Undercover
Pairing: Tim Rockford x f!reader. Reader wears dresses and blouses but is physically a blank slate.
Chapter rating: Explicit 18+
Word Count: 2.6k
Chapter Warnings: Turning up the heat a notch. Masturbation (F). Angst. InTIMacy. Sewing. Tim's hair. Instagram fuckery.
Series Masterlist
Chapter 3
You and Zoe Davis had spent the last couple of days curating your fake persona’s Instagram account, or what she had affectionately titled ‘Project Basic Bitch Thirst Trap.’
You’d concocted a back story and a false name: Juniper.
Altering the time stamps on the posts proved easy and in no time ‘Juniper’ got a grid chock full of years' worth of photos and a sizable follower list full of realistic looking bots. Tiny pumpkins in the fall, a mug of hot chocolate cupped in your sweater sleeved hands in the winter, a bobblehead of Ruth Bader Ginsburg on International Women’s Day and weekly posts about #SmallBusinessSunday. It was all aesthetically pleasing, but your favourite posts were the ones about clothes, specifically vintage fashion and Hollywood golden era gowns.
You spent the next few weeks commenting on all of Madison’s posts and tagging her in things you thought she’d be interested in until at last she took the bait, in the form of Kiera Knightley’s emerald green silk dress in the movie ‘Atonement.’
"OMG!" She screamed into your DMs. "I have been looking for the perfect dress for my birthday party and that's the one. I love it! Too bad it only exists in 2007."
You grinned as you wrote back.
"Hey! OK, so I hope this doesn't come off weird, but I'm actually a seamstress, and I'm building my small, ethical brand at the moment. I'd love to talk more about it if you have time?"
Following several effusive messages, you made arrangements for a facetime call that evening.
You sat yourself in front of your sewing machine, making sure that your crystal tumbler of green juice was visible behind you and took her call.
-
A couple of weeks of back and forth messages later, ‘Juniper’ triumphantly swung into the office after a coffee date and a dairy-free brownie with Madison.
"I'm in." You told Rockford as you slumped down into your office chair and put your feet up on your desk.
"What?"
"I said I'm in.” You opened up the picture of the dress on your phone and held it up for him to see. “Got her hooked with a dress pattern, and she's picking out fabric as we speak for me to make her a gown."
Tim slammed his palm down on his desk.
"That's great work. You're-” He stopped himself just in time. “Nice job."
-
Davis was perched on the edge of your desk, tossing sunflower seeds into her mouth when you got back from lunch.
"So, any birthday plans for tomorrow?"
Tim was on the phone, looking out of the window with his back to you. You glanced over at him and saw him flexing his index finger and thumb by his side.
"Not really, I need to get to work on this dress now that I’ve got her measurements." You showed her a picture of the pattern on your phone, and she let out a low whistle. "I’ve got metres and metres of French seams to do, and the material is so unforgivable.” You mentally calculated the late nights you’d have to pull to get it all done and wondered how long a human could forego sleep.
Davis slapped you on the back before ambling back to her desk. “Well, if it wasn’t Roller derby night I’d take you out myself.”
-
Tim stalked through the department store, feeling conspicuous and way out of his depth. It'd been years since he'd bought a woman a birthday present, and that woman had normally left a post-it note wish list on the nightstand to make the whole thing easier.
In the fragrance section, he popped open the lid of some hideously expensive bath foam and sniffed the viscous liquid inside. No, this wouldn't do. It didn't smell like you at all. Did you even take baths? He tried to remember if he’d ever heard you mention it or if you were more of a shower woman. Did you fill the tub after work and slip under the surface with a groan of relaxation?
This was all feeling a little too intimate.
He loosened the knot in his tie and walked until he found himself surrounded by gleaming glass cases full of jewellery.
A bracelet caught his attention, delicate and classic. In silver, which he felt was more your taste than gold.
He was just picturing fastening the clasp around your wrist and stroking your pulse point gently with his thumb when a store assistant caught him off guard.
"Hi! Can I help you? Shopping for someone special?" He asked.
"No." Tim snapped back, much more harshly than intended. "I need something for a woman. A colleague."
