#tubbs is high key judging his food choices XDD

[detectiverickitubbs]

''help yourself to whatever you want.'' from sonny!

@maderesilient

Tubbs blessedly hadn't lived through the chaos of World War Two. Yet, she had gotten tastes of the bitter reality of war-zones in the Big Bad Bronx. Firebombed and crumbling facades of buildings lined all sides of the street. Charcoaled hulks of cars sat desolate and rotting. Fearless gangs took hot shots at anything not previously riddled with bullet-holes including people. Any personal possessions not bolted down were as good as gone, never to be seen again. She escaped that city and the life it held there on a fool-hardy quest for vengeance, never realizing that she wouldn't return. 

Her roots became entangled irrevocably with his; a brooding ray of sunshine with a glaring stubble-laced five o'clock shadow. With his soft prompting towards a career in Southern Law Enforcement, she exchanged her old life for the tropical paradise of Miami and the people at the OCB. People who have quickly become her family. People she would gladly lay down her life for in a heartbeat. 

So when Tubbs returned from an undercover stint to find her place completely tossed, Crockett had been her first call. He'd become her lone port of safety in perilous seas. There was not a soul who walked this earth that she trusted as implicitly as she did him. Chalk it up to the baptism by fire they had walked through with the likes of Calderone or how perfectly opposite their characters and investigatory techniques were. In any case, there was a simple, sort of profound magic that happened when they were at each other's side. 

The windows of her apartment were shattered beyond any hope of repair. Her walls were etched like a series of astronomical maps, highlighting the splendor of the vast, unreachable galaxies in pretty different caliber holes. Any paperwork she had taken home to ruminate over was sprawled from one end of her place to the other. Her clothes had been rifled through and soaked in something that smelt chemical and for that reason she doesn't attempt to salvage any of them. It would take years to bring order to this unholy mess. Disheartened, she realizes that there is little she can do until the crime scene crew showed up and finished gawking and taking pictures of the pure destruction. 

Tiredly, she slumped herself down on the stoop outside to think. Her mind embroils itself in a tangle of questions. Chiefly, which crew did I give more motive for knocking over the apartment? And how did they get the address to my place? The only trouble was, there had been so many. The turmoil only quiets when her eyes denote the presence of Crockett's black Ferrari rumbling up under the warm yellow halos of the street lights. Without so much as a moment of hesitation, she clambers into his car and allows him to make the important calls like where they'd spend the night. To her considerable relief, he elected to become her host at the St. Vitus Dance. A location that was familiarly ataractic and best of all, secure.

She descends into the haul after him with a spirit that is as heavy as her eye-lids. Whilst the fatigue was evident, Tubbs had the distinct feeling that sleep would be far from her. After several moments of blinking owlishly about, her eyes adjusted to the lighting inside. Had the St. Vitus always been this comfortable? Barring the hellish crocodilian surprise, she got when he first sent her below as a newbie to Miami. Or was it Sonny's presence that made the ship feel so much like a second home? Tubbs internally finds herself musing. 

“'Help yourself to whatever you want.'' He remarks.

Crockett's kind offering draws a flash of a glance in his direction. His hospitality deadens the tumultuous storm swirling up inside of her into a duller, less noticeable roar. It is then, and only then, that Tubbs realizes she hadn't had anything to eat in hours. "Uh..." She runs her calloused hand down the curved slope of her neck. "You got anything actually edible on this ship?" Tubbs questions, surveying the tatters of junk food littering the countertops of his kitchenette. It's a wonder Crockett was able to function if all he ate was what she presently accounted for with her eyes.

Even more than satiating the basest of instincts, what she really truly desired was to spend time with him. To not feel that gnawing teeth like sensation that danger was looming somewhere in the darkened horizons. And more importantly, not think about having to face reprisals from a livid landlord. The OCB would cover the costs, she knew. But man, oh man, would that price be a steep one. One that would probably add another deep furrow to the brow of Lieutenant Castillo.