lieutenant, my lieutenant

— ADJUST AS NEEDED. REMEMBER TO SPECIFY MUSE TO MULTIS.

“I already said no.”

“And what about it?”

“Who wants to know?”

“I love you too!”

“That tastes like garbage.”

“How’d you get here?”

“You need a ride?”

“I think I’m pregnant.”

“You need some help?”

“I’m perfectly fine, thanks!”

“Just let it go!”

“Hey, don’t walk away!”

“Put that back now!”

“I’ve had about enough.”

“Will you marry me?”

“Here, take a sip.”

“How does that feel?”

“Good to see you.”

“Don’t give me that!”

“Please, just stay tonight.”

“Thank you very much.”

“Oh no, you didn’t.”

“Let your hair down.”

“Quick! Out the window!”

“Not on your life.”

“I miss you too.”

“Clean as a whistle.”

“What do you say?”

“Throw in the towel.”

“Put the gun down!”

“Give me the knife.”

“My lips are sealed.”

“The door is locked.”

“Can we fix it?”

“That’s not my job.”

“I have a request.”

“What did you say?”

“I think I’ll manage.”

“I am not afraid.”

“One more drink, please.”

“You won’t marry me?”

“How about a kiss?”

“Oh, just shut up.”

“I know, I know!”

“I want to cry.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“Just leave me alone.”

“You are so beautiful.”

“True love never dies.”

“For old times sake.”

"Yeah, the more I learn about people-- the more I love my dog."

              Perhaps it was all too sentimental, or strange for that matter. To think of how many times they’d come together over their need for caffeine, brushing shoulders in the break room, getting lost in small talk, and taking note of just how much cream and sugar he’d put in his coffee. Attentive, how it came with his line of work, quiet- and quick to catch onto the smallest of details. Usually because it was Hank who did most of the talking between them- not that he minded it in the slightest. Endearing, to watch a man of his stature and age seem to lose himself in thought. Like they were much younger, flirting like two strangers in a coffee shop. Hank, who would nervously fumble over his thoughts, admiring the way a blush would spread across his face and his silver hair would fall in his way. 

              Something to look forward to each morning- and It was why he’d find himself seeking him out. Not that he was ever on time these days, knowing well the small talk around the office of his nights mostly spent at the bar. Why he chose to wait for him, perched on the edge of his desk. A steaming cup sat beside him as he’d check his watch, eyes flickering to the door as he’d catch his frame wandering in. 

Same shit, different day. But lately there was just a bit more of a hurriedness to his gait and a livelier look to his gaze as he'd push through the precinct's doors. But if it was ever brought up, he'd spit out that was bullshit and pretend it wasn't the truth. Pretend he didn't stand up straighter or clean up more in the morning knowing he would brush past a particular coworker.

. . . a coworker who happened to be propped against his desk with coffee. His coffee. That was his mug.

" Why the fuck are you talkin' to Connor about-- I mean -- " the words are gruff and drawn out as the lieutenant's brows creep close together. The satchel hanging limply off his shoulder slides to his desk's chair with a dull thwmp as his eyes dart between the mug and Sam. Then back to the mug. A creeping heat at the base of his neck draws his back as he clears his throat.

" I err. . . thanks, Sam. You didn't -- I mean really I coulda. . . " he trails off again as he steps forward, freezing up before he can encroach too much on Sam's space as he reaches and snags up the cup, " Anyways. Yeah, long nights. But if they weren't long I'd figure something was wrong with this damn place. "