Work Text:
There is freedom within
There is freedom without
Try to catch the deluge in a paper cup
There's a battle ahead
Many battles are lost
But you'll never see the end of the road
While you're travelling with me
Crowded House – Don’t Dream It’s Over
---
Detective Rico Tubbs sharpened his Metro Dade-issued pencil into a waste-paper basket, sat back on his chair, and tapped the desk. He stared wearily at the pile of reports he still needed to review.
Across from him, amidst a mess of paperwork, knick-knacks, and half-finished cups of coffee, his partner Sonny Crockett was fast asleep, cheek pressed against the case file he’d been reviewing an hour ago. Tubbs smiled and felt something like fondness as Crockett snored, the loose papers next to his face fluttering gently with each breath.
They were alone in the department, everyone else having left. Too many shifts were running long, and Castillo had drawn a line in the sand. His mood had been typically unyielding. But they were close to a break on their case, and Sonny had pressed their lieutenant until he succeeded in getting an exception. He really had a way with Castillo, or perhaps their boss figured giving in was an easier option than managing a prickly Crockett. Though Tubbs often prided himself at how well he smoothed Crockett’s sharper edges, Castillo was far more pragmatic.
Their office was a liminal space this time of evening; late enough that most on duty were out working the streets, but too early for the maintenance staff to have started their shift. He often took advantage of the quiet to clear paperwork when he couldn’t sleep. Crockett did too, when he was too lonely or too wired to go back to the St. Vitus. They’d often shoot the breeze, keeping conversation light on those nights. But Tubbs knew the score. While his just being there might not be enough, it was about all Sonny would accept.
He leaned back as far as the chair would allow, letting out a yawn and stretching his arms above his head. Closing his eyes he relaxed into the near silence, listening to Sonny breathing, the ticking of the wall clock, and the comforting murmur of the occasional car passing outside. He thought about waking Crockett. The position was a one-way trip to neck pain, and he could already hear Sonny whining good-naturedly about it. Although, it could present an opportunity to offer a friendly not-at-all-work-inappropriate neck rub, just to see how his partner would react... He let the thought slide before gently berating himself.
For months now they’d been circling one another with layered innuendo. Frustratingly, he’d not been able to read how much was Crockett shooting the shit, and how much was something else. His pride had taken a real hit too. His take of these situations was usually pretty damn good, if he said so himself. Hell, his job relied on his ability to read others well. But in this case Sonny was just too good at subterfuge, of hiding his meaning behind plausible deniability. It figured, Tubbs thought, given his experiences.
And while on some level it had been fun, it was not Tubbs’ style when it came to colleagues. And damn. He just wasn’t ready to fuck up the good thing he had going with a misread.
He was just about to wake his partner, and suggest they wrap up their efforts for the night when the phone rang on Crockett’s desk, shattering the calm. Crockett jolted awake, scattering pencils and papers onto the floor. But calmed quickly when he saw Tubbs, and realised what was ringing. He answered with a sleepy, impatient, “Crockett.”
Crockett’s forehead creased as he listened to whomever was on the line. Tubbs observed his body language, watching as Crockett stiffened; his free hand rubbing his face as he answered in the affirmative before reaching for his gun harness.
It looked like their night was only beginning.
Standing, Tubbs shrugged on his suit jacket and was ready to go before Crockett placed the handset back in its cradle.
Not twenty minutes later, they were crossing the threshold of a buzzing alternative nightclub in South Beach. As they made their way to the bar, neon lights cast kaleidoscopic shadows around their feet, dancing with each step.
Tubbs subtly adjusted his gun’s holster as he scanned the sea of faces while Crockett ordered drinks. The press of the leather and weight of the firearm was reassuringly familiar against his side, and the faces in the club were reassuringly unfamiliar; this, this was good. The last thing they needed was to be made.
It was as humid inside as it was out. Miami was in the midst of an uncomfortably hot spell, and the entire city was on edge, begging for release. A storm was brewing, according to forecasters, and as far as Tubbs was concerned, it couldn’t come soon enough.
Inside the club, synth music reverberated. The walls were draped in dark velvet curtains and chrome-adorned furnishings emphasised the modern lux feel. Black lights set low around the dance floor, combined with shiny checkerboard floors were a nauseating combination but the patrons seemed to love it, swaying to the moody music. The sensory overload left Tubbs feeling weirdly disoriented. He couldn’t wait to get this over with.
Crockett brought a hand up to rub his eyes and wiped sweat from his brow. He downed his whiskey and motioned to the bartender for a refill. There was tension in the air, the quiet anticipation of the meet and pressure to gather necessary intel but also…
"Something doesn't feel right, Tubbs," Crockett muttered into the empty glass. Tubbs stretched and leaned against the bar.
