#I try really hard when driving to be relaxed but alert because YEAH I'm controlling a high power hunk of metal I need to be CAREFUL

[matthewmoorwood]

Reading a book on aviation accidents and how they contributed to regulations and things.

Obviously there is some classic human error where a captain knows they're unqualified to fly in the scenario and yet choose to do it anyway.

Half of the remainder is "oh shit I thought you were doing that" leading to missed instructions.

And then there is just, the evil capitalism ones. Half of most disasters that result in massive loss of life are usually "haha yeah the engineers kept saying that we needed to replace this but that cost money. so we didn't do that"

and then.

The thing breaks and they're like "huh. well. No one could have seen that coming :/"

BRO YES? IT WAS VERY WELL DOCUMENTED??

[n0-eyedtaissa]

29. "I'm not going anywhere, don't worry." Ruthie Romeo

Ruthie always knew that she could talk to Romeo about anything. His calm, level-headed demeanor was what her sometimes-fiery personality needed. He was someone who could calm her down, someone who could look at a situation from an outside perspective and help Ruthie make sense of it. 

When it was nearing the three-year anniversary of her father’s passing, Romeo noticed that Ruthie was pulling away from them and their other friends. She didn’t want to hang out on the weekends, didn’t want to walk up to Ignacio’s for a late-night snack run, nor did she want to spend any more time at Pop’s than she had to. She was smiling less and sleeping more though she looked as tired as ever. Ruthie’s relationship with her parents was a topic that was never fully breeched with Romeo; he knew the basics and what Dante had told him, but Dante was never all that reliable (or good with specific details for that matter), so Romeo’s understanding of everything was still somewhat fuzzy around the edges.  

“Yeah her dad was mad cool, always working and shit but I remember this one summer Ruth invited me to go bike riding with me and Chase — he was the first parent I ever knew that let me call him by his first name — and we just rode and rode, after we got ice cream at Pop’s...He was a good man. I know Ruth misses him like hell” Dante nodded his head as he remembered.

“Her mom though...Abuela always called her a ‘loose canon’. I think that’s a lot nicer than any of the words I would use to describe her. 

Romeo understood that after Ruthie’s dad died, her mom was never the same and it effected their whole family. He’d heard stories of when Emilie would forget to pay the power bill and the kids would be forced to eat dinner in the dark, the refrigerator smelling sour and rotten now that the food was no longer kept cold. Romeo knew that Ruthie resented her mother, that she was the reason Ruthie had to grow up so fast in order to take care of what Emilie couldn’t. Romeo had heard Maria and Atzi whispering about how Emilie had packed up her old car and left Riverdale, driving down south to spend time in Tennessee with some new guy she connected with somehow — Emilie Ann had always attracted the most dubious suitors. Romeo knew that his grandmother had done a lot for the Soh-Peterson siblings, and though she had no problem with doing that, she did have a problem with a woman who could just up and abandon her children when life got too real and too hard for her to handle. 

“She gets like this every year, depressed or whatever” Dante tries to explain away Ruthie’s sudden absence to Romeo, shrugging.  He wasn’t always the most emotionally competent (especially at his ripe age of seventeen) so Romeo couldn’t help but roll his eyes at his cousin. “It’s probably best to leave her be” 

Romeo rolls his eyes again, knowing he was going to do the opposite. He grabs his sweatshirt and his wallet before making his way out the front door, waiting until Dante was engrossed in some movie that was playing on cable. His first stop is at Ignacio’s where he picks up snacks for the two of them, making sure to pick out all of Ruthie’s favorites: gummy cola bottles, the biggest bottle of blue Gatorade at the bodega, an orange tootsie pop, and a bag of barbecue chips, just in case they needed something salty. When Romeo gets to the counter to pay, Ignacio eyes all the items knowingly. Having seen these kids a thousand times he knew all of their go-to buys, so Ignacio knows the snacks are for Ruthie. 

