I know I’ve mentioned something on here about writing a Mike Logan fic and never got around to it 💔 but if I did write one, hypothetically, would yall read it and engage with it? I haven’t written anything solid in a longgg time.
Yandere Liliya Bogomolova, Amelia Collier, and Dr. Easterman Headcanons
♡ A/N: sorry these took me so long! life has been extremely hectic. i struggled at first with easterman's quotes, but he's super fun to write lines for when you get the hang of it! also amelia fans sound off in the comments/tags
♡ Something Important to Note: In these headcanons, romantic, platonic, and sexual attraction are treated as three different things. If a character is mentioned to be sexually attracted to you, that doesn't mean that they're necessarily romantically attracted to you. The type of attraction they have towards you is left to your imagination/discretion ♡
Liliya Bogomolova
♡ To the beloved of god, you are a lost, helpless lamb, surrounded by hungry, hungry wolves with gaping maws and dripping teeth. And she is your shepard; always prepared to fend off the predators and guide you to safety and righteousness. Liliya believes it is her providential duty to drag you from the clutches of sin and deliver you to salvation, no matter how much you may resist.
♡ Whenever you’re in a trial with her, she will not reveal herself to you boisterously- it just isn’t her style. Liliya much prefers to observe you going about your tasks from the shadows (or hidden in plain sight) at first. She’ll whisper to you to try and disorientate you just enough to mold your mind into something pliant and amenable, ready to participate in her own, twisted version of bible study. It’s something she tries to do as often as she can, preaching to you about the glory of God, the sin that corrupts The Lord’s land, and how the wealthy are the scum of the earth; suckling the holiness from the world dry like a needy infant to a leaking teat.
♡ She is the direct cause of a string of F’s and D’s on your report cards, because her lessons often leave you with an itch deeply embedded into the folds of your mind that turns even the simplest of trial objectives into a nearly impossible undertaking- but not enough to convince you to mutilate yourself in the name of God. Liliya wants you to turn to The Lord of your own volition, with a little bit of encouragement and a lot of education from her, which is why she won’t turn to her usual methods in her efforts to convert you.
♡ If you are particularly stubborn, headstrong, or unfaithful, Liliya will have no qualms doing harmful things to get you to open your mind to God’s love. She’ll use your fellow reagents as leverage and/or bait, especially if she notices that you’re particularly close to one, or if you’re trying to avoid her (and she will notice, if you are).
♡ She is a believer of education through corporal punishment, (long story short, suffering helps you learn) but isn’t as physically violent as Coyle, Mother Gooseberry, or Franco. She still, without question, is, but the worst that she’ll do is cut you with her blades if she thinks that it’s necessary. She might even give you scars that resemble hers; an attempt to relate you to her and bring the two of you closer together. However, she’ll draw the line at cutting off body parts or permanently physically disabling you- it reminds her too much of what happened to her and she wouldn’t even attempt to lower herself to that level. When she thinks you’re in need of physical discipline but doesn’t think it’s necessary to use her blades, she’ll make you kneel on rice or small rocks while she forces you to recite Bible verses until she believes that you’ve properly atoned. She also isn’t above whipping/beating your fingers or the backs of your calves.
♡ Unsurprisingly, Liliya will also utilize psychological punishments- quite often, in fact. One might think it would be somewhat better than receiving permanent scars, but her methods leave scars on the mind as opposed to the body. Is it really so much more bearable to be disorientated until you break down, or bear witness to the inhumane, bloody slaughter and mutilation of a fellow reagent?
♡ If she ever manages to get even a minute alone with Easterman in any sort of lucid state at all, she will convince him to move you to her sleep room. She’ll be so focused on transforming you into her full-time disciple that he’ll still have all of his limbs by the time he sends out the order.
♡-> “He will tend to His flock like a shepherd. He will gather the lambs in His arms. He will carry them in His bosom, and gently lead those that are with young.”
♡-> “God loves you. Your messiah loves you. You have to let us.”
♡-> “There is no longer any need to be frightened. You are one of the Beloved of God. I will serve you.”
Amelia Collier
♡ Amelia first encounters you in the Sleep Room, and takes a shine to you almost immediately. Maybe you remind her of Damon, maybe your personality hits one of her soft spots. Whatever it is, she quickly grows protective of you to a degree that any person who didn’t live in Sinyala would consider seriously concerning.
♡ She’ll insist on joining you in any and all trials you go into so that she can protect you from the ex-pop, where she’ll delegate you to tasks like gathering items, finding keys, etc; she’ll always have you do the safest things you can in a trial without lowering your grade. Amelia will share her meals with you, picking out whatever appetizing parts she can find to pile on your tray, won’t hear any objections you have about it, and will give you the lion’s share of any treats she buys from Dorris, too.
♡ Amelia will grow especially tense if you’re encountered or approached by a scientist or guard for any reason, even if you’re just due for a checkup or you need to get an emergency blood transfer. Even if she logically knows this, she’ll never be able to bring herself to be comfortable when you’re with them because they’re all pawns of Easterman and Murkoff.
♡ Her anxiety and overprotectiveness will grow to be so overwhelming for her that she’ll lose sleep over it. She’ll pick the lock of her cell after lights out and will sneak over to yours just to watch you sleep; to assure her buzzing mind that you’re warm in your bed and safe as a reagent can be in Sinyala. Amelia will soothe you if you fuss in your sleep from the Murkoff-induced nightmares, and’ll wipe your sweat and tears away.
♡ When Amelia escapes through the ex-pop gate, she’ll be devastated over the fact that she can’t take you with her right away, but immediately devotes herself to getting you out as soon as she possibly can. She’ll break you out of a trial before she starts to make herself known, because the terrifying thought that they might torture you for information crosses her mind. She’d want to do the same for Damon, but she has no idea what sleep room he’s in and has had no success in finding him in the trials.
♡ Every moment that Amelia isn’t orchestrating escape is a moment that she’s devoting to taking care of you. She’ll go out of her way to find you clothes, clean water, and keep you in the best shelter that she can put together in the Biohazard Waste Disposal. You’re rarely allowed to leave the areas she delegates you to without her, because she wants to avoid any sort of outcome where you get sick from all the rot and chemicals, caught by an ex-pop wandering around, or injure yourself.
♡ Instead of resigning herself to a death in the facility after she finds out that Damon has died, she becomes more determined than ever to get out with you. Amelia would never let herself give up when you’re still around, because she has resolved to protect you when you re-enter society. Protect you from Murkoff, from muggers and murderers and any sort of person she can think of that might cause harm to you in the outside world. You become the only thing she has to live for.