“Yeah, my balls, man, they feel like they’re in a sauna.” He shifted in his seat and laughed.
“Thanks for the update, buddy.” Crockett retorted with equal mirth, “Nothing I like to hear more than how your balls are hanging.” He shook his whiskey glass, the ice jangling against the sides.
Tubbs smirked. "Well, just trying to keep the mood light, Sonny. This place is giving me the heebie jeebies, you know?"
Crockett nodded, his eyes scanning back and forth. “Yep, this whole setup reeks. It was almost too hard to make happen. That phone tip felt all wrong. ”
Tubbs leant in closer, lowering his voice and tilting his head conspiratorially. "You think she's onto us?"
Crockett shook his head. "Hard to say, but something's off."
Tubbs tensed at the thought and Cockett patted him on the shoulder, his hand resting a little longer than it needed to. Tubbs eyes matched the movement until he diverted his attention, taking a sip of his virgin Piña Colada.
”Don't worry, Tubbs. We stay sharp, we get the intel and we get out, sweaty balls and all.” Crockett paused, as if considering, and hell no, Tubbs didn’t imagine it. Sonny’s tone shifted, and he inclined his head. “Maybe after we could take a spin... Been getting a nice breeze on deck of St. Vitus, we could hang out, watch the storm roll in… cool off a bit.”
Tubbs turned to search Sonny’s expression. He was guarded and calm, but with a small smile tugging at the side of his mouth and a sparkle in his eyes. Tubbs couldn’t help but smile himself, and watched as Sonny’s smile grew to match, his dimples appearing full force.
It was long past 1 a.m.
Was tha t an invit ation to stay the night? That was definitely something.
Tubbs mind drifted to another late evening that left him questioning his willingness to cross all sorts of lines.
He and Crockett had ended up staking out a nondescript warehouse in one of the city’s industrial neighbourhoods. As the hours dragged, the oppressive heat of the night settled and hung heavy. Between squinting through night vision binoculars and making notes of the comings and goings at the warehouse, their eyes occasionally met as they shared water and snacks. Inquisitive,Rico couldn’t help but let his glances at his partner start to linger.
Sonny’s features were bathed in a mix of shadows and soft, warm streetlight, which accentuated the contour of his jaw,the strong line of his nose, and the curve of his lips. In that moment, Tubbs was compelled by an urge to know how sharp Sonny’s stubble might feel against his skin. Sonny’s strong hands winding though his hair as he kissed a trail down his neck. Tubbs was no stranger to men in bed, but it was usually in the context of a three or foursome, and they were never the main attraction. With Sonny, he had the feeling he wouldn’t want to share.
Realising he had been staring, he looked back down at his notebook.
“Everything okay, partner?” Crockett’s voice broke the silence, and when Tubbs met his eyes again, he saw a flicker of concern.
“Yeah,” Tubbs replied, though his voice wavered. Instead of brushing off the question, he answered smoothly, “Just thinking how lucky I am to have you watching my back.”
Sonny offered a knowing smile, a hint of tenderness in his gaze.
“Right back at you, Rico. We do make a pretty good team, don't we?”
The memory dissipated and Tubbs found himself staring at Crockett’s lips. Once again, drawn into Crockett’s orbit, gravity pulling him ever closer.
Before Tubbs could decide the odds on whether, in fact, Sonny had just propositioned him and whether he’d follow his more self-destructive instincts, movement across the dance floor distracted him.
His eyes fixed on the target of the night’s investigation, Sinéad “Banshee” Byrne. A woman whose reputation was easily as chilling as her name.
She emerged through a cloud of cigarette smoke, tall with an explosion of quaffed white blond hair. A classically handsome brunette in dark eyeliner escorted her, and a small army of underlings followed from a discreet distance. She wore a black two-piece suit with a white mesh vest and big angular jewellery. Darkly elegant and understated in equal measure.
They’d been on the case of this new-to-Miami operator for months. Not only was this lady knee deep in nose candy in both Miami and Chicago, but she had also gained a fast reputation for her high-end brothels, a tightly run operation that involved trafficked women and men. Word on the street was that, in expanding to Miami, she had pissed all over some major players. Metaphorically, that is.
They continued watching from the bar. Crockett lit a cigarette to pass the time and picked a beermat to pieces . Eventually, one of Banshee’s men motioned them over.
“Our move.” Crockett said, standing and extinguishing his smoke.
