Rook, too, thinks that the idea of cops helping people is largely bullshit. It's the reason he became a cop in the first place: disillusioned by the individuals, but not yet the entire system - just enough in the middle that he thinks he can make a difference. For someone, at least one family, one person. He doesn't comment on Vincent's obvious distrust (dislike), and he doesn't blame him.
He smiles grimly instead, glancing down as though wondering whether this place is safe enough to kick off his boots. In the end he seems to decide its fine, sinking onto the end of the bed to unlace them as he answers. "I can't leave the others with those fuckers. Hudson's free now, but that crazy ass family still has Pratt and Whitehorse. They're both dicks, but they don't deserve this." No one deserves this. But Rook feels enough like its his fault that he can't quite listen to the voice in his head telling him to get the fuck out and save his own skin.
Rook’s response was more or less what Vincent expected, and he could only admire the loyalty the man had. That loyalty tugged at Vincent in a way that hurt: it was a loyalty that he should have received from his peers before he left. Ride-or-die was what Vincent had been promised and what he’d given to the organization that took him in, chewed him up, and when he was spat out he realized just how little worth he’d had to the people he’d sold himself to when he was a kid.
There was a shift in Vincent’s demeanor. He went from relatively expressive to very restrained, his expression growing stoic and hard to read - clearly a well-practiced front, and one that Rook would grow very accustomed to in the coming days. Still, his tired resignation lived in his eyes, which would ultimately be what betrayed his cool demeanor.
“I’ll take your word for it,” was all he could say. He doubted that two men were worth all the work to walk through hell but it was clear Rook had already made up his mind and wanted to be a hero. He was glad that Rook already had a plan, at least, and it seemed like he was able to make friends enough to make this at least slightly possible.
“Doubt they’d do the same in your shoes, though,” he said more quietly as his gaze shifted off of Rook’s back and toward the window, idly gazing out into the darkness. The comment spoke more to Vincent’s cynicism than anything about Rook or the others mentioned.
Rook pauses, his back still to Vincent. He exhales in a sigh seen more in his shoulders than heard, and leans his elbows on his knees, boots haphazard where he had taken them off.
"Maybe not," he answers after a brief silence. He smiles, half-cocked and half-hearted, and rubs his jaw before letting his hand fall back between his knees in something like resignation. "Pratt's good enough for a small-town cop - he'll stop kids on their four-wheelers or deal with drunkards getting kicked out of the Spread Eagle, but something like this...? Shit, this is above anyone's pay grade. And Whitehorse has done enough... he's old enough you can make a joke about him being two days to retirement. ...Nah, I don't expect they'd do the same." With a wry sort of humor, "they might do something smarter though, like try 'n' get help."
Not me, though. He knows it's fucking insane to expect to take down a cult nigh single-handedly, but if he didn't just feel so goddamn responsible for the mess...
"Anyway, it's not about what they'd do for me." It's not about being a hero, either. Rook tells himself it is responsibility, that he's a cop and it's his job, or that increasing nag in the back of his mind that it's his fault and he needs to make up for it. But, maybe, just a little, it's that he's pissed off beyond all meaning of the phrase and just wants to tear through as many cultists as he can to ease that burning in his chest that makes it hard to breathe, to think.
The deputy sets his boots neatly at the end of the bed, and stands, turns— then pauses awkwardly. "So are we just sharing the room or uh- or the bed?" He holds his hands up in a surrender sort of gesture. "Not tryna be weird or anything."
"From what you said, gettin' help wouldn't've worked out anyway," he offered gently. If going out and getting help seemed viable, if it seemed realistic, then there was little doubt that Rook perhaps would have done that instead. Anyone would have opted for that rather than be the single man trying to take down an army. Help was too far, would take too long; getting out would be rough, and if the cult was really seen as a threat it would have been dealt with before, or more people sent to deal with Joseph Seed and his flock.
He had to hold his tongue, though, as he felt his own resentment get riled up. The fuckers that Rook were on a mission to save - those that wouldn't return the favor - didn't deserve the young man. They didn't deserve to know him, and to have him cross through hell to pull them out from this county's claws. What Vincent would have given to have someone pull him out of the life he'd had before this; he often wondered what could have been, and when he grew too sick in his stomach to think about it he drank, or fucked, or got high. More often than not, he indulged in all three.
Vincent's attention snapped back to the other man as he stood. He examined Rook closely, letting the awkward silence hang between them in his assessment. The gesture coupled with how nervous he was to even ask the question told Vincent what he really needed to know: Rook genuinely wouldn't try anything over night.