♡ Though she’d never admit it to you, ever, Amelia will not hesitate to get violent with anyone she thinks that might hurt you. Guards, ex-pop, or Murkoff officials- it doesn’t matter to her when it comes to you. Amelia can’t take on most of those who would seek to expose your location or cause you harm in a one-on-one fistfight, so she’s crafty about things. She’ll try to confuse them, trick them into stepping into traps, psychosis mines, or other dangerous areas, or get the jump on them and steal their own weapons to use against them if they have one.
♡ Amelia constantly thinks of potential places for the two of you to stay in after she gets you out. She knows you’ll have to stay on the run, the two of you, especially if she’s actively working to expose Murkoff and the goings-on in the Sinyala Facility. She mentally prepares for all sorts of scenarios, but you are the one constant in each of them, and the first thing she tries to determine about a location is if you’ll be safe and comfortable there. She feels that she owes you comfort after taking you to the wastes.
♡-> “Hey, hey, look at me. Breathe, come on, breathe. There you go. You don’t gotta be scared anymore, I’m here, and I swear to God I’ll keep you safe.”
♡-> “Don’t care what I gotta do, I’m gonna get you outta here. If it’s the last goddamn thing I do.”
♡-> “Stay here. It’s a fuckin’ nightmare out there, trust me. Just- just hold out a little longer for me. I promise we’re gonna get outta this shithole soon, I promise.”
Dr. Hendrick Joliet Easterman
♡ Though he denies it and will continue to deny it to the utmost degree, Easterman has very obvious favoritism over you. Important paperwork is often neglected in favor of watching you go about a trial or the sleep room, making comments and notes to himself all the while. He takes pride in personally observing, evaluating, and grading all of your trials himself, as it makes him feel closer to you.
♡ The guards and junior scientists exchange worried and confused looks every time the director comes into your sleep room after lights out to stare at you in your bed and caress your vulnerable, sleeping form. Easterman has no shame in this, or when he maneuvers your head to lay on his lap while he goes on and on about his day.
♡ He’s the jealous type, especially so over the Prime Assets and the other reagents. If he thinks that you’re getting too cozy with a Prime for his liking, he’ll order the scientists and guards to keep you away from any trials that have them in it, and won’t let that particular asset in on any Prime Time trials you participate in. Jealousy over one of your fellow reagents is much easier for him to deal with. All he has to do is secretly goad an ex-pop or direct the Jaeger to them. A flick of the wrist, and he can have them strapped with lights and bombs, strung up in a trial, or sent off to test the Morphogenic Engine. Easterman is also not above scolding you in private if you seem close to someone, throwing out wild accusations and demanding to know if you love them more than him.
♡ You are often subjected to trials made for you specifically. They all reflect values and/or ideas that Easterman wants you to have, including but not limited to; the idea that he is the only one who loves you, that he is your sole protector, that he’s the only one you can trust, that your fellow reagents secretly resent you, etc.
♡ You often have special treats and gifts from him delivered to your cell, even if it’s things that are usually banned in the sleep room. Candy, sweets, coffee, new clothing. Easterman won’t mind if the other reagents are envious- in fact, he thrives if the special treatment incurs social isolation, because he’s hopeful that it will, in turn, incur loneliness, which he hopes will drive you to him, or incur resentment towards your fellow reagents, which sates his jealousy somewhat.
♡ Easterman’s scoldings when you get a low grade range from scathing to mildly disappointed, depending on his mood. He’ll say that he expects better from his perfect little how-high, and accuse you of doing poorly on purpose to upset him or get his attention. He’ll be overjoyed if he makes you cry or gets a reaction out of you because of it, because to him, it means his words and opinion matter to you. The most hurtful emotion you can feel towards him is not hate- it’s indifference, and would work himself up to the point of rage and full-on sobbing if you relentlessly acted so towards him.
♡ He has two entire cabinets (one in his office, one in his own bedroom) filled to the brim with photographs of you, clothing that you’ve worn, and personal items that have been stolen right out of your cell.
♡ Easterman will never let you rebirth- not if he can help it. He blacklists you from receiving rebirth tokens, and from the entire program, in general. If the guard or scientist manning the station that day didn’t get the memo, and you somehow managed to get yourself into the mansion, he’s having you escorted from it as soon as possible and turning everyone involved into an ex-pop.
♡ It’s inevitable that Avellanos, Lawler, Scarfiotti and Clyde Perry (if he’s still around) notice Easterman’s obsession, no matter how hard he tries to hide it from them and no matter how many excuses he makes when they inevitably bring it up or confront him about it. If his work is being seriously neglected because he’s been too busy watching you, they’ll force him to sit down and actually run the facility he’s in charge of, but they know better than to do anything to you, because they know Easterman would dive head-first into the deep end if they did.
♡-> “You don’t really want to leave me. You just think you do. It’s not entirely your fault, of course. A toddler screams at his mother when she takes the nozzle of the drain cleaner from his mouth. You may think that I don’t know what’s best, but you don’t have to worry anymore. I’m here to help you.”
♡-> “You are a perfect, pure lamb. Vulnerable. Lying docile on the table until the teeth or the knife pierces and stains your soft fur ugly crimson. But lambs have legs to follow their shepherd, who protects them from the cultist, from the wolf. Follow the shepherd, reject the carnivores, and we will let you out.”
♡-> “You’re special. You’re loved- but only by me. Others don’t know how wonderful you are, or maybe they do, and they simply don’t care. Don’t fret. Ignorance can be a blessing, if you’re willing to think of it as such. It only makes our bond stronger. I’ll always love you more than anyone could.”
Law and... Fatherhood? - GirlDad! Mike Logan Pt. 2
Synopsis: A continuation from Law and Fatherhood Pt. 1. Mike takes Jessie to visit an old friend, and Mike has to confront complicated feelings. Jessie asks about her father and Mike has to make a choice.
Word Count: 3,456
A/N: Welcome to Pt. 2! :3 This one's a little longer, and I'm a bit iffy on the ending, but overall, I'm quite happy with it! Part of me is tempted to write more for this AU in little one-shots, but I'm not for sure yet. :3
It takes Mike a few days to adjust to the new routine. He isn’t a morning person, but Jessie needs to be at daycare by 7 AM on the dot. At first, he groans about how useless daycare is, but Jessie gives him a pitiful look. “All my friends are there!” She cries. Who am I to deprive the kid of her education? He sets three alarms, just to make sure he’s up on time.
