A/N: Hey, all! I'm back with a new story. I'm currently addicted to the CBS reboot of S.W.A.T. and came on here to read some new stuff, but there wasn't any! So I'll write my own. I'm not sure how often I'll be able to update, but you know I'm not one to abandon a fic!

(By the way, for this story, Deacon got the promotion over Hondo and isn't married. And my OC might come off as a bit of a Sue, but I'm here to have fun—not write groundbreaking fiction, lol)

I hope you enjoy it! :)

Reagan Cassidy followed Captain Cortez through the precinct, her combat boots almost silent on the linoleum floor. She squared her shoulders, proudly wearing the LAPD seal on the front of her black t-shirt. It wasn't even close to her first time wearing it, but today it felt a little more special.

Cortez stopped at one of the workstations, an illuminated table off the main hallway, and swung her hand toward the man in front of her.

"Deacon, this is Officer III Reagan Cassidy. She's one of the force's hoppers. She'll be filling in until Officer Tan is back from his leave."

Deacon held out a large suntanned hand, and Reagan shook it, enjoying the feel of his callouses against her warm palm. It was always the first sign of a hard-working man, but she'd heard enough about David "Deacon" Kay over the years. He was the definition of hard work.

She returned the firm handshake and said, "I've heard a lot about you. It's a pleasure."

"It's nice to meet you too, Reagan. Is that your preferred name? You know we have a knack for nicknames," he said, his lips hinting at a smile underneath his short salt and pepper beard.

She laughed and nodded. "My family calls me Reagan, but at work I go by Cassie."

"All right, then. Welcome to the team, Cassie." He pointed at each person around the table. "Officers Luca, Alonso, Street, and Sergeant Harrelson."

Reagan said hello, though, she already knew Sergeant Harrelson, or "Hondo," as everyone liked to call him. They'd worked together a couple of times before and he was a force to be reckoned with. In this career she'd learned that you needed to trust the person next to you, and Hondo made it easy. He had a natural reliability about him.

Christina Alonso waved, saying, "I don't know who's happier to have another woman on board—me or Street."

Street gave Reagan an easy smile—all dimples. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Chris," he replied, using Alonso's nickname.

Hondo cracked a grin, showcasing his beautiful white teeth. He knew what Alonso was talking about.

Just by looking at the young officer, Reagan had a vague idea as well. Street had "player" written all over him. A man who looked like that could have almost any woman he wanted. He wouldn't have her, though. She made it a point not to date co-workers—except for that one time. Or that other time. Okay, so her track record wasn't as squeaky clean as she wanted it to be, but being surrounded by hundreds of men in peak physical condition on a daily basis didn't make things any easier.

Starting now, she would try to do better.

Besides, these guys (and girl) were S.W.A.T. It was a position she took very seriously. Her job as a "hopper" allowed her to slip into any role as needed. If someone on the force called in sick, she would give their partner a hand for the day. She'd learned pretty quickly which beats were the best and which were the worst. Occasionally, a spot would open up on one of the task forces and she'd help out for however long they needed, sometimes weeks.

This S.W.A.T job would last months—until Tan was done caring for his sick mother. Reagan didn't know all the details, but that was okay. She was expected to show up and not ask questions—just do what was needed.

"Cassie needs some refreshers, as it's been a while since her last S.W.A.T. fill in. I need you all to help her go through the training exercises. We'll have a timed run-through next week, so be ready," Cortez announced.

Everyone agreed and then began to disperse. Luca came around the table and said to Reagan, "Hey, Chris and I were about to go a few rounds on the mat. You in?"

As Reagan nodded, Street walked over to join them. "Count me in." He flashed another charming smile.

Playfully Reagan shook her head and trailed Chris into the women's locker room, where they changed into exercise leggings and athletic shoes. They met the guys in the gym, setting their water bottles and phones on a bench by the training mat. Chris paired off with Luca, which left Street with Reagan—not to her surprise.