Banshee had set up court in a corner booth, flanked by her comically menacing henchmen. Her ice-cold gaze locked onto them both as they approached. And as she leaned back into the velvet couch, a cigarillo smouldering between her perfectly manicured fingers, she radiated a blend of arrogance and an aura of dominance that was impossible to ignore. She stared them both down, eyes studying their bodies lasciviously as if surveying works of fine art. Tubbs had the uneasy feeling she could see right through their facade.
"Burnett and Cooper, my beautiful friends," she purred, a smirk dancing on her lips as a curl of smoke left them. "You've decided to grace us with your presence. You know, I've been looking forward to this little dalliance."
Crockett, sliding effortlessly into his cover with a million-dollar smile, quipped, "Hey, your club nights are talk of the town, Banshee; we couldn’t miss out. But you know we aren't here for the dancing. We’ve heard there's something sweeter on the menu.”
Tubbs assumed the role of the observant partner with ease and nodded discreetly while scanning the room, calm and quietly vigilant.
Banshee's laughter, a hint menacing, filled the air. "You boys have a knack for understatement. You're after a taste of the exquisite, am I right?” She stroked the arm of the man sitting next to her as she spoke, “But you understand, quality doesn't come cheap. We're talking about the sweetest wares in this city.”
Sonny leaned in, resting his hands on the edge of the table. “While we share an appreciation for the finer things, Madam, we also value discretion.”
Banshee interrupted him abruptly, as if her mood had flipped on a coin toss or the honorific had rubbed her the wrong way. Her displeasure quickly morphed into an expression that conveyed understanding. “You are as astute as you are handsome, Burnett; our business will remain as discreet as you both are.” Her eyes flicked to Tubbs and back again.
Tubbs let out a small laugh, he couldn't help but wonder if Crockett's charm was getting them closer to the information they needed or pushing them further into danger.
He observed as Sonny worked to hide any reaction, searching her face for her intended meaning. He twitched towards where Tubbs was standing, as if repressing the desire to look at his partner. Years of undercover experience smoothed over any and all cracks within microseconds. It was the kind of thing only Tubbs would notice.
Crockett was just about to counter her when a shout of “La Serpiente!” rang out, cutting through the music, and all hell broke loose by the club’s entrance. It was a name that clued Tubbs in to exactly what might be about to go down. The Serpiente gang was notoriously territorial and violent. Not to mention lacking subtlety. Brute force over nuance with the body count to back it up. Had they caught wind Banshee was encroaching on their business, or was this a set up?
Before Tubbs could get a read on the quickly escalating situation, Serpiente's enforcers, a menacing crew, swaggered through the crowd, closing in. Chaos erupted as those on the dance floor spotted the men brandishing not only guns, but knives of varying kinds too. The atmosphere crackled with hostility, the music still blaring through the speakers. A twisted mashup of dark melody alongside shouts, curses, and threats mingled into a cacophony that thundered though the building.
Within seconds, Banshee was whisked from the booth and out through a fire exit. Some of the armed men made pace to follow, the doors slamming shut behind them.
Sonny's hand instinctively moved to the concealed weapon hidden beneath his jacket, but before he could fully react, a scuffle broke out between the remaining goons. Gunfire erupted, glass shattered, and chaos consumed the room as people dived and scattered.
Amidst the mayhem, one of the knife-wielding La Serpiente enforcers spotted Crockett. With something akin to recognition, he lunged. Standing by, Tubbs’ instincts kicked into overdrive, and he moved like lightning, propelling himself between the gang member and his partner. With a tackle, he managed to knock the knife from the enforcer's hand. But in the brief, frantic exchange, he heard Sonny yell in pain, and from the corner of his eye, he watched as Sonny staggered backward, instinctively clutching his stomach.
Tubbs disentangled himself just enough, straddled the man, and swung a right hook. Knocking the attacker out cold. Not willing to take any chances, he reached for his cuffs and secured the man to a bar stool bolted into the floor. Pulling his gun from its holster he scrambled desperately to his feet and scanned the club for further threats. But the gang members and Banshee’s crew had all but vanished. The nightclub, only seconds prior a place of revelry, was pandemonium. Panicked patrons rushed the doors. The music cut out abruptly.
Leaning against the booth’s table, Crockett winced, and his brow furrowed as he looked down. Even in the poor light, Tubbs could see the blood seeping between his partner’s fingers, dark crimson staining his pastel vest.
Horror surged through Tubbs like a bolt of electricity.
“Shit, Sonny!” He faltered as he reached out to steady his partner, before he grasped Crockett’s shoulder, anchoring them both. His heart raced, pounding in his chest as adrenaline coursed through him. The nightclub's still flickering lights painted an awful portrait on Crockett’s face, the ghost of a smile that struggled to stay on his lips in stark contrast to the pain etched across his features.
