@mellowoutpal continued from X

For a moment, Tubbs appears visibly confused. Crockett seemingly never spoke about his elder brother. On the rare occasions Jake had been mentioned, she thought he was dead. It was the reason she never knowingly broached the subject until today. 

A championing grin stretches slowly outwards until it nearly reaches her ears at Crockett’s enthusiasm and laughter. “A mechanic. Huh?”  Her gaze sweeps over Sonny, attempting to imagine anyone with his likeness dressed in coveralls. And for the first time in a long while, she finds herself mildly appreciating Sonny’s fashion taste.  

Hearing Sonny talk about his extended family brings the warmth of a well-lit hearth into the confines of her heart. Then softly she proposes, “we got a few days coming to us. You wanna go for a road trip? You know, travel up to see him and his family? We can even swing by Sears and Roebuck to pick up a few small toys for the kids.” Tubbs wanted to give Crockett an option. Just in case he hadn’t considered it for himself. Perhaps, the more subtle reasoning for the presentation of the offer was due to Tubbs’s sentimentality. She no longer had a brother to run back to for fun visits. Nor had Raphael left behind a family for her to spoil. If Crockett decided to let her in, she could totally jive with spreading some love to his relations. 

As she drops into the seat across the interrogation table from him, Tubbs’s mind erupts with flashes of an explosion beyond her realms of reach. The sunset etched marbled textures upon turbulent waves carrying bits of debris and charred human past the scuttle that she enlisted in the rescue efforts. With her surprised inhale, Ricki was transported back to that place where the scents of petrol and death lingered. The fact that she hadn’t discovered remains of his body had kept her up at night for months with nightmares and general listlessness. Walking through memories of that time was like sentencing herself to walk the scorched streets of hell for an extended eternity. With the shake of her head, she distances herself from those vivid memories.

And now, here he was. The same cologne, those same mournful green eyes. But those orbs of his held vacuous notes, airs of genuine confusion that were distinctly not in character with the Crockett she once knew and still loved; much to her detriment, if the scars left on her chest were any indication.

Everyone including Lieutenant Castillo had attempted to shield her from sitting in on this interview. For a while, Tubbs did humor them. In that span of several hours she’d gone through every possible human emotion from unbridled rage that he almost killed her, not once but twice, to relief and joy that traces of Hostile Burnett were rapidly evacuating Crockett. Tubbs cycled through the horror of the terrible discoveries she seemed to make one right after the other following his bloodied trail. It had been paved with bodies of innocent and not-so innocent men alike. She drifted through wakes of sadness at the recollection of having to pack up his desk and the incredible numb that followed.

She paced. Step after anxious and tumultuous step, wearing the tread in the carpet thin. Tubbs wanted nothing more than to protect him, to run to him and embrace him. Yet, she couldn’t. She couldn’t disentangle herself from the fear that she no longer knew who he was or what he was capable of!!! And that was a prospect almost more torturous than the idea that he was gone forever.

Eventually, she caved. Dragging her heavy limbs into that room. She knew now, what she had fully suspected most of that day. That she ardently cared for him in a way she never had for any other man and she could forgive almost every terrible misdeed he dealt.

Wordlessly, a trembling hand is extended in Crockett’s direction. With her intense observation, Tubbs can spot the torment evident upon all of his features. Something hardened inside of her shatters like a mishandled crystal vase, sending shards of empathy sailing towards him. While the betrayal is still in the forefront of her mind, her heart still melts for him. And the traitor that her soft heart was, it delivers a series of extremely palpable pangs against her ribcage.

“They say...” Her voice crackles unsteadily with the burden of emotion. Speaking to him now feels unusually difficult. Almost unnatural, after spending so much time apart. “That you....” Her hand grips around his larger one gently, “you may have had a concussion and that the hospital or whatever place they took you too after that explosion might have drugged you.” And to her, that could explain some of the memory loss. She hates the idea of making him relive any fraction of what he’d borne witness too if he truly did have a lapse. For she had seen slivers of it for herself. But, the higher ups wanted answers. Answers she couldn’t provide nor fudge of her own accord in order to spare him.

