Archive of Our Own ^beta

The call came in shortly after midnight.

Brian had just put down his coffee—his third, which tasted more of burnt optimism than caffeine—when dispatch reported that a heavily intoxicated man was blocking traffic on one of the main roads. Multiple callers. Aggressive. Tall. Unpredictable.

Brian exhaled, grabbed the radio, and answered.
“2-Adam-12 en route. If he sings, dances, or tries to hug a bus, please give me bonus points.”

A dry sigh came back.
“O’Connor. Focus.”

"I have it. Relatively.”

By the time Brian arrived, the chaos was complete.

Cars honked, someone yelled out of a window, and in the middle of the street stood a man who looked like he'd lost a bar—by a long shot.

Tall, bulky, red-faced, swaying, but unfortunately still surprisingly capable of fighting. Brian got out of the car.

"Hey, buddy. How about we end this before someone gets hurt?"

The man responded with a slurred roar and an attempt to shove Brian.

Bad idea.

What followed wasn't an elegant police intervention, but a rather rough-and-tumble fight.

Brian brought him to the ground, tried to regain control, the asphalt was cold, the man heavy—and then it happened.

RRRRRATSCH.

Brian froze.

Not inwardly.

Not symbolically.

Physically.

He knew instantly what the sound meant. T

his sound was familiar. This sound was universal. This sound said: Your butt is now in public view.

Brian closed his eyes briefly.

"Of course," he murmured. "Why not today?"

The man continued to struggle, as if he had no idea what drama was unfolding above him.

Brian wrestled, sweated, and cursed under his breath, while somewhere behind him someone whistled and a driver shouted: "Hey, officer, fresh air is important!"

"One more comment," Brian growled, "and I'll arrest you for air pollution."

Fifteen minutes.

It took fifteen damn long minutes until he finally had the man under control.

Fifteen minutes in which his backside glinted in the headlights like a monument to bad decisions.

Fifteen minutes in which Brian decided never again to buy jeans that cost less than a burger meal.

Then he heard footsteps behind him.

"Do you need any help?"

Brian, by now tired, annoyed, and emotionally exposed in more ways than one, answered without looking: "I do. Thanks."

A short pause.

Then: "Good."

Brian looked up.

Tanner. Off duty.

Coffee mug in hand.

Eyebrow slightly raised.

It was quiet.

Very quiet.

Tanner studied him, the situation, the man on the ground… and then the pants.

Brian said nothing.

What was there to say?

“Report tomorrow morning,” Tanner said finally, dryly, and walked on as if he hadn't just seen the bare backside of one of his best men.

Brian lowered his head.

“I quit,” he muttered. “I'm going to the desert. Without people.”

But the universe wasn't finished with him yet.

A few days later, different assignment, different location. Brian parked his van, jumped out—just for a moment—to talk to a colleague. Routine. Everyday life. Nothing special.

Until he heard that soft rumble.

He turned around.
Too late.

The van slowly began to move. Very calmly. Very relaxed. As if it had all the time in the world. Brian ran a few steps, stopped, realized the futility – and watched as his vehicle rolled gently but surely into two parked cars.

Clunk.
Clunk.

Brian closed his eyes.

Behind him:
Tanner.
Beside him:
the police chief.

No one said anything.

Brian cleared his throat, raised a hand, and said quietly:
"I... wanted to test how sturdy bumpers are anyway."

The police chief stared at him.
Then he laughed. Briefly. Incredulous.

Tanner just shook his head.
“O’Conner…”

Brian sighed.
“Yes, sir?”

“Close up.”

Brian nodded.
Sometimes that was the biggest victory of the day.

And somewhere, in a garage in L.A., Dom would have said later:
“And this, guys, is the cop who protects us.”

Brian would have smiled.
Very tired.
Very honest.

Later that evening, Brian stood in the Torettos garage. The smell of oil, gasoline, and Mia’s cooking hung in the air. Engines were open, tools were scattered about, and music played softly in the background. Everything was familiar. Sure.

Dom leaned against his Charger, folded his arms, and studied Brian, who was pulling a new pair of pants out of the trunk.

“So you’re telling me,” Dom began slowly, “that you manage to arrest a guy… and lose your pants in the process.”

Brian zipped up his pants and nodded.
“They were tall.”

Roman grinned immediately. "How big are we talking about here? Hulk-sized or Brian-is-unlucky-sized?"

"Both," Brian muttered.

Letty snorted and tossed him a cloth. "Please tell me nobody saw that."

Brian gave a dry laugh. "My boss. Off duty."

Silence.

Then the garage exploded.

Roman nearly collapsed with laughter. "No! No, no, no—please tell me you're exaggerating!"

Vince slapped his hand against the workbench. "This isn't real. This is sitcom level."

Mia covered her mouth, torn between shock and laughter. “Brian…”

Dom slowly shook his head, a small grin on his lips. “You know we can never take you seriously again, right?”

Brian raised his hands. “I’m still the same cop.”

Roman pointed at him. “You’re the only cop who can lose authority without turning off the radio.”

Brian sat down on a crate and sighed. “And if you think that’s it—my van later started moving on its own.”

“Please,” Jesse said. “Please don’t tell me—”

“Two parked cars,” Brian finished. "In front of my boss. And the police chief."

The reactions were a work of art.

Letty stared at him.
Mia just shook her head.
Roman had to hold on tight.
Vince grinned broadly.
Jesse lay on the floor, clutching his stomach.

Dom stepped closer, leaning forward slightly. "Do you know why you're here anyway?"

Brian looked up. "Because I'm good at my job?"

Dom nodded. "And because you're family. Even if you sometimes seem like a walking disaster."

Brian smiled. Genuinely. Relieved.

Roman patted him on the shoulder. "Cheer up. At least your butt was free. It could have been worse."

Brian groaned. "Please don't ever say that again."

Dom turned to the team. "Okay. Who's going to tell first?" Everyone raised their hand.

Brian leaned back, looked at the familiar faces, and thought:

If I'm going to embarrass myself in front of the whole city... at least I'll have my family behind me.