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“What? Charlie!” Mike whirls around to face her. “Seriously? You're bailing now?”
“Dude!” She throws up her hands. “I never said I was in for sure, alright? You know the job I'm working; shit's unpredictable. Something's come up, and this is not my case, I'm sorry.”
Mike reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I know, I'm sorry. I shouldn’t’ve snapped. I just – shit. Fuck.” He rubs his eyes. “What am I gonna do? Paige is still off-site, and – ”
She smirks. “Hey, you could always ask Lauren.”
He gives her a look. “Uh-huh. Yeah, that'll happen.”
“Aw, it's okay, kid. You'll figure it out.” She walks over and places a comforting arm on his shoulder, doing him the courtesy of only looking mildly amused. “I think you know what the solution is.”
“Yeah,” he sighs, glancing at the rings on his nightstand. “I guess I'm gonna have to ask Johnny.”
She inhales sharply, biting back a grin. “Ah, I hate to tell you, but Johnny's headed east for a deposition next week. Right in the middle of your case.”
His stomach drops. “You're joking.”
“And DJ's got his hands full with the birds, which means – ”
“Charlie. I can't.”
She gives him a pitying look. “That bad, huh?”
“Worse.”
“I dunno, you seem fine. Certainly spend enough time around him.”
“Yeah, but that's – ” he bites his tongue, realizing he'd been about to say my assignment, which would be the only thing he could do that could possibly make this day any worse. He shrugs. “I don't know. It's different.”
She studies him, tilts her head a little. “Just ask him. If he says no, he says no. If he says yes...” she trails off, raising an eyebrow. “I'm just saying, you might be thanking me down the line, you feel me?”
He lets out a short laugh. “Yeah, I doubt it. Ugh. Goddamnit. Sorry,” he glances at her apologetically. “Not you, just this whole thing.”
“Just ask him,” she repeats, squeezing his shoulder and stepping back. “He likes you, I can tell. I bet he'll say yes.”
“Can you, um,” he blushes, fidgeting where he stands, “like...not tell anyone else about this? For now?”
“Not tell anyone what, that you're asking Briggs to fake-marry you?” She grins. “Nah, don't worry about it. Your secret's safe with me. Unless he says yes; then obviously we're gonna want to do it right with a ceremony and tasteful reception. I imagine DJ can handle the flowers – ”
“Okay, thanks, that's great,” he says, turning back to his nightstand. “Oh, fuck.” He can hear her quiet laughter echo down the hall. “I am never living this down.”
***
The door is open, so he knocks on the wall. “Hey, Briggs? Mind if I talk to you for a second?”
Briggs jumps slightly, blinking as though coming out of a trance. He's sprawled in his bed with files open everywhere, dressed in his usual house uniform of pajama pants and a half-open flannel. There are glasses perched haphazardly on top of his head, and there's a faint odor in the room like he hasn't showered for a day or two.
If Mike was a reasonable person, with reasonable feelings about his co-workers, he would be embarrassed and somewhat disgusted at the picture Briggs presents, sloppy and unkempt. If there wasn't something fundamentally wrong with him, he'd be wary of the overturned, overflowing hamper sticking out of the closet, the volumes of highly classified information strewn about the room, the alarm clock flashing in the corner that looks to have been hurled there approximately eight thousand times. All red flags, all signs to emotionally disengage posthaste, possibly some cause to notify their superiors. If Mike had any sense at all, he'd be focusing on those things, instead of the way Briggs' brow puckers in the center when he sees Mike standing in the doorway, the way his bottom lip falls away from his top lip as he prepares the speak, the way his shirt is hiked up around his hip, revealing a patch of warm brown skin that pales slightly right above the low cut of his pants.
But, Mike is a fucking idiot, with no sense at all, clearly, so he opens his mouth before Briggs can ask him why exactly he's standing in his doorway shifting from foot to foot like a four year old in need of a restroom.
“So, uh, I kind of need help with a thing.”
Briggs seems to pause mid-breath, then closes his mouth. “Well, that's specific.”
“Right. Sorry. I had a thing with Charlie – not a thing thing, like, we weren't – anyways, she was gonna help me, I got a lead on Russo the other day.”
