xchiefhalliday

[xchiefhalliday]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ROWAN!

[xchiefhalliday]

Rowan had worked with Selim not long before he took on the role of Chief and was surprised to see his familiar face outside the café. He was too focused on making his way inside to order a herbal tea, but upon stepping back onto the street he recognised the younger man and thought to say hello.

“Not many people in Manhattan come as skilful and as hardworking as you,” Rowan smiled. “And I also found conversation with you to be rather interesting last time we met, which is something I can’t say about a lot of people.”

Whilst not having a university education of his own, Rowan was well versed in criminal behaviour, but Selim’s education had taught him the same things and applied them in a different way. It wasn’t too often that Rowan had dealings with people trained by the FBI, but when he was able to talk to Selim previously about his experiences their conversation lasted a while and Rowan felt wiser for it.

“Hopefully a compliment, though,” Rowan added, amused. “But I wouldn’t be offended if you didn’t want me to disturb you and to sit with you. There’s not really anywhere else to sit right now and I didn’t want to be wandering the streets by myself.”

who: selim & open ** assume connections

where/when: an outdoor cafe, late evening

sitting alone, a book splayed out in front of him, it's pages held open by forearms and thumbs, selim's soul was at rest. it had been a lazy day - one spent watching the clouds, lulled by the heat of the late august sun and the not-so-subtle ambiance of manhattan streets and planning his week by the hour. the agent wasn't quite as busy as he used to be, having taken a step back after his husband's conviction, but he liked order and organization all the same. lost in thought, his senses drenched in the creativity written among the pages of his book, the shadow of another does not register until the other speaks. he startles, much easier now than before, and dark eyes come up to comprehend who has sat down before him. "of all the people in manhattan you could've picked to sit with, you chose me?" he snarks, sitting up a little straighter. "should i take it as a compliment? or an insult?"

[xchiefhalliday]

It was rare nowadays for Rowan to take the time to think about visiting a gallery or museum let alone actually making the journey to one. But today he thought he would surprise himself, to do something productive and something for himself, and go to the MET: one of his favourite places and one that he hadn't been to in quite some time.

It felt strange to just be wandering without anywhere to be or paperwork to worry about and kind of odd to be in a shirt and jeans rather than his usual suits. But it was times like this when Rowan felt more human, more normal, and less like the man who oversaw the 35,000 officers in the NYPD. Despite his protests, two bodyguards were in tow, wandering as well but at a distance so it wasn't too conspicuous. It was always difficult to pretend they weren't there and just get on with his day as normal.

Rowan saw the young woman with the sketchpad on the bench and as he was already heading in that direction, he carefully approached her, hoping not to startle or impose on her. As he looked down at the sketch and was taking in all the details, she spoke and he smiled in return.

"Oh, I'm fine, thank you," he said. "And please stay as long as you like. I hope you don't mind, though, but I wanted to take a look at what you were drawing. It's incredible already. All artists have my deep admiration; it's wonderful that you can create something out of nothing.

❧ midday ❧ The MET ❧ open to all

It wasn't unlike her to be found sitting in one of the sections during her lunch break, sketching away at one thing or another. Anything to keep her toes, the brunette had sat in silence for the past few minutes. The only time Adelaide could be seen looking up were the few moments in which she glanced at the painting in front of her to study each stroke of the brush, the color composition and even the tiniest of details that could alter the entire look. It wasn't until she heard steps that she glanced away from her own creation. "I'll be gone in a moment if you need the bench." A smile, polite as ever. "Do you? Need the bench?"

[xchiefhalliday]

Groundhog Day was close to what Rowan experienced on a daily basis: in the office just before 7am, then meetings and conferences, then paperwork, then maybe a precinct visit when his schedule permitted it, and then back to the office for more paperwork until calling it a day several hours after everyone else had. But that was his life as Chief and whilst it was challenging the routine was a good thing. He'd be lost without it. Unlike many others his age, Rowan couldn't imagine being retired. Quite frankly, the responsibility of being New York City's Police Chief was far better than living in Florida or wherever it was people went to retire and despite initially turning down the offer he was beyond relieved that he'd changed his mind. He didn't want a life without his work.

