Work Text:
"Come on, Attenborough. I've got an idea.
- Evie Cooper
***
The gait tech analysis is genius, DeShawn has to give her that. Having the warehouse guys line up in single file like a Kindie class heading out to play is both funny and nerve-wracking.
Three thieves are on the docket: one is dead, sure, but two are alive. They're still breathing... racking up their list of sins to include murder. Horrendous people, Evie knows- exotic animal killers and sadists and the like- but based on DeShawn's heated eyes after finding the dead birds, she reckons they won't be staying in the shadows for long.
She holds the analyzer high and clears her throat.
"Alright boys," she says. "One by one. And don't forget to smile."
The Mike character is first, of course. He glides right on past with a cocky grin the second Evie says, "first gentlemen up," which leaves Rob, then Emmanuel, then Levi.
The nametags stitched into their blues are a helpful bonus...
Step by step, she tracks their movements, makes sure to record every little defect in their gait, catching bits and pieces of side conversations as the formation continues onward:
"It gives us a baseline."
"Don't give a damn about a baseline-"
"So what?"
"That it, man?"
"You good-"
"... will be, once you and the molly stop wasting my time."
"Just doin' our job," Dee reiterates, palms out. "The second we figure this out, we'll be on our way."
"You better." Tommy doesn't even bother looking her in the eyes. He just grumbles something cruel under his breath, too far away to hear, and shoulder checks Dee on the way out.
Evie ignores him.
She closes her eyes, briskly collects herself... few deep breaths here and there. A clenching of her teeth until her jaw is sore... then pops them open once again. "NEXT!" she yells out, and if her voice is a little shrill or pitchy as she RBF's the rest of the lot, then that's her business. "We don't have all day, people. The faster we get this done, the faster we'll be out. Take it like a woman, yeah, and cut the whining."
One of the men snorts and quips, "she always like this?" encouraging the others to murmur even more garbage.
DeShawn's eyes roll a complete 360.
He gestures with his hand, "just keep walking, dude," and meets Evie's peeved glare. She expects him to shrug, or explain with his hands, 'nothing I can do,' but he doesn't. He smirks, turns back and drawls, "like the Constable said. Buck up and take it like a woman."
And wow, was that not expected.
A flood of something foreign hits Evie's chest. Curiosity? Confusion? Happiness? She snorts- yeah, right... happiness. Good one, Evie, but when she holds the gait tech high to mask her growing smile, the optimism rises.
DeShawn Jackson...
Hmmm.
She entertains the possibility, already beckoning the next worker forward, that maybe this long-term partnership just might work.
They get through the rest of the group relatively quickly. One call to the Boss, "yeah, got it. On our way," and they're off for South Sydney.
"So... take it like a woman, huh?"
His question is the first actual sentence of the car ride back to HQ. The trip in general has been pretty quiet; mainly because Evie's been letting Dee drive and he still hasn't gotten the hang of it, and partially because she's still a bit ticked at the moll comment.
"Yeah," she replies. "I uh... I don't know where that came from, but you know what?" She musters up a hair toss in dramatic a way as possible. "I stand by it."
"Cause women are bad asses?"
Dee's grin takes up his entire face. He drums his fingers on the wheel as he glances her way, like there's a playlist running that only he can hear. "Take things better than we guys do?"
"Nah. We just hide it better than you guys do."
"Hit me when I'm down, why don't you."
"Oooh, my pleasure-" and Evie lunges with her fist, causing Dee to freak and nearly swerve off the road. She apologizes, "woah, didn't know you'd flinch like that," and is immediately interrupted by a strained voice:
"You're grounded, Cooper. Grounded with a capital G!"
DeShawn collects what's left of his pride in seconds. He grips the wheel with both hands and, after berating Evie for two whole minutes about how she almost ran them off the road, peers for incoming traffic over her shoulder. His mouth quirks up slightly when she readjusts her seatbelt, which has gone taut during the chaos.
"Nu-uh. Clasp your hands right now, girl. I haven't been in a wreck yet and if I do-"
Evie corrects, "when you do-"
"Okay, you know what? Fine- when I get into a wreck. It's not going to be while I'm driving on the wrong side of the road in an angry murder country, and that's a promise. Got it? So, sit there and play with your IPAD thingy."
"It's a gait analyzer."
"... it's an IPAD thingy. You know it's an IPAD thingy."
"Fine. Me and my thousand-dollar IPAD thingy will just sit over here and I dunno. Stare at the ocean," Evie says, and she does just that.
Well. Kind of.
She ends up resting her head against the window until the incoming traffic is gone. The gait tech is still heavy in her hands. It gives her something to tap on, so she does; like DeShawn and his music, she fiddles with it for a bit...
It's still not enough.
The second her window is free of pedestrians and birds alike, she sneaks a peak at Dee's face through the corner of her eye. She's expecting at least a little frustration- she did almost kill them both- but there's no annoyance or malice to be found. He seems chill with her attitude and that's... strange. Probably means she should stop, or ease back, or pretend to be serious or something, but she doesn't.
She finds herself testing the waters, an itch she can't quite scratch.
"Did I hurt your delicate little macho-man American feelings when I threatened you?" she asks, only half kidding. "Need me to kiss your ego better?"
"That a threat. Cause I feel like that's a threat. Like kisses means something different here and you're actually condemning me to like, death or something."
"Someone's scared, yeah?"
"Of you?" He smacks his lips. "Nah."
"Ah, rude... hey! Whoa- whoa, whoa- Dee watch out for the cur-"
Too late. He pulls into the lot way too tight, causing the bumper to scrape the rocks with a 'shhhhk.' To which Evie says, "heh, classic," and DeShawn counters, "it's not my fault you guys literally drive on the wrong side of the road."
"You can't bring that up every time you hit something."
"Oh, yes I can. Fundamentally wrong."
"How's the right side any different?"
"Oh, you did not just ask me that-" and they bicker back and forth until they reach the water's edge, turning every meter into a kilo.
It's mainly DeShawn's fault, of course, all his ranting and raving about Australia's audacity, with Evie replying 'mmm' every other sentence, intermixed with 'life's tough,' and 'tell me about it.' He runs through a whole list of grievances: Bondy vs Bondi, how she says 'nah' when she means 'yeah,' and how the 'spiders here are way too large to be real. I swear to my nanna; I'm surprised I haven't been killed by one yet.'
But then he circles back.
"So, are you?" he asks, seemingly out of nowhere.
Evie scruffs her nose. "Am I what?"
"Condemning me to death?" He puts the car in park like a racecar driver, tossing the keys around his finger and whooping when his knuckle enters the hole first try. "How you like that, baby?!" he yells. "Booyah! Hole in one."
"You are in-sane."
"And you're avoiding the question." He leans in close, almost touching her face with his finger, which she slaps away immediately. "Is the kiss my ego thing a threat or not?"
"Hmmm..."
She thinks about riling him up even further. God, that'd be really fun. Get inside his head like she did with all the 'taser' nonsense, but he's too trusting...
and... nice, surprisingly. And kind. And happy, and- not as opposed to her sense of humor as she thought he'd be...
... also, he's extremely well caffeinated and hyper. So much so that at this point, it'd probably be considered a crime against humanity if she did. So instead, she waggles her eyebrows. She takes in his joy- all the weird chaotic energy and American naivety- and says with a smile as she opens the side door,
"I'll never tell."