Jesus Christ.
He heads straight for the bar while peeling his hoodie off one shoulder.
“Please tell me you’re still serving,” he says to Gwen. “The motel coffee in this town tastes like it’s filtered through a sock.”
The entire room goes dead silent. Gwen stares at him and slowly sets down the glass she’s been polishing.
“Read the room, Hotshot.”
The guy blinks, then actually looks around. His eyes catch on the framed photos behind the bar, then the helmet sitting beneath them. The black ribbons pinned to shirts, the exhausted faces.
“Oh,” he says, horror draining the color from his face. “Oh, shit. I’m so sorry.”
Beside me, Fletch makes a strangled sound into his beer, trying not to laugh, which is exactly the wrong thing to do because Tucker loses it beside him. A few more people crack after that, tension splitting just enough that even Gwen’s mouth twitches reluctantly.
The poor bastard looks like he wants the floor to swallow him whole, but Herb rescues him before he can die where he stands.
“Easy, son,” he says, stepping forward with one hand lifted. “You just walked into a wake.”
The guy straightens instantly. “Right. Yeah. Sorry. Jesus.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Finn Garner. Ashgrove.”
“Rhodes mentioned they were sending someone over,” Herb says.
“That’d be me.” Finn gestures vaguely toward the rain outside. “Temporary transfer while Maplewood gets back on its feet.”
The wording hangs strangely in the room for a second, and Finn seems to realize it too, because he winces slightly. “Bad phrasing.”
“You’re really batting a thousand here, huh?” Gwen says.
To his credit, he laughs at himself immediately. “Started strong and somehow got worse.”
“Well,” Fletch says, lifting his hand toward him, “welcome to Maplewood. We humiliate ourselves publicly here too, so you’ll fit right in.”
Finn grins despite himself, his relaxed energy slipping back in now that he realizes nobody’s about to throw him through a wall. Then his gaze lands briefly on Rhodes and Remi in the back corner, and the grin fades immediately, replaced by something more solemn.
Rhodes notices the exchange and finally steps forward from the back of the room, exhaustion carved deep into the lines around his mouth.
“Garner.”
Finn straightens automatically. “Chief.”
Rhodes shakes his hand once. “Appreciate Ashgrove sending help.”
“Of course.” Finn glances around the room again, more subdued now. “Wish it was under better circumstances.”
“Yeah,” Rhodes says. “Me too.”
For a second, nobody says anything, then Leah barrels straight through the silence by shoving a tray into Finn’s hands.
“You’re tall, breathing, and currently empty-handed,” she says. “Make yourself useful.”
Finn blinks down at the tray. “Yes, ma’am.”
That gets another soft ripple through the room, and even Rhodes’s mouth almost pulls into something resembling a smile before it disappears again.
Gwen gestures toward the far table without looking up from the bottle in her hand. “And if you drop my good glasses, I’m charging Ashgrove.”
Finn glances at her, mouth tugging despite himself. “Good to know interdepartmental relations are thriving.”