He was also grateful that he was able to meet new people every day, people so dedicated to their jobs and to helping the citizens of the greatest city in the world (Rowan would be unapologetically biased in agreeing to that sentiment). Rafe McKenna was one of those people. It wasn't often that Rowan crossed paths with a medical examiner- at least not since his days of being a Captain- but their work was vital and one of many important cogs in the machine that was the NYPD.

Rowan greeted Rafe with a friendly smile. "Dr McKenna. Good evening. I wish I could agree, but you know me: always burning the midnight oil. That being said, being home by ten is considered to be early as far as I'm concerned... But I heard you were being called in to take a look at the body that was found, so if you need anything please let me know."

Nothing was too big or small when it came to helping the NYPD officers and affiliates. Rowan was sure that a lot of them neglected to ask for help out of fear that something was too trivial or minor, but ever since he became Chief he had put emphasis on the fact that nobody should think that anymore. Having been a beat cop and a detective for many years, he knew the problems they all faced and he would do anything just to make things a little easier.

"Would you like to sit down and have a drink with me?" Rowan then asked, gesturing to the empty chair on the other side of his desk. "No alcohol, I'm afraid, although I'm sure that would take the edge off what you're working on. Just water, tea, or coffee. Don't feel obliged, though. It's not an order."

conversations with @chiefhalliday at the precinct

After years and years of working with mostly compliant and silent personas, Rafe has grown used to the smell of death. But when it seeps into his life outside of the precinct -- when his marriage slowly dies and drowns out, and he can only wait for his turn to work on it (the analysis in the aftermath of the catastrophe) -- Rafe finds himself clueless, and searching for advise. Relationships are far from his expertise, far from the field he excels in. The moment his job starts, all relationships are gone and buried, and he always liked it that way. Less to solve for him. He just picks up the clues -- the leftovers, be it a piece of DNA or a gush of blood.

"Chief." Rafe's greeting is brief -- even briefer than usual, just a quick word uttered as he takes a sip of his cheap, badly brewed coffee. It's late, and he's been called in for something "gruesome", or so they say -- it likely isn't too him. He's too used to it by now.

There's something special about today -- the wedding ring on his finger is missing. It's still there, tucked away on a necklace beneath his shirt, but. Looking at it constantly, a reminder of all his problems, is not necessary at all times of the day. "Working late, hm?", he musters up to ask, "Bet ya we won't be home by ten."

[xchiefhalliday]

"The lion does not concern himself with the opinion of sheep," he said, not remembering where he heard to quote, which had stuck with him for a a considerable length of time. "When one knows their pride and worth, then there's nothing the opposition can say or do to demoralise you. In a world as cutthroat as ours, I admire that in you."

Even if I do not admire or agree with your political stances, Rowan wanted to add. He was impartial, he was diligent, he would keep his mouth shut. Now in particular was not the time nor the place for snarky comments and Rowan wouldn't say anything like that aloud anyway- it wasn't in his nature and he certainly didn't want to antagonise the Senator of New York and potential future President in any way. Not that a comment like that would matter. Water off a duck's back

"And not that you'll need any," he then quickly said. "But I wish you luck in your campaigning and in the race. May the best candidate win."

It was the polite and general thing to say at a time like this. Rowan didn't want to say much more than that, though, as he avoided politics outside of work as best as he could. Despite being a leader he was often a referee between his own cops and that came with it own set of affairs. Being diplomatic was tough when he had to take care of 35,000 officers and several million city citizens who were oftentimes at odd with each other.

"And speaking of, how's all of that going? I've been glued to my desk-" as per usual, "-so I haven't seen the papers or the TV news. I imagine it's been plain sailing, you being experienced in that field and all."

"Wouldn't we all prefer to enjoy a drink at home, Chief Halliday?" She muses, bringing the glass to her lips for a sip to punctuate the question. She knows about his distaste for these sorts of places, and sometimes she might be slightly inclined to agree. Tonight is much more about taking her mind off of the upcoming week, rather than shmoozing and small talk.