Truth was, the OCB had no medical records to run by. That made her conjured up theory purely speculation that would not hold up in court under any amount of scrutiny.

“Sonny,” his name graces her lips in the form of an entreaty. “What do you remember?” She pauses a beat. “Listen man, I want to help you, but I can’t if you won’t let me in.” The rest of those words seem to slip out with an unmistakable ease though it was not fully intended to. “The charges you’re facing are -- serious.”

‘Flowers?’

Tubbs should have known better than to take down a grocery list being dictated over a car-phone, whilst said the car was in motion. Flowers definitely seemed like an odd request, given there were no special occasions creeping up on the two of them. At least, none she could think of. But who was she to deny any and every desire of Crockett’s heart?

Tubbs stood at the counter chewing her lip in an effort to discern which would make a nicer gift. Not knowing to whom they were going to be gifted, she selects a variety. There were delicate wisps of blue Forget-Me-Nots, bold and bodacious roses of subtle peach and faint sun-kissed yellow, and gloriously bold blooms of purple Morning Glories. Taking a look at her collection, she feels a surge of confidence in her choices.

So when Crockett stared long and hard at her upon her arrival, Tubbs figured there must have been some level of miscommunication. Her brow arches as he departs with the clarification. “Oh!” She exclaims, dissolving into a fit of laughter. “You meant baking flour...” Now, she felt extremely silly. Especially, for having shown up with a small forest worth of decorative blossoms.

Tubbs places them down on the counter beside Sonny before collecting him into a tight embrace. She nuzzles the slope of her nose gingerly against the slope of his neck. The off-duty cop gives herself a moment to drink in his presence. “Listen, baby,” Tubbs starts smoothly once the laughter had subsided, “I can go back out and get the flour you need. It won’t take me that long to get it now that I know what you really want.” A part of Tubbs is well aware that cooking was one of the ways Crockett engaged in sanity maintenance and she would never willfully hinder him in his pursuit of relaxation.

Cooler and calmer nights like these were meant for pensive brooding. While Tubbs typically enjoyed doing so inside, tonight she found a seat on the hood of her Coupe Deville. Next to her was a series of splayed open folders, pinned down by a Styrofoam cup of coffee that had long ago gone tepid.

The world around her is cast in the sepia spells of streetlights. Their vague illuminations seem to war against the otherwise impenetrable and inky black permeating every other inch of space available. This setting seemed fitting given Tubbs’s current emotional state. The backs of her pointer and middle fingers rest longways in a stance of heavy contemplation against the cushion of her lower-lip and the slightest piece of her chin.

Tornadic thoughts batter her cranium leaving behind bits of devastation. Destruction that is gifted a home upon her outward countenance. She can’t do this! No. She is too close to this! She was going to choose NOT to do this! That was an option, wasn’t it? Castillo wouldn’t force her to interrogate him or to take the stand against him. Would he? In her anger, she had every right to condemn him for his actions as Burnett. Hell, she had every right to oppose him in front of the jury just to even the score. Tubbs honestly could throw him to the ravenous wolves and not be required to feel any semblance of guilt. No one would fault her. Not even Sonny, himself. Even if she would attempt to defend her partner in an act of mercy, was there even the remotest possibility that she could rescue him from the consequences of his own actions? Probably not. Tonight, she wrestled heavily with every grim selection that she could make for and against him. She could run away from it all and start new somewhere else. Right? As much as she loved the last option, her conscience would never permit it. 