“Call it even”  Maybe even Ignacio had noticed Ruthie’s absence. Romeo shakes the older man’s hand and grasps the white plastic bag tightly as he made his way towards Sunnyside. 

Romeo tries to be as quiet as possible when he walks up the gravel driveway in front of Ruthie’s house, not wanting to alert her to his presence and shut him out before he even had a chance to be there for her. He takes a deep breath and knocks on the hollow sounding door three times, and just when he thinks that Ruthie isn’t going to answer, he hears the chain slide out of the padlock. 

The door opens slowly and soon Ruthie is standing right in front of Romeo. Her hair looks disheveled, all piled on top of her head with thick curls spilling out after winning the battle against her hair tie. The bags under her eyes are prominent and a bruised-looking shade of purple that tugs at Romeo’s heartstrings. She’s dressed in her pajamas and it’s obvious that she wasn’t expecting company but she still opened the door for Romeo. 

That had to mean something, right?

“Before you kick me to the curb, I come bearing snacks” Romeo smiles sheepishly and hands over the plastic bag. 

Ruthie takes the bag from his hands and peeks inside, and upon seeing all of her favorite treats, she can’t help but shed a tear. Romeo’s thoughtfulness was something that Ruthie was continually stunned by, he always managed to know just exactly what she needed. He just seemed to know, to watch and realize. Like it was some inherent sense...a superpower, even. 

“Oh c’mon now Shorty, you ain’t gotta cry, okay?” Romeo smiles, taking a small step forward and crossing the threshold, extending his arms to sweep Ruthie up into a much needed hug. 

Once Romeo’s arms are around her it’s like Ruthie can relax a little. He can feel some of the tension leave her body. He rubs his hand over her back, trying to sooth her. Ruthie sniffles quietly, her tears falling a little bit freer now. In all of the time that Romeo had known her, he had never seen her cry. Neither had Dante (Romeo knew this because he had asked). 

“She’s not a crier. She’s tough, you know? Stone-cold. That’s why we call her Ruthless.”

Ruthie didn’t feel so tough now. Her arms were latched tight around Romeo and she didn’t care that she was in her pajamas, or that her hair was messy, or that she might have been getting snot on the shoulder of Romeo’s shirt. 

“What’s wrong, Shorty? You okay, hm?” Romeo whispers into her hair, still rubbing her back. He half expected her to lie like she always would, to claim that she was fine and that she had control of the situation, but her reply was honest and that made it all the more heartbreaking:

Ruthie shakes her head. “I’m having a really hard time”

Romeo tightens his grip around her shoulders, as if by holding her tight enough he would be able to transfer some of his energy to her, or he would be able to absorb some of her sadness and do something more tangible with it. 

“I know, Shorty. And I’m so damn sorry for that” Romeo whispers. “I’m not going anywhere, don’t worry.”

[veraynes-blog]

sam/gene and 5 or 23 for the cuddling prompts?? please and thank u (btw I'll never get tired of saying that I'm in love with your writing)

5. In the backseat of the car.

23. Reunion

I'm sorry this took a while to answer! To make up, I did both prompts! Well, near enough. After writing it, pretty sure this takes place somewhere in the Godawful Small Affair series, actually.. 🤔

Hope you like!

~

It's nearly 3 in the morning by the time the medics grudgingly say Sam's free to go (since, with trademark obstinacy, he refuses to get in the ambulance for what he insists are just a few bruises and a bit of dehydration), and Chris is done carefully taking down his initial statement of what happened inside the derelict factory building before the rest of the team had gotten there.

Gene stands away from him, busy surveying the efficient chaos of the crime scene. He watches Ray bully the last of the handcuffed perps into the back of a police van (with a sly smack that Gene automatically erases from memory); Cartwright crouching down and pointing at the cut length of rope they'd used to keep DI Tyler secured for the past 29 hours (not that he counted); the plods taking photos of the dropped guns that'll go in the evidence file later.