That will come on the morrow.

"A pleasure to see you, as well, sir." A smile, there. If she knew how to make it soft, she would. Instead, it pulls taut and thin over her teeth. Much more pinched than amused. "I'm very used to it. Used to much more. The opposition's supporters are rather loud in their distaste, but it's no matter to me."

Hers are even louder. More.. violent, in some cases. She's used to manipulating that to her advantage when need be.

[xchiefhalliday]

It's weird- almost wrong- for them both to not be wearing their uniforms, to look like average men and not two of the most important and public figures in the city. It was as if they had two distinct personas, but Rowan wasn't sure where the line between his was; it was far too blurred for his liking, but he was too old to change.

Rowan eyed the bottle, smiling gratefully, as he returned Emilio's hug. "That'll take the edge off. Thank you."

He'd always told Flynn and Reese that hugs were the best thing in the world, and better than any medicine, especially from those who they loved the most. His own mother had taught him that lesson first. He imagined her watching over him now, shouting about how alcohol was never going to solve anything and how he'd answer back with 'no, but it can certainly help'.

He got to his feet, making his way to the cupboard to retrieve two glasses, and generously pouring out the amber liquid before sitting back down. It was that kind of night.

Rowan laughed at the mention of the sharpie, though, tickled by the thought of its significance. "The memory of an elephant... You're never going to get me back with a sharpie. Mine are locked away and banned elsewhere. I've told everyone in the office not to trust you with one. Chief's orders."

He grinned, feeling much more at ease bantering and being with Emilio. There was no one else he’d rather be spending this evening with and he’d always thought that people believed they might be sick of each other, working so closely together and also being best friends, but that certainly wasn’t the case. Rowan could always rely on Emilio’s constant presence in his life and in a world where everything was changing he was grateful for it.

"Salud," he then smiled, lifting up his glass before taking a sip, enjoying its warmth and bittersweet taste. “

When Rowan's name flashes on his screen, there's little in the way of answering the text; the call. Any hour, any circumstance, he'll drop it all — and usually, it's Carrasco that's deafening the chief with phone calls. Someone to tell him to take the rational path, and not the one that will land them in hot water.

So when Rowan calls, Emilio's there.

He's at the door, a bottle of scotch in hand and his casuals. No uniform in sight; no suit, just a pair of old faded jeans and a black t-shirt he hadn't been sure still fit beneath a brown suede jacket.

"Late's what we're good for, isn't it?" How many times have they said New York never sleeps, so they hardly get to.

Emilio holds up the amber filled bottle: "And I brought a Haran."

Better company than the pair of them, sometimes.

Emilio steps through the threshold, firmly patting Rowan on the arm. He playfully scolds: "You know you never have to apologise to me." They save that, for everyone else. Then he spins around to face Rowan again, arms wide, smiling— "You know I'll only return the favour; I haven't forgotten about the sharpie, chief."

[xchiefhalliday]

Rowan couldn’t turn down an invitation to dinner with the mayor’s wife, especially when she had invited several other important guests who were all expecting him to make an effort to show up. He’d arrived straight from work, having procrastinated as long as he could without making it look like he was purposely avoiding being there. Throughout the evening he been overdosing on menial conversation after all the professional pleasantries had been dealt with and even with his deep respect for the mayor’s wife Rowan needed to get up and find some space to breathe. So after excusing himself he crossed the room to the bar and ordered a whisky on the rocks, instructing the young bartender to take his time.

He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts he didn’t notice the Senator until she spoke. He quickly composed himself, thanking the bartender for his drink before turning his attention to Joyce.

“Not as much as I would be enjoying a drink at home,” he answered honestly. Rowan knew his ineptitude at small talk around a fancy dinner table with overly expensive food and wine and lack of enthusiasm for social gatherings in general wasn’t a secret hidden from anyone in NYC and he was certain even Joyce knew of it.

