#you ain't half bad [ricki tubbs]

[mellowoutpal]

It’s the middle of the night, yet there’s one resolute little light shining in the dark and empty Miami-Dade station.

In the dim glow of the desk lamp, Sonny stands, reading a case file and swaying back and forth. A little boy’s head rests, lolled, on Sonny’s shoulder, eyes shut, arms wrapped around the detective’s shoulders, clearly fast asleep. Sonny holds him protectively and securely, and the same shade of blond hair and two sets of the same soulful eyes catch the faint streams of light.

However, what’s more unusual than Billy Crockett’s presence at OCB in the early hours of the morning is the quiet melody of nonsense a capella sound that’s coming from somewhere in the room, which slowly turns into words.

“With me, tonight I know you’re with me tonight

You’re with me, tonight I know you’re with me tonight

For sure you’re with me, tonight I know you’re with me tonight...”

Sonny’s voice is a sweet, gentle tenor, the song meant for his son’s sleeping ears in the quietude of night only, the tune falling from his mouth effortlessly, as if he had not only sung, but sung this particular lullaby many, many times before.

He doesn’t notice his partner behind him at first, instead pressing his lips to his boy’s head. It’s only when he turns to set the case file down and pick up another when he sees her in the doorway.

“You’re up early,” he murmurs, and though his words stop, he continues to hum the melody and sway in the silence spaces in between his thoughts, “or up late. You get any sleep, pal?”

@detectiverickitubbs​​​ wanted some dad!Sonny

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[mellowoutpal]

“Detective Tubbs,” Sonny greets, moving forward to stand in front of his partner, grinning brightly. His eyes are sparkling and warm as they search her form, before finally resting on her beautiful face and gorgeous eyes. “Well, ain’t you prettier’n a magnolia in May,” he teases in his usual, light way, though his voice is soft and gentle, and there’s more of an undercurrent of his Southern drawl than normal, a testament to his northern Floridian upbringing. Perhaps this is to enhance the statement-- if asked about it, he would certainly attribute it to that-- but, the truth lies in how he, no matter how unintentionally, always drops his guard and his act around her.

@detectiverickitubbs​ gets a random starter

[mellowoutpal]

“You’re upset,” he remarks, striding towards the woman with a curious look on his face. How he can tell so easily from the crease of her eyebrows, her averted gaze, and the twitch of her mouth, even though, as far as he knows, she’s only been brought onto finish this business deal, is a mystery to him. He also doesn’t know why he has the inscrutable urge to comfort her. Hmm.

Right now, though, he can’t bring himself to ask why. He’s been asking enough pointless questions of himself the past few days. But he didn’t need any answers-- he was just fine on his own. He was, really. Better than fine, actually.

“Why?” he asks, plainly, his eyes fixed on her own. “Are you having second thoughts about this?”

@detectiverickitubbs looks like she’s seen a ghost...

[mellowoutpal]

“no one will hurt you as long as i’m breathing.”

Protector/Protectee Starters (always accepting)

He could almost handle this on his own.

The feeling of being far too hot and so, so cold all at the same time, every inch of him radiating with pain, being too weak to do anything except curl up where he lay until all this passed were far from new to him. They were comforting, familiar in a sense. He’d been doing this for years, after all.

The key word, though, was almost.

Almost handle it-- if it wasn’t for the awful visions that plagued him.

Distantly, he knew that they were only dreams-- things that could only be expected to be brought on by a temperature of... whatever-the-hell it was the last time he’d checked-- One oh... something...? 104... 9? One oh four nine. That was high. Too high. Nine was bad, nine was too high. Seven ate nine, and now was nine going to eat him in revenge?-- but they sure felt real.

He still was out of breath. They were chasing him. Everyone and no one-- no faces and familiar faces and angry eyes and shouting mouths and the whole city and dark shadows closing in on him, crushing him-- he had to run. What had he done? They were going to find him. They were after him. It was all too much, too overwhelming, his heart was pounding and even though his eyes are open now, he could still swear they were there, lying in wait, coming to get him.