"I'm fine, Tubbs," Crockett weakly reassured him, his voice trembling, looking down again. "It's just a scratch." He attempted to muster bravado, but even as he spoke, realisation was there, somewhere at the edges.
“Let me take a look,” Tubbs began to lift the hem of Crockett’s ripped vest.
“Honestly, I’m okay," Crockett whispered through gritted teeth. But his protests were feeble, and beads of perspiration dotted his brow. He was clearly trying to maintain some facade. The effort to mask the agony was a testament to his determination to protect his partner, or to his own level of personal delusion. Maybe both.
The stab wound looked deep, with a jagged line from where the knife was pulled a different direction from its entry. It was bleeding profusely, soaking into the waistband of Sonny’s trousers. Tubbs felt sick. He moved to put an arm around Crockett’s waist.
“We need to put pressure on that and get you to a hospital, Sonny,” he said. “How bout we sit you down and I’ll…” his sentence was left hanging when, after only a step or two, Crockett’s legs began to shake, threatening to give way. The crimson stain on Crockett’s vest deepened, and pressed as he was against Tubbs side, Tubbs could feel his partner’s breaths become laboured. Crockett listed and Tubbs held on tighter. It was clear they were in trouble.
“Fuck.” Crockett said, seemingly as realisation hit. His legs buckled and Tubbs cursed in frustration, just about managing to catch Sonny in time. Crockett's hands were shaking as he continued to favour his bleeding side and Tubbs lowered him down onto the floor. He wasted no time in kneeling and gently moved Sonny’s hands aside. Tubbs felt his mind sharpen as his first-aid training kicked in.
“I got you, man.” The fact that he didn’t get any pushback from his partner was a worry in and of itself.
Not seeing anything around them he could use to put pressure on the wound, Tubbs quickly removed his jacket. He balled up the fabric and pressed down, as gently as he could manage. Crockett face crumpled and he hissed at the pressure.He grabbed at Tubbs wrists so tightly his knuckles turned white; tears leaked from the corners of his eyes as he gasped a formless, desperate, “—Rico.”
Tubbs hated himself for causing Sonny pain.
Hearing his name like that was also something Tubbs had prayed never to hear again. Grief, still raw and sharp, for his brother, twisted in him. The sense memory that often accompanied thoughts of Rafael, even still, of him bleeding out in Tubbs arms, split Tubbs wide open. He took a ragged breath himself. Get it together. Just breathe. He couldn’t help his brother, but he could help Sonny.
“I’m sorry, Sonny; I have to put pressure on it.” It was a small miracle he got the words out before his own voice faltered. He was doing his best to keep cool for Sonny’s sake, but the cracks were forming. A cold sweat broke across his forehead as the gravity of the situation bore down. Had someone called an ambulance yet? Was there backup nearby?
“Police officer down!” he yelled out over his shoulder to whomever could hear, “Call a goddamn ambulance.” And in his peripheral vision, he could see some of the remaining bar staff scrambling from their own shock to telephone for help.
The horror of Sonny’s blood now all over his hands and soaking through his jacket hit Tubbs like a sledgehammer. The smell made him feel lightheaded, or was that the sudden and very real fear that he might lose his partner, his friend. Once again he tried to force those thoughts away through sheer willpower, but like a tide, as they went out, so they came back in.
" Y ou got this, man ; try to keep your eyes open.” Tubbs urged, as if his own determination could keep his partner from slipping into unconsciousness. Crockett’s tanned complexion was increasingly ashen.
“I’m trying, goddamn,” Crockett whispered, his voice tinged with frustration, his breath catching. He was pissed off. Good. Tubbs would take pissed off.
Sonny’s eyes were so bright with pain that Tubbs felt a lump of dread lodge in his throat. And something like guilt too, that he wasn’t quite quick enough to stop this happening. He had promised himself that he wouldn’t let Sonny down. Sonny deserved better, so much better than the cards he’d been dealt.
Crockett’s breath hitched. While the overhead lights continued to paint ghoulish patterns on his face, Tubbs could see he was struggling, the bliss of unconsciousness luring him in. His grip on Tubbs wrists loosened, and his arms fell to his sides. His eyelids fluttered, a sign of his fading consciousness.
Shit.
There could have been a hundred people in the room, but Tubbs wouldn’t have noticed. In that moment all he could think about was Sonny. Kneeling above him he felt utterly desperate, cast adrift. He needed Sonny to know just how much he meant to him, all the things he didn’t quite have the words for yet. Tubbs released one hand, hastily wiping the blood on his shirt before cupping the side of Sonny’s face.