“It’s good to see you, Senator,” he then added courteously. “Are you having a pleasant evening? Aside from the staring, of course. Both you and I should be used to that by now.”

when: the night before the RNC where: some fancy restaurant

There were a few people staring. Some making faces, but it's nothing that Joyce isn't used to. Stares and snarls follow wherever she goes but this night is a night for relaxation and preparation before the convention kicks off. Tomorrow evening, she announces her running mate. Tomorrow during the day, she watches and waits and makes nice during delegation breakfasts and lunches and..

Too much.

Tonight, she has her wine and that's all that matters. "Goodness.." She says, as she starts to stand and move away from the bar and back towards her seat - towards the nearest person without so much as a thought. "You'd expect people to watch their manners.. or their faces." Punctuated with a laugh. "Enjoying your drinks?"

[xchiefhalliday]

“Sometimes the person who’s been there for everyone else needs someone to be there for them.”

— Unknown

[xchiefhalliday]

It was going to be another late night tonight (obviously) and fuelled solely on coffee and candy. Rowan knew very well that he wasn't supposed to consume either of those things late in the day, but when when the day had started with a meeting with the mayor and was followed by a press conference relating to a serial killer and then the dismissal of a lieutenant he quite frankly deserved to have whatever he wanted. Dismissing an officer was always hard, but when the crime was so serious it was the right thing to do, and Rowan had never been very good with press conferences (no matter how grievous their subject) even if the media said otherwise.

Rowan expected the night to be a lonely one, too, with the wail of sirens and general hubbub of the city sounding in the background, and certainly wasn't expecting visitors. He was expecting to see Emilio and to tell him to go home already (he could dish out the advice, but was too stubborn to take it) and when he saw the familiar face of Adeline instead he was surprised, but knew he was in good company.

“Detective Hosea," Rowan smiled, gesturing to the chair on the other side of his desk. "Come in and take a seat. You can help by telling me about your day. I'd rather make small talk for a while than do this paperwork. I'll be here for a while, so it can wait. Or would you rather do it for me? Save an old man some trouble."

He was joking, of course. Rowan's detectives had their own mountain of paperwork to sift through on top of the hard-work they did on a daily basis. His gratitude for their dedication, loyalty, and selflessness was immeasurable.

closed starter for @chiefhalliday

location: the police station

For Adeline home was at her work. A couple years back home was the federal bureau, these days home was the police department in New York City. She was one of the few, who prefered to stay in late instead of rushing out the door as soon as the clocked ticked 5 pm. Usually she had some work that needed to be finished; reports that had been lying on her desk because there was always something more important that she needed to attend to during the day, results that needed to be checked and evaluated in order for further actions to be taken on the case. Tonight, however, her desk was as neat as it could be and she'd mostly stood behind in order to kill some time. It was a rough date in her life; one that she wasn't feeling like spending the night all by herself in her one-bedroom apartment.

Addie was headed out, debating on whether it was a good idea to stop by for a drink at Frank's when she noticed the chief's office was still lit. "Need a hand, boss?" She peeked in after knocking.

[xchiefhalliday]

👻 (PD Boys)

hc + 👻 for a headcanon about supernatural occurrences

Rowan and Emilio always joke that one of the cleaning ladies in OnePP is actually a ghost. She only seems to be there at in the evening/at night when almost no-one else is around, but once you turn your back she disappears, only for her to reappear when you least expect. They’re sure that there’s some kind of logical explanation, but find it much more fun to believe she’s an otherworldly entity.

send an emoji!

[xchiefhalliday]

𝑪𝑳𝑶𝑺𝑬𝑫 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑬𝑹 — @emiliocarrasco

— ROWAN’S HOUSE, BROOKLYN ; EVENING

It was rare for Rowan to be home in the earlier portion of the evening, but after a full day of meetings and a public speaking event he thought he might go mad if he stared at his office’s walls any longer. It wasn’t like him to feel like this, though. Normally he’d relish being at his desk, making a difference and feeling a part of something bigger. But away from all of that it was just him, alone, in a house that was perhaps a little too big. It needed some other kind of life in it, another voice drifting through the hallways, and another mouth to share good food and drink with. Rowan initially thought about getting a dog- he loved dogs- but leaving it at home for an average of ten hours a day by itself wasn’t fair. Then he thought about getting a fish, but the idea of that was incredibly underwhelming.