“I’m hungry,” she says in the car, so Mike stops to buy her breakfast. He realizes he’s hungry too, and buys himself a sandwich. By day four, he realizes how expensive fast food can be when you eat three meals a day instead of surviving off cheap coffee and hot dogs. I should really learn how to cook.
When they arrive outside Manhattan daycare, Jessie hugs him goodbye and runs off to join her friends. He pauses long enough to make sure she makes it inside. Then, he goes to work. No more are long shifts where Mike sits at his desk until dawn breaks. These days, he’s off the clock by 3 PM so he can beat the evening traffic and take Jessie home. He cooks her dinner, and tucks her into his bed. He spends the nights lying awake on the couch and reading the day’s newspaper to find a good foster home.
On the fifth day, just as Mike is preparing to leave, Donnie approaches. He drops an envelope on Mike’s desk. He picks it up and looks up at his captain. “What’s this for?”
“Family court. They said if you want to keep Jessie, you’ll have to submit a parental fitness examination by Friday. Otherwise, Social Services is gonna take her to St. Anne’s.”
“Seriously?” Mike groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. Donnie raises his hands in surrender. “Don’t shoot the messenger, Mikey. I’m just telling you what they told me.”
“Right. I’ll swing by Liz’s office tomorrow and have her fill one out,” Mike grumbles as he packs up his papers and walks out to his car. Leave it to the courts to make shit complicated.
The next morning, Mike wakes at his usual time and prepares for the day ahead. “We’re doing something a little different today,” Mike announces as Jessie shambles into the kitchen. She sits at the table as Mike sets down a plate of pancakes and sausage. She doesn’t hesitate to dig in.
“What are we doing?” Jessie mumbles out through a face full of food.
“I’ve gotta go fill out some paperwork a few blocks down, and you’re coming with me,” he replies as he stirs the coffee in his mug. Jessie pouts, but Mike shuts it down. “Don’t worry, it won’t take long. If you’re good, I’ll let you make the cake we bought the other day, okay?”
Jessie’s face brightens again, and Mike chuckles. “I figured that would work. Go wash up, and dress extra warm, okay? It’s gonna be freezing outside.”
“Okay!” She giggles and runs off down the hall. Mike clears the table and waits for her by the door. A pit starts to grow in his stomach. What if Liz doesn’t sign off on the paperwork? I can’t let them take Jessie away. Just give me a little more time.
When Jessie waddles back to him in her snow boots and thick puffer coat, Mike smiles. They step outside, and the cold air hits Mike like a slap to the face. Despite forty years of living in New York, he never could get used to the brutality of winter. Even now, bundled up in his thickest leather coat. Jessie runs ahead of him towards a large snowbank.
“Hey, slow down!” He calls through a cloud of condensation. “You’re gonna slip and hurt yourself!” The little girl stops in her tracks and beams a wide grin when he catches up to her.
“Sorry, Uncle Mike!” She chirps. If it weren’t so cold outside, his heart would have melted.
“Just watch it next time, okay?” Despite the feigned annoyance in his grumblings, Mike slips a gloved hand from his pocket. She doesn’t hesitate to take it, and Mike smiles when her tiny fingers rest in his palm.
Buildings peer down at them as they traverse the snowy sidewalk. Mike can’t help but feel judged by their iced-over windows. There’s no way Liz will sign off. I’m not fit to look after a kid–I can hardly look after myself. He averts his gaze and focuses on the footprints left by those who walked before them. Mike imagines the kind of people crazy enough to be out in this weather: A woman in heels, an old man and his dog, a squirrel. A man and a kid he has no right to care for. Mike shakes his head to dismiss the thought.
A bit further down, he can make out the spot where some poor bastard wiped out on the ice. The imprint is clear enough that Mike can locate where all his limbs fell. It conjures the image of Max, sprawled in a pool of his own blood. His voice fills Mike’s skull. “Take care of Jessie for me.” His jaw tenses, and his heartrate jumps. Damn it, why’d it have to be me? Mike’s hand tightens around Jessie’s, and her small voice breaks his focus.
“Uncle Mike, are we there yet?” Jessie looks up at him, and he can only hope she doesn’t notice his unease.
“Yeah. It’s that building right up ahead. You see it?” He tilts his head towards a small entryway tucked between an old coffee shop and a law firm. Jessie nods and the pair continue on.
A bell rings out as they step through the door before them, and Mike’s nose scrunches when it’s assaulted by the smell of apple and cinnamon. His shoulders relax in the warmth of the waiting room as he guides Jessie toward a couch tucked in the corner. The plush sinks beneath her as she climbs onto the seat, and Mike fights back a smile at the way her legs dangle over the cushion’s edge.
“You’ll be good and sit there while I talk to the nice lady, won’t you?” Mike asks. Jessie nods, and he ruffles her hair once more. “Atta girl. It shouldn’t take more than a half-hour, okay? Here”–he reaches into his coat’s pocket and produces a pad of paper and a pen–“Why don’t you draw while you wait?”
Jessie’s face lights up when she takes the pad, and she doesn’t hesitate to put the pen to paper. His attention shifts when the familiar voice calls to him from further in the space. The sound ignites a flurry of butterflies in his stomach.
“Mike?” Liz stands in the doorway of her office, her arms cross over her chest. Glossy lips rest in a pleasant smile, and dark eyes sparkle behind wire-framed glasses. It’s a pretty look he knows all too well, but one he’s never deserved. Heat creeps up the base of his neck to the tips of his ears, but he clears his throat and hopes she doesn’t notice. Liz continues, “I thought it was you I heard–who’s this?” Her gaze drifts to Jessie, but the girl is too engrossed in her drawing to notice.
“Max’s kid,” Mike responds and looks away. “I’m looking after her for a while.” His hand fidgets with the cuffs of his sleeve in a poor attempt to soothe his nerves. He doesn’t want to reveal too much information–not with Jessie close enough to hear. Mike’s eyes dart towards the doorway of Liz’s office. “Do you mind if we…?”
He doesn’t need to finish his thought. He never does around Liz. She leads him from the waiting room into her office, and when the door clicks shut behind them, his shoulders sag. Liz sits behind her desk and invites him to rest in the seat across from it. He refuses and opts to lean against a bookshelf instead. He doesn’t meet her eyes.
“Is everything alright?” Liz asks. Mike shifts on his feet, and his hands burrow into his pockets. “Max is dead,” is all Mike can manage before a lump forms in his throat. He forces it down and continues. “He asked me to look out for her, so I’m keeping her until I find someone better to take her in.” I just didn’t realize it would take so long.