He wants desperately to light a cig, or better yet take one or five swigs from the hipflask in his pocket, but his brain hasn't quite dropped out of crisis-management mode yet. He's still on high alert, noticing everything that's happening around him, braced for whatever unlikely emergency or threat comes next. If he starts to relax, even a bit, he's afraid the grim fury and adrenaline that's gotten him this far will fade out of him, and instead - well. He doesn't want it happening in the middle of his crime scene, is all.

So he keeps his hands shoved deep in his coat pockets, keeps a scowl fixed firmly in place, glaring around the scene where his DI had almost been shot through his idiotic head an hour ago.

"Guv."

Gene doesn't react immediately as the idiot in question slouches towards him, instead swiftly cataloguing the sight he makes as he gets nearer. The docs have slapped an adhesive bandage across his forehead, over where the muzzle flash had singed him. He's got a split lip and the beginnings of a nasty shiner, and he winces as he slowly pulls his leather jacket back up over his shoulders.

"Gonna get a lift home, if you don't need me for anything else here."

Gene grunts. "I'll drive you." He says it without thinking, still not looking at him direct. It's not so much an offer as an order.

Sam pauses, eyeing him speculatively, then nods. "Thanks."

With effort, Gene forces himself to move at last from his glowering vigil, striding off towards the Cortina. He passes Ray as he goes, growls an order to take over running the scene, and then he's impatiently slamming his way into the car. Sam follows at a more sedate pace, faintly dubious expression on his face as he picks his way round to the passenger's side and gets in.

Gene doesn't look at him, and doesn't speak, as he gets the car in gear and pulls quickly away from the curb. It's almost oppressively quiet. Neither of them turns on the radio, and they're practically the only car out on the dark streets.

Which, actually, might be a blessing in disguise, because Gene hasn't slept in a little over 29 hours (funnily enough), has been running on single-minded focus, caffeine and nicotine throughout, and now that it's all on the downturn he realises belatedly it might be taking something of a toll. There's a tight, nervous feeling building in his chest, and every time he tries to switch gears his hand feels numb and clumsy on the stick. When he actually stalls the car at a set of lights, Sam has the audacity to shoot him a scandalised glance, and Gene knows he has to take a minute here.

There's a multi-storey carpark coming up, and he manages to keep himself under control long enough to steer the Cortina into the first floor of it. This time of night it's all but empty so he parks haphazardly over the lines, fumbling the engine off. His hands are shaking slightly.

Sam's looking at him like he's lost his mind now, eyebrows up in disbelief. "What's up with you?"

Gene turns on him wordlessly, aware that he's slightly wild around the eyes but truly unable to believe the right div he has for a DI sometimes. For a man who likes to spend all his energy proving how right and smart and superior he is most days, Sam isn't half thick when he wants to be.

"You got yourself kidnapped," he practically spits, suddenly furious that he even has to say it, acknowledge it, explain.

Sam just frowns offence. "I didn't exactly go asking for it -"

"But you did, though, didn't you?! Couldn't just do what I said for once, had to go skulking off on your own -"

"If you'd come with me when I asked, I wouldn't have had to -!"

"No," Gene snaps, bouncing his palm off the steering wheel. "You don't sodding well get to give the orders, Sam, you get to listen to them! And I said wait!"

His DI blinks, taken aback. He goes quiet for a few seconds, forehead all puckered up in bemusement - and then clearly can’t help himself. "But I was right! And, by the way, I'm the one who just spent the last God-knows-how-long tied to a bloody chair! But yeah, course, have a go because I showed you up -"

"You honestly think that's what I'm bothered about, you smarmy little git?!" He's hissing, frozen, near trembling in his outrage. He means to launch into a tirade about the unbelievable recklessness of going off alone half-cocked, the shit example that's been set, the sheer hell Gene's put his team through this past day and night demanding results from them. Instead, what barks out is, "I just nearly watched you get shot in the face. Believe me when I say, I do not give a fuck if you were right!"