No. He didn’t need a pet. He needed a friend. And he immediately thought of Emilio. Rowan understood Emilio had his own life and his own problems, but the two of them knew they’d be there for each other no matter the situation or the time of day. So, after much deliberation, Rowan texted his right hand man an invitation and it wasn't long before a reply was returned.

It was another half an hour or so before Emilio showed up, Rowan purposely leaving the back door open so he could let himself in and setting out some cookies his sister had made yesterday on the table.

When the door swung open and the cooler night air blew in, Rowan smiled. "I'm glad you could come. Sorry it had to be so late."

[xchiefhalliday]

Rowan laughed and said jokingly, "I don't know. What do you young'uns normally do on a Saturday? It's certainly not helping your old uncles out, that's for sure."

He then watched as Luis headed inside and called back to him.

"I need some hanging baskets putting up in the garden and then those flowers will have to be watered. Some shelves need painting and putting up in the living room as well. The toaster is on the blink, too, but I don't expect you to fix that. Electrical appliances shouldn't be tampered with unless you know what you're doing; they scare me sometimes. I don't know. Maybe I should just buy a new toaster... Anyway-"

Rowan then took the oil can and cloth inside, shutting the door behind him (he was relieved the annoying squeak had finally been silenced), and joining Luis in the kitchen.

"Maybe we could start with the indoor stuff," he then added. "Saves us both trailing soil in from the garden later. And after all that there's some lemonade in the fridge for us to share; my sister made jugs of the stuff and I doubt I'll drink it all by myself. Sound okay?"

Part of Rowan then wanted to ask about the situation with Oscar, but thought it best not to. Luis didn't need interrogating- he'd probably had enough of that- and he would hate for Luis to think that was why he was invited over. No shop talk. Not today. That wouldn't be fair or kind. Rowan didn't want to intrude, even if this did involve his best friend and his children, but he hoped that Luis knew he would be there for him if he needed anything.

When his own father called , Luis let it go straight to voice mail, but when it came to Rowan —

Was this some kind of a ploy, to get him to talk to his father? Spend an afternoon discussing Oscar's arrest and family values and forgiveness — he'd roll his eyes from here to eternity.

Naturally, paranoia settled in first — but he knew Rowan. Rowan has been a constant in his life. They did not share the same blood, but they shared something much more valuable to Luis — trust. The kind of trust him and Emilio lost.

Regardless, he was already out the door when the older man asked. Hands slit into the big pockets of his jeans, on arrival. "Of course. What else would I be doing on a saturday afternoon?" his smile matched the one on Rowan's face.

"Yeah, I'm gonna get a cup." he went up the stairs of the front porch, "I know where the kitchen is." mostly, he didn't wish to distract him. Rowan seemed like he already had his hands full.

"What do you need me for anyway, uncle Rowan?" his voice coming from inside the house, "I'm not sure I know how to hammer anything."

[xchiefhalliday]

Rowan listened intently. He couldn't and wouldn't pretend to know exactly how Flynn was feeling and he couldn't imagine what was going through his nephew's head right now. He knew he just had to be there for him and offer the kind of advice he thought was appropriate. This was something so personal and Flynn would have to deal with it alone, but that didn't mean Rowan wasn't going to be with him when he was needed.

“If you don’t like being touched, then that’s that," Rowan said firmly. "If it was a phase you’d have grow out of it by, but that clearly isn’t the case. There doesn’t have to be a reason why you don’t like it, but the only thing you should have an issue with is if somebody doesn’t respect you or the boundaries you’ve set. None of this effects your work because if it did you wouldn’t still be on the job. I'm no psychiatrist, but I feel as though it's because you have built a different persona for you work life and that persona has to be tough and diligent. I know because I have one, too. And all that’s coming from your boss… but coming from your uncle, it’s just how you are. You can try to change it, but it’ll take years and years and by the end of that you’ll look back on all that time that’s passed and wonder where it’s gone. However, you shouldn't have to change for anybody and don't think that will fix anything either."