Liz cocks her head. Her gaze burns through him as she tries to pick his brain, and Mike can tell he’s said too much. “The court said I needed to get some evaluation first, so I’m here.” He swallows slow and thick as he watches her. He can tell by the way her brow furrows that she isn’t falling for his deflection attempt.
“I see… I’m sorry to hear.” Her features soften before she reaches into a drawer on her desk. She produces a thin stack of papers and flips through them. “Is the evaluation all you’re here for?” Her fingers pause, and her eyes peer at him again above her glasses. “How are you handling Max’s death?”
Mike bristles at the question. His arms cross tighter around himself, and he bites the inside of his cheek. I should’ve known she’d ask. He weighs his options before he responds. “I’m fine.” The words ring so hollow, even Mike doesn’t believe it.
“Mike, you don’t have to lie-”
“I’m fine, Liz. Max is dead. Cops die all the time. We bury our friends and we move on.” Mike’s voice raises, but she doesn’t flinch. That’s another thing he hates about her–she never backs down when he puts up a fight–she just waits for him to dig his own grave. He’s too far in to back out now. “I don’t need you to bust my chops about it. I just need the evaluation so Social Services will get off my ass.” Liz continues to stare at him. Shame bubbles in his throat as he looks away, but he doesn’t apologize for the outburst.
“It’s just standard procedure. I have to ask.” Liz clicks the pen on her desk. Her tone softens for just a moment. “Even if it wasn’t, I’d still ask.”
“You always cared too damn much about me, you know?” Mike spits back, but all traces of anger are gone. “I never deserved it. I still don’t. All I do is screw things up.” He grumbles and slinks into the chair across from Liz’s desk. His hand finds purchase on his temples, and with a few slow, deep breaths, he regains his composure. Her silence makes him uncomfortable, and compels him to speak again.
“Listen. I’m not here to be psychoanalyzed or whatever bullshit you shrinks call it. I’m here for the little girl out there who’s already lost too damn much. I just need more time to find her a better home–somewhere she’ll be taken care of. It’s what Max wanted for her.”
Liz’s pen glides across the papers on her desk with clinical precision. She doesn’t glance up at him when she speaks again. “What do you want, Mike?”
“What do I want?” His hand twitches in his lap. Like a cornered animal, he strikes out when Liz reaches too close for comfort. “I want my partner back. I want my life back. I want to stop thinking about how Max would still be here if I could have just been faster.” He glances through a window in the door at Jessie. She’s still on the couch, and she looks happy as ever to be here. His shoulders relax, and his tone grows solemn. “More than any of it, I want Jessie to be taken care of, but I’m not the one to do it.”
Liz observes him for a moment before she speaks again. “What about Jessie? What do you think she would want?” The question catches Mike off-guard, and he doesn’t get the chance to answer as she continues. “You’re all she has now. Don’t you think it would hurt her if you abandoned her, too?”
“Abandon her? Christ, Liz. Don’t try to pull that guilt-tripping shit on me. You and I both know I’m not cut out to parent a kid. She deserves better than some burnt-out cop who can hardly keep the fridge stocked.” Mike’s fingers tap nervous rhythms on his knee in a half-hearted self-soothing attempt.
Liz sighs and shakes her head. She sets her pen on the desk and folds her hands in her lap. When she looks up to meet his eyes, Mike looks away. “Listen, I know you’re afraid of messing up. You don’t feel fit to take Max’s place in Jessie’s life, and that’s understandable.” Liz taps her pen on the desk to draw Mike’s attention. He flinches at the sound.
“You don’t have to replace Max, though. What Jessie needs most right now is a stable figure that she can rely on. She knows you–she likes you,” Liz continues. Mike bites his tongue. Kids are stupid, he wants to say. Of course she trusts me, she doesn’t know any better. His eyes glaze over the longer his thoughts spiral. Liz taps her pen on the desk again, and he snaps to attention.
“You may have lost your partner, but she lost her father, and that’s much more difficult to recover from. I’m surprised she’s even holding up as well as she is.”
“She doesn’t know yet,” Mike replies. He winces in anticipation of her reaction.
“You haven’t told her?” Liz’s tone is sharp, but not accusatory. She isn’t angry–just disappointed–Mike doesn’t know which is worse. “You can’t keep something like that from a child–you have to tell her eventually, Mike.”
Mike opens his mouth to defend himself with another smart-ass remark, but nothing comes out. He can’t deny the truth in her words, and that makes him uncomfortable to admit. He’s saved by the bell when Jessie pushes open the office door and pokes her head inside.
“Uncle Mike? I’m hungry,” she murmurs and glances at the woman behind the desk. Liz offers a less imposing smile, but Jessie shrinks back nonetheless. Mike rolls his shoulders as he rises from his seat.
“Alright kiddo, just hang on a sec. I’m almost done, okay?” Liz raises a brow when Mike softens under the little girl’s gaze. Jessie nods and scurries back to the waiting room couch. Mike starts to follow, but he hesitates in the doorway as he speaks. “...Thanks for putting up with me. I know it’s not easy.”
“It’s my job, Mike,” Liz shakes her head. “I’ll fill out the forms you need and drop them off at the courthouse tomorrow… And if you need any help at all, you know where to find me.”
“Yeah… Thanks.” Mike offers a half-hearted grin. He steps out of the office and closes the door behind him. His shoulders slump and he exhales in relief. I can’t believe I didn’t fail. “You ready to go?” Mike calls out to Jessie, and she bounds over to him.
“Mhm!” Jessie smiles with pride as she holds up his notepad. “I drew this!”
“You did? Let me see.” Mike smiles and plucks the pad from her hands. A short stick figure in the middle of the page and holds the hands of two taller figures. Daddy and Uncle Mike, he reads. The writing is crude, and some of the letters are backwards, but the message is clear. Mike’s smile softens, and he feels a pang in his chest. She does trust me. Before his eyes can tear up, he stuffs the notepad back in his pocket and tousles her hair.
“Not bad, squirt, but you got my nose wrong,” he smiles at Jessie, and chuckles when she pouts. “It still looks pretty damn good though, kiddo.”
“Yay!” Jessie cheers and throws her arms around Mike’s waist. He returns the embrace without hesitation. “C’mon, let’s get you home before it gets too late, okay?” Mike grunts as he hoists the girl off her feet and situates her on his back. Her arms wrap around his neck, and he holds onto her legs to keep her in place. My back is gonna hate me tomorrow, he thinks, but it’s worth it to keep her happy. Mike braces himself again before he carries Jessie out of the office and into the cold once more.