There’s a figure in the distance-- he knows it, he can see it, it’s right there, getting closer-- but a wonderfully, wonderfully cool hand is on his forehead and firm, gentle words are spoken with the sincerity and comfort only she can provide and he feels a little bit more real.

He looks up through fevered, glassy eyes, and instead of dark shadows and angry screams, he sees her. Partner.

Tubbs.

He’s not alone in the dark anymore. He trusts her. She’ll keep him safe.

He keeps his attention on her face, looking into her eyes, her features illuminated in the room’s light.

Ricki.

Though his body feels useless and not fully his, he finds her other hand and loosely curls his fingers around it.

[mellowoutpal]

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[mellowoutpal]

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Starters (always accepting)

They were on the way back to OCB from their latest meeting with an informant when Crockett suddenly got a call on his car phone. After a brief conversation with who sounded distinctly unlike any drug dealer, informant, or suspect they were currently involved with, Sonny hung up, turning to his partner in the passenger seat with a smile.

“Change of plans, Tubbs,” he announced, “got a little errand to run ‘fore we head back. Hope you don’t mind, it’ll only take a minute.”

He didn’t change their route at all for a little while, only diverting when they got into a distinctly suburban part of the city, pulling up, somewhat confusingly, to an elementary school and parking in the lot. Sonny got out of the car, waiting outside for a few minutes as a swarm of children burst out of the doors of the school, ambling their way towards cars or buses.

A young boy among the masses was scanning the parking lot, looking for something and frowning when he couldn’t find it, until his eyes fixed on the detective, who waggled his fingers and smiled the warmest, sweetest smile he could muster. The boy lit up, racing towards him with open arms. Sonny’s smile grew into a bright grin and knelt down to catch him, his arms winding around him to hold him tight.

“Hey, son,” he greeted, voice radiant with joy, “how’s my boy?”

“Dad!” the boy chirped, snuggling into him contentedly. “You’re here early, it’s not Thursday yet!”

“I know, son, but your momma’s a li’l bit busy at the clinic today and won’t be home ‘til late, which means you’re gonna spend the night with me. That sound good?”

“It sure does! Can we go fishing and have hot dogs and can I feed Elvis his dinner? Please?”

“Well, now, I think that can maybe be arranged,” Sonny laughed, standing and holding the boy on his hip with practiced ease, “But first, I’d like you to meet somebody.”

Finally turning his attention to Tubbs, the older Crockett’s smile grew a little bit shyer.

“...Billy, this is miss Ricki Tubbs, my partner. Ricki, this is my son, Billy.”

“Hi miss Ricki,” the boy repeated politely, offering her a small wave and a smile that looked almost identical to his father’s, reaching all the way to his sparkling eyes.

[mellowoutpal]

"I know who you are. Even if you don't remember." (Tubbs to hostile Burnett)

Random Inbox Love Pain (always accepting)

How did she know about his memory problems? How could she know? The impulse was there to shoot her right then, but something strong urged him to stay his hand and keep the pistol safely in its holster. It had to have been curiosity… what else could it be? After all, in the short time since his stint in the hospital, almost no one had offered up any explanation as to his past: people made mention of a boat, but no home to return to, and no family or friends had come to see him. He had largely accepted the fact that, whoever he was, he hadn’t had any, or, whatever his private life was, it was kept secret and hidden from his peers and colleagues. He would be satisfied with that: doing what others told him to do, being who they wanted him to be, playing along, making it so he was fine. Because he was fine. Of course he was fine. What other choice did he have? It’s not like he could remember anything anyways.

At this point, he realized it had been far too long since she had said anything, and he composed himself (did he drop his facade for a moment? He didn’t remember), looking in her features. There was something there, he knew there was, just out of reach, he could tell, if he would only let himself look, if only he could think, damn it, think–

“…I know who I am.” he said instead, trying to keep his voice calm, professional, and level (Why did he have to try? Wasn’t he fine? Why did he sound so uncertain about such a simple statement? Could she tell?). “Don’t waste my time, Cooper.” The name sounded wrong–�� why did it sound so wrong?

