As the daughter of a cop, Chloe grew up with a better understanding of the inner workings and culture of the police than the average person. While her father is possibly the best person, parent, cop she has ever known, some of her coworkers are…not. No matter how many anti-discrimination seminars they're put through, ridding the place of the inherent boys club nature is an endeavor some would call futile. Comes with the territory, unfortunately. So naturally, when she starts to step into her late father's footsteps, she's wise enough to keep certain parts of her previous life private. The captain knows, keeps it quiet. But really, it's just a matter of time until the news about her brief acting career breaks and becomes public knowledge. And, oh boy, when it breaks, it breaks.

The way her day begins might already be an indication for all the trouble to come. Last night's date with Dan ended late, so she sleeps through her alarm. Her reliable internal clock wakes her up just in time to curse, rush out of bed, throw on the coffee machine and have a quick shower. While hastily slurping some very needed caffeine, Chloe manages to spill half of it over her fresh uniform. After cleaning herself up, she finally heads out the door a little late and almost forgets her keys.

She's about to enter the cruiser, but Wilma – the old and nosey lady who resides in the apartment across her own – catches up to her before she's able to escape. No doubt the old woman had pressed her ear to the door, waiting for an opportunity to bother Chloe with either neighbourhoodly gossip or to pass judgement on her life choices, once again. Lately, Dan has been one of her favourite topics to complain about. Besides the pack of raccoons raiding the trash cans on a daily basis.

With the hair curlers frantically bobbing up and down, Wilma starts complaining in a tone far too high-pitched and loud for this hour of the morning. "Miss Decker! I was so worried! At first, I thought I'd need to call the police with all the banging going on, but then I heard you kids-" She blushes, pulling her dressing gown a little closer, entirely ignoring the fact that Chloe herself was the police. "All I'm saying is, maybe you should think about the company you keep. Once you earn that kind of reputation, you don't get rid of it so easy, young lady. The whole neighbourhood could hear it! And some of us need a little more sleep."

Right, because it's not like Wilma doesn't stick her nose in everyone's business if her telenovelas miss a day, regardless of the noise level. Sure, the walls are thin, but not that thin. They hadn't even been that loud. It seems like having a sex life with her boyfriend of a few months is a crime. Not to mention that the boyfriend in question is also a cop. Date nights would have to end at Dan's place from now on, even though his bed is the worst - a worthy sacrifice if it means Wilma would stop discussing her private life in front of the entire apartment complex.

"Miss Russo, I'm really-"

"It's Mrs. Russo, honey. There is a difference."

Chloe suppresses the need to roll her eyes. Of course she understands a widow's need to affirm her marital status, but Christ, it's 7:45 am and she's already late. God knows what would happen if Wilma realises she's living across from a woman who has taken her bikini top off for a movie. Fighting this would only lead to being stuck in LA rush hour. At least it's Molly's turn to get the coffee today.

"Mrs. Russo, I'm very sorry we disturbed you last night. It won't happen again." Ignoring the offended huffing noises coming from the elderly neighbour at the apology that is clearly insufficient to her, Chloe manages to slide into the driver's seat. Maybe she could smooth things out with some homemade baked goods and gossip. As long as she doesn't mention said baked goods are Trader Joe's. She doesn't put it past the woman to actually request a unit to her apartment for having sex.

L.A. traffic is bad on a good day. On a bad day, it's hell. With another batch of curses and plenty of nervous glances at the clock in the dashboard, she eventually makes it to the station, although far too late. At least Molly had texted her on the way that she got one of those blueberry chocolate-chip muffins for her.

Chloe hurries so much, she almost trips and risks landing face down at the bottom of the stairs at the bullpen. There's still a few documents needing to be signed off and a couple of phone calls to make, so she's in an equal rush to make it to her desk. Only after sitting down, she becomes aware of the strange mood around her. Something is off. Half her coworkers in proximity are staring and whispering, the others trying just a little too hard to look busy. She looks down at herself – she changed the uniform, the spilled coffee from this morning is long gone. What the fuck is going on?

"… John's kid? You sure?"

"Yup. Used a different name, Chloe Dancer. Tits out. John must've been so embarrassed. Imagine your own daughter-"

Shit. A matter of time, she knew that. Men will be men, boys will be boys, a topless hot tub scene will always be a topless hot tub scene. Fuck.


Dan is pissed - pissed at the guy making the oh-so-subtle connection of an ash-blonde, topless Chloe Dancer, pissed at Chloe, generally just pissed. The "Look, Chlo, we'll fix this. Talk to Monroe, maybe take some days off, just until this blows over. I'll try to talk to the guys." turns into "Do you think this is easy for me? The whole station has seen my girlfriend naked." The giddy excitement from dating a "movie star", his words, turns into embarrassment very quickly.

After the initial stomach drop, the rest of the day is a blur. Her partner, Molly Rogers, is more than understanding. Since returning from maternity leave a few months ago, they've been on most patrols together. She's easy-going, kind and considerate. Always takes the route of de-escalation, always understanding. Next to Dan, her dad and even Monroe, Molly is the kind of officer that makes her hold onto the belief that change is possible. If half the cops in the force were a little more like her, it might even be a decent organisation.

Chloe's insistence on being fine and not needing to take the day off is met with little resistance from Molly, a slightly raised eyebrow if even. The only thing worse than your male-dominated workplace having seen your best assets is appearing weak in front of them, a lesson both inevitably learned at some point. But she shouldn't let Chloe drive. They're leaving a DV scene when the dispatch comes in. A shooting, all-hands-on-deck. She shouldn't be in the driver's seat. She shouldn't ask Molly to read Dan's latest text to her. She shouldn't run that light before turning on the siren.

If anyone would ask, she could describe how the strong, familiar rumble of the engine of the cruiser feels. How the air is heavy and hot and too much, the smell of the warm leather of the steering wheel, which she is gripping just a little too tightly. She could describe the apologetic look on Molly's face when she reads Dan's message back to her. Chloe couldn't name the model of the car that hits them. It's big. It might be black. Maybe dark blue or grey. The unnamed dark car has the right of way. She doesn't. She hasn't flicked her siren on just yet, but her foot hits the pedal in anticipation of it already.

The world is upside down briefly, then dark.