When the pair reach Mike’s apartment, he pulls his key from his pocket and unlocks the door. He’s careful not to jostle the child snoring in his ear. I could get used to this. He nudges the door open with his foot and carries Jessie to the make-shift bed on his couch. It doesn’t take long for her to snuggle into the blanket he covers her with.
When she’s settled, Mike moves further into the apartment. He shrugs off his coat and tosses it over the old recliner. He shuffles down the hall, careful to avoid the squeaky floorboards. In his bedroom, he kicks off his shoes and strips out of his suit in favor of more comfortable attire. Mike notices the stuffed bunny atop his mattress. She’ll have nightmares without Hoppy. He tucks the plush under his arm and carries it out with him.
Mike creeps back to the living room and tucks the bunny under Jessie’s arm. He smiles when her face buries in Hoppy’s fur. He moves on to the kitchen and hums a tune under his breath as he gathers ingredients for dinner. Pans clank together as he pulls them from the cabinet. The stove clicks and a small flame erupts from the burner. For the first time in days, everything feels normal. Mike loses himself in the cooking process, and before he realizes, an hour has passed. He retrieves a tomato and sets it on the cutting board before him.
“Uncle Mike?” Jessie’s small voice squeaks behind him, and he startles. He hadn’t expected her to wake up so soon. Without slowing his motions, he replies.
“Yeah, what’s wrong, kiddo?” His tone is casual, but soft.
“When is daddy coming home?”
Mike freezes. His knife falters in his hand, and his mouth runs dry. Images of Max’s bloodied body flash in his mind.
“You said he would be back from his spy stuff in a few days,” Jessie continues. Hoppy hangs in her grasp while she rubs the sleep from her eyes. “I miss him.”
Mike regrets giving her false hope, but how could he tell her the truth? He didn’t have the heart to tell her then, and when he looks into her big, amber eyes as they peer up at him, he isn’t sure if he can tell her now, either. Liz’s words ring out in his mind. You have to tell her eventually, Mike.
“Sweetheart, daddy is…” He steels his nerves and musters enough courage to keep his voice steady. He takes a deep breath and crouches down to level their gazes. “Daddy’s not coming back.”
Mike watches her face twist from hope into confusion, then utter despair. Her wide eyes grow glossy, and when her nose starts to scrunch, his composure shatters. Even though he believed himself unshakeable, Mike couldn’t stand the sting of a crying child. Before the tears have a chance to fall, he swipes the little girl into his arms and holds her tight. Her fingers curl tiny fists into his gray T-shirt as his weathered hands smooth the dark, curly locks atop her head.
He doesn’t dare speak again–not yet. The only comfort he provides is the warmth of his embrace as he pulls her closer to his chest. Please, don’t cry. I’m sorry, Jessie. Part of him is relieved her obstructed gaze keeps her from seeing his own tears. As her muffled sobs fade into whimpers, Mike pulls back from her. He tries to ignore the dampened patch of shirt where her snot clings to him.
“Listen, it’s gonna be okay,” Mike coos, and the smile he musters is almost enough to convince even himself. Now, he finds himself faced with a choice he thought he’d made days ago. “You’re all she has now.” He reaches up to cup Jessie’s face in his hand.
“I know it hurts,” He begins. His voice starts to waver, but he pulls himself together. “But I’m here for you, and I’m not going anywhere. Okay?” Mike holds his breath. He anticipates more tears–a protest–maybe even a tantrum. Instead, Jessie sniffles and hugs him tighter. “Okay,” is all she can muster as the two embrace. “I’m gonna do my best to take care of you,” Mike murmurs into her hair. I promise, I won’t let you down.
Law and ...Fatherhood? - GirlDad! Mike Logan Pt. 1
Synopsis: Very specific (and convenient for the author) AU in which Max Greevey is a widowed father before dying in a botched home-invasion. Mike Logan takes in his orphaned daughter, Jessie, and grapples with his partner's death and complicated feelings about parenthood.
Word Count: 2,955
A/N: Howdy! I promised I would return with my silly creative writing piece, so here it is! :3 I've split it up into two parts (otherwise it would be WAYYY too long of a post lolol), so Pt. 2 will be linked here! My creative writing muscles are a bit rusty, but I hope you enjoy nonetheless! <33
In the glow of the morning sun, New York Police Department’s 27th precinct sits almost abandoned. It’s a rare sight to everyone, save for the lone man at an old oak desk.
“C’mon Max, I’ve been here all night,” Detective Mike Logan groans into the receiver of a rotary phone. In the dim light of a desk lamp, he sifts through a stack of papers. “My date’s gonna get cold.”
Max laughs through the other end of the line. “Really Mikey? This is your third one in two weeks. When are you gonna find a nice girl and settle down?”
“Spare me the lecture, wise-ass. I’m hot-wired, remember? No broad can handle me,” Mike retorts and taps the papers on his desk. “How long does it take to find a damn case file?”
“Patience is a virtue, you know.”
Mike rolls his eyes and listens as Max shuffles through the trunk of his car. He’s about to set the phone down when a second voice catches his ear. The words are too muffled to make out, but Max’s tone sounds alarms in his mind. Mike hears the phone clatter against the wall.
“Max? What’s going on?” His voice is urgent, but he receives no answer. Mike is left powerless as he listens to the sound of three distinct gunshots on the other line. His heart sinks. “Max? Max!”
There’s no answer.
Mike slams the phone on his desk and bolts for the door of the old precinct. His heart pounds in his ears with each step he takes. He rips open the door of his Dodge Charger and crams himself behind the wheel. With the flick of a switch, lights and sirens spark to life and Mike takes off. His full weight presses into the gas pedal as he weaves through the morning traffic. Don’t be dead. God, please don’t be dead. He takes a sharp turn, and he feels the tires lift from the pavement.
“Detective Logan,” Mike barks over the radio in his car, “I need back-up and emergency response to West Elm, now!”
A car refuses to yield at an intersection, and he swerves in time to avoid it. Mike lays on the horn. Almost there. Just hang on a little longer. The tires screech to a halt as Mike parks outside Max’s old townhouse.
Mike draws his service piece and breaks from the car. “Police!” He calls and approaches the front door. The hinges are busted, and the frame is splintered. Was this a break-in? He clears the living room before he enters the kitchen. Blood covers the far wall. The back door hangs wide open.
“Max!” Mike calls out and rushes to the body in the door’s threshold. “Shit, shit.” Mike drops to his knees and assesses the damage. Two in the chest, one in the stomach. Mike yanks a towel from the counter and stuffs it against the wounds in Max’s chest.
