Chapter Text
Doyle was frowning as he tied the laces of his shoe. Bodie watched him while he adjusted the fit of his shoulder holster. Doyle had been out of sorts since they’d met at Nesbitt’s. What had happened while they followed their separate leads? Doyle had told him the basics: Doyle’s mate from the Drugs Squad had led him to Sutton, and Doyle and Cowley had got Nesbitt’s name from Sutton. But something had rattled Doyle, and that was nagging at Bodie.
It shouldn’t matter. Doyle had been effective on the job—had been bloody brilliant recognising the clue from the water skis. But at Nesbitt’s, Doyle had greeted him with his professional persona in place—and Bodie was no longer used to being on the receiving end of that cool mask.
“Fancy a go at the target range? The obstacle one.” When Doyle raised his head and looked at him, it was like stepping into the past. What had made Doyle so wary?
“You haven’t had enough excitement for the day?” Doyle straightened, and reached for his jacket.
“Twenty-four hour goer, mate, that’s me.” He shrugged. “We should’ve been able to stop Nesbitt. Our timing was off.”
To anyone else, Doyle’s face would have appeared calm, but Bodie saw the sudden tension. “Yeah. My fault.”
“No, we were both off. But you were reckless.” Doyle had moved on Nesbitt before Bodie could give him adequate cover.
He was glad to see a sudden flare of temper in Doyle’s eyes. He'd found irritation worked as well as humour in deflecting Doyle’s tendency towards self-absorption. That was one reason why he'd had his hands all over Doyle at both Nesbitt’s and the reservoir. Resigned exasperation had replaced Doyle's brittle look then, but now it was back. “Oh, and you’ve never—”
“Each and every one of my actions is carefully thought out.” Bodie kept his face straight.
“You—” Doyle swallowed his words, and then he broke up into laughter. “Bastard.”
He grinned. “I’m not—although I might as well have been.” He moved forward, swung an arm around Doyle’s shoulders. “What’s up, mate, eh?” He felt Doyle twitch, and dropped his arm. “Seriously, Ray.”
“It’s—nothing.” Doyle turned away.
“Nerves?”
Doyle glanced at him. “That's what Cowley thought at the reservoir."
"That water was damn cold. Cowley also said well done—despite us disobeying orders and you rubbing it in when you brought Nesbitt to him." Bodie smiled, but he caught a fleeting expression on Doyle’s face that made his stomach tighten. Whatever it was eating at Doyle, it had to do with Cowley. He looked away for a moment. “Bothers you, does it?”
“What?”
“That Cowley kept second-guessing us—not going with our hunches.”
“Well, we were right.” Doyle’s voice was forceful, but not angry.
“It takes time to develop that kind of trust. Time and experience.”
"Proving ourselves, you mean."
"Yeah."
“Like you trusting in police methods?”
Bodie rolled his eyes. “Yes, mate. Or you seeing the value of military training.”
Doyle tilted his head. "Well, it’s not everyone I’d jump in a reservoir with to defuse a bomb.”
“And I did get Susan Fenton’s address before you asked."
Doyle smiled. “You got more than that. Won her over, didn’t you?"
“Ah, natural charm,”
“Natural gullibility.”
“I am wounded by your lack of faith. Anyway, she felt guilty.”
Doyle's smile died. “Yeah, well, she should.”
“She didn’t know what Nesbitt planned to do.”
“All she cared about was her next fix.”
Bodie raised his eyes at the edge in Doyle’s voice. “Addiction. Robs you of everything, doesn’t it? She didn’t set out to become an addict.”
Doyle turned away, and dropped his jacket on the bench. "None of them do. It’s the dealers that—” He fell silent.
Bodie studied Doyle’s back. The shoulder harness cut across the pattern in Doyle's shirt. “How did you get Sutton to talk?” And he saw the quiver of tightening muscles. “Yeah, that's it. Sutton. You might as well tell me, Ray.”
“Leave off, Bodie.”
“Look, I need to know you’re one hundred percent on the job. In a two-man team you haven’t got the lux—”
Doyle rounded on him. “Sod off. I was there for the job, just as much as you.”
“Yeah—this time. But if something’s festering—”
“It won’t.” Doyle was hard-eyed, his voice cold.
