He skipped his lunch break, which Tessa hadn’t been too thrilled about all things considered, but she’d brought him back a sandwich, anyway.

He was up to his eyeballs in Nico’s various social media accounts, searching for clues to where he could have gone, when Jensen eventually returned to his desk.

“Micah?”

Micah nearly jumped out of his seat at the sound of the man’s voice so close to his ear. He turned to see Jensen looming over him. Honestly, hadn’t he ever heard of personal space?

Jensen was openly examining the pages he had up on his computer, a little wrinkle forming in his brow at what he saw. (He was probably surprised by how seriously Micah was taking the case he’d assigned him.)

Micah cleared his throat, and Jensen’s eyes swiveled back to him. “Did you need something?” Micah asked.

“The captain wants a word with you.”

Micah felt himself tense. He blinked in surprise. “Really? I mean, uh, sure. Okay.” He closed the tabs on his computer before standing. “Do you know what he wanted?”

Jensen just shrugged. “You tell me.”

So helpful.

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Micah made his way to the captain’s office.

Captain Abram Hart was a busy man – he oversaw the entire 105th precinct, which included dealing with the press, securing their budget, and juggling a slew of other responsibilities that equated to doing a whole lot of paperwork.

Even with all that on his plate, he was a great police captain. He was a firm, but fair boss, and very personable – his face well-known throughout the office. He allowed Dolores and the other ladies who ran the front lobby to host a variety of fundraisers and BBQs whenever they got a bee in their bonnet to boost team morale, and he was honestly invested in the well-being of everyone that worked under him.

It was just… Micah, personally, tended to avoid him while he was at work. For obvious reasons.

Realizing he’d reached the man’s office, Micah sighed before rapping his knuckles on the door.

Knock. Knock.

“Come in.”

Micah pushed open the door. “Captain Hart, good morning, sir” he greeted.

Captain Hart looked up from some papers he’d been studying on his desk. He was a sturdy man in his early fifties with hair that was full, but almost completely gray, and astute green eyes that peered at Micah behind a set of thick-frame glasses. The handlebar mustache he sported had gone out of style in the 90’s, but he’d had it for as long as Micah could remember.

“Hardly morning anymore,” Captain Hart pointed out. “Have a seat, Detective Hart.”

And did Micah mention that the man was his father?

In Micah’s opinion, it was the main reason for Jensen’s general animosity towards him. It wasn’t a hair-pulling crush like Tessa’s romance-inclined mind theorized. The man was just pissed because he didn’t think that Micah had had to work for his job. Who cared if Micah had graduated with a double major in criminal justice and sociology? Who cared if he passed police academy training with flying colors, his file filled with comments like “excellent instincts” and “superb reflexes”?