“Mikey? Is that you?” Max’s words slur together as he speaks. His skin is clammy, and his breathing is heavy and quick. He tries to move, but Mike forces him back down.
“Yeah, it’s me. I’m here. Fuck, you’re losing a lot of blood.”
“Gunshot wounds’ll do that,” Max chokes out a laugh. Mike doesn’t even crack a smile.
“Just hang in there–I called for EMS in the car–they’ll be here soon,” he responds as he shoves the towel down harder with a sickening squelch. Max hisses in pain. “You’re gonna be okay. Just hang on.”
“Mikey, give it a rest,” Max coughs. His body shudders with the force. “I’m not gonna–”
“Shut up and breathe, Max!” Mike’s voice wavers. He ignores the warmth of Max’s blood on his hands as it seeps through layers of fabric. “You’re gonna make it!” You have to make it. Mike can hear sirens drawing near. “C’mon, just a little longer–”
“Cut it out, Mike.” Max wraps his hand around Mike’s wrist and uses the last of his strength to pull it off. Mike freezes. “Take care of Jessie for me, will’ya?” Max forces through gurgling coughs and a mouth of blood. His body shudders and his head lulls before his hand falls slack at his side. Mike’s nose scrunches as he presses his hands down enough to bruise.
“Damn it Max, don’t die!” He slams his hands once, twice, three times. No response. One, two, three. Still, Max doesn’t move. One, two, three. One, two–
“That’s enough–you can step back.” An emergency responder hoists Mike up by the arm and escorts him out the back door. Fellow officers occupy the scene now, but he can’t hear their chatter over the ringing in his ears. It takes five minutes for his captain to shake him from the dissociated stupor.
“Mikey—you okay?” Donnie asks, and Mike’s attention snaps to the older man.
“Yeah, I’m great,” Mike rasps through the bile gathering in the back of his throat. “Just peachy.” Mike feels his stomach churn before he pries his eyes off the house.
“Listen, I…” Donnie’s voice trails off. “I’m sorry about Max. It’s gonna be tough on both of us, but I want you to know that I’m here for you.” Donnie reaches out. His hand weighs heavy on Mike’s shoulder.
“Thanks, but I’ll be fine.” Mike pulls away from the touch, and glances over in time to watch a dark sheet cover his dead friend. A sudden wave of panic washes over him. “Where’s Jessie?”
“Daycare,” Donnie responds. “Nobody’s called it in yet.”
There’s a flicker of relief in Mike’s expression. If he were still a religious man, he’d thank the forces above that Jessie hadn’t been home. The feeling doesn’t last long, however, and his heart sinks again. “Max was her only living relative,” Mike states. “What’ll happen to her?”
“The state will take her. My guess is she’ll end up at St. Anne’s, if she’s lucky.”
“St. Anne’s?” Mike grimaces. “You know they treat those kids like shit.”
Donnie sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I know, but there’s nothing we can do about it. Max is dead, Marie’s been dead for years, and I can’t afford another mouth to feed, so unless you have any better ideas–”
“She’s not going in the system, Donnie.” There’s no room for question in his tone. “Call the daycare and tell them the situation. I’ll pick her up, and she can stay with me until I find someone better to take her in.”
Donnie doesn’t argue, and the two part ways as Mike crosses the yellow tape. He reaches for the doorhandle of his old Dodge, but falters long enough to give the scene one last glance. He watches as Max is tossed in the back of a coroner’s van, and he ignores the pit it leaves in his stomach. His car’s engine sputters to life, and he doesn’t waste time putting distance between the scene and himself.
Mike’s knuckles turn white as he grips the wheel and maneuvers the busy street. Max is dead, he thinks to himself. A taxi cab cuts him off, but he doesn’t touch the horn. How am I gonna tell Jessie? The silence becomes unbearable, and Mike reaches for the radio dial. Do I even have to? Sinatra croons through his speakers about strangers-turned-lovers. He doesn’t believe in any of that crap anymore, but he’ll take the noise to fill the void of Max’s banter in the passenger seat.
The car’s growling fades into the music as he continues to drive. When he reaches his destination–Manhattan Daycare–he spots a mob of children running around a dingy playground. Must be recess time. He kills the engine and waits for the color in his cheeks to return before he steps out onto the cracked pavement. Mike wobbles on his feet as he makes his way to the door. A bell chimes overhead, and an older woman looks up at him from a reception desk. She offers a smile that Mike forces himself to return.
“Name and ID?” The woman flips through a tray of notecards. Mike produces his wallet and sets his license and badge on the counter.
“Michael Logan. I’m here for–” Before he can finish his sentence, a shrill yell cuts through the air.
“Uncle Mike!” Jessie giggles as she bounds across the room. Mike’s body tenses, and with the force and grace of a car crash, the little girl slams into his torso. Mike stumbles back with a quiet “oomph.”
“Hey! Watch it, kid! I’m not as young as I used to be, you know?” Mike ruffles her hair, and as she looks up at him, his chest aches. “Sorry, Uncle Mike!”
A younger woman stands off to the side, and the pity-filled expression helps Mike ID her as Jessie’s teacher. The pair exchange a knowing glance before he looks away again. “Listen kiddo, how’d you like to come home with me today? You can ride shot-gun in the old cruiser–we’ll get ice cream–you name it, we’ll do it.”
“Can we get McDonald’s?” Jessie’s face brightens, and when she smiles at him, his chest tightens. She looks just like Max. “Yeah, we can get McDonald’s.” He ruffles her hair again and smiles back. “You got everything you need?”
She nods, and he takes her little hand in his own to lead her to the car. “You know, if you ride up front, you have to help me keep an eye out for bad guys, right?” Mike fakes a serious tone as he scoops her up into the passenger seat and buckles her in. Her brows furrow as she mimics his expression. “Right!” She replies and lifts her hand to her forehead. Mike grins and returns her salute. “The city of New York is counting on you, kiddo.”
Mike slides into the driver’s seat and sparks the engine to life once more. Sinatra’s voice oozes from the speaker, and Jessie’s nose scrunches. She reaches for the radio, but her arm is too short to reach. “What’s wrong? You don’t like Sinatra?” Mike jokes and places his fingers on the dial.
“He sounds weird,” Jessie states with a shake of her head, and Mike chuckles. “Your old man’s not raising you right if you don’t like the Rat Pack.” He twists the dial once, twice, three times. “What about Billy Joel?” He glances over at her when the car rolls to a stop. She nods.
