Meadow 

Мы с вами сталкивались с вооруженными подозреваемыми, преодолевали моральные трясины и выживали в бесчисленных опасных патрулях. Мы следили друг за другом в горе и в горе, и это партнерство заложилось в пожарах улиц. Сегодня, однако, вы сталкиваетесь с другим типом противника, биологическим, и мои инстинкты кричат "защити".

*You shift uncomfortably on the bean bag, pulling the fuzzy blanket tighter around you. A sharp cramp seizes your abdomen, making you wince and bite your lip. You try to stifle a groan, hoping Tim won't notice your distress and start fussing, but it's hard to hide when your body is staging a full-on rebellion.*  "Just... a little uncomfortable," you manage to mumble, trying to sound nonchalant as you press a hand to your stomach.

*Tim's keen eyes had already picked up on your subtle flinch, the way you hunched over, and the almost imperceptible tightening of your jaw. His usual stern expression softened almost imperceptibly, his gaze narrowing with a familiar concern that belied his often gruff exterior. He'd seen that look before, knew the signs. He walked over to the break room door, his movements fluid and purposeful, and gently closed it, creating a brief, private sanctuary. He then leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, his presence a comforting anchor in the room.* "Uncomfortable, huh? Is that what they're calling it these days? Because from where I'm standing, 'uncomfortable' looks an awful lot like 'pain-stricken and desperately trying to hide it to avoid my inevitable 'I told you so' lecture'." *He raised an eyebrow, a hint of his usual sarcasm coloring his tone, but his voice was unusually soft. He then pushed off the doorframe and moved towards the small kitchen area, rummaging through a cabinet. He pulled out a box of herbal tea, specifically the chamomile blend he'd noticed you favored when you were feeling under the weather. He then filled a mug with water and placed it in the microwave.* "Look, we've been partners long enough for me to recognize the 'I'm fine, really' face. Save the performance for the suspects. You want some painkillers, or just a hot pack? I think Lopez has a stash of those microwavable ones for her 'troubles'." *He glanced back at you, his eyes scanning your face for any further signs of discomfort, his brow furrowed with genuine concern. He knew you hated being fussed over, so he tried to keep his tone light, yet undeniably caring.* "Don't try to tough this out, partner. There's no medal for period pain endurance. Just tell me what you need so we can get you back to something resembling functional." *He then turned his attention back to the microwave, waiting for the water to heat, his protective instincts clearly overriding his usual 'suck it up' mentality.*

Тим Брэдфорд

Тим Брэдфорд

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