Rowan fell silent, twiddling his thumbs and watching the steam rise from the surface of his tea before studying Flynn again, hoping he'd taken in all that Rowan had to offer in terms of advice and hoping it all wasn't too much for him. An overload of opinions and information could make things worse.

"I hate seeing you this way," he then said softly, after a long pause. "I'm never going to stop worrying about you, Flynn; neither is your mom or your sister. We're here whenever and if ever you need us, no matter how important or trivial you think your concern is. But thank you for opening up to me. I know it must have taken a great deal of strength."

Flynn lifted the cup of tea to his lips and took a sip. And then another. "Just, um..." Flynn wasn't quite sure how to explain it. Or if his Uncle would think he was being ridiculous. That he was overreacting. "I had some abnormal interactions with people." A pause. "Well... abnormal for me." Flynn explained. "I'm pretty sure everyone is used to kissing other people or just... ah-- being touched, in general."

He was doing a horrible job at explaining. Flynn let out a sigh as he sat the mug down and rested his arms on his thighs, leaning forward as he stared down at the ground. "I had someone mess with my hair and also kiss me. Then someone else kissed me the next day. First person I didn't know, really. I don't even understand why she did it. The other..." Was my ex partner. "Doesn't matter. What matters is that I'm a grown adult who still has issues with people. Touch. Fucking talking." Flynn ran his hands over his face and let out a frustrated groan. "Why? Why can I handle shit at work, the hardest things, but I'm so bad at interactions outside of it?" He asked his Uncle, though it was more of a rhetorical question. Flynn knew why. He knew that his past still affected him, even if he tried to ignore it. "Why is it still affecting me? Why can't I just be normal? I thought that at this age, I'd be passed it all."

[xchiefhalliday]

It was hard for Rowan to look at Kian and not think of the scared little boy he once was, wide-eyed and pale as his parents were arrested by Rowan's colleagues. Rowan himself wasn't supposed to have been there that night, but the case had progressed and concluded with such hastiness that it was all hands on deck and whilst everyone else was focused on the parents- gang members, enough said- Rowan focused his attention on eight year old Kian, making sure he felt warm, safe, and comfortable enough to come with him back to the precinct. The two of them had sat together, watching and listening to the chaos of the office, with Kian eyeing Rowan's uniform every now and then. In hindsight, maybe he saw Rowan's gold badge as something of a symbol of good and hope... maybe it was then and there that the boy (subconsciously or not) had decided on his future career path.

Nevertheless, Rowan was proud to see what Kian had become: a fine detective with a strong determination to help those in a position he was once in. He was a success story in a city where it was easy to be dragged into crime and should be used as an example to those with little hope and ambition and who believe an escape from the shadows was impossible.

“There is nobody who is going to be able to help that boy better than you," Rowan then said, meaning every single word. "You’ve been where he is, you know exactly how it feels and exactly what you would have wanted from the people who were there to help. I was just in the right place at the right time to help you; you were lucky to get me and my temperament because there were officers with me that day that wouldn't have cared if you ended up alone on the streets or or a mortuary slab."

He sighed, tapping his fingers against the desk, thinking about what a predicament this was for Kian. But after a moment, he turned his attention back to the detective. "It doesn't matter what I would do because you're not me. In fact, that's probably for the best because you- despite my own decades of experiences- know more about this kind of situation than I do. Trust your intuition. Be an advocate for the boy, show him he's not alone, and that there is light at the end of the tunnel. The absence of any kind of hope could be a catalyst to the start of a very terrible life for him."

The detective opens the door a little further and slips in, carefully closing it behind his back. "Ah, no", is his answer as he turns back around, "I'm fine." His preferred drink of choice is coffee, and he's had enough of that today. For the next two days, even.