“I like Piano Man!” She smiles up at him, and Mike reaches to tousle her hair. “Everyone likes Piano Man, squirt. It’s a classic.” The car rolls forward again, and a gentle quiet falls over the pair. When the golden arches creep into view, Jessie’s face lights up again.
“What do you want, kiddo?”
Jessie ponders for a moment before she speaks up. “Can I get chicken nuggets, and a milkshake?” Her voice is hesitant, like she expects him to say no.
“A milkshake, huh?” Max would kick my ass. He considers saying no, but the pleading look in her eyes makes his chest ache. She’s not used to being spoiled–that much is obvious. “Hell yeah you can, kid.” She smiles, and he can’t help but feel like a bad influence. His attention turns to the loud speaker.
“Can I get a McNugget Happy Meal, a large chocolate shake, and a large fry?” Mike calls out. When he receives his total, he pulls forward. The over-worked teenager at the window takes Mike’s cash in exchange for a brown bag and a large sugary drink. He passes the shake to Jessie and laughs when she struggles to get her hands around the cup.
“Maybe we should’ve gotten a smaller one–that thing’s as big as you are,” Mike jokes as he pokes a straw through the lid. “You’ll share some with your favorite uncle, right?”
Jessie lifts the straw to her lips and takes a drink before she holds the cup out to Mike. “Yeah! You can have some, too!” He leans forward and sips from the straw, but he grimaces at the sweetness that assaults his tongue.
“Jesus, kid. How do you handle that much sugar?” He shakes his head and guides the car back onto the main road. Jessie just shrugs and kicks her feet as she continues to gulp down the chocolate shake.
Mike feels at ease when he pulls up to the precinct. “I need to run in and pick up a few papers before we go home, okay? Can you be good and wait out here in the car?”
“Why?” Jessie tilts her head. “I wanna come too!”
“Nah, you don’t wanna go in. It’s really boring in there. I won’t take long.”
“But I wanna say hi to daddy!” Jessie pouts. The memory of that morning slams Mike like a freight train, but he keeps a brave face for Jessie. Right. She doesn’t know.
“Honey, daddy’s not here.” He looks into her wide, innocent eyes, and he knows the truth will break her heart. “He’s out on a super secret mission, and that’s why you’re gonna be staying with me for a couple days, okay?” He bites the inside of his cheek and hopes she doesn’t question him further.
“Oh, like a spy?” Jessie smiles. Mike sighs in relief and pats her head. “Yeah, like a spy. Just sit tight, and I’ll be right back.”
“Okay! I watch for bad guys!” She salutes the man again, and he gives a chuckle.
Mike returns the gesture before he exits the car. When he’s out of Jessie’s sight, his shoulders sag. I just need to lie for a few days. He pushes his way into the precinct and maneuvers around the other officers in the bullpen before he reaches his desk. His eyes linger on Max’s nameplate and empty chair. Mike gathers papers off his desk and crams them into a leather satchel.
“Hey,” a voice calls from across the room. “Mikey, you doing okay? I heard about what happened with Max.”
“Yeah, I’m just fine,” Mike responds. “Thanks, Tony.”
“No problem–you know we’re all here for you, right?” Tony pats Mike on the back. He winces. Can’t you just leave me alone?
“I know,” Mike shrugs and drapes his satchel over his neck.
“Say, are you still coming to the pub later? A little drinking and socializing might do you some good,” Tony jabs to lighten the mood.
“Nah, as much as I need a good drink or five, I’ve gotta get home,” Mike rolls his shoulders and stretches his arms over his head. Tony feigns surprise. “I never thought I’d see the day where Mike Logan turns down a chance to drink his problems away.”
Mike snorts, but there’s no humor in it. “Yeah, well, I’m a changed man. I’ve got a six year old in my cruiser that I’ve gotta get home before bedtime.” His eyes linger on a framed picture of Max and Jessie on the desk beside him. Mike picks it up and stuffs it in the satchel.
“You’re looking after Jessie? I never would’ve pegged you as the fatherly type.”
“I’m not. I’m just holding onto her for a bit until I can find someone else to pass her off to,” Mike steps away from the desk and makes his way to the door. His eyes roll when he notices Tony following. Each jab stokes the flame building in Mike’s chest.
“That’s definitely for the best,” Tony retorts. “Kids require a lot of patience, and I’ve seen how short your fuse is.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mike bristles. He tries to catch his tongue, but he isn’t fast enough. “You think just because my mom and old man used to beat me around when they got angry, I’d do the same to her, huh?” His fist curls around the strap of the satchel. “D’you think I haven’t thought of that already?”
“Mikey, you know I was just joking–” Tony blubbers, but Mike continues. “Don’t bother. I don’t wanna hear it.” Mike shoves through the doors of the precinct. It slams behind him. The wind shocks him from his fury, and he runs a hand down his face. He’s right. I’m no better than my mother. Why the hell would Max trust me? Mike takes a moment to compose himself before he returns to the car.
When he climbs inside, he finds Jessie asleep in the passenger seat. The tension in his body melts away. The car starts again, and he takes off for his apartment. He’s careful to avoid the potholes along the way. When he parks outside the old building, he shakes Jessie awake.
“Are we home?” She rubs the sleep from her eyes and smiles.
“Yeah, we’re home.” Mike parks the car and leads her inside. In the living room, there’s a TV, a couch, and a recliner–what more could a man need? The kitchen is small, but functional. He shrugs off his coat and hangs it with Jessie’s backpack by the door. “Bathroom’s down the hall. My bed’s across from there. You can sleep in it–I’ll take the couch–okay?” Jessie nods and starts down the hall, but she lingers in the doorway.
“Uncle Mike? Can you tuck me in?” Mike’s chest clenches at the tiny request. “Sure thing, kid.” He follows her back and lets her get comfortable. He pulls the blanket over her and gives her one final pat on the head. “G’night, kiddo. I’ll just be in the other room if you need me, okay?” Jessie nods and smiles as he turns out the light. Mike closes the door behind him before he retires to the couch for the evening. Well, that’s one day down. I’m sure someone will take her soon. She’s a good kid.
