But no sooner has he wrestled himself off the bar stool than he collapses to the floor, where she could follow him quite easily if she were so inclined. Instead, she says she's taking him home and enlists the aid of the bartender to get him on his feet and his arm over her shoulders. Thus semi-balanced, she gets him out onto the sidewalk and they start walking unsteadily. Ruiz babbles about how Cross doesn't have children so she doesn't understand. "You don't understand a lot of things," he laughs, and then yells as dogs start barking around the neighborhood, "If you had to shoot me, you should have killed me. He's my kid! He goes, I go!" Okay, drama queen.
Cross tries to tell him that people are sleeping, because it's three o'clock in the morning. "My son is gone!" he bellows. "Forever gone! How can you sleep? How can you sleep when my son has been killed?" I think they can't right now, is Cross's point. She eventually gets King Beer home, and they're both lucky he has his keys in his pocket. He fumbles with them until she takes over, and he thinks she's leaving as soon as he's inside, but she's very much not. "Who do you think you are?" he demands. Cross admits, "I don't find…people very often, Marco." "That's for sure," he says in Spanish. "Because you're impossible. Cross tells him not to think that, because she knows he cares. "And don't tell me I'm not your partner, okay? And don't send me away. 'Cause I don't…I don't have another one." I've been wondering why neither of them appears to have a partner at their own respective home offices. Must be the shortage of speaking roles. Again, he walks inside and leaves the open door, which is again as close to an invitation as she's ever going to get. Juarez's vampires must know not to bother with this place.
Inside the house, there's some crashing and fumbling in the dark until Ruiz directs her to dump him in Gus's room. Somehow he keeps from lying down on the bed or passing out until she returns with her all-purpose glass of water, at which point he mumbles, "I still can smell him." Oh, come on, I know teenagers can be stinky, but after a month of wearing Gus's hoodie and pouring himself into Gus's room in the wee hours, you can't tell me that either of those things smells of anything other than middle-aged drunk. Ruiz downs half the water and belches, then apologizes and looks at her in an appreciative way that's making me kind of nervous. Then he says, "Gus had a crush on you." Cross already knew that, which surprises Ruiz. "He bought me chocolates," Cross explains. That's also news to Ruiz, though he's amused to hear it. "I told him you wouldn't like that," Cross adds, "If we dated." "No, I would not," Ruiz agrees forcefully. Yes, this way is probably better for everyone.