Man on the Inside

6

Brontë had asked Nimm if she wanted to discuss what happened in person, and she said it couldn't be that interesting if Brontë could wait until Thursday. He waited anyway, though, just as he waited patiently for Art to get back to him.

It was soured somewhat by the fact that Brontë is not ready, nor in a good mood, at the time that Nimm arrives into work. She's got two coffees, and she's holding out the tray with a little grin, waiting for him to get off the phone.

"Look, it can't be that hard," Brontë is starting to say, and he's honestly annoyed at himself for getting annoyed, but it shouldn't have come this far. "I'm not asking for you to change her legal name in the system without the documentation. We're getting the documentation. But I know for a fact you have some kind of field for preferred name, okay? If my son's mail can come in for Ricky, and not Patrick, I don't see-"

He's cut off by the voice on the other end of the line, and yes, he has sympathy for how tired she sounds, but she isn't fucking listening, and she doesn't seem to grasp the importance of the situation. "I'm sorry, sir, but you'll have to bring in the proof of name change before we can change any child's documents. We can make an appointment for you to do so, if you'd like."

Brontë grits his teeth and closes his eyes. "I have to go. I'll have to come in tomorrow to discuss this in person." He holds back the threats and complaints he wants to make. That last sentence still sounds a little bit like a threat. He explicitly doesn't thank her when he hangs up, nor wait for her response.

"School being shitheads about Charlie?" Nimm asks, sliding Brontë's coffee over the table to him. She knows his usual order by now, even though she's only been here a few months. There's only so many times you ask a question and get the same answer before you remember double shot long black.

Brontë chews on the inside of his mouth, trying to radiate the anger anywhere that is outside of his ribs, except at Nimm. "Yup. I was trying to email them, to get them to stop addressing her with the wrong name in official documents, but I kept getting autoresponses. So I called, and got basically the same shit. I didn't think it would be this god damn hard. Getting them to call Ricky, Ricky, should have been exactly the same."

Nimm smiles softly, taking a sip of her own coffee. Her lipstick leaves a mark on the cup, and her gaze is unreadable- Brontë hopes it's not judgement, somehow. "Do you think the people you're speaking to are just being difficult on purpose?"

"They must be." Brontë sets his jaw. "Which they shouldn't get away with. There are rules about these things."

Nimm turns her head sideways. "And yet, if you have authority, you can dodge the rules when you feel like it."

Brontë would think she was making some veiled insult towards cops, if she wasn't one. In fairness, he doesn't feel the need to defend the department as a whole- he's sometimes disgusted by the rules-dodging he sees around him every day. Sometimes the rules are stupid, is the problem. He used to let people off more than he probably should've, so it's not like he's immune. It's not like it's ever really about the rules.

The frustration isn't the rules-dodging; it's the opposite. It's that they were using the rules as a shield, to avoid doing something that he knows for a fact is easy, and good. It eats at him, a little bit, this anger that he can't direct anywhere meaningful.

"I told Greggs," he says offhandedly, "and he told me it shouldn't be a big deal. I don't think that's helped my mood."

"Mistake number one is speaking to Greggs. Like I've been saying. Most cops are so far up their own ass they don't know the rest of the world outside it." Nimm's watching him carefully as he sips his coffee. "Do you need some time, or do you wanna talk about Monday?"