Guys hear me out on "Girl Dad" Mike Logan. I'm talking full-on "adopted a small child after dealing with the homicide of one (or both) parents." Imagining Mike trying to navigate single-parenthood, re-discovering purpose in his life, becoming more careful on the job because now he has someone in his life to look out for, and healing his own inner-child wounds in the process has me WEAK. That man deserves some nice slice of life fluff after all he went through ;--;
HAI chat. Chat. I know I said this and completely vanished off the face of the Earth, but I have VERY good news. I've been taking a creative writing class for my final semester at College™️ and for my semester-long project, I opted to utilize this idea, soooo, here soon I shall be posting it for the small (but mighty) community of Girl Dad! Mike Logan truthers. 🫡
Slice of Life/Fluff/Tidbit Headcanons: Detective Mike Logan
It’s mentioned somewhere Logan goes to his cousins jigs in bars, so he at least somewhat enjoys rock. My personal headcanon: He enjoys hard rock sometimes, but he prefers rock like Queen, Bon Jovi, etc.
He also likes Billy Joel, David Bowie, and ESPCIALLY jazz artists like Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin.
Bro has a record player somewhere in his apartment
Is damn near IMPOSSIBLE to wake up. I’m sure you could shove him off the bed at 4am and he’d stay asleep.
Never starts an office prank war… but once one’s started, he will pull the most devious pranks against ESPECIALLY Max Greevey.
Has his ties stuck in an organizer hung over his bedroom door
Keeps the TV on to sleep to. This is SORT OF supported by canon??? He mentions having a Chaplin film on whilst in bed once
Has wickedly good aim, mainly uses it to toss Greevey his handcuffs or to throw paper balls at him from across the desk when bored.
Thrifts often— its actually how he got his trench coat and half his ties. (this is based off the fact that chris noth actually got the coat from a thrift store)
He’s seen getting lemon lime pop from the vending machine so i’m saying Sprite is his favorite soda it is also mine you cant take this from me
A/N: there's like...one mike logan x reader fic on here so i had to contribute to the mike logan agenda 🫡
Two Johns walk into the diner one late afternoon.
The sun is blaring down on the street yet the two men hurry through the door in hopes to escape the biting chill. They make a straight line to one of the empty booths closest to the window wall. The heat the glass pane is absorbing does nothing to warm up the two gentlemen.
They’re dressed sharply. Clean shaven. Leaning into each other to speak in hushed whispers as they’re sharing a secret. One of them, the one with dark hair, shrugs as he picks up the menu. Mr. Blond’s gaze burns with determination, unbothered by his friend’s dismissal.
Cops.
No matter how discreetly they dressed, they’re spotted a mile away.
“Can I get you two gentlemen anything to drink?” You greet the two men, notepad in hand and a friendly smile that strains the muscles around your mouth.
The one with dark hair doesn’t look away from his notepad as he rattles off his order, “Yeah, I’ll have black coffee. No cream. No sugar.”
Just as You’re about to ask Mr. Blond, the first man quickly adds, “Oh, and an apple pie.”
“I’ll have coffee with cream please.” Unlike his partner, Mr. Blond offers You a polite smile.
Scribbling down their orders, You repeat what You’ve written down and head to the kitchen window.
It’s a weekday but it’s a slow one.
Other than the two cops, there’s an elderly couple sharing a carrot cake, a college student on his second cup of coffee working on some book report, and a business woman grabbing a late lunch.
“...I’m telling you, Max, it’s the ex-wife!" The cop with dark hair stubbornly insists while his partner waves him off. “I’m telling you! She’s pressed that her husband divorced her for a younger and prettier woman and she couldn’t deal with it.”
Mr. Blond, or Max, signals his partner to shut his mouth when he notices You approaching their booth. He hurriedly shuts the case file closed and shoves his memo pad into his breast pocket.
“Two coffees. One cream and one plain. And one apple pie. Anything else I can get you?”
It’s at this moment that the cop with dark hair finally looks away from his partner and turns to face You.
The man’s eyebrows rise along with his smile as he takes You in.
“As a matter of fact–”
“Mike. Don’t do it.” Max warns his friend with a shake of his head and a tiny quirk of a smile.
“Why don’t you give me your number?” Mike winks, leaning back into the leather couch with one arm leaning on the top.
Instantly, the friendly smile that You have plastered on your face since nine o’clock this morning drops. This job doesn’t pay You anywhere near enough for You to tolerate men and their awful pick up lines. You scoff while rolling your eyes but it doesn’t offend Mike.
“Come on!” You hear Mike call after You as You walk away.
Not twenty minutes later and You’re being signaled over to their booth with Mike grinning at You, as if he’s certain that You can’t resist his charm and not that his partner called You for the bill.
“May I say something?” Mike asks. His eyes twinkle with mischief, a playful expression of boyish delight.
Max reaches across the table and places a hand on Mike’s arm, “I’m so sorry. Please ignore him. He doesn’t go out much.”
Max’s comment a tiny chuckle from You that has Mike beaming. Butterflies flutter in his stomach at the sound of your cute laugh.
Not having anything better to do, “Sure. I’ll bite.” You turn your gaze fully to Mike.
Mike’s smile broadens.
Not to be a cliche but You swear your heart skips a beat.
He's a handsome guy, albeit a bit too flirty for your taste. Though he’s sitting down, You can easily tell that Mike’s tall. Maybe a little bit over six feet tall?
“This is the best apple pie I’ve ever had in my life!” Mike sounds genuine. He cuts a piece and shoves it into his mouth, “Beautiful!”
Max makes a disgusted face, “Don’t talk with your mouth full, you animal.”
Mike’s little praise has You smiling again. It’s genuine this time. A shy one.
You don’t often bake at the diner. You’re hired as a waitress. But one time, Bobby, the chef, was out sick and the other chef didn’t know how to bake. That’s when You offered to bake your grandmother’s infamous apple pie.
The customers all enjoyed your baking. And with the large demand to have the apple pie on the menu, the owner and manager of the diner revised your contract so that You’ll bake an apple pie once every week with an added, yet humble, increase to your pay cheque.
“Marry me.” Mike abruptly announces.
“M-Mike!” Max sputters, his ears heating up in embarrassment. But it’s nothing compared to the way your whole face turns into a vibrant red color.
Mike playfully shoves Max away, “Marry me and I’ll make you the happiest woman in the world.” he gazes at You with endless admiration and an unbreakable promise.
Fearing what You might do to his friend, Max slaps a twenty dollar bill on the table and yanks Mike off his seat, “Keep the change!”
They’re gone within seconds.
As you’re cleaning their table, moments later, once You’ve completely calmed down, You spot one of the napkins folded and placed under one of the plates. Nothing unusual. Except for what looks like ink bleeding into the piece of fabric.
Sliding the napkin from under the plate, You look over your shoulder to make sure no one is looking, and unfold the cloth in your hand.
Call me.
212-xxx-xxxx
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