Rhapsody

11: stranger in the glass mirror

CALLUM

[Thursday 21:32]
What the hell happened at the training exercise?
[23:04]
Maverick?
[23:07]
Answer me dammit.

[Friday 08:23]
Answer the fucking phone.

[Today 17:56]
Maverick.
[17:59]
I can't believe this.
[18:01]
Fuck it. I'm done.

Maverick slams his phone down on the bar top and nurses his beer bottle like it's the only thing that can save him.

Perhaps he should've answered Callum's seven texts, or his fifteen missed phone calls. But if Maverick is being completely honest with himself, he hasn't had the energy for very much lately. He's spent the last week at home in a hazy stupor. After all, what else is he supposed to do with a two week suspension? Other than spend more time with his cat Pam, which he's glad for because Pam is fucking perfect and she's the only thing in life he's sure he truly loves.

Deep down, though, he knows there's something more to this.

Ignoring Callum's texts. Lounging around all day with Pam. Naming and blaming as a distraction. He's wont to admit it, but he knows exactly what's going on here. He's getting bad again. He can feel it in his bones.

Not good enough. Notgoodenough.

He sips his beer again. Cassie and her girlfriend, Mandy, have taken him to one of his favorite bars this side of town. The place is a cheap little hole in the wall, hard to find but hard to leave once you do. And the best part—aside from the liquor—is that the liquor wall is covered in mirrors, meaning Maverick can keep an eye on all the pretty people who walk in the door without being too obvious about it.

There's one particular stranger in the back of the bar that Maverick has caught staring a few times. He angles his barstool so the other man can get a good look at his pretty cheekbones and pointed nose—the more refined features of his otherwise average looks, if he could be so bold to say himself. So what if this stranger is tall, dark, handsome, and looks a little like Emery? It doesn't matter, because his face is softer and rounder than Emery's. It lacks any and all of the sharp and chiseled lines that Maverick has come to ascribe to his partner, and as such, he definitely doesn't look like Emery. At all. Period. End of discussion. What matters is that he's handsome, and definitely Maverick's type.

"Alright, that's it. I can't hold it in anymore. I'm confused," Mandy pipes up from around her mai tai.

"When are you not?" Maverick retorts, annoyed.

Cassie smacks him in the arm.

"Ouch. Fine, I'm sorry," he concedes.

"No, you're right. A lot of things confuse me. Like this," Mandy says. She prods her mai tai. "This little umbrella. It's cute, right? Cute as shit. But it serves absolutely no purpose. I can't eat it. I can't drink it."

"It's decorative," Cassie supplies.

"It's stupid," Mandy responds, pouting. "They're just going to throw it away! And for what? Decoration? Olives are decorative. And you can eat those."

"Olives in a mai tai?" Maverick winces.

"This umbrella better be biodegradable, or there will be hell to pay."

Maverick snorts. Mandy is a gem if he ever did see one, and as a preschool teacher, she's Cassie's perfect, albeit unlikely complement. Sometimes, he thinks Mandy can keep people in line even better than Cassie, which is saying something, considering Cassie is the one with the gun and badge.

Gun and badge.

Maverick drinks that thought right down.

"Anyways, I'm confused. About your new partner, to be precise," Mandy says. "Emerson?"