As the other two began to spar, Reagan stood across from Street. He held out his hand and said, "I'm Jim, by the way."

She took his hand, as if to shake it, and then pulled him toward her, flipping him onto the mat. He groaned on impact and didn't move for a moment. Then, he chuckled. "Or you can call me your bitch. Whatever works."

Reagan smiled, flipping her long black French braid over her shoulder. She offered him her hand and started to help him up, but he turned the tables on her, tossing her over him and then spinning around to put her in a choke hold. She used her self-defense training to break his grasp and they rolled, struggling for control until she came out on top. She patted his chest and stood with a smirk.

As she stopped to get a drink of water, Deacon strode over to the mat, helping Jim to his feet.

"Where'd you guys find her?" the younger man asked quietly, shaking his head. "I think I'm in love."

Deacon chuckled and gave Street's shoulder a squeeze. "Down boy." He approached Reagan, noticing her full upper lip and the slight flare of her nostrils as she took labored breaths. Her dark brown eyes sparkled with amusement and he imagined that his probably looked the same as he said, "Impressive. Though, Street's still the new guy. Think you've got what it takes to put down a seasoned vet?"

"Seasoned is an understatement," Street quipped from nearby. "More like senior citizen."

Deacon was used to the old man jabs by now. His graying hair didn't do him any favors in that department, but he'd grown to like the look. It suited his distinguished role as 20-David, leader of his team.

"Are you implying that you want a piece of this?" Reagan asked as she put down her water.

Deacon, no matter how hard he tried to be a gentleman, couldn't help but read into her statement the wrong way. He was a man, after all. He knew what she'd meant, though. He nodded.

She shrugged. "Okay, boss. Let's go."

He put Reagan's file next to her stuff on the bench—he'd been browsing it since their introduction—and did a few quick stretches. Reagan rolled her shoulders and put up her hands in a ready-stance.

Deacon came at her low, throwing her over his shoulder. She wrapped her arm around his neck in a reverse choke hold, but he expected it, grabbing her leg and twisting her around to his front with ease. She did have some weight to her—clearly all muscle from the way she clenched his head between her thighs. It was a suggestive move, to say the least, but self-defense wasn't supposed to be pretty. You did whatever you had to do to survive.

Deacon fell to his knees, forcing her to readjust her position, which gave him enough time to come down on top of her. He pinned her hands above her head and put his full weight onto her hips.

Now who was being suggestive?

Reagan struggled against him, but, even though she was tough, she was no match for his strength. Her chest heaved from exertion and Deacon's dark eyes wandered for a millisecond. She threw her head forward, but he dodged it, keeping his hands firmly in place. He smiled.

"Nice moves, rook."

She sighed and he moved off of her. "Not good enough, though. Give me a week and then you owe me a rematch," she said, mirroring his smile.

"Just a week?" he asked as his smile widened. "You're on."

Luca clapped his hands together from where he'd been watching next to the mat. "Who wants to start taking bets? I've got ten on Cassie."

Hondo laughed, having just joined the spectacle at the tail end. "Don't start with that shit, Luca. You know the boss man can't handle it if we all start betting against him."

"So you're saying your money's on the rook too, then?" Luca asked.

Before Hondo could reply, Deacon put out his hands in question. "Seriously, guys? I'm right here. Where's the faith?"

"Oh, I've seen her in action," Hondo said. "I'm chalking this one up to a little bit of rust. We'll get our money's worth next week."

Deacon just shook his head while Reagan and Chris laughed at their playful bickering.

At the end of the day, Chris showed Reagan which locker she'd be using. She also mentioned that they were all going out for drinks that night, since they weren't on call. Reagan thanked her for the invitation and agreed to meet them around 8 p.m.

She walked into O'Malley's just after the hour, dressed in tight jean shorts, Converse and a loose tee. She'd let her hair down, wavy from the braid that day. She spotted the crew sitting at a booth in the back corner and made her way over.

"'Ey! The rook's here!" Luca announced, his voice just a little louder than the others' cheers.