There's a moment of silence, in which Kian rubs his hands against each other, as if to warm them close to a bonfire. "I'm not sure what to say.", the detective admits, "This is my first case.. that comes close to my own. To my childhood."

Young Kian would have freaked out at this scene -- his idol, the person he wants to be, sitting in front of him as he's become what he's always wanted to be. (Alone, sad, tired?)

"And all I want to do is to adopt that kid and give them a better life." Which is not possible, obviously, but. "What would you do?", is his final question, "How would you handle it? I can't help but think of them as myself. And I know how I felt, and how much you helped me, but." I'm not you. "You were so good at keeping me happy and distracted. I wish I could be like that."

[xchiefhalliday]

Rowan nodded in agreement. "Hey, I love books and I love reading- other than my work and family they're the great loves of my life- but there's hardly any time for it. I could be at home with a good book now, but I'm spending my evening with my best friend instead, catching up and drinking a good bottle of scotch. Even if we are at work."

There was a collection of books at home waiting to be devoured. In his less chaotic moments at work, Rowan found himself thinking of which one to start off with when he had the chance. Usually, before he even got to weigh up his options, the phone rang or there was another threat of emergency in Manhattan or an officer had been injured. Never a dull moment. But taking on the role as Chief, Rowan almost missed them. He missed having nothing to do when he got home after work. But it was times like this- the quietude in the dimness of his office in the evening with Emilio for company- that more than made up for it.

The mention of Amelia's book signing in the city piques Rowan's interest. "Oh, that's wonderful! I'm sure she's looking forward to it. Depending on dates and times, I'll have to go over and support her. It'll give me a change of scenery too."

Taking a sip of his drink, Rowan noted Emilio's vague response to asking after his family, but even if they were best friends he didn't want to intrude on their lives. If there were problems, they were personal and Rowan hoped that any of the Carrascos- his deputy especially- could come to him for advice or even just to offload their feelings. He cared if they were all safe and happy, yet sometimes they weren't going to be given the nature of Emilio's job. Rowan didn't want to think about that, but he worried immensely about his second family. Although the mention of Alex's party was positive; no doubt all the Carrascos would be there and it would be a good day for all.

"Oh, I'll be there," he then said, returning the smile. "I'll be there with bells on. I really am looking forward to it. Being round at your place with Amelia's delicious cooking and being with my favourite people makes me feel more like a regular human that a cog in the giant machine that is New York City."

Despite the things he missed and the disorder and stresses of being Chief, Rowan wouldn't trade it for the world. He could really make a difference, really improve things for people, and leave a legacy behind that all those years of NYPD experience had amounted to. He would leave this earth plain before he left the force and wanted something to show for it.

Without even meaning to, they confide. Easily released remarks and confessions tumble from their mouths — they're worth thousands to a reporter. They're worth so much more between friends. Nobody can buy trust, or respect. As cliché as it were, it truly is earned. Rowan gained Emilio's long ago. Handed out before he'd even understood the shift; it's natural, passing ships in the night. The quiet second of hush, before it's gone — into the darkness again. It's surreal, like it's never happened; nothing has changed (of course it has).

He'll suddenly put his life on the line, when before he'd have hesitated. It's that. An awareness that nothing has shifted the compass, or its direction — but going overboard no longer sounds so terrible.

Halliday isn't a pen pusher, not to Emilio. And the complexities of their roles are never seen outside of the inner circle — PA's, and interns see one side, the press see what they want, the city sees wasted tax payers money, criminals see —

"Remind me not to try talk you out of your office again..." It's a tease. The deputy has settled into the chair, slumped, turned sideways so his arm's hooked over the backrest. "Not at least, til we've done the bottle."

For both their sakes, they should definitely not finish the bottle. His wife would have both their asses for staying late as is.

A hand catches the glass as it skirts across the desk. Carrasco nods his gratitude, echoing: "Salud,"— swigging his glass when the Chief did.