The assistant plastered on his best, fake, ‘this customer is a grump’ smile.
"OK, well, if you're not sure what she'd like, we have store gift cards? Then she can choose for herself."
"Sure." Tim sighed. This was a safe option.
He followed the man to the cash register to pay and then stashed the card in the inside pocket of his coat, still feeling uncomfortable.
Back at his desk, he scrawled his signature inside a bland birthday card and slipped the envelope under your keyboard. He sat back at his computer and found his gaze wandering over to your empty desk for the rest of the afternoon, his stomach twisting into a knot.
-
You were stirred from sleep by the sound of running water and were momentarily disoriented. Was it raining? Was next door’s shower somehow louder than usual today? You sat up and were just throwing back the covers as you heard part of the bathroom ceiling collapse.
Happy fucking birthday indeed.
You never thought you'd be grateful for the mildewy showers at work, but they were better than nothing this morning.
You were at your desk before anyone else got in, and you spotted a card peeking out from under your keyboard. You slid your finger under the white envelope flap and pulled out a cheap looking birthday card that didn't look as though it had the structural integrity to stand up unaided. Inside was a gift card, a generous amount, but still pretty generic and soulless. Your heart sank a little when you saw that it was from Rockford. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, certainly not flowers or chocolates, but this felt a little off.
When he came into the office half an hour later and wished you a happy birthday, you managed to remember your manners and thank him, if a little breezily.
You sighed and rubbed your hand across your forehead when Davis bounced into the office singing “Happy birthday to ya!” Sensing your mood, she hastily hid a helium balloon under her coat.
You skim read the email from your landlady on your phone. “So apparently the repairs will take at least a couple of weeks, and my choices are a hotel… or a hotel.” Your things were mostly still in boxes, but you didn’t relish the thought of lugging them across town only to pile them up again in a hotel room.
Rockford was doing a bad job of pretending not to listen and quickly looked away when Davis caught his eye.
“I have a spare room.” He spoke directly to the top of his computer screen, brow furrowed.
“Is that an offer of help, or are you just showing off?”
Davis snorted into her coffee.
You saw the corner of his mouth twitch into the beginning of a smile. “Yours, if you need it.”
You thought of sharing a space with him. Of crossing that threshold.
“Sure, that’d really help me out.”
A nod of agreement from him and that was that.
-
"Who's this pretty girl?" You asked as you peered into the fish tank.
"Cleo." Tim grunted as he slid a heavy box filled with your books across the floor. "She doesn't talk much, but she's a good listener. Knows more about police work than some of our colleagues."
"Nice to meet you." You smiled, pressing your fingertips against the glass.
With the last of your things brought in from his car and your sewing machine safely installed on a table in your temporary bedroom, your next priority was food.
As it was your birthday, Rockford insisted on cooking but given that he’d told you only a few days ago that his local Chinese takeaway restaurant knew his order off by heart, you chose a safe and easy option.
He shook off his jacket and threw it on top of the kitchen table.
As he rummaged through various packets in the cupboards, you noticed a loose button dangling precariously from a thread at the end of his shirt sleeve.
“Here." You put your hand on his arm lightly. "Let me fix that cuff button for you before it falls into my dinner.”
You retrieved your sewing kit from the second box in the stack in ‘your’ room. It was small, palm sized, and had been a Christmas gift from your grandmother a long time ago, the soft Paisley print now worn and faded.
Sitting down next to him at the kitchen table, you considered for a moment asking him to remove his shirt. You thought of his fingertips deftly undoing the buttons and the way it might slip from his shoulders and pool on the floor. Shaking the rapidly escalating thoughts from your mind, you decided on a different approach.
You scooted your chair closer and positioned yourself to face him, placing his outstretched arm onto your thigh. Your knees were almost touching, close enough that you could feel the heat coming from his body. Neither of you spoke as you threaded the needle and snapped the cotton off the reel with your teeth. It was the work of moments until you were done, but you were sure that you both held your breath the whole time.
“All done." You dusted off your hands, more for something to do with them than anything else. "Now, I believe you were cooking some pasta?”
You ate, cleared up, and both returned to sit at the table. The sofa somehow felt a little too cosy.
