Flip the Colleague [Flip Zimmerman]

Ch 23: Philip

"Alright, everyone, we've got a new detective coming in today. Looks like she graduated at the top of her class, but she doesn't have any fieldwork under her belt yet." Chief Bridges addressed the unit as he flipped through the intake forms. "Zimmerman... I'm assigning her to the file room for now, but she's all yours. Make sure she's ready before you throw anything crazy at her."

Flip sighed as he took the forms from Bridges. He was already training Ron on his first undercover case and wasn't exactly in the market for another responsibility. Babysitting wasn't part of the job description—at least not the part he liked. He skimmed over your file with polite indifference, barely registering the details.

Jimmy, another detective, clapped him on the shoulder. "You should be used to good work being rewarded with more work around here," he said with a grin.

Flip smirked. "Yeah. No shit." He tapped the edge of the paperwork against the table before lining it up into a neat stack.

The soft knock at the conference room door broke his focus.

You stepped inside, knocking once more with your knuckle as if to announce yourself again. The room fell quiet. Every head turned. Chief Bridges looked up and gestured toward the empty seat.

"Ah. There she is."

Flip's breath caught.

He stood so suddenly his chair scraped against the floor. For a brief moment, he forgot where he was—or why. All he knew was the way your presence seemed to pull something awake inside him, something he hadn't felt in a long time. He reached across the table to shake your hand, noticing the faint flush creeping into your cheeks when your eyes met his, just for a second.

"Detective Philip Zimmerman," he said, his voice softer than he intended, a warm grin spreading across his face.

You shook his hand, introduced yourself, and took a seat. "Nice to meet you, Detective Zimmerman."

"Flip," he said quickly. "You can call me Flip."

His gaze lingered as you nodded, tucking a strand of hair nervously behind your ear. He didn't understand it, but something about you settled under his skin, familiar and unsettling all at once. 

Jimmy noticed.

Leaning in, barely hiding his amusement, he whispered, "I can train her if you want me to."

Flip didn't look away from you.
"Fuck off, Jimmy," he muttered.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

The hospital room was quiet now. It was just shy of dawn outside, and you had been out of recovery for about an hour, but you were still unconscious. Flip sat in a chair to the side of your bed, leaned over, resting his forearms on his knees, rolling his hands together as he replayed everything from earlier that evening.

His eyes welled as he remembered how it had all happened so fast—yet somehow in slow motion at the same time. The instant he saw Mandy standing face to face with you, he drew his weapon and aimed it straight at her head. Only then did it truly register: she was about to shoot you. He would have killed her without hesitation.

But Mandy fired a millisecond before he did.

Even with Sara shoving you out of the way, the bullet tore into your upper chest, just beneath your clavicle. It clipped your carotid artery, and blood poured from the wound with terrifying speed.