The other man at least has the grace to look embarrassed, wincing a bit. "I didn't mean... It would have been..." He stops, floundering, and at last Gene sees the slow realisation pass through him, sees him stop short and reassess what exactly they're arguing about. His shoulders drop, defensiveness easing off him as he finally seems to notice the strength of feeling currently radiating through the car. "Oh. Hey. But it's... It's fine, though. I'm fine."

He starts to reach out a soothing hand to touch him, and without thinking Gene smacks it down hard. They glare at each other for a few seconds. Sam goes to move again, determined, but Gene jerks away a second time. Still, neither of them say anything. His jaw is clenched so hard it hurts, nostrils flaring as he tries to breathe through the anger that's building in him.

He's not even sure what he's more furious about: that Sam defied him, or that he apparently thought nothing of the heart-stopping near-disaster Gene walked in on tonight, and which will no doubt be fixed behind his eyes for the foreseeable. It clearly hasn't occurred to the prat that Gene might have some thoughts on that. And alright, they've only been doing this 'behind closed doors' thing for a couple of weeks, it's not something they really talk about, but it's just... Well, he hadn't thought...

He'd assumed it went without saying, that he wouldn't be taking the risk of it all if it didn't bloody mean something.

His fingers grip restlessly at the wheel, trying to steady himself. He doesn't know quite how to do this, because Sam's not exactly the damsel in distress he's used to. He's not some petite, feminine thing he can hold against himself and keep safe. Those aren't the roles they have, not even close.

Except he doesn't know how else to do it, because right now that's the only instinct screaming in his brain.

So Gene shoots his hand out, thumps his palm against the other man's chest. Sam flinches in surprise at the sudden movement, staring at him perplexed - and then Gene curls his fingers in his jacket, hauls him insistently across the space in the car. It's clumsy. Sam comes haltingly and half-resisting, not understanding straight away what's happening, not knowing where to put his hands to catch himself. In the end he sort of topples into Gene, hissing pain and holding rigid against him, unmoving.

Gene doesn't care. It feels like the first deep breath he's taken in 29 hours as he pushes his cheek against Sam's bandaged forehead and gets the smells of leather and antiseptic and gunsmoke.

"Stupid bastard," he mutters through clenched teeth, barely audible.

Gradually, as the evident bafflement passes, Sam relaxes in increments. He's got his chin propped awkwardly up on Gene's shoulder, and carefully shifts about enough that he can more comfortably turn his face into the side of his neck, sighing a bit. One hand hovers uselessly in the air for a moment, then finally sneaks inside Gene's coat to settle against his side, and they go still like that.

It's not the kind of thing they do, this, even with all the other boundaries they've crossed recently. Not usually the touchy-feely types, either one of them. But Gene's blood is rushing like he's just thrown a punch, and he can't get himself to release the death-grip he's got fisted in Sam's shirtfront, or the arm clamped around his back. He keeps remembering the flash of the gunshot, the other man throwing himself at the floor like he'd been hit, all because Gene hadn't found him fast enough -

"M'fine," Sam says again, firm. His hand strokes aimlessly at Gene's ribs and chest, then drifts up to the back of his neck, holding him in place as he leans his forehead to Gene's temple. They rest like that for a minute or so, tension finally starting to ease off, until at last Gene feels the flighty rush of relief and endorphins start to kick in.

Sam pulls back enough to kiss him then, quick and insistent, both of them inhaling sharply at the welcome contact. It's brief. Even at this time of night they're in a public place, visible to anyone looking. Can't risk anything more lingering. But Sam leaves a hand on his knee as he finally eases himself back to his own side of the car.

"Stay at mine when you drop me off."

Gene clears his throat, already starting to feel awkward at the unprecedented display he's just indulged in. He busies himself turning the engine back on, getting the car in gear.

"Might have to," he finally concedes, fixing a scowl in place as he pulls them into reverse, arm over the back of the passenger seat to look behind them. "Some of us have gone without a decent kip the whole time you sat on your arse waiting for rescue -"

"Sod off!" But he's grinning, shaking his head with happy exasperation as Gene drives them home.