Her spiderweb of mental processing jars with a startling abruptness at the beckoning of a familiar voice. It was Gina! The wretched thrumming of her heart against her rib-cage slowly tapers into something more manageable. “Hey, Gina.” Tubbs warmly greets. Her hands slip casually downwards to sturdy her precarious position. “I just needed some time to think some things through.” Her answer comes out edged with unadulterated exhaustion. She frees a hand to plow it through her already mildly disheveled hair. Her eyes attempt to conceal the agony of extremely splintered feelings. Life had been cruel for the past few months. “I couldn’t bring myself to go up there knowing that he’s there.” Ricki flatly tacks on. Her head tips downwards and shame floods into her cheeks. The whole situation was frustrating to the former New Yorker. Anger briefly flashes through her eyes before tempering into something softer again.

With a sigh, she attempts to change the subject. “What are you doing here so late? I thought you had a hot date?” Tubbs always put forth an effort to recollect all of her best friend’s plans. After all, knowing small details about the OCB family could save a life when you least expect it. And the tiniest part of Ricki enjoyed the spice of socialization that gossip did bring to life on the outside of the precinct walls. Ricki pats a spot on the hood of her coupe inviting Gina to join her if she’d like. It would have been unkind to expect her friend to stand if there was going to be a conversation. Good lord, she’d much rather talk about Gina’s life than the state of current events.

Crockett didn’t even have to say a word for Tubbs to sense that he was feeling extremely downtrodden and defeated. Hell, he didn’t even have to be in the same room. Quietly, she allows herself to become an interloper on his seclusion via an open door. Her footsteps shuffle with an apologetic shush across the floor.

His countenance is glossy with the dew that had fallen from his stunning orbs. The appearance of sorrow on him brings a horrible pang to her heart, nearly causing it to crack into tiny shards. A protective part of her is ready to end the party or parties responsible for this. He wouldn’t even have to ask.

Sonny’s barked order might put an edge of fear into others but it didn’t intimidate her. “Can’t do that, partner,” she murmurs. Without waiting for an invitation, Tubbs plops herself down beside him. A supportive hand curls over his furthest knee and she leans her slender but curved frame against his more muscular one. “You see, the way I figure it, I’m not ‘people’. I’m your Tubbs. I am your New York.” She’d never let another man refer to her as her home state. It was one of their things and it would remain exclusively theirs. A hint of a pained smile threatens to teeter across her lips. “And I give you permission to cry when you need to. Heaven knows you’ve seen me do it a thousand times already.” She tips her head till her chin comes to rest against the curve of his shoulder.

Evergreen and coffee hues study the room in silence. Her deeply empathetic essence strives to absorb every bit of the agony he was battling against. In a hushed sotto voce she adds, “just tell me what you need from me, man. If you need someone to kiss away your tears, I’m here. If you need someone to just sit here with you, you’ve found your person. And if you just wanna talk, you know I’m all ears.” She allows her eyes to fixate with adoration upon him and she awaits an indication of how he wants to proceed.

Far from the maddening crowd is more than a book title. It is a tangible, peaceful, and lovely location. Tonight, the flashy strobes and neons of the club were traded in for the quietude of the outdoors. Not a note of the raucous pulsating music can spread out its tendrils this far to batter even the most receptive of eardrums.

The refreshing scent of fresh rain lingered long in the still temperate air. Wet streets glisten in the dull halos of yellow streetlights and the ever-changing reds, greens, and yellows of those commanding traffic. Palms shivered and swayed, shedding teardrops of remorse for the temporary loss of sunshine. A loss that is felt citywide since the gloomy day had transitioned seamlessly into the cover of darkness.

Tubbs allows herself to revel in the cushy lap of luxury afforded by the Daytona Spyder. The interior tan leather upholstery eases her tense and aching muscles in a way most other passenger seats couldn’t. Her head of dark curls lulls,  coming to rest against the smooth surface of the rolled-up window beside her. Contemplative hues are glued to their task, the careful watch of a suspect’s house. Every now and again they slip in their vigilant watch, stealing glances over at Crockett. An unbidden smile pulls at the corners of her lips as she denotes the striking contours of his handsome countenance. Upon his face could be found a lovely juxtaposition between the ethereal kiss of light delving through the windshield and the shadows that linger within the closed car cabin. In moments like these, Sonny is every part the angel and Tasmanian devil. A perfect blend of his true self and any number of his aliases, translating into a lethal combination where Tubbs’s heart and emotions are concerned. For every stolen glance creates a whirlwind of commotion inside of her. Her pulse skyrockets, forehead breaks out in a dewy sweat, and her usual façade of extreme confidence wavers.