"You can sleep with me if you would like." He couldn't suppress the wry little smile that landed on his lips, giving away that he was teasing and, yes, even flirting with the deputy. He was settling enough to finally slip back into his habits from what was once home, and a well-rehearsed easygoing flirtation was what was settling over Vincent, pushing the tension out of his features. There were about a thousand different things he could follow up with, but he didn't want to make Rook too uncomfortable.
"But you don't got to if you don't want to." It was whatever the deputy wanted, truly. Vincent always was a very, very light sleeper, if he slept at all, and that wasn't going to change whether Rook was curled up next to him or across the house on the floor.
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Date: 2024-01-02 03:56 pm (UTC)He smiles grimly instead, glancing down as though wondering whether this place is safe enough to kick off his boots. In the end he seems to decide its fine, sinking onto the end of the bed to unlace them as he answers. "I can't leave the others with those fuckers. Hudson's free now, but that crazy ass family still has Pratt and Whitehorse. They're both dicks, but they don't deserve this." No one deserves this. But Rook feels enough like its his fault that he can't quite listen to the voice in his head telling him to get the fuck out and save his own skin.
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Date: 2024-01-04 05:36 pm (UTC)There was a shift in Vincent’s demeanor. He went from relatively expressive to very restrained, his expression growing stoic and hard to read - clearly a well-practiced front, and one that Rook would grow very accustomed to in the coming days. Still, his tired resignation lived in his eyes, which would ultimately be what betrayed his cool demeanor.
“I’ll take your word for it,” was all he could say. He doubted that two men were worth all the work to walk through hell but it was clear Rook had already made up his mind and wanted to be a hero. He was glad that Rook already had a plan, at least, and it seemed like he was able to make friends enough to make this at least slightly possible.
“Doubt they’d do the same in your shoes, though,” he said more quietly as his gaze shifted off of Rook’s back and toward the window, idly gazing out into the darkness. The comment spoke more to Vincent’s cynicism than anything about Rook or the others mentioned.
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Date: 2024-02-01 03:43 am (UTC)"Maybe not," he answers after a brief silence. He smiles, half-cocked and half-hearted, and rubs his jaw before letting his hand fall back between his knees in something like resignation. "Pratt's good enough for a small-town cop - he'll stop kids on their four-wheelers or deal with drunkards getting kicked out of the Spread Eagle, but something like this...? Shit, this is above anyone's pay grade. And Whitehorse has done enough... he's old enough you can make a joke about him being two days to retirement. ...Nah, I don't expect they'd do the same." With a wry sort of humor, "they might do something smarter though, like try 'n' get help."
Not me, though. He knows it's fucking insane to expect to take down a cult nigh single-handedly, but if he didn't just feel so goddamn responsible for the mess...
"Anyway, it's not about what they'd do for me." It's not about being a hero, either. Rook tells himself it is responsibility, that he's a cop and it's his job, or that increasing nag in the back of his mind that it's his fault and he needs to make up for it. But, maybe, just a little, it's that he's pissed off beyond all meaning of the phrase and just wants to tear through as many cultists as he can to ease that burning in his chest that makes it hard to breathe, to think.
The deputy sets his boots neatly at the end of the bed, and stands, turns— then pauses awkwardly. "So are we just sharing the room or uh- or the bed?" He holds his hands up in a surrender sort of gesture. "Not tryna be weird or anything."
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Date: 2024-02-04 05:20 am (UTC)He had to hold his tongue, though, as he felt his own resentment get riled up. The fuckers that Rook were on a mission to save - those that wouldn't return the favor - didn't deserve the young man. They didn't deserve to know him, and to have him cross through hell to pull them out from this county's claws. What Vincent would have given to have someone pull him out of the life he'd had before this; he often wondered what could have been, and when he grew too sick in his stomach to think about it he drank, or fucked, or got high. More often than not, he indulged in all three.
Vincent's attention snapped back to the other man as he stood. He examined Rook closely, letting the awkward silence hang between them in his assessment. The gesture coupled with how nervous he was to even ask the question told Vincent what he really needed to know: Rook genuinely wouldn't try anything over night.
"You can sleep with me if you would like." He couldn't suppress the wry little smile that landed on his lips, giving away that he was teasing and, yes, even flirting with the deputy. He was settling enough to finally slip back into his habits from what was once home, and a well-rehearsed easygoing flirtation was what was settling over Vincent, pushing the tension out of his features. There were about a thousand different things he could follow up with, but he didn't want to make Rook too uncomfortable.
"But you don't got to if you don't want to." It was whatever the deputy wanted, truly. Vincent always was a very, very light sleeper, if he slept at all, and that wasn't going to change whether Rook was curled up next to him or across the house on the floor.