Disclaimer: Don't own 'em.
Summary: Mike Logan babysits a very drunk Megan Wheeler.
Author's Notes:More Wheeler lovin' because she needs some. Please note I haven't seen many Wheeler eps so I apologise for any OOCness that may occur. Also hasn't been beta'd, and I hope you enjoy this. Set sometime during Season 6.
"You should probably quit while you're ahead," observed Mike as he watched his partner down another beer before ordering another one. He leaned against his chair, watching her carefully. She had to be reaching her limit soon. Her movements were more sluggish, and her eyes were having trouble focusing.
He carefully sipped his own bottle and smiled as she slowly said, "I can ke -hic-ep keep go -hic-ing,"
"And what do I tell Ross when there are photos of you drunk on the Internet tomorrow morning?"
She glared at him, "You wouldn't,"
"Mike!" she cried out, sounding like a sixth grader, "Don't!"
"I mean you'd be so drunk - there are a lot of things I could do," smirked Mike, winking at her. He didn't mean any of it though, they both knew it. Despite his reputation as a ladies' man he would never break the rules regarding their partnership.
Firstly, though she was attractive, she was still a kid, still innocent, and young – he could probably be her father. Secondly Ross would flip if he found out, and he really didn't want to become his captain's punching bag. Thirdly ever since his former partner had jumped ships he might as well as become a monk. Hell instead of catching up with old friends on a Friday, he was babysitting Wheeler.
"You -hic- you'd ta -hic- ake advantage of yo -hic-ur dru -hic- unk partner?" she responded dimly, as the bartender placed another bottle down. She pushed it to Mike who unscrewed the lid. As she started to drink, he bounced the lid in his hand.
"Don't worry your safe," he grinned, "You really aren't my type anyway,"
"Let me guess -hic-your type is blo -hic-blonde and le -hic-eggy?"
Mike rolled his eyes, "You think that little of me Wheeler?"
She grinned, "Yep," she started to drink again, "But ya -hic- never know."
"I'm in half the mind to leave you here," said Mike shortly.
"You wo -hic-uldn't," said Wheeler confidently, "You wouldn't dare,"
He cocked an eyebrow, "What makes you so sure?"
"If you wanted -hic-me to get drunk by myself, you would have never of come in the first place," she grinned victoriously. She swilled the liquid around in her bottle, eyes staring blankly at Mike. She looked exhausted to be honest and he couldn't help but wonder what had prompted her to go out drinking.
She'd been in a pissy mood all day, starting from when she walked into the bullpen to the interrogation room when Mike had found himself instinctively placing himself between her and the perp when she took it to far, to when she did paper work so furiously that she accidently ripped some paper. She'd had this cold look in her eye, her mouth constantly in a scowl, every comment coming out harshly.
Course it could just be that time of the month - though surely that wouldn't require getting pissed six ways to hell. Nope would get his partner annoyed? Frustrated? Hell, she must be annoyed over something big. Then he grinned, there was one thing that came to mind - one thing. It was an immature call but hey who knew.
"Why -hic- you grinning?" she asked sluggishly.
"Boyfriend dump you Wheeler?"
"Go fuck yourself." she shot back.
"So your boyfriend did dump you..." said Mike smugly, leaning back. At her glare he teased lightly, "Surely this isn't your first break-up?"
She was flushed, scowling at him, eyes narrowed. She looked pissed off to say the least...that mixed with the fact the alcohol was taking effect was enough warning for Mike. His hand slowly crept back to his Glock, as he watched her. She glanced to the side, and suddenly what felt like a stone had dropped in his stomach.
She was crying.
Not obviously though...it was more like a single tear. She looked briefly at him, wiping her face, and pulled out her phone. She fiddled with it before she pushed it across the table, and glared, "He -hic- broke up on a text -hic- happy?"
"A text message?" said Mike hollowly, glancing at the phone in slight horror. What was the world coming too? That was a fucking disgrace. What was happening to men these days? Break ups are in most cases messy - no denying it...but a text? That's harsh, hell he thought a phone call was bad - but a text? And to a police officer as well...was this guy suicidal?
He picked up the phone and sifted through her messages. He found the text and stared at it blankly. What a prick...what happened to gallantry? He could almost imagine Max Greevey turning in his grave.
"You really pick 'em Wheeler,"
"Yeah me..." she groaned, looking hopelessly at him. She drained her bottle, and was about to order another one but Mike, shook his head, taking her hand. He held it for a moment, rubbing it gently. She smiled warmly at him, he grinned back, and watched as her cheeks reddened slightly, before she glanced away.
"C'mon kid," he sighed, rising and placing a fifty on the table.
"You're paying?" she said in reply, lifting her head.
"And you're paying me back."
He rolled his eyes, relinquishing her hand, and slipped on his leather coat. Heading around the table, he reached out and pulled her up, allowing her to slump against him. She fought against his grip, and said shortly, "I -hic- wwalll..."
She didn't seem to complain after that.
He vaguely considered taking her home - but he had no idea where his partner lived, and besides Wheeler seemed almost asleep. He made an executive decision just to take the couch...let Wheeler get a decent night sleep - she was gonna need it.
He seated her in the passenger seat, and she responded, "Not a -hic- little kid..."
He grinned, "Wheeler - you are to me,"
"Bastard," she grumbled, buckling herself up. He sighed and headed to the shotgun. He rolled through the streets, heading to his apartment which was only a few blocks from the bar. He was surprised that she made no motion to give directions.
He pulled up, and got out. Once again he helped Wheeler. She was leaning into him, head buried into his side. As they walked, she stumbled, falling forwards, and Mike grabbed her, hauling her up. Rolling his eyes he picked her up and lifted her over his shoulder.
"Put...ahhhh, fuck -hic- it..." she slurred against his shirt.
He carried her inside, struggling to get the key in. Once in he carried her up the stairs. She might as well be dead; her body just slumped against him, her soft breathing the only thing that indicated she was still alive.
He reached his apartment, and placed his partner against the wall gently. Her head lolled against her chest, as she mumbled something. He opened his door, and helped Wheeler up again. Supporting her he entered his apartment, locked the door, and led her to his bedroom.
Not bothering to turn the light on, he laid her on his bed, pulling the doona over her, and rolling her onto her side. He sat by her, stroking her hair. He'd have to stay up with her, make sure that she didn't choke on her own vomit.
"Thought you weren't gonna take advantage," muttered Wheeler.
"I'm not a kid," she said, trying to sit up. He held her down, shaking his head. She sighed, "Not a kid Mike,"
He sighed, "You're drunk Wheeler,"
"Not drunk -hic- enough..."
"One day you'll find someone," he said softly, cupping her cheek. He bent down and kissed her lightly on her forehead, "But that someone isn't me,"
"You –hic- have a someone?" she deduced, pulling at his arm. It was quite sad, she really wanted company, and hell he was half inclined to give it to her but he knew better. He looked at his dresser, and nodded. He did have a someone, or had had one. But she was gone, and he knew that any other relationship wouldn't amount to the same.
"One day you said?" she asked.
"Yeah, one day,"
"Okay," mumbled Wheeler, she closed her eyes, "Thanks Mike,"
"Sleep tight Megan,"
He smiled, and watched as she slowly fell asleep.
And then he went and got his phone and took a photo.
What are partner's for after all?