Page 41 of Controlled Burn
Her hands shook long after he was gone. Not from fear. Or maybe a little. But mostly from rage — at him, at herself, at how familiar this was. She wasn't new to the game. Just new to playing it without backup.
As Jake moved off, Kennedy rounded the corner, phone pressed to her ear and cheeks burning red. She took one look at Jake, another at Talia, and ducked her head, eyes wide, mumbling something to her mom about "just drama at work." She vanished, shoulders hunched, hair swinging like a curtain as she scurried toward the stairwell.
Brooks lingered a moment longer, lurking just past the corner with his ever-present phone in hand, typing away with thumbs flying. He cocked an eyebrow at Talia and Jake, a crooked little smirk tugging at his mouth. "Damn. Y'all ever heard of privacy?" he muttered, before strolling away toward the engine, already absorbed in whatever story he was texting to the group chat.
Ryan passed her on the stairs five minutes later.
He paused. "You good?"
Talia blinked. "Yeah. Why?"
He tilted his head. "You looked like you were about to murder someone."
Her lips twitched. "That's your subtle way of asking if I'm okay?"
Ryan grinned, boyish and warm. "I don't do subtle. But I do give a damn."
"If Stark starts asking about mop bucket placement again, I'm walking into traffic," McKenna muttered nearby, inspecting the aerial latches.
Ryan snorted. "Only if I get to drive."
She appreciated that about him — no agenda, no edge. Just steady loyalty. Jake might've been the louder presence, but Ryan was the kind of guy who always had your six.
"I'm fine," she said. "Really."
He studied her for a beat, then nodded. "Alright. You know where to find me."
Dean
Word traveled fast.
By the time he finished rig checks, Dean had already heard about Jake's little stunt. His cocky streak wasn't new — neither was his habit of trying to screw his way through the department — but going after Cross?
Dean's jaw ached from how hard he was clenching it.
Still, he couldn't make it personal. Not in front of the crew. Not when HR was sniffing around and Watts was lurking like a vulture.
So when Jake passed him in the bay with that smug little nod, Dean just stared him down. Flat. Cold.
It wasn't a warning. It was a promise.
"Captain," Reyes said behind him, clipboard in hand. "You got a sec?"
Dean turned. "Shoot."
Reyes hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck — the same nervous tic he'd had back when they were rookies, downing bad coffee between shifts.
"You see Jake running his mouth earlier?"
"I saw."
Reyes shifted. "You want me to say something?"
"No," Dean said flatly. Then, softer: "I've got it."
Reyes lingered. "You sure? I know I'm supposed to step in, but—"
Dean met his gaze. "I said I've got it."