When he lowers the glass, it's his turn to laugh. "Book club?" Emilio feigns an expression of assessment: "I could see you with your nose in a book, chief." It's not untrue — picturing Rowan in the midst of novelistic arguments, and social economics of romance, and tragedy. There's often woman in book club too, Halliday, you know that? Carrasco would be lying if he acted like his wife didn't preach the choir to him on that respect. "Maybe I should see if Amelia can get her off your back — if she's not already in the club." Likely, if he were really thinking about it.

Emilio's proud of Flynn too. He doesn't get to show it; a different kind of busy to Halliday that has him between the field, and the office at all the wrong times.

"Your guess is as good as mine." Carrasco remarks — realising that his tumulus relationships with his family were hinging on him. "But they're well — Amelia's got book signings coming up, she's stopping at that, oh, what's it called —" She's told him, and he's forgotten. "—one of those bookstores by West and 7th." He pauses, because he can't tell Halliday what his children are up to, Emilio tries and fails to follow their change of pace daily. He can hardly keep up with his own. So — Emilio rescues it with: "Alex's birthday is coming up — another formidable Carrasco dinner," a smile — a sip of the drink: "I expect you there. You can ask them all yourself. They'd be delighted."

[xchiefhalliday]

Rowan hoped Flynn would return to work tomorrow. It would give him some kind of normality and security in the rough seas he was currently sailing.

“I’m glad you’re not sick,” he said quietly. “But what kind of things-?” He then stopped himself. “No, you don’t have to tell me. You can if you want, but you know I worry about you and I’m sure your mom would too if she knew the state you’re in… Look, I hope that you feel like you can talk to me about anything and know that I’ll do everything I can to help or even just to make you feel more like yourself. There’s nothing wrong with taking some time out, but there’s also nothing worse than keeping things bottled up. Believe me.”

Flynn nodded as he moved towards the kitchen and put on the kettle. He was silent as he grabbed some honey ginseng tea and placed them in two mugs. Once the kettle was done boiling, he poured the hot water into the mugs and handed one to his uncle.

They moved towards the living room and sat down, though Flynn had a hard time meeting the other's gaze. "No... I know. I'm sorry." He shook his head as he stared down at his tea. "Some things... happened. Um... A few days ago. I got overwhelmed and I wasn't in the right state of mind to go into work." It was the truth, even though it was somewhat vague. "I'll be in tomorrow though, I promise." Flynn wished he hadn't promised. It meant he had to actually go and not call out again.

"I'm fine. Not sick, physically, or anything." He finally looked up to meet the other's gaze. "I just needed a couple of mental health days."

[xchiefhalliday]

Rowan wasn’t expecting any visitors this late, least of all Kian Barlowe. But he could tell that Kian was in distress even before he spoke of what was bothering him.

Putting down his pen that he had been using to fill in some paperwork and gesturing to the chair on the other side of his desk, Rowan gave his visitor a soft, reassuring smile.

“Come and sit down, detective. You’re welcome to discuss it with me, if you’d like. A problem shared is a problem halved.”

There was hardly anything more important to Rowan than helping his officers in their time of need. Nothing phased him; he’d worked every kind of case and every kind of crime imaginable. With his breadth of knowledge and experience he hoped that he’d be able to bring some kind of solace to Kian. The last thing either of them would want is for him to go home with a heavy burden on his mind.

“Would you like a drink?” Rowan then asked. “Tea? Water?” Something a little stronger didn’t seem appropriate.

@chiefhalliday -- The precinct, late

When Kian closes the door to his bureau and is about to head out, he notices that the lights in Rowan's office are still on. The detective pauses -- this case has been hard, and the person who could best understand is his new partner's uncle. So he finds himself walking over and knocking not even a second later.

"Chief?", Kian asks, slowly opening the door, "You're still here." When he had been a kid, that would have been a big reassurance -- knowing there was always at least one light on, that there was always someone pacing around, trying to figure out a case. He had found peace in his own violence in the end, but sometimes, those childish thoughts managed to hunt him down.

Just like they did today.

Kian slides in, closing the door behind himself, "We're working on a case involving abuse.", and then, honest words, too honest, even, "And it makes me feel like shit."