Briggs looks impressed. “Marlon Russo? The crime boss?”
“Yeah, that one. Well, his son, anyways, Marlon Jr. – ”
“Who's about to take over, or so they say,” Briggs nods.
“Yeah.” Mike remembers to breathe. “He and his wife've been trying to have a baby for years; it was in the medical files back when they were building a case against Russo in 2010. Apparently, they just got approved for adoption, and she's in this group, for like, prepping new parents who are adopting, and they had one slot left. So, um.”
“So...you and Charlie were gonna work that angle,” Briggs says. “Sounds pretty cut and dry.”
“Yeah, except, she can't do it anymore,” Mike swallows, feeling the back of his neck start to prickle a little with sweat.
Briggs sits up a little straighter. “Okay.”
“And Johnny has a deposition back east, and Lauren...well, that just wouldn't work, for obvious reasons, and – ”
“Mike.”
“DJ's got his hands full with the birds, I honestly doubt anyone would buy us as a couple – ”
“Mike.” He glances up to see Briggs looking vaguely alarmed, shifting back on the bed. “Are those...rings?”
Oh, right. The rings. Mike looks down at his hand and sighs miserably. “I probably should've left them in my room.”
Briggs holds up a hand. “Is this what I think it is?”
“It's not like I'm actually proposing – ”
“Good, because this is the worst proposal ever. You could've at least thrown in some rose petals, a little champagne – I mean, a guy likes to feel wooed, you know?”
“Yeah, I know, I probably should've – wait, what?”
“Tell me you at least got my father's permission.”
Mike's never blushed so hard in his life. “It's not like that, okay, I just need – ”
“No, I know. Let me think about it, okay? This is kind of a big move for us.”
“Okay, sure,” Mike agrees, desperate to end this conversation. “Totally didn't mean to overstep, sir.”
Briggs rolls his eyes. “I'm kidding, Mike. It's a cover, it's not even a big deal. Of course I'll do it, if it helps nail Russo.” He grins at the shocked look on Mike's face. “What, don't tell me you're getting cold feet.”
“I'm – ” Mike doesn't know what he's getting, probably a heart condition, brain aneurysm, one of those afflictions that'll strike him dead the moment he gets back to his room. “Really?”
“Fuck yeah. Let's get married, man.” Briggs' teeth are bright, the faint aura of daylight penetrating his curtains is giving him an otherworldly glow that makes Mike want to do something crazy, like throw himself down the staircase or walk right over and kiss Briggs boldly on the mouth.
He settles for slouching against the doorframe and saying, “Okay, yeah, cool. I'll...set it up.”
“Rent me a tux, would you?” Briggs asks, turning his attention back to the files. “We should have pictures to sell the cover.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you really gotta stop calling me 'sir', especially since we're engaged now,” Briggs adds with a laugh. “This is good, Mike. You're showing initiative. We might just take this bastard down after all.”
“Thank you,” Mike says, exhaling heavily. Relief and fresh anxiety are cycling through him like an emotional spin cycle; he's dizzy. “Right, well, I'm just gonna go. I'll brief you tonight on how the next week looks.”
Briggs chews his lip, not looking up. “Yep. Sounds good.”
As Mike dazedly makes his way back down the hall, he almost collides with Johnny, who's carrying a steaming bag of popcorn.
“Aw, you're done already?” Johnny looks crestfallen. “Man, he let you off easy.”
Mike stares at him. “You made popcorn?”
“Sue me, there's nothing good on TV. Can't believe Briggs just gave you the carrot.” Johnny shakes his head, casting a shrewd glance Mike's way. “He must like you.”
Mike struggles to keep his expression neutral. “It's just a cover.”
“Well, obviously,” Johnny says through a mouthful of popcorn. “Still, nothing's more entertaining than watching a white man squirm.”
“I'm sure we'll still have plenty of opportunities,” Charlie says, appearing at the end of the hall, looking extremely smug. “You get yourself a hubby, junior?”
“I got myself a partner,” Mike corrects her, cheeks heating up again.
She exchanges a look with Johnny. “I'll bet you did.”
Mike tries very hard not to wonder what exactly she means by that.
It's his least successful mission of the day.