Why was everything about this wrong?

[mellowoutpal]

Tubbs closes the gap between them. Her fingers drifting through his hair. "you sure look lovely in the moonlight."

Singin’ In The Rain (1952) Sentence Starters (always accepting)

The summer breeze ruffles their hair as they stand under the shade of the magnolia trees. They’ve had a wonderful time tonight: a drive to the beach and drive back, a nice dinner, and a long walk afterward, finally ending up here.

As Ricki closes the distance between them and runs her hand through his hair, Sonny leans into her touch, pink dusting his now-burning cheeks at her honeyed words. He’s been trying to sweep her off her feet this whole time, trying to be suave and cool, but, by the looks of things, she’s well and truly beaten him to the punch, his natural shyness betraying him.

“Y-yeah?” he asks, voice hushed, “that right?”

Smooth, Crockett. Real smooth.

“I bet you I could think of somethin’ even lovelier,” he offers, eyes half-lidded. That’s a bit better, a little bit more confident. One of his hands reaches down, following the curve of her side before gently resting on her hip, and the other reaching up to cup her cheek, tucking a lock of wayward hair behind her ear. He looks into her eyes, leaning in close, and tries to stop the jackhammering of his heart. If he were his brother (and it’s at times like this he wishes he was), he would go for it, whisking her away and probably dipping her like they were on the dancefloor. But he wasn’t.

“Ricki?” he murmurs softly. “‘S it okay if I kiss you?”

He resists the urge to turn away and smack his palm against his forehead. Stupid, stupid. He sounded like a complete dork. However, he knows he should probably take the chance. After all, if he did something Ricki didn’t like, he had no doubt that she would proceed to smack him into next week.

[mellowoutpal]

"Do you miss Jake? What happened to him?" Tubbs softly questions.

Interview the Muse (always accepting)

“What happened to him? Jeez, Tubbs, he’s not dead, he’s a mechanic!” the younger Crockett laughs a little, the mention of his beloved older brother perking him up almost instantaneously, a joyous sparkle coming into his eye.

“He’s back home, in Gainesville. Has his own li’l auto-repair shop now, serves on the volunteer fire department on the side. Got a wife, coupl’a great kids-- and you should see his little girl, you’d get a kick out of her. She’s a hell of a character. Six years old and already has her eyes on the shop, ‘ccording to Jakey, anyways. Wants to do everything by herself, has her own set of toy tools, the works. And his boy-- y’know, I think he’s ten now-- is already takin’ after his old man. He’s basically the town’s very own grade school superhero...”

He trails off, the twinkle in his eyes dulling a little, the grin on his face fading into a more pensive, sad smile, as if he’s carried away in memories.

“...Yeah. I miss him.” he finishes, quietly.

[mellowoutpal]

"scarred”

Send me “scarred” for your muse to touch one of my muse’s scars. (always accepting)

Crockett probably should have seen it coming the first time in a while he slides off his shirt in Tubbs’ presence, planning on changing the dirty shirt he’d slept in for a clean one as his partner had, inevitably, dropped in on him early in the morning again. Regardless, it still doesn’t change the surprise he feels when Ricki reaches up and presses her hand to the left side of Sonny’s chest, where there’s his newest scar, still pink and puckered.

He looks to her, his expression complex, but certainly unguarded in a way Sonny isn’t usually. It’s sad, pained, and reassuring all at once.

“…Ricki,” he says softly, after a moment, looking into her eyes, “I’m okay. Doesn’t even hurt any more.” That’s not quite accurate, but it does hurt a lot less than it did. He reaches up and puts his hand over hers. “Feel that?” he asks, indicating his heartbeat, steady and sure, beneath their hands, “And it’s not gonna stop any time soon. Takes a lot more than that to get rid of me.” It’s not entirely true, of course– they know more than anyone about how anyone can die at any moment, even those who are closest to them, and how Sonny could have died– but it’s something they both have to believe right now. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”