She grinned at their enthusiasm, glad to be fitting in so quickly. That had never been much of an issue for her, but these teams were tight-knit. If everyone didn't mesh, things went to shit, and fast. She'd seen it happen to other people on the force, but had luckily avoided it herself. Besides, it was part of her job description to work well with just about anybody at the drop of a hat.

Chris scooted over so Reagan could sit next to her. Before she sat down, she could feel someone's eyes on her, not surprised to catch Street checking out her bare legs. She'd almost not worn shorts, but it was a hot summer night, so pants were out of the question. She kept her gaze on him, waiting for him to look up and find out that he was caught. When he did, he barely reacted—just smiled, his eyes twinkling in the dim light.

Okay, so he was cute, and she liked to flirt. She'd draw the line at hanky panky, though. The another-notch-on-my-belt type didn't do it for her. But that didn't mean she couldn't admire the view in the meantime.

When Reagan got comfortable in her seat, she looked across the table at Deacon. He gave her a pleasant smile and said, "As team leader, your first drink is on me. What can I get you?"

"A bottle of Corona would be great. Thank you," she said as he rose to go over to the bar.

"Next week, after our timed run-through, drinks are on you," Street said, toasting her with his beer. "I've paid my dues. You guys can't call me the rookie anymore."

"You all realize I'm not new to this, right?" Reagan asked, laughing. "This is my fifth time filling in a S.W.A.T. position."

"But not on this team, so you're the rook," he responded, and shrugged. He took a swig from his bottle and let his teasing gaze linger with hers just long enough to cause a flutter in her belly.

Deacon returned with Reagan's beer and placed it front of her. She thanked him, enjoying the cold, refreshing liquid as it traveled down her throat. While she drank, she listened to crazy stories about the team, mainly told by Luca. They all laughed and had a good time.

When exhaustion began to set in, Reagan made a final trip to the restroom. When she stepped out into the cramped hallway, Street was there, leaning against the wall with a motorcycle helmet in hand. He stood up straight and gave her his best grin, his adorable dimples all too familiar now.

"If you're not up for driving, I can take you home. I've got an extra helmet."

I'll bet you do, she thought with an inward giggle. "That's okay. I'm good to drive. Maybe another time."

"Yeah?" he asked, seeming surprised that she hadn't completely shut him down. "Okay... Have a good night, then. I'll see you in the A.M."

He continued to smile at her and she returned it, looking up at him from under her long lashes. But then she saw Deacon coming up the hallway. He eyed them with clear suspicion, and that was not the impression she wanted to give on her first day.

Street must have seen her expression change because his smile melted away and he glanced over his shoulder. He threw her a quick nervous look and turned toward Deacon.

"Hey, boss. I'm heading out. See you tomorrow."

"See you, Street. Careful riding that thing."

As they exchanged a casual fist bump, Street said, "Always am."

Deacon chuckled, as if Street had told a joke. Apparently, there was more to that story.

After Street left, Deacon approached her, his hands in his pockets. "You heading out?"

"Yeah, I'm beat."

"If you wait a minute I'll walk you out. This isn't the safest part of town."

"You don't think I can handle myself?" she asked, but kept her tone light.

Deacon glanced at the floor and then back at her. He held her gaze with such intensity that it nearly took her breath away. His brown eyes were almost black in the poorly lit hallway—she was having trouble not getting lost in them.

Finally, he asked, "Did you hold back on me today?"

Before responding, she lightly licked her lips and saw him follow the movement with those beautiful eyes. Her heart skipped a beat and she wondered what the hell was happening right now. He was her boss. Literally the last person she should be looking at like this. But he was doing it too, right? Or was she just imagining it?

Shaking herself out of the trance, Reagan curved her lips into a faint smile. "Guess you'll have to wait until next week to find out."

Deacon laughed, no longer making eye contact with her. "Fair enough." He sighed. "So do you want me to walk you to your car?"

She almost thought better of it, but found herself nodding. "Can't hurt. Thanks."