you aren't born with strength, you cultivate it

RHYS | So it goes in one ear and right out the other

Written/Published: 26 APRIL 2023

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Bonding moments! Uh oh- trauma!

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"They say that we ain't got the style, we ain't got the class

We ain't got the tunes that's gonna put us on the map

And I'm a phony in disguise, trying to make the radio

I'm an antisocial anarchist who sound like so and so

They say I'm just a stupid kid, another crazy radical

Rock 'n roll is dead, I probably should have stayed at school

Another Generation X who somehow slipped up through the cracks

Oh, they'd love to see me fall, but I'm already on my back"

"In One Ear" | Cage The Elephant

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- I wanted to try something like the siege of Station 8. What better bonding time than trauma? Oh, I'm awful to the characters I touch.
- This was also something to help motivate Rhys into jumping back into policing. Seeing as his only other way of preventing something like that from happening again would be vigilantism. And the fact that it's obvious his old case is picking back up in speed; he doesn't really want his friends/family digging into his old mess.
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TW: Death, guns, violence, kidnapping, hostage situation

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The thick aroma of breakfast slipped past the many doors of the Firehouse, encouraging him to drag himself from the comforting covers of his claimed bunk in the bunk room of Station 6. Groggily, he pulls his safety glasses back over his face, pushing them up to rest on his forehead until they're truly needed. He doesn't bother to tidy the covers, letting them lay sprawled against the sheets. His sleep has been awful lately, filled with the images of Wini's corpse as he nears her birthday and the day of her death. Idly, as he pushes through the locker rooms, he wonders what he'll do for her birthday this August. Maybe he could fly out to her ashes' resting place, maybe even take the kids to see her favorite places. The prospect made Rhys' heart warm, deep, still-healing grief briefly crossing his features before he brushes it off. She wouldn't like to see me cry.

Rhys enters the kitchen, finding his Chief, Dovlin Glenanne, in a bright pink apron as music flutters through the air. He covers his mouth, partly in shock and to stop his fond snickers from escaping his mouth. The way the older man's hips swayed, and he bounced in tune with the music as he worked on the eggs in his pan, was amusing and definitely not something he, himself, did in the comfort of his home. Grinning devilishly, he bounds over to the graying red head, poking his head over the shorter man's shoulder to stare in gluttony at the array of food already prepared. The man hardly even reacts to the presence over his shoulder, partly readjusting his movements to avoid slamming into Rhys.

"What chu got there Chief?" He beams, charcoal-brown locking with deep forest green.

In response, the older man playfully shoves him away, a smile curling onto his face. "Breakfast," he hums, "but it'll be trash if you drool over it."