"Stay with me, Sonny… Please.” Tubbs pleaded in a hushed tone, “It’s not your time, man, come on. We—”He could feel the uncontrollable hot prickle of tears threatening to form.
Crockett struggled to open his eyelids again, but managed to for a moment. In that moment, so fleeting, Tubbs felt like he could discern his partner’s thoughts, regrets, hopes, all conveyed in that one look. Crockett strained to move a hand up again to where Rico was holding the bloodied mess of fabric, brushing his fingers against Tubbs own.
“It’s okay, Rico,” he said quietly, and Tubbs felt himself spiraling.
God dammit.
Finally, the sirens outside reached their peak and fell silent.
As the paramedics burst through the club's entrance with a clatter of gurney wheels and boots, Tubbs,finally finding his voice,shouted to alert them to their location. "Over here! Move, move!"
The two paramedics wasted no time. Their trained eyes assessed Crockett’s condition quickly. As they took control, Tubbs relinquished his position, giving them space to work. With the weight of the world momentarily lifted from his shoulders, he struggled to his feet; his legs unsteady.
Tubbs felt a hand on his shoulder, another on his arm. Looking around, he realised Gina and Trudy were either side of him, both dressed for the strip. He’d forgotten they were working it. They’d probably heard when the call went out. Their faces were drawn with the horror of seeing Crockett in a pool of his own blood. Gina’s other hand was over her mouth, her cheeks streaked with mascara and tears. He started to put his hand on her back, but stopped himself when he realised they too were sticky with blood.
Uniformed police had arrived too. Tubbs hadn’t even noticed.
The shorter of the two paramedics turned to Rico. “What’s his name?”
“Sonny.” Tubbs stuttered. She nodded, turning back to her colleague. “Suspected stab wound to the left upper abdomen, unknown depth,” she reported to her partner. “Breath sounds are shallow on that side.”
“Sonny — Sonny, can you hear us?” She spoke forcefully and placed a gloved hand on Crockett’s shoulder to rouse him. Crockett opened his eyes ever so slightly, trying to focus.
Her partner nodded. “He looks like he’s going into hypovolemic shock. We need to control the bleeding and bring him in. Let's get a pressure dressing on and get moving.
She swiftly inserted an IV into Sonny's arm, secured it with tape, and placed an oxygen mask on his face.
"Line in,” she said.
"Keep a close eye on his blood pressure," her partner replied.
She nodded in acknowledgment and continued to monitor Sonny's vital signs. "Blood pressure is dropping. Heart rate's elevated."
The paramedic’s jaw tightened as he worked. "Breath sounds on that side are thready. We need to get him to the emergency room ASAP.” He activated the radio on his jacket and started to list Sonny’s stats into the device.
“Police officer, male, early 30s, onsetting hypovolemic shock, stab wound the left upper abdomen, possible pneumothorax. Prep an O.R.” The graveness of the paramedic’s tone was like a knife to Tubbs' own gut.
Behind the mask, Tubbs saw Crockett’s lips moving. He could just about make out Sonny say, "I've been through worse, guys.” A faint, weary smile breaking through the pain. And with those words Tubbs allowed himself to hope. It wasn’t much more than a small glimmer, but man, he would protect it will all his might.
They manoeuvred Crockett onto a gurney and prepped him for transport. Tubbs, along with Trudy and Gina, tailed the medics as they wheeled it out of the club and into the back of an awaiting ambulance.Tubbs tried to stay as close as he could without getting in the way.
“I’m going with him,” He said, resolute. Every fibre in his being screamed that he couldn’t leave his partner’s side. “Can you update Castillo?”
“Sure, Rico, no problem.” Gina answered, her voice lost to the increasing wind. Palm trees swayed along the darkened street. Trudy nodded, still visibly shaken.
With them both watching, Tubbs climbed into the ambulance, and, after only a slight hesitation, he reached out to hold Sonny's hand in his. He squeezed it as hard as he dared, resting his head against the side of the gurney; he needed Sonny to know he was right there with him.
If he had any explaining to do when Sonny pulled through this mess, then so be it. He was ready to face whatever might come. If only they’d be gifted a second chance.
He looked up at his friends, his eyes watery, and saw them reach for each other’s hands too. Solidarity. Compassion. Understanding. Tubbs didn’t know what, but he was glad of whatever they had to offer.
As the rear doors swung shut on the ambulance, and the sirens wailed into the dark, the sky opened, and a hard, warm rain began to fall.
.fin.