Oh, boys... (Michael, Igby)
"Give me the phone. Michael. Give me the phone."
Michael, Igby's brother, was sitting beside him in their car, staring at his brother as if he had gone mad. "No."
"Give me the phone," Igby replied, because he was a mature and rational angel. "Give it give it give it give it give it give it give it give it-"
"Dear god if you do not shut up right now I will throw it out the window and drive off," Michael warned Igby, who shut up. "Ig, are you seriously going to call this poor guy and tell him you think he found his husband, but it might not be him, and you aren't bothering to check?"
"He asked me not to check because he'll run off again," Igby said, and when he said it he felt it made a lot of sense. Michael was obviously just stupid. "He can come to Liverpool and see for himself."
"You haven't even caught sight of the guy!" Michael hissed. They had been set up outside the building the man named Malachy Flynn supposedly lived in, for two days now. Neither of them had showered nor slept well, nor eaten very much and Michael was pretty sure he might kill Igby because he was more annoying when the stakes were high.
"It is not our fault he hasn't left his apartment."
"So you're jumping the gun because you're tired? We should do this the right way," Michael said, still holding tightly on to Igby's phone. The tip had come through a week ago when one of the names Igby had sent out to local hospitals had shown up on the roster. Now all that remained was for Igby to catch a glimpse of the man to make sure he was Malachy Flynn.
Only he was bored now.
"What if he never comes out, Michael? We'll be stuck here forever. What then?"
"Why don't you take a nap, Drama Queen?"
"Why don't you take a nap?" Igby grumbled back at Michael. Then he snapped his head forward and pointed and when Michael looked, Igby grabbed his phone from Michael's hands and he quickly jumped out of the car to use it.
He watched as Michael swore at him and rocked the car back and forth with the force of his temper tantrum as he dialled Quinn Wakefield's number and explained the situation. And when he returned to the car he said calmly, "all done. Let's go get some dinner."
"You are, without a doubt, the worst investigator I have ever seen," Michael said to him from the driver's seat.
"When why do I always get my man?" Igby said, and he had a point. "It's him. Just wait."
And as much as Michael wanted Igby to be wrong, just once, he didn't want it to be at the expense of Quinn Wakefield, who missed his husband. So he hoped his brother was right and kept his further thoughts to himself.
Michael, Igby's brother, was sitting beside him in their car, staring at his brother as if he had gone mad. "No."
"Give me the phone," Igby replied, because he was a mature and rational angel. "Give it give it give it give it give it give it give it give it-"
"Dear god if you do not shut up right now I will throw it out the window and drive off," Michael warned Igby, who shut up. "Ig, are you seriously going to call this poor guy and tell him you think he found his husband, but it might not be him, and you aren't bothering to check?"
"He asked me not to check because he'll run off again," Igby said, and when he said it he felt it made a lot of sense. Michael was obviously just stupid. "He can come to Liverpool and see for himself."
"You haven't even caught sight of the guy!" Michael hissed. They had been set up outside the building the man named Malachy Flynn supposedly lived in, for two days now. Neither of them had showered nor slept well, nor eaten very much and Michael was pretty sure he might kill Igby because he was more annoying when the stakes were high.
"It is not our fault he hasn't left his apartment."
"So you're jumping the gun because you're tired? We should do this the right way," Michael said, still holding tightly on to Igby's phone. The tip had come through a week ago when one of the names Igby had sent out to local hospitals had shown up on the roster. Now all that remained was for Igby to catch a glimpse of the man to make sure he was Malachy Flynn.
Only he was bored now.
"What if he never comes out, Michael? We'll be stuck here forever. What then?"
"Why don't you take a nap, Drama Queen?"
"Why don't you take a nap?" Igby grumbled back at Michael. Then he snapped his head forward and pointed and when Michael looked, Igby grabbed his phone from Michael's hands and he quickly jumped out of the car to use it.
He watched as Michael swore at him and rocked the car back and forth with the force of his temper tantrum as he dialled Quinn Wakefield's number and explained the situation. And when he returned to the car he said calmly, "all done. Let's go get some dinner."
"You are, without a doubt, the worst investigator I have ever seen," Michael said to him from the driver's seat.
"When why do I always get my man?" Igby said, and he had a point. "It's him. Just wait."
And as much as Michael wanted Igby to be wrong, just once, he didn't want it to be at the expense of Quinn Wakefield, who missed his husband. So he hoped his brother was right and kept his further thoughts to himself.