Bodie met Doyle’s stare, and then he raised a hand. “Okay.” He turned away to pick up his jacket, aware that he’d blown it. It wasn’t the job he was concerned about. It had taken them the better part of six months to prove themselves to each other. He had no doubts about Doyle on the job, even if their methods varied. They seemed to balance each other there. But he still didn't really understand what made Doyle tick. Sometimes, the only way to calm him down was to leave him alone. He put his jacket on, not looking at Doyle.
He heard a sigh. “Cowley threatened to inject heroin into Sutton. Turn him into an addict.” Doyle’s voice was still hard.
“I see.”
“Yeah. I’ll bet you do.”
He wasn’t going to rise to that one, but it stung more than it should have. “Nesbitt would have released ADX, mate.”
Doyle looked away. “I know.”
“In a war—”
“I know! Dammit.” He drew in a breath. “Cowley told a fucking war story—setting the scene for Sutton.”
Bodie didn’t move. “And for you.”
“I played my part.”
“Very convincingly, I’m sure.” He met Doyle’s glare without flinching, just raised his eyebrows.
“I’m not naive.”
“No, but you’ve a bit of the idealist in you.”
“There’s a line.”
“Any means necessary is in the small print.”
Doyle scowled. “So it’s a bloody thin line.”
“Stubborn sort of idealist, aren’t you?”
“Yeah.” Doyle looked up at the ceiling. “Cowley wants to preserve us from all idealists.”
“Ah, but he hired you, didn’t he? Who's going to corrupt whom, that's the question."
A lighter expression flickered across Doyle’s face, and Bodie felt himself relax a notch. “Well, if it was a test, I passed. Sutton fell for the bluff.”
If it was a bluff. “There you go, then.”
Doyle looked at him, and there was no hiding from the truth in his eyes. “I’d’ve gone through with it.”
“I know.”
Doyle nodded, looked around, and picked up his jacket.
Bodie wanted to touch Doyle’s shoulder, but he didn’t. “The line’s important.” He’d crossed it too often himself. He'd thought Cowley might draw it again for him.
“Even if it festers?”
“It won’t.” He hesitated a moment. “We’ll watch each other’s back.” His stomach was suddenly tight. He knew what Doyle thought of his past.
Doyle met his gaze, wide-eyed, and Bodie didn't know what he was thinking. “Yeah. We will.” Doyle shrugged into his jacket.
Bodie turned quickly away. “So, do you fancy the practice—”
“Here you are. Bloody hell, you’re slow.” Biggs entered the locker room. “We’re going to the Red Lion to celebrate.”
Bodie felt a stab of disappointment, but ignored it. “Who’s buying?”
“You are,” Doyle said.
“What? Why me?”
“And I expect the finest, purest malt scotch.”
“Ah. Can I help it if you weren’t quick enough?”
“Yes, you can. You’re meant to help your partner, not steal his drink.”
“Just looking out for you—you’re more of a beer man.”
“I'll take two of the finest, purest—”
“Are we going to argue or get a move on?” Biggs pushed them towards the door. “I’m thirsty. The others are already on their way.”
“Only one round for us,” Doyle said as they walked down the hallway. “We’ve got plans.” Bodie looked round, and found Doyle watching him. "Haven't we?"
Something warm blossomed inside him. "Of course. Would I let you down?"
"Yes, on occasion. Remember those red-headed twins?"
Biggs rolled his eyes. “Trust you two. A double-date?”
“We never kiss and tell,” Bodie said.
“No, you kiss and hint.” Biggs’ voice was dry.
“We're honing your investigative instincts, you see.” Doyle said.
"Yes, where would Cowley be without us?" Bodie shook his head.
“Cheerier, I should imagine. In fact, before you two—"
"You joined after us, Biggs."
"Yes, but I've heard rumours." They reached the stairs leading to the main entrance. Biggs took the lead up the stairs.
"Lies, all of them." Bodie paused on the stairs and put on a bright tone. "You know, Doyle, we could skip the drink—”
“No.” Biggs and Doyle chorused—one in front and one behind him.
Bodie sighed.
"Move it." Doyle urged him up the stairs.
"Bugger."
"In your dreams, mate." Doyle gave him a sly grin as he passed him.
Bodie choked. "Against orders," he managed to say. "Downfall of the side."
"I like the Dark Ages!" Doyle's voice wafted down to him.
Oh, hell.