His apartment was smart, you’d even say classy.
“Have you lived here long?” You asked as you admired a Montreux Jazz Festival poster from 1993 on the kitchen wall.
He fiddled with the edge of the cork placemat that his coffee was sitting on top of. “About 3 years. Ever since, you know.”
You nodded. “Can I ask what happened with you and..”
“Laura.” He took a large gulp of his coffee. “Nothing dramatic or exciting. She’s a good person. Waited for me to turn into the kind of husband that she needed for a long time.” He drained his cup. “She said I was always somewhere else. Like I was looking over her shoulder.“
You realised this was the part where you were supposed to share your story.
“I’ve always been fine on my own.” You shrugged. “Had a few men come and go but no-one ever…they weren’t the right person for me.”
He was looking at you now in a way that you remembered from a hot and sticky night a long time ago. It made you feel warm and a little scared.
You got up and took your empty cups to the sink, choosing to wash them by hand rather than put them in the dishwasher so that you had time to calm your racing heartbeat.
“What a pair we make.” He yawned and scratched his side, breaking into a tired smile at the end.
-
After Rockford turned in for the night, you decided you should unpack at least one box and chose the one with your passport and other important papers inside.
An old bureau desk was in the corner of the room, a reasonable home for your things, you thought. You opened the widest drawer and noticed a manilla folder inside. When shuffling it to the side, you saw the crimped edge of a newspaper clipping poke out. Curiosity got the better of you, and you carefully pulled the whole thing out and read it.
“Flocking hell! Chaos on the 10 as a lorry cluck full of chickens overturns!”
Your eyes scanned the article on the floppy, almost ancient paper. Yours and Rockford's names jumped out at you, and you thought back to the end of that shift. You and him, sitting in the parking lot of a Dunkin, him trying to calm you down with a box of Munchkins and a decaf latte and laughing with you but not at you. Not really.
You slipped the paper back into the folder and quietly closed the drawer. There was a warmth washing over you again, something like familiarity or nostalgia. You couldn't quite pin it down.
You changed into your pyjamas and crawled under the cool starched bed sheets, feeling like Rockford was surrounding you. The soft pillows smelt of his laundry detergent, and your thigh still tingled from the imprint of his arm on top of it earlier, like a brand.
As you let your body melt into the mattress, you became aware of the sound of his shower running. Images floated through your mind of soap being lathered over golden freckled skin. Of creeping in behind him, camouflaged by steam and of a surprised gasp and a contented hum as you wrapped your arms around his waist. You thought of using his body wash, of blending his scent with your own on your skin. Perhaps you’d lift up onto your tiptoes and wash his hair, drag your nails through his curls and across his scalp until he moaned.
You shifted from your front to your back, trying to ignore the ache between your legs, but it only grew stronger the longer the water ran for.
You dipped your hand inside your sleep shorts, and you felt how you were drenched just thinking about him. Your toes were tingling and just moments after the first swirl of your finger against your clit you were coming hard and biting into your bicep to stop yourself calling out his name.
-
The next morning, you were up before Rockford, and you turned on the radio to drown out the noise of the shower and any more thoughts of him in there.
When he walked into the kitchen half an hour after you were ready to leave for work, he found you drinking coffee out of his favourite cup, drumming your fingers impatiently against the rim.
You shot off a quick reply to Madison’s latest Instagram post. She was doing yoga on the beach at sunrise and pressed an orange into his hand.
“Fruit." You teased. "Try it sometime.”
“I think I’ve heard about this stuff" He groused.
You both threw on your jackets and did a final pat down for your keys and wallets before it was time to leave.
"Bye Cleo." He muttered towards the lounge and you shook your head at him.
"She's a fish, Rockford."
"I know." He said softly. "And she's in a bad mood today, so let's get going."
He held the front door open for you, and as you were about to walk through it, you spotted his badge on the hall table and called out to him. “Oh hey, don’t forget this.” You reached and fastened it onto his belt clip, fingers sweeping over his waist in a smooth motion that caught you both a little off guard.
“Thanks.” He gestured towards the elevator with his outstretched arm. “Shall we?”
Next chapter
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A/N: The dress
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