world go by.
Derek, between bites, said:
"Are you sleeping over tonight?"
Angela looked at him without completely turning her head away, chewing.
"Yes. My neighbor is remodeling the bathroom. It looks like they're using a jackhammer for every tile."
He nodded.
"Thai food, or do you want me to make something?"
—"Make that pasta you learned from your mother."
—"White sauce?"
—"White sauce with a hint of pepper. Just like that night."
The tone changed. It was almost imperceptible. But it did.
She finished her taco and calmly wiped her fingers.
Derek watched her from the corner of his eye, his jaw slightly set.
There, in the middle of the crowd, they were professionals.
But inside, a silent volcano was already beginning to bubble.
7:02 PM – Derek's Apartment
The key turned in the lock. Derek opened the door, and Angela entered first, tossing her backpack on the couch. The apartment was dimmed, a soft scent of lemon and mint filled the air the diffuser he always left on when he came home from work.
Angela removed her holster with a precise gesture, set it on the table, and began to undo her bun, releasing the strands with a sigh.
Derek locked the door behind him. No words, no noise.
She turned.
And jumped on him.
Her legs wrapped around his waist. His hands gripped her thighs tightly. The kiss that came was like a pent-up fire—burning with urgency and need, but with the confidence of someone who knows each other in the dark.
"I spent all day watching you without being able to touch," she whispered against his mouth.
"And I spent all day wishing this door would close."
He led her to the nearest wall, his body pressing against hers with control and precision. His hands explored with familiarity, but each touch was still new. It was always new. Angela tugged at the collar of his shirt, her fingers digging lightly into his shoulders, her entire body on fire.
His breathing was ragged, their eyes meeting in brief intervals.
"I'm your priority," she said, with a wild smile.
"And I always will be," he replied, his voice husky.
The tension of the shift, of the world, of the masks they wore all day... exploded there. In the kisses. In the muffled sound of their breath against her skin. In the warmth of her touch, in the way she said his name—"Derek"—as if calling him back from the battlefield.
Here, they weren't squad mates. Not soldiers. Not survivors.
They were two whole beings, stripped of caution, discipline, or rules.
Here, finally, they belonged together.
3:15 AM – Derek's Room
The lamplight cast a soft shadow over the disheveled sheets. Angela was nestled against his chest, her fingers silently tracing scars, each with a story. Derek stroked her hair calmly, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.
—"Do you think one day... they'll know?"
— "Maybe. But until then, we'll stay as we are. Discreet. But real."
— "I like it that way."
— "What if they find out?"
Angela laughed softly.
— "Then they'll know what we've known for a long time."
— "What?"
She lifted her face, her eyes deep.
— "That this... is for real."
Derek kissed her, gently this time.
And so, in the silence after the storm, the love between them didn't need a stage. Or approval.
It just needed time. Space. And trust.
And that... they had in spades.
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