Tubbs’s coffee has long ago grown tepid, the thermos no longer retaining any semblance of the warmth that once radiated deep into the tissue and tendons within her hands. Still, she takes a begrudging sip. The taste is absolutely pungent as it graces her tongue. Her face distorts with brief disgust as she returns the thermos to the cup-holder. A futile glance is cast towards the silver dealer’s watch locked around her wrist. In the shadows the positions of the clock’s hands are indistinguishable. Still, she ventures to believe the time is creeping on some post-midnight hour. Adjusting, her lanky legs come to rest against the dashboard, sans shoes for maximum comfort.

Ricki opens her mouth to speak but Crockett was quicker to the punch. The thread of her thoughts evaporates, fizzling into nothingness. Of all the things she’d been prepared to hear him say, she hadn’t expected this: ❝ i’m the luckiest man alive. ❞

With her interests fully piqued, Tubbs turns towards him. Her dark brows furrow with confusion as she fumbles to ascertain what accounted for his present summary. “Yeah?” She prods, her lips pulling further into a cheeky and rather lopsided grin. “What did you do, partner? Win the lottery?” Of course, not all matters of luck were associated with numbers, card games, horses, and billiards. Then allowing herself to become more serious she poses a follow-up question, “are you going to end up leaving me to become a pool shark? Or hell, a millionaire?” She referenced the Mcarthy party with ease. God, Sonny looked so fetching in that sleeveless green beater. The more she dwelled on it, the deeper the cranberry stain on her cheeks became. It had been form-fitting, exposing every delightful curve of his athletic arms, and the color itself set ablaze Crockett’s emerald eyes. She had enjoyed observing the master at work, fleecing and humiliating the great Louis Mcarthy in front of a party of his peers. It was a real class act! Though during the match, Tubbs had been sweating bullets over the wager Crockett made with the Daytona. Even now, as her own hues sojourn upon him, she felt that same indelible tug at her heartstrings. The sultry heat returns to her face when her mind decides to run off with forbidden possibilities, thoughts of things she’d like to do to him but shouldn’t. So much so, she diverts her gaze to the window. Her fingers absentmindedly fiddle with the camera made ready on her lap even though she had not spotted any hinkey activity. Of all the people she’d ever secretly pinned after, he was the most cherished.

The coarse sidewalk is definitely a poor substitute for Lazy-boys but that is where they sat in the shroud of darkness illuminated only by the distant precinct’s lights. The city, ever plunging into chaos, seemed at ease tonight. So much so, that it invited small talk. Maybe it’s just because they were finally off- the clock.

Wordlessly, a hand reaches out to Sonny as Tubbs carefully considers his words. Her fingers furl around his tightly as if, to lend him all the strength contained within her. The other hand comes to rest upon his knee. Working with disadvantaged youth in New York gave her a leg up on the world around her in most areas but parenting just wasn’t one of them. Had Angelo Jr survived his Uncle’s wrath, it just might have been. Still, she takes it upon her shoulders to console him as best she can.

“Sonny,” she starts, her voice is warm and soft. She tips her head allowing it to rest upon his nearest shoulder. She never tries to replace his son. “He’ll come back around. Give him time. He’s just trying to figure out who he is outside of the shadows you and Caroline cast.” There is no condemnation in her words. “You’ve done such a great job raising him, Sonny. When he finds himself in trouble or needing to shed a burden, he’ll come back to you.” She wishes there was more she could do than offer him hopeful assurances. Yet, its the only page she has